Milbanke glanced up sharply from the rug he was unstrapping. "How is he?" he asked. "Not worse?" Burke shook his head. "'Twouldn't be wishin' for me to give you the bad word----" he began deprecatingly. "Then he is bad?" The old man pursed up his lips. "Ah, I'm in dread 'tis for his long home he's bound," he said reluctantly. "Glory be to God an' His Holy Ways! But 'tis of thim two poor children that I do be thinkin'." But Milbanke's mind was occupied with his first words. "But how is he?" he demanded. "What is the injury? Has he an efficient doctor?" Again Burke shook his head. "Docthors?" he said dubiously. "Wisha, I don't put much pass on docthors! not but what they say Docthor Gallagher from Carrigmore is a fine hand wid the knife. But, sure, when the Almighty takes the notion to break every bone in a man's body, 'tisn't for the like of docthors to be settin' up to mend them." With this piece of pessimistic philosophy, he picked up Milbanke's bags and rug, and guided him through the small station into the open, where the Orristown trap stood waiting in a downpour of rain. He imparted little more information during the long drive, and Milbanke had to sit under his dripping umbrella with as much patience as he could muster while they ploughed forward over an execrable road. The gateway of Orristown, when at last it was reached, looked mouldy and forlorn in the chilly damp of the atmosphere; and as they plunged up the avenue at the usual reckless pace, a perfect torrent of rain-drops deluged them from the intersecting branches of the trees. Yet despite the gloom and the discomfort, a thrill of something like pleasure filled Milbanke as a whiff of pure, cold air brought the scent of the sea to his nostrils, and the turn of the avenue showed the square house, white and massive against the grey sky. But he was given little time to indulge in the pleasure of reminiscence, for instantly the trap drew up, the hall door was thrown open, showing a face and figure that sent everything but the moment and the business in hand far from his mind. It was Clodagh who stood there waiting to greet him--Clodagh, curiously changed and grown in the three years that had passed since their last meeting. In place of the spirited, unformed child that he remembered, Milbanke saw a very young girl, whose boyishness of figure had disappeared in slight feminine curves, whose bright, fearless eyes had softened into uncommon beauty. With a glow of relief lighting up her face, she stepped forward as the horse halted, and, heedless of the rain that fell on her uncovered head, laid one hand on the shaft of the trap. "Oh, it's good of you!--it's good of you!" she exclaimed. "We can never forget it." Then the colour flooded her cheeks, and her eyes filled. "Oh, he's so bad!" she added. "It's so terrible to see him--so terrible." She looked up with alarm and impotence into Milbanke's face.