"Martin!" she exclaimed, putting out her hand. He gave it a hurried shake and then searched the railway carriage with burning eyes. The people he saw there were all strangers, tired-looking travellers. When he turned from the railway carriage Sheela Dempsey was rushing with her parcels into a waiting-room. He strode after her. He looked at the girl. How unlike Rose she was after all! Nobody--nobody--could ever be like Rose Dempsey! "Where is Rose?" he asked. Sheela Dempsey looked up into the face of Martin Cosgrave and saw there what she had half-dreaded to see. "Martin," she said, "Rose is not coming home." Martin Cosgrave gripped the door of the waiting-room. The train whistled outside and glided from the station. He heard a woman's cheerful voice cry out a conventional "good-bye, good-bye," and through the window he saw the flutter of a dainty handkerchief. A truck was wheeled past the waiting-room. There was the crack of a whip and some cars rattled away over the road. Then there was silence. Sheela Dempsey walked over to him and laid a hand upon his shoulder. When she spoke her voice was full of an understanding womanly sympathy. "Don't be troubling over it, Martin," she said, "Rose is not worth it." She spoke her sister's name with some bitterness. Vaguely Martin Cosgrave looked into the girl's eyes. He read there in a dim way what the girl could not say of her sister. It was all so strange! The waiting-room was so bare, so cold, so grey, so like a sepulchre. What could Sheela Dempsey with all her womanly understanding, with all her quick intuition, know of the things that happened beside her? How could she have ears for the crashing down of the pillars of the building that Martin Cosgrave had raised up in his soul? How could she have eyes for the wreck of the structure that was to go on through all the generations? What thought had she of the wiping out of a name that would have lived in the nation and continued for all time in the eternities, a tangible thing in Heaven among the Immortals when the stars had all been burned out in the sky? Martin Cosgrave drove home from the railway station with Sheela Dempsey. He sat without a word, not really conscious of his surroundings as they covered the miles. The girl reached across the side-car, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Look!" she exclaimed. Martin Cosgrave looked up. The building stood in the moonlight on the crest of the hill. He bade the driver pull up, and then got down from the car. "Who owns the house?" Sheela Dempsey asked. "I do. I put it up on the hill for Rose." There was silence for some time. "How did you get it built, Martin?" Sheela Dempsey asked, awe in her tone. "I built it myself," he answered. "I wonder has Rose as good a place? What sort of a building is she in to-night?"