He watched her as she went about the kitchen, making preparations for
the meal, and he wondered why it was that she did not look at him. Very
carefully she averted her eyes from him as she passed from the
fireplace to the scullery; and when she had to approach the place where
he was sitting, she did so with downcast gaze. Suddenly he knew why she
would not look at him. He knew that if she were to do so, she would
cry, and as the knowledge came to him, a great tenderness for her arose
in his heart, and he stood up and putting out his hands drew her to him
and kissed her. And then she cried. Her body shook with sobs as she
clung to him, her face thrust tightly against his breast. But she did
not speak. Uncle William, coming from the shop, looked into the kitchen
for a moment, but, observing his sister's grief, went hurriedly back to
the shop.
"Don't, ma!" John pleaded, holding her as if she were a distressed
child.
"I can't help it, John," she cried. "I'll be all right in a wee while,
but I can't help it yet!"
After a time, she gained control of herself, and gradually her sobs
subsided, and then they ceased.
"I didn't mean to cry," she said.
"No, ma!"
"But I couldn't control myself any longer. I'll not give way again,
John!"
She went to the scullery and returned with cups and saucers which she
put on the table.
"Would you like some soda-bread or wheaten farls?" she asked.
"I'll have them both," he answered. He paused for a moment, and then,
before she had time to go to the pantry, he went on. "You know, ma,
I ... I _have_ to go. I mean I ... I _have_ to go!"
"_Have_ to go, John?"
"Yes. I ... I _have_ to go. I was friends with a girl!..."
She came quickly to his side, and put her arms round his neck. The
misery had suddenly gone from her face, and there was a look of
anxiety, mingled with gratification, in her eyes.
"That's it, is it?" she said. "Oh, I thought you were tired of your
home. Poor son, poor son, did she not treat you well?"
"She was married this morning on a peeler, ma!"
"And you in love with her?" she exclaimed indignantly.
"Aye, ma!"
"The woman's a fool," said Mrs. MacDermott. "You're well rid of
her!..."
He saw now that there would be no further objection made by his mother
against his going from home. As clearly as if she had said so, he
understood that she now regarded his departure from home as a
pilgrimage from which in due time he would return, purged of his grief.
And she was content.
"A woman that would marry a peeler when she might marry a MacDermott,
is not fit to marry a MacDermott," she said, almost to herself.