y Joyce was weeping bitterly before the end of the letter, with her
blue-checked apron held up to her eyes; three or four of the little ones
had gathered around, staring with wide-open eyes.

[Sidenote: Dermot's Resolve]

Dermot kept up bravely till the last sentence, and then he could stand
it no longer; he rushed out of the house, down the stony boreen. Eily
sick and ill! Eily well-nigh at death's door! Eily far away in hospital
with strange hands to tend her! Poor girl, his love, his darlint! she
was tired of it all, wishing for home; oh, how his heart yearned for
her, and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.

He wandered aimlessly about the mountain side until his emotion had
well-nigh subsided, and then he plunged into the Joyces' cabin once
more.

"Mrs. Joyce, it's to-morrow, early mornin', you and me musht shtart for
London!"

Biddy looked up quickly. "To-morrow! the bhoy's crazy entoirely! It will
be a week before I can go. Who will look after the house and the hins,
and the childer, not forgetting Mike himself? I musht wait till me
sister comes from Ballinahinch, and thin I will go to the child. She's
betther, and near well, or the docthors wouldn't be for lettin' her out
o' hospital, and faith, her aunt, me sisther Delia, will look afther her
for a bit until I find it convaynient to lave; shure Mike himself will
write to Eily and tell her I'm coming; that will cheer her heart up, the
poor sowl."

"Maybe ye are right, Mrs. Joyce." Dermot said no more, but turned slowly
away.

With a firm step and an air of decision he walked homewards across the
fields.

"Mother, it's going to London I am," he said as he entered the house;
"will ye see me clothes is ready, and put me up a bit o' bread? That's
all I'll trouble ye for."

Honor O'Malley looked at the tall, manly figure of her only son, at the
frank, proud face, the bright blue eyes, and the firmly-set mouth; the
exclamation that was on her lips died away.

"God bless ye, me own bhoy!" she cried instead, in a half-smothered
voice, and bent, down over the hearth to hide the tears that rose to her
eyes and choked her utterance.

Dermot climbed the ladder that led to the tiny room in the roof where he
slept; from beneath the mattress he drew a box, which he unlocked
carefully. A small pile of sovereigns lay at the bottom; he counted them
carefully, although he knew exactly the sum the little box contained;
after fingering them almost lovin