o Nelly justice, she was always open-handed, always ready to
give away. She would hand over her own small portion to her sister, and
add something to it. With six or seven hundred a year, Bridget would be
mistress of her own fate, and of the future. Often, lately, in waking
moments of the night, she had felt a sudden glow of exultation, thinking
what she could do with such a sum. The world seemed to open out on all
sides--offering her new excitements, new paths to tread in. She wanted
no companion, to hamper her with differing tastes and wishes. She would
be quite sufficient to herself.

The garden outside grew dark. She heard Farrell say 'It's too cold for
you--you must come in,' and she watched Nelly enter the house in front
of him--turning her head back to answer something he said to her. Even
through the dusk Bridget was conscious of her sister's beauty. She did
not envy it in the least. It was Nelly's capital--Nelly's opportunity.
Let her use it for them both. Bridget would be well satisfied to gather
up the crumbs from her rich sister's table.

Then from the dream, she came back with chill and desperation--to
reality. The letter in her pocket--the journey before her--she pondered
alternatives. What was she to do in this case--or in that? Everything
might be at stake--everything was at stake--her life and Nelly's--

The voices from the parlour below came up to her. She heard the
crackling of a newly lighted fire--Farrell reading aloud--and Nelly's
gentle laughter. She pictured the scene; the two on either side of the
fire, with Nelly's mourning, her plain widow's dress, as the symbol--in
Nelly's eyes--of what divided her from Farrell, or any other suitor, and
made it possible to be his friend without fear. Bridget knew that Nelly
so regarded it. But that of course was just Nelly's foolish way of
looking at things. It was only a question of time.

And meanwhile the widow's dress had quite other meanings for Bridget.
She pondered long in the dark, till the supper bell rang.

At supper, her silence embarrassed and infected her companions, and
Farrell, finding it impossible to get another tete-a-tete with Nelly,
took his leave early. He must be up almost with the dawn so as to get to
Carton by nine o'clock.

* * * * *

Out of a stormy heaven the moon was breaking as he walked back to his
cottage. The solitude of the mountain ways, the freshness of the
rain-washed air, and the sweet