’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. " "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken.
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