TO Norah Ryan the days passed by, at first remorselessly slow, burdened with longings and regrets, clogged with cares and sorrows which pressed heavily on her young heart. Each passing day was very much like that which had gone before, all had their homesickness and longings. She wanted so much to be back in her own home, picking cockles from the Frosses strand or driving the cattle into the shallow water when the heat of summer put the wild madness into their dry hooves.

All day long she trailed in the fields, her knees sore, and the sharp, flinty pebbles cutting them to the bone; and at night when she undressed she found her petticoats and stockings covered with blood. Gourock Ellen showed a great interest in the girl, bathed Norah’s knees often, and when near a druggist’s bought liniments and ointments which she applied to the wounds. Usually the sores, though they healed a little during the night, broke afresh when work started again in the morning, and six weeks went by before the girl hardened sufficiently to resist the rough pressure of the stones which she had to crawl over when at her work in the fields. Her hands also troubled her for a while; they became hacked and swollen and pained her intensely when she washed them at close of evening. Gradually these physical discomforts passed away, and with them went many of the girl’s regrets and much of her homesickness. True, she wished to be back with her mother again, and that wish, unable to be gratified, caused her many poignant heartaches which she bravely concealed from her companions. Every Sunday afternoon she sat down and wrote a long letter home, telling her mother of the wonderful land across the water and the curious things which were to be seen there. Her mother, not being able to read or write, answered very seldom, and her letters were all penned by the new master of Glenmornan schoolhouse.

The members of the squad lived a very stirring life, changing almost weekly from one farm to another, travelling on fast trains and wonderful steamers. But in the midst of all this excitement Maire a Glan never forgot to tell her beads, Owen Kelly to save up his money, Micky’s Jim to swear about nothing in particular, and Norah never forgot to speak about home when any of the Frosses people were in the mood to listen. Dermod Flynn, ever eager to hear about all that had passed in his two years’ absence, was a ready talker on matters that concerned the people of Glenmornan and Frosses. But in other respects he was still the same dreamy youth who had spent the greater part of his time at school in gazing out of the window. Even now he would sometimes forget his work for a long while to gaze at a worm which he picked up from the ground and held between his finger and thumb. Whenever Micky’s Jim saw this he would assert that Flynn was rapidly going mad. Norah herself often wished that Dermod would not take such an interest in things which, when all was said and done, were useless and made the boy the laughing-stock of the whole squad. But she always felt sorry for him when the rest of the party laughed at his oddities. Why should she care if everybody in the country laughed at a fool who took a great interest in common worms? she often asked herself. But never was the girl able to find a satisfactory answer to this question.

Dermod had a curious habit of going out into the fields and lying down on the green sod when the evening was a good one and when the day’s work was done. Norah noticed this and often wondered what he did and thought of when by himself. The youth fascinated the girl in some strange way; this fascination she could not explain and dared not combat. She even felt afraid of him; he thronged into her mind, banished all other thoughts and reigned supreme in her imagination. Sometimes, indeed, she wished that he were gone from the squad altogether; he made her so uncomfortable. He said such strange things, too. Once he remarked that there was no God, and Norah knew instinctively that he meant what he said; not like Micky’s Jim, who often said that there was no Creator, merely with the object of startling those to whom he was speaking. If Dermod did things like other people, if he played cards, passed jests, she would not fear him so much. Even now, when he spoke to her of home, there was a strange intensity in his voice that often unnerved her.

II

ONE evening in September Dermod Flynn stole away from the fire as was his custom and sat down in a field near the sea, where he was speedily buried in the quiet isolation of his own thoughts. Norah Ryan followed him; why, she did not know. Something seemed to compel her to go after the youth: a certain wild pleasure surged through her, she felt as if she could run and sing out to the light airs that fanned her cheeks as she moved along. Presently, looking through a row of hazel bushes that hemmed the farmhouse, she espied him, lying on the green grass, seemingly lost to everything and gazing upwards into the blue heavens where the first early star was flickering faintly through the soft loom of the evening. Below him the Clyde widened out to the sea and a few black boats were heaving slowly on the tide. As if under the spell of a power which she could not resist, Norah Ryan parted the boughs of the hazel copse and stood before Dermod Flynn.

“Is it here, Dermod, that ye are, lookin’ at the sea?” she asked involuntarily.

“I was lookin’ at the star above me,” he replied.

Norah wore a soft grey tweed dress that became her well. She had bought it in Greenock a week before, and when Dermod looked at the dress with a critical eye she wondered why she had put it on. But his look turned to one of admiration when his eye fell on the sweet face of the young girl, the eyes gentle and wistful, the white neck and the pure brow half hidden by the brown ruffled tresses. Something leapt into the heart of the young man, a thought which he could not put into words flashed through his mind, held him tense for a moment and then flitted away.

“Why do you keep watchin’ me?” Norah enquired.

“I don’t know,” Dermod answered, lowering his eyes. “D’ye mind the night on the Derry boat?” he asked. “All that night when you were asleep I had your hand in mine.”

“I mind it very well,” she said, and a slight blush stole into her cheeks. They clasped hands, the girl’s fingers stole over Dermod’s and their eyes met. For a moment it seemed as if one or the other was going to speak, but no voice broke the stillness. The fear had now gone from Norah’s heart; it seemed quite natural to her that she should be there clasping the hand of that ragged youth who always attracted and fascinated her. That she should desire to sit beside him, to press his hands so very tightly, did not appear strange to her and above all did not appear wrong. Dermod saw in her eyes a childlike admiration, a look half a child’s and half a woman’s. A vague longing, something which he could not comprehend and which caused him a momentary pang of fear, rose in his heart. What he had to be afraid of he did not know, as he knelt there in spirit before the most holy sanctuary in the world, the sanctuary of chaste and beautiful womanhood.

Many evenings they met together in the same way; they became more intimate, more friendly, and Norah found that her fear of Dermod was gradually passing away. When evenings were wet they sat in the byre or cart-shed, where the fire burned brightly, and talked about Glenmornan and the people at home. One day Micky’s Jim said that he himself had once a notion of Norah Ryan. When Dermod heard this he flushed hotly. Norah’s cheeks got very red and Jim laughed loudly.

“I have no time for them sort of capers now,” said Jim. “Ye can have her all to yerself, Dermod, and people like yerselves will be always doin’ the silly thing, indeed ye will!”