Grey Town Part 39

In six hours' time the car raced up the avenue at "Layton," to find Samuel Quirk pacing the verandah while he awaited his son. Denis could see the hand of bitter grief in the old man's bent figure, in the deep lines on his face, and in the sunken eyes. After nearly fifty years'

companionship the prospect of losing his faithful wife struck Samuel Quirk a t.i.tanic blow.

Denis had never been outwardly demonstrative towards his father. Samuel Quirk had not invited any sign of affection, and his son had not offered it. But they loved and respected one another, for Samuel Quirk was the type of man that Denis could best admire. He recognised honesty and purity of intention in the old man; he knew that Samuel Quirk would never intentionally injure another. These virtues appealed to him like rich jewels hidden within a rough casket. To-day his heart went right out to the pathetic figure of hopeless misery portrayed by his father.

He sprang from the car and took his father's hand tenderly.

"It's the will of G.o.d," he said.

"Did I say it was not?" asked Samuel Quirk. "I knew it must come soon--but that doesn't make it one bit easier!"

"How is she?" Denis asked.

"Slipping away--and calling out for you."

Denis waited to hear no more. He ran up the stairs to his mother's room.

Here he found Father Healy, Molly, Kathleen, and the nurse who had been with Desmond O'Connor. At his coming they left the room, whispering each one a short welcome as they pa.s.sed him.

Mrs. Quirk turned her head, and her thin, white face broke into a sweet smile.

"Come to me, Denis. G.o.d is good to send you. Sure, I am blessed above all women. Himself is with me, the Divine Redeemer, and His Blessed Mother, and the angels. Father Healy has been praying over me, and now you have come to say good-bye. Sit beside me, and take my hand. Don't be crying. I am just pa.s.sing to G.o.d. Don't forget to say a prayer for me."

She paused in distress, while Denis took her hand, and sat on a chair, the tears rolling down his cheek. After a few seconds she spoke again:

"Don't be fretting because the world is hard, boy. All will come right, and there's a good wife waiting you--one that will be true to you."

"Don't be worrying yourself about me. I shall always land on my feet,"

he answered. Then, after a pause, he added: "You have been perfect as a mother and as a woman. There is nothing to regret on that score."

"Many things undone, and many that might have been done better. But G.o.d is good and merciful, boy. He doesn't expect too much."

Thus they spoke together for ten minutes. Then Denis saw that she was exhausted. He rose to call the nurse, but she held his hand for one minute.

"Promise me that you will marry Kathleen," she whispered.

"I am already married," he answered.

"You will be set free--I am sure of it. Promise me, Denis."

"I promise to do that if it is ever possible."

"G.o.d bless you and keep you. May the Sacred Heart prevent you from sin, and Mary, the Mother of G.o.d, pray for you," she said, in a low, broken voice.

A few hours later the end came to her peacefully, and the soul of "Granny" Quirk pa.s.sed the narrow gate that leads from things seen to those that are apprehended by faith. With a smile on her face she pa.s.sed the portal, confident in the mercy of Almighty G.o.d.

After the funeral the question of Kathleen O'Connor's future came up for discussion. After various solutions had been suggested by Father Healy, Dr. Marsh, and Denis, old Samuel Quirk calmly settled the matter.

"Kathleen will stay here, and keep the house for me," he said. "She will be my daughter. What would I be doing all alone in this big house?"

The few days that had elapsed since Mrs. Quirk's death had changed him into a decrepit old man. He sat through the greater part of the day in an easy-chair on the verandah, taking no interest in anything; just gazing vacantly in front of him for hours at a time. Mental and bodily strength seemed to have deserted him. From vigour he had pa.s.sed suddenly into senility.

"Are you willing to stay with him?" Dr. Marsh asked Kathleen. "It means acting as a nurse to an impatient old man."

"I promised Mrs. Quirk that I would remain at "Layton" while he needed me," she answered.

"The burden may be a heavy one," said Father Healy.

"I can bear it," she answered cheerfully.

Denis Quirk waited until the other had gone. Then he went to Kathleen to find her working among the flowers, filling the vases and placing them in the positions where Mrs. Quirk had liked to see them. He sat watching her silently, as he had been accustomed to do in the days of their first acquaintance. Presently she turned towards him.

"You remind me of the old Denis Quirk to-day--the one whom I resented,"

she said.

"I was summing you up in those days," he answered; "just wondering whether you were genuine."

"That was what I objected to," she answered. "I have never been subjected to examination--I have not so much as examined myself too critically--and the feeling is creepy."

"You have been tried and acquitted," he laughed. "You leave the court without a stain upon your character. Indeed, you have been promoted to stand upon a pedestal, and receive the admiration of your fellows."

"No, no! Not that, if you please," she cried. "Allow me to remain just a woman. It is my best plea for leniency. I detest the idea of a pedestal.

Supposing I were found to have a flaw--I have a good many, I a.s.sure you--everyone would see it. Let me hide myself in the crowd."

"Only one person is permitted to admire you on the pedestal; the one who has placed you there. In his eyes there is no flaw. But," he added, hastily, "I may, at least, thank you for your kindness to my parents.

You are a good woman, and you need no higher praise. Take care of the old man, and--good-bye."

He took her hand and crushed it in his own. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and left her. That night she fancied she could hear him pacing the avenue restlessly, and in that fact she found security. The following morning he was gone.

"Where is Denis?" old Samuel Quirk asked her, in his half-sleepy way.

"He has returned to his work. You should be a proud man, Mr. Quirk, for I believe that Mrs. Quirk is a saint, and I am sure that Denis is a hero."

"He should be here in Grey Town," the old man grumbled.

"He is in the best place--out there in Melbourne. He will return to Grey Town when the time is ripe for him."

CHAPTER XXIII.

A SICK CALL.

If there is one suburb in Melbourne where a man might be excused depression and discontent it is that undesirable and dusty part called Tottenham. On a hot night in the summer time Tottenham gasps in the streets. In shirt sleeves and thin blouses, not infrequently in a still scantier attire, men, women, and children sit on doorsteps and pavements, or collect in the small parks and open s.p.a.ces, seeking fresh air. The language on such occasions is apt to be in keeping with the weather, for the heat excites men's tempers, and leads to unpleasant remarks and retorts that are still less courteous, until a brawl frequently terminates the proceedings. The neighbouring hospitals antic.i.p.ate scalp wounds and bruises after a hot spell in Tottenham.

It was on such a night that Father Desmond O'Connor, recently ordained, and appointed curate to Father Quinlan, the parish priest of St.

Carthage's Church, went quietly and swiftly along Carrick Street in answer to a sick call. He walked absorbed in thought, and heedless of the groups of people whom he pa.s.sed.