business."

My mother was crushed. Her lips moved again, but she said nothing aloud,
and my father turned on his heel, and left the room, shaking the floor
at every step under the weight of his sixteen stone. At the next moment,
Aunt Bridget, jingling her keys, went tripping after him.

Hardly had they gone when my mother broke into a long fit of coughing,
and when it was over she lay back exhausted, with her white face and her
tired eyes turned upwards. Then I clasped her about the neck, and Father
Dan, whose cheeks were wet with tears patted her drooping hand.

My darling mother! Never once have I thought of her without the greatest
affection, but now that I know for myself what she must have suffered I
love best to think of her as she was that day--my sweet, beautiful,
timid angel--standing up for one brief moment, not only against Aunt
Bridget, but against the cruelty of all the ages, in the divine right of
her outraged motherhood.




ELEVENTH CHAPTER


My mother's submission was complete. Within twenty-four hours she was
busy preparing clothes for my journey to Rome. The old coloured pattern
book was brought out again, material was sent for, a sewing-maid was
engaged from the village, and above all, in my view, an order was
dispatched to Blackwater for a small squirrel-skin scarf, a large