"You hear? Yes, like that all the time as she sat on the floor, her hair
about her like a cloud, and the dead bodies in the next room. She thought
she had killed Fingall, and she knew now that he was innocent. The two
were buried. Then we told her that Fingall was not dead. She used to come
and sit outside the door, and listen to his breathing, and ask if he ever
spoke of her. What was the good of lying? If we said he did, she'd have
come in to him, and that would do no good, for he wasn't right in his
mind. By and by we told her he was getting well, and then she didn't
come, but stayed at home, just saying his name over to herself. Alors,
things take hold of a woman--it is strange! When Fingall was strong
enough to go out, I went with him the first time. He was all thin and
handsome as you can think, but he had no memory, and his eyes were like a
child's. She saw him, and came out to meet him. What does a woman care
for the world when she loves a man? Well, he just looked at her as if
he'd never seen her before, and passed by without a sign, though
afterwards a trouble came in his face. Three days later he was gone, no
one knew where. That is two years ago. Ever since she has been looking
for him."

"Is she mad?"

"Mad? Holy Mother! it is not good to have one thing in the head all the
time! What do you think? So much all at once! And then--"

"Hush, Pierre! There she is!" said Lawless, pointing to a ledge of rock
not far away.

The girl stood looking out across the valley, a weird, rapt look in her
face, her hair falling loose, a staff like a shepherd's crook in one