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"What is it, dear?" said Miss Cronin, sitting forward a little in her chair and laying aside her book. "I've brought back a friend, and I want you to know him. Come into my sitting-room." Miss Cronin got up obediently and remembering Mrs. Clem's words, looked at Beryl's cheek-bones and eyes. "Is it Mr. Craven?" she asked in a quavering voice. "Mr. Craven no! You know him already."
By the time Newman returned to his party Mr. Cronin was lying on the ground, and his mother declared that her son was dying. He had been set upon by men who had come to attack them, and beaten with fists, clubs, and stones. They tried their best to kill him. However, to Newman's intense surprise he was not hurt inwardly, only weak from exhaustion and pain.
Miss Cronin, he soon discovered, was rather wondering too. "Beryl seems to have been quite got hold of by London," she observed with mild surprise. After a pause she added: "It may be mind I don't say it is, but it may be the Wallace Collection." "The Wallace Collection?" said Braybrooke. "I believe she goes there every day. It is in Manchester Square, isn't it?" "Oh, yes."
"It give me a turn to see him go by white as wax an' bony as a dead fish! Mrs. Cronin, tell me: d'it make ye kind o' sick to look at um?" "Sick? No more than the face of a blessed angel already in heaven!" "Well," said the other, "I'd a b'y o' me own come home t' die once " She fell silent at a rustling of skirts in the corridor above them. It was Mrs. Sheridan hurrying to greet her son.
"Aw cum off, Hickey," said Sullivan, "phat the divil does yez know av foightin' injuns? Phat were ye over in the auld sod? Nathin' but a turf digger. Phat were ye here before ye 'listed? Dom ye, I think ye belong to the Clan na Gael and helped to murther poor Doc Cronin, bad cess to ye."
Cronin gave a grunt and Ned thought he was going to laugh at this sally, but he suddenly moved away, and Ned wondered what had happened. It was Ellen who had crossed the room to speak to her father, and Ned could see that she had heard his remark, and he could see that the remark had angered her, that she thought it in bad taste.
In 1828 he was working with his brother at Littlemore; in 1829, I imagine, he met and felt strongly in sympathy with some of those with whom, later, the missionary journey to Syria was planned Lord Congleton, Mr. Groves, Dr. Cronin, and others. People have said that Newman gave up all worldly hopes of fame for the sake of this missionary venture. It may be that that is true in part.
But surely such a lovely girl is certain to marry some day. And can we wish it otherwise? Some day a man will come who knows how to appreciate her as she deserves, who understands her nature, who is ready to devote his life to fulfilling her deepest needs." Miss Cronin suddenly looked intelligent and at the same time like a dragon.
He liked her for her love of Ireland and her opposition to her father's ideas. Old Cronin thought Ireland a miserable country and England the finest in the world, whereas Ellen thought only of Irish things, and she had preferred the Dublin University to Oxford or Cambridge.
Are they at it again?" asked Cronin in disgust. "Yes overdoing it. One thing is clear, that whoever is behind this telephone trickery is very clever, and very conceited over that cleverness. It may be a costly vanity. Yes, information?" "The call was from Rector 2190-D. The American Sunday School Organization, sir It doesn't answer now; the office must be closed."
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