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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Terence's wife!" she repeated slowly. "You don't expect me to believe that! Why, my God, if it were true" her voice rose to a sudden anguish "if it were true, if it could be true why didn't you tell me long ago? Why did you let me go on thinking such things of my boy? I won't believe it. I tell you I won't believe it.
The judge-advocate now invited him to turn his memory back to the luncheon-party at Sir Terence's on the 27th, and to tell the court of the altercation that had passed on that occasion between Captain Tremayne and Count Samoval.
The strain of listening and the effort of making practical arrangements and seeing that things worked smoothly, absorbed all Terence's power. Involved in this long dreary nightmare, he did not attempt to think what it amounted to. Rachel was ill; that was all; he must see that there was medicine and milk, and that things were ready when they were wanted.
"The name and address of the doctor is ?" Terence continued. "There is no other doctor," Rodriguez replied sullenly. "Every one has confidence in me. Look! I will show you." He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if in search of one that would confute Terence's suspicions.
And that made her think of the other Terence's music again, for she remembered now, though she had never thought of it before, that there was a longing in his music too. Perhaps she had done wrong, she thought, to say that it did not mean anything. Still, this was so different.
But she knew beforehand the greeting that would await her; the empty platitudes, the obvious small change of verbiage which her ladyship would dole out. The very thought of it restrained her, and so she passed on to her own room and a sleepless night in which to piece together the puzzle which the situation offered her, the amazing enigma of Sir Terence's seeming access of insanity.
As we were neither born nor bred in Ireland, we cannot be supposed to possess this amor patriae in its full force: we profess to be attached to the country only for its merits; we acknowledge that it is a matter of indifference to us whether the Irish derive their origin from the Spaniards, or the Milesians, or the Welsh: we are not so violently anxious as we ought to be to determine whether or not the language spoken by the Phoenician slave, in Terence's play, was Irish; nay, we should not break our hearts if it could never be satisfactorily proved that Albion is only another name for Ireland.
The village had donned its best: women in cap and gown were hurrying hither and thither, some laughing and some weeping; grown men embraced each other; children of all colors flung themselves against Terence's legs, dark-haired Creoles, little negroes with woolly pates, and naked Indian lads with bow and arrow.
Major Swan began by dwelling upon the evidence of motive: there had been a quarrel, or the beginnings of a quarrel, between the deceased and the accused; the deceased had shown himself affronted, and had been heard quite unequivocally to say that the matter could not be left at the stage at which it was interrupted at Sir Terence's luncheon-table.
Mary O'Gara remembered how Terence shook with terror of his mother's anger after some boyish escapade. Grace Comerford deceived herself! Apparently she had no idea of how terrible her fits of temper could be, how the fear of them overclouded the lives of children, defenceless before her. "You wanted her," Mrs. Wade indicated Lady O'Gara "for Terence's wife.
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