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Updated: July 17, 2025
He had come near the dreaded spot where Terence Comerford had been flung on to the convenient heap of shingle. Already he could hear the roar of the water where it tumbled over the weir like long green hair. Above it on either side the banks of the river rose steeply. On the side nearest to him was the Mount, in the heart of which Admiral Hercules O'Hart had chosen to be buried.
She turned suddenly accusing eyes on Mrs. Comerford. "Even yet she does not know that I was married to her father," she went on. "But she does not shrink from me. My little daughter! That such an anguish as that should ever have come to her! She has chosen me even so before all the world!" She lifted her head proudly as she said it.
Don't you know that Stella is Terence's daughter?" No; she had not known. That was plain enough in her face. "Oh, no," she said in a bewildered way. "Stella is the daughter of Gaston de St. Maur...." "Grace Comerford said so, or she allowed people to believe it. Did she ever say so? Stella is the daughter of Terence Comerford and Bridyeen Sweeney, whom you know as Mrs. Wade.
He did not even express surprise, though he must have felt it, at seeing Stella there, nor at the state in which he found her. "I shall explain to you presently," Lady O'Gara said, "why she is here instead of at Inch. Mrs. Comerford has quarrelled with her." "Ah," said the doctor, getting out his clinical thermometer. "It has been her bane, poor lady, that difficult temper.
She had chosen Shawn O'Gara in her own heart even while she was expected to marry Terence Comerford. "Why do you talk of Terence now?" he asked. "I have had a letter from Aunt Grace after all these years." She held the letter towards him. "She has forgiven you?" he asked, making no movement to take the letter. "She is coming back to Inch.
Perhaps she would never come now, although the place was kept from going to rack and ruin by James Clinch, the butler, and Mrs. Clinch, who had been cook and had married the butler after Mrs. Comerford had gone away. All these things came back to Patsy Kenny in his solitary hours. He was very fond of sitting on a log or a stone between his strenuous working times, going over old days in his mind.
Tell her I am not such an ogre as she thinks and you think. Tell her that you and she are to come to Inch as soon as she can be moved. Tell her all that, Mrs. Terence Comerford. Perhaps then she will consent to see me." She pointed a long finger at Stella's mother, looking more than ever like a priestess, and Mrs. Wade, as she had called herself, obeyed meekly.
Many a one had tried to pump Patsy, the people had an inordinate curiosity about their "betters" and of late tongues had been very busy with the return of Mrs. Comerford and the reconciliation with Lady O'Gara: also with Miss Stella and her parentage. Those who tried to pump Patsy Kenny about these matters embarked, and they knew it, on perilous seas.
Comerford, happy talk of friends long parted and re-united, full of "Don't you remember?" and "Have you forgotten?": arrears of talk in which so much had to be explained, so many fates elucidated. It might have been so happy if only Shawn had not worn that odd look.
I did not mean you to want for anything. After all you were Terence's." Her voice ended on a queer note of tenderness. Suddenly Terry O'Gara spoke, coming out of his corner, the bright light on his glowing eager young face. "Stella will not refuse to listen to me, now," he said. "You will not refuse me Stella, Mrs. Comerford?" He addressed Mrs. Wade.
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