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He had entered the court-room as James Gathorne Kerry, and he was leaving it as Shiel Crozier; and somehow James Gathorne Kerry had always been to himself a different man from Shiel Crozier, with different views, different feelings, if not different characteristics.
Noon 67° 54.5' S., 178° 28' W. Made good S. 34 W. 37'; C. Crozier 606'. Fog has spread up from the south with a very light southerly breeze. There has been another change of conditions, but I scarcely know whether to call it for the better or the worse.
No doubt Crozier would have repudiated this description of his talk, but the fact was he had unconsciously spoken of Mona with a sort of hush in his voice; for a woman to him was something outside real understanding. He had a romantic mediaeval view, which translated weakness and beauty into a miracle, and what psychologists call "an inspired control."
No man except one who had staked all he had again and again could have looked or spoken like that. Crozier looked at the other thoughtfully for a moment, then he said: "I don't know what you said to Deely, but I do know that I'm going to the Logan Trial in spite of the M'Mahon mob. I don't feel about it as you do. I've got a different feeling, Sibley. I'll play the game out. I shall not hedge.
Eliot will be going abroad if Sir Martin Crozier takes him on. And if Colin goes into the diplomatic service Goodness knows where he'll be sent to." "Colin won't be sent anywhere for another four years." "No. But he'll be at Cheltenham or Cambridge half the time. I must have one son at home." "Sorry, Mother. But I can't stand it here. I've got to go, and I'm going."
She and John Sibley went out of the house together into the moonlit night, and the reaction seized them both at the same moment. She gave a gulp and burst into tears, and he, though as tall as Crozier, also broke down, and they sat on the stump of a tree together, her hand in his, and cried like two children.
She thrust the telegram into the Young Doctor's hands. "She's coming; his wife's coming. She's in Quebec now. It was my letter my letter, not your cable, that brought her," Kitty added triumphantly. It was as though Crozier had been told of the coming of his wife, for when night came, on the day Kitty had received her telegram, he could not sleep. He was the sport of a consuming restlessness.
"He seldom locks it, and when he does I know where the key is." "Indeed?" Mona Crozier stiffened. A look of reproach came into her eyes. It was as though she was looking down from a great height upon a poor creature who did not know the first rudiments of personal honour, the fine elemental customs of life. Kitty saw and understood, but she did not hasten to reply, or to set things right.
He was up and well again in half an hour; but what on earth is it that is disturbing these poor beasts? Usual Sunday routine. Quiet day except for a good deal of wind off and on. The Crozier Party must be having a wretched time. Monday, July 17. The weather still very unsettled the wind comes up with a rush to fade in an hour or two.
While all this was going on, some of the soldiers had actually got into Dublin. The tide was in, and the water very high at 'Bloody Bridge. A hat, near the corner, was whisking round and round, always trying to get under the arch, and always, when on the point, twirled round again into the corner an image of the 'Flying Dutchman' and hope deferred. A watchman's crozier hooked the giddy thing.
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