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"I won't, then. Sure you can live alone with yourself for one minute," returns she, in very fine Irish; and, with a parting smile, sweet as nectar and far more dangerous, she goes. "Send down to the Farm, and I will give you some brandy," says Mona to a woman standing by, after a lengthened gaze at the prostrate form of Kitty, who makes no sign of life. "She wants it." Laying her hand on Kitty's shoulder, she shakes her gently. "Rouse yourself," she says, kindly, yet with energy. "Try to think of something,—anything except your cruel misfortune." "'Top corner,—right hand,'" goes on Mona, taking no heed of him, and speaking in the same low, mysterious, far-off tone..
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Not many nights after that the woman's child died, and she cried a great deal for it. She said to Old Man, "Let us change this. The law that you first made, let that be the law." At the farthest end of the room, near a window, lying back in an arm-chair, lies Mona, sound asleep. Up the stairs she takes her and into her own room, without saying a word. Then she carefully turns the key in the door, and, placing Mona in a large and cosey arm-chair, stands opposite to her, and thus begins,— "Worse!" repeats his mother, in a withering tone. In this mood she is not nice, and a very little of her suffices..
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