TWO SUNDAY AFTERNOONS 271 



dows the jangle of tram bells and the familiar cry of 

 " Du-ublin Bay Her-rins ! " 



She knew that fishwoman well, she had often bought 

 lierrings from her at Mr. McKenzie's hall door — Mr. 

 JMcKcnzie was very fond of a herring — she knew the 

 way he liked them cooked, fried with onions. Her 

 limp hands clutched the counterpane; that shrill 

 and brazen call had joined her to yesterday. 

 . "Is this the man who stabbed you ? " 



It was the second time of asking. Her feverish 

 blue eyes fastened on Devine, then passed from him 

 to her questioners. 



" No, sir," she said collectedly, " I didn't see him 

 in it at all." 



There was a slight movement among the onlookers. 

 The perspiration broke palpably out on Devine's 

 forehead ; he moistened his lips, and relaxed his 

 attitude, with his hot eyes on the ground. 



" Stop ! " said the doctor suddenly. 



The nurse had her arm round Kate in a moment, 

 holding her as she tried to struggle up in bed. 



" Joe ! " she screamed, hoarse and delirious, " ye 



wouldn't kill him " She strove with her weak, 



rough hands against doctor and nurse. " Oh, Joe, 

 ye're killing me — oh, ye wouldn't ! " Her voice 

 choked, and her head swung aside on to the nurse's 

 arm. It had dropped scarcely less helplessly on 

 Devine's shoulder a week ago, when the laburnum 

 leaned overhead, and the sunshine struck the hving 

 sparkle in her brown hair. 



The doctor made an unmistakable gesture to the 

 others as they laid her down. The man with the 

 ^VTiting materials closed his book. 



Martin Ross. 



