My grandparents sat in their chairs either side of the fireplace, I in
the middle at first; but presently I changed places with my grandmother,
and she sat holding Lord St. Leger's hand in hers while the firelight
leaped up showing their old, careworn, troubled faces, which yet had a
look of love and new peace in them.
Presently my grandfather fell asleep, and we talked in whispers, my
grandmother and I. She still held his hand, and her eyes kept watching
with a tender anxiety his pale face, almost as pale as a dead face,
against the green velvet of the chair.
"He sleeps quietly, Bawn," she said. "He has not slept well of late."
"None of us has slept well," I said.
"It has almost broken our hearts, child, to be so cruel to you. I don't
believe we have had a happy hour since it was settled. We have lain
awake till cock-crow, night after night."
I had it in my mind to ask her if she had heard the ghosts, but she had
never liked the talk about the ghosts, and, remembering that, I was
silent.
"We ought to have faced it out," she went on. "As I said to Lord St.
Leger, if the disgrace was there, there was no doing away with it, even
though only Garret Dawson knew it.
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