Evening star., 1925-03-13

it? You're not in the least mad.
You're not a fanatic either. You are
perfectly sane and reasonable per-
son, and you know that what I'm
saying is the sane and reasonable
truth. Isn't it?'
Faith, and wasn't l saying so to
Ember myself" said Molloy in
gloomy agreement. We've got
money enough, and we can live on 1t
retired, so to speak The life's all
very well when you're young, but a
man of my age isn't just so keen on
taking chances as he was, and that's
the truth. Then there's the old times
come over him, and he thinks of the
place where he was born, and he
thinks, maybe, he'd like to see it
again. Why. with the money I've
got" said Mr. Molloy "it's a fine
house / could have in Galway, and a
car, and horse or two. That's what
I'd like"
Jane saw his face light up.
IT'S a fine town Galway he said,
land there are people Id like to see
there, and places, too. The people
would be changed, I'm thinking, but
not the places. I'd like well enough
to go up the river past Menlough again.
It's the grand woods there are there,
and then's there's a place where you'd
see nothing but reeds, and no way at
all for a boat. But let you push
through the reeds and a way there is,
and you come out to the gray open
water and the country round it just as
bare as if you'd taken sandpaper to
it, They used to say that the water
went down to hell, but I'm not saying
that I believe it: but deep it is, for no
ones ever touched the bottom. Many's
the stone I've dropped in there, and
wakencd in the night to wonder if it
was still sinking, and many's the time
I've played truant, and gone there fish
ing for the great pike that they said
was in it. Hundreds of years old ile is
by the tales, and once | could swear !
saw him. only maybe it was only a
cloud that was passing overhead
What l saw was just gray shadow,
and all at once it come over me that /
should be getting back to my work. 1
was black frightened. that's the truth,
but l couldn't tell you why"
Jane looked at Mr. Molloy, and ex-
perienced some very strange sensations.
He might sell her to Ember the next
moment, but for this moment he was
utterly sincere and as simple as a child.
His sentiments were not hypocrisy.
They represented real feeling and
emotion, but feeling, emotion and sentf-
! ment had been trained to take the wall
obediently at the bidding of what Mr..
Molloy would call business. For all her
youth, Jane felt a rush of pity for any
thing played upon from without, so
ungoverned from within as this big
handsome man who stood there talking
earnestly of his boyhood's home.
''Why don't you go back and see it
all again?" she said.
"Wen, I'd like to- said Mr.. Molloy,
but what goodll my house in Galway
do me if l waken up some fine bright
night with knife in me heart or d
bomb gone off under me bed?'
1t seemed a difficult question to
| answer.
Molloy began to pace the room.
'I must think" he said.
| All the time that Jane had been talk
| ing, part of her mind had been cop-
tinually occupied with the question OF
| the lists, those lists of towns and the
agents in each who were to be in
| trusted with the work of destruction.
1t might not be so difficult to get hold
of them, but to get hold of them with
out their being missed by Ember :
that was the difficulty. She had only
to drop her right hand to the bench
on which she sat and it touched the
fiimsy sheets.
While Molloy was discoursing of his
birthplace she considered more than
one plan. She must not precipitate
Ember's suspicious until she could
place this evidence in Henry's hands
If she took the lists and Ember missed
them. he would suspect and accuse
Molloy, and Molloy would certainly ex-
onerate himself at her expense. On
the other hand, If she let the lists slip
when they were under her hand, who
was to say whether the opportunity
would recur Ember would return. He
already distrusted Molloy, and what
would be more likely than that he
would remove such discriminating papers
from Molloy's care?
Then, quite suddenly, Jane knew
what she must do She didn't want to
do il, but she knew she must. She
must get the papers now, she must copy
them, and she must put them back be-
fore daybreak whilst the anarchist uncle
slept. Jane had never contemplated
ANYTHING which frightened her half so
much as the idea of putting those papers
back in that discouraging hour before
the dawn, but she knew that it must be
dawn, but she knew that it must be
done.
CONTINUED in Tomorrow's Star.)