With a shock he found himself upon the porch. At the foot of the steps Garry waited in the car, his gauntleted hands drumming nervously upon the wheel. If for a minute stark, incredulous terror swept through Kenny's veins, his laughing lips belied it. Then he kissed Joan lightly on the cheek and went, whistling, down the steps with Brian.
"And you, Brian?" he said, halting on the lower step to light a cigarette. "What shall I tell John?"
"Tell him all," said Brian. He talked hurriedly of his plans.
Garry--unsentimental Garry--blinked as the car shot down the lane. He clashed his gears and shuddered.
"Phew!" he whistled as Joan came down the steps. "Garry's driving like a blacksmith."
They clung to each other in the dark and watched the headlights play upon the trees.
From the end of the lane came Kenny's final gift of reassurance. His rollicking voice swept into the quiet, soft with brogue, as care-free in song as it had been earlier in laughter:
"'I'll love thee evermore Eileen a roon! I'll bless thee o'er and o'er Eileen a roon!'"
"Joan! Joan!" he exclaimed in a rush of feeling. Their lips met.
"'Oh! for thy sake I'll tread Where plains of Mayo spread.'"
Brian's heart went out to the irresponsible penitent rocketing in song.
Fainter in the night wind came the end of Kenny's song:
"'By hope still fondly led, Eileen a roon.'"