She could see the Seven Sisters seated in their rings of foam. Miles of coast lay on either hand, cliff, and headland, and bay singing together and being sung to by the waves, tremendous, majestic, desolate, just as they sang and were sung to a million years ago, just as they will sing and be sung to a million years hence.
The recollection of Mr. Giveen, called up in her mind by the sea, brought French and his troubles before her, the league and its pettiness, and old Ryan and his cows' tails. Before the tremendous seascape all these things shrank to their true proportions, and the booming of the billows seemed like a voice commenting on it all, yet indifferent to the doings, the hopes, and aims of man as Death.
A spot of rain touched her cheek, and she turned from the cliff and began the descent towards the house. At the gate leading into the kitchen garden a dirty and draggle-tailed girl without boots or shoes, a girl of about fourteen, with a dirty face, was endeavouring to unravel the mystery of the latch--it was a patent latch with a trick bar in the staple--and failing.
Miss Grimshaw came to her assistance, opened the gate, and held it open for the other to pass through, but the damsel did not enter.
She stood with eyes downcast. Then she looked up, then she looked down, then----
"If you plaze, miss," said she, "are you the young lady ould Mrs. Moriarty tould me to ax for?"
"I'm sure I don't know," laughed Violet, then, remembering the name, "Do you mean old Mrs. Moriarty at Cloyne?"
"If you plaze, miss, I'm Shusey Gallagher."
"I'm the servant at the blacksmith's, miss, and ould Mrs. Moriarty sez to me to keep me ears open to hear if the bhoys was afther playin' any tricks on Mr. Frinch, an' she'd give me a sixpence, miss; so I lays wid me ears open, pretendin' to be aslape, and I heard him say to his wife: 'It's fixed for Thursday night,' says he. 'What's fixed?' says she. 'Frinch's job,' says he."
"Yes, yes," cut in Miss Grimshaw. "But who were these people speaking?"
"Mr. Blood, the blacksmith, miss, and his wife, and I lyin' wid me ears open and they thinkin' me aslape. 'What are they goin' to do?' says she. 'Hamstring the coult,' says he. 'Garryowen?' says she. 'The same,' says he. 'And how many of them on the job?' says she. 'Only one,' says he. 'That'll larn ould Frinch,' says she. 'And who's goin' to do it?' 'Black Larry,' he says, 'and now shut your head, for it's tired I am and wants to go to slape.'"