And as he thought over these things, he caught himself
watching for furrows that Jimmy was not making on the other side
of the field. He tried to talk to the robins and blackbirds
instead of Jimmy, but they were not such good company. And when
the day was over, he tried not to be glad that he was going to
the shining eyes of Mary Malone, a good supper, and a clean bed,
and it was not in the heart of man to do it.
The summer wore on, autumn came, and the year Tilly had spoken of
was over. Dannie went his way, doing the work of two men,
thinking of everything, planning for everything, and he was all
the heart of Mary Malone could desire, save her lover. By little
Mary pieced it out. Dannie never mentioned fishing; he had lost
his love for the river. She knew that he frequently took walks to
Five Mile Hill. His devotion to Jimmy's memory was unswerving.
And at last it came to her, that in death as in life, Jimmy
Malone was separating them. She began to realize that there might
be things she did not know. What had Jimmy told the priest? Why
had Father Michael refused to confess Jimmy until he sent Dannie
to him? What had passed between them? If it was what she had
thought all year, why did it not free Dannie to her? If there was
something more, what was it?
Surely Dannie loved her.
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