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The golden liquor glowed like an idol. He was uneasy and perplexed.
It was the first time that strong drink had ever been in Rathard.
The whiskey bottle sat on the dresser for some days and Sarah
lifted it to dust under it each day. Then by that inexplicable
process that activates household articles it was moved to the window
ledge behind the bowl of shamrock. After a time it was carried down
to the parlour and at last it came to rest, still untouched, in the
darkest corner of the camphor-scented press in the sideboard.
The relationship between Sarah and the youngeer brother changed,
imperceptibly but vitally during those few days. They still came
together in furtive moments when Hamilton was about his work or when
he had gone out in the evenings. But Frank sensed the growing
antagonism in the girl. There was nothing said between them, but
Sarah felt a great need to retract and be free again. The wave of
frustration and rebellion that had torn her from her early cautious
way of going had carried her out too far. How she wanted to find
her feet again and weigh her chances for her own future advantage.
And she felt, always resent, an overhanging guilt at the separation
from her mother. She had a deep superstitious fear that she was
casting off too many ties and that she would be punished. She
thought calmly on the matter. In the first days of nor liason with
Frank they had been recklessly impulsive; how reckless, she shivered
in recalling. As she lay in bed at night, sleepless, she could scarcely
believe that her mother or Hamilton could have failed to see what
was going on. Frank with his crude passionate gestures outraged
her, until he touched her again; And she, self-centred and independent,
