The
shriek of a woman rang through the night.
'There she is!' said the Irishwoman. 'For God's sake don't let her
get a hould o' the darlints. She's ravin' mad. I seen her try to
kill them oncet.'
The shrieks came nearer and nearer, and after a few moments the
woman appeared in the moonlight, tossing her arms over her head, and
screaming with a despair for which she yet sought a defiant
expression. Her head was uncovered, and her hair flying in tangles;
her sleeves were torn, and her gaunt arms looked awful in the
moonlight. She stood in the middle of the street, crying again and
again, with shrill laughter between, 'Nobody cares for me, and I
care for nobody! Ha! ha! ha!'
'Mammie! mammie!' cried the elder of the children, and ran towards
her.
The woman heard, and rushed like a fury towards the child. Falconer
too ran, and caught up the child. The woman gave a howl and rushed
towards the other. I caught up that one. With a last shriek, she
dashed her head against the wall of the public-house, dropped on the
pavement, and lay still.
Falconer set the child down, lifted the wasted form in his arms, and
carried it into the house. The face was blue as that of a strangled
corpse. She was dead.
'Was she a married woman?' Falconer asked.
'It's myself can't tell you sir,' the Irishwoman answered. 'I never
saw any boy with her.'
'Do you know where she lived?'
'No, sir. Somewhere not far off, though.
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