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Dermot was not in the doorway before them. The door was shut. They opened it and went in. They saw neither Sive nor Dermot. There was a strange old woman sitting near the fire. She raised her head and looked at them, and she bent it again without speaking. They knew her. She was a neighbour. Deaf Poll was the name she was called; still she was not so very deaf, but she was very slow.

"Where is the man of the house, Poll?" said Cormac.

"He is not very well," said she, slowly.

"Is he in bed?" said Cormac.

"He is," said she, "and Art's daughter Mary is taking care of him."

Just then the nurse opened the room door.

"You are welcome," said she.

"What ails this man, Mary?" said Cormac.

"I fear, Cormac," said she, "that he has got a little attack of fever—God bless the hearers! He fell sick the day after the fair, when he found Sive gone. When the priest heard of the dreadful doings of those thieves at the fair he came here himself, and when he found Dermot sick and no one here to give him a drink, he sent for me, and I came."

"Might we go in to see him?" said Shiana.

"Oh, certainly, certainly," said she. Cormac was already within, without leave.

—"How goes it, Dermot?" said Cormac.