"Poor Master Richard!" Neil went on, averting his eyes on me. "'Tis all
over the country that last night Tom Jordan of Clonmany escaped from his
bed in the small-pox hospital. About three o'clock this morning Master
Richard Dawson brought him back in that quare carriage of his that
brought you home last night, Miss Bawn. Tom's mortal bad this mornin'.
'Tis pretty sure Master Richard'll get the disease for he lifted Tom in
his arms. I wonder what for at all was he driving round the country that
hour of the night?"
"No matter what he was driving for, he was there to good purpose," said
my godmother.
"True for you, Miss Mary," Neil responded placidly.
And I, too, I wondered how it was that Richard Dawson had been abroad at
such an hour of the night. But I did not wait to think of that. I was
proud and glad of the thing he had done, and I remembered how I had said
to him that he was brave and how pleased he had been.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CONFESSION
Christmas passed and the dark days turned round to New Year, and New
Year came and there were great clumps of snowdrops pushing up their
delicate, drooping heads in all the shrubberies, neighbouring the
patches of snow, for we had had a white Christmas and a white New Year.
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