We had settled down to the new ways of life as though the old had not
been. There was perfect peace and happiness at Aghadoe. In the spring
the workmen were to set to work at the task of renovating the Abbey.
Uncle Luke and my godmother were to be married before Lent, quietly. As
for me, I waited, till my whole life had become one expectation.
After the funeral at Damerstown was over I had gone to see Mrs. Dawson,
having ascertained first that her son was absent for a few days. The
poor woman had wept over me and forgiven me.
"Rick told me all," she said. "Sure, I wish you could have cared for him
for himself. Only his mother knows how much good there is in him. And,
dear, you must try to forgive him that's gone."
"We have forgiven him," I said, "as we hope for forgiveness."
Then she wept again softly, and poured out to me her hopes and fears for
her boy.
"It's gone deep with him, dear," she said: "it's gone very deep with
him. But, sure, we must trust to God to bring good out of the trouble.
He'd never have done you that wrong to marry you and you fond of some
one else. You don't mind my knowing, dear? My boy tells me everything.
Sure, I'd have known it, for if there was no one else you must have
cared for Rick.
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