I longed for news of
him, but it was not very easy to obtain it, since the infection kept
every one away.
But one day I was walking when I met Lady Ardaragh driving in her little
phaeton. I had not seen her for some time and I was amazed at the change
in her appearance. She looked terribly ill. All her butterfly
prettiness was gone, and there was something to make the heart ache to
see such evident suffering in one who had had the round softness of a
child.
She pulled up her ponies as soon as she saw me.
"Bawn, Bawn," she said, "there is nothing but trouble in the world--at
least in my world. Stay where you are, child; don't come too near me. Do
you know that he is dying over there?"
She pointed with her whip in the direction of the Cottage.
"I think I am mad to-day, Bawn," she went on: "and if I do not speak to
some one I shall surely go mad. I wish I were a Roman Catholic and could
confess to a priest. How much wiser they are than those who deny the
necessity of confession! I have always been fond of you, Bawn. I believe
you are as true as steel. Let me confess to you and save my reason."
"No, no," I said; "you are not yourself to-day. You will be sorry
afterwards.
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