Mave had watched her countenance closely, and without being able to discover the nature of the conflict that appeared in it, she went over, and placing her hand gently upon Sarah’s arm, exclaimed—­

“Don’t blame me for what I’m goin’ to say, Sarah—­if you’ll let me call you Sarah; but the truth is, I see that your mind is troubled.  I wish to God I could remove that trouble, or that any one here could!  I am sure they all would, as willingly as myself.”

“She is troubled,” said Mary; “I know by her manner that there’s something distressing on her mind.  Any earthly thing that we could do to relieve her we would; but I asked her, and she wouldn’t tell me.”

It is likely that Mary’s kindness, and especially Mave’s, so gently, but so sincerely expressed, touched her as they spoke.  She made no reply, however, but approached Mave with a slight smile on her face, her lips compressed, and her eyes, which were fixed and brilliant, floating in something that looked like moisture, and which might as well have been occasioned by the glow of anger as the impulse of a softer emotion, or perhaps—­and this might be nearer the truth—­as a conflict between the two states of feeling.  For some moments she looked into Mave’s very eyes, and after a little, she seemed to regain her composure, and sat down without speaking.  There was a slight pause occasioned by the expectation that she had been about to reply, during which Dalton’s eyes were fixed upon her.  In her evident distress, she looked upon him.  Their eyes met, and the revelation that that glance of anguish, on the part of Sarah, gave to him, disclosed the secret.

“Oh, my God!” he exclaimed, involuntarily and unconsciously, “is this possible?”

Sarah felt that the discovery had been made by him at last; and seeing that all their eyes were still upon her, she rose up, and approaching Mave, said—­

“It is true, Mave Sullivan, I am troubled—­Mary, I am troubled;” and as she uttered the words, a blush so deep and so beautiful spread itself over her face and neck, that the very females present were, for the moment, lost in admiration of her radiant youth and loveliness.  Dalton’s eyes were still upon her, and after a little time, he said—­

“Sarah, come to me.”

She went to his bedside, and kneeling, bent her exquisite figure over him; and as her dark brilliant eyes looked into his, he felt the fragrance of her breath mingling with his own.

“What is it?” said she.

“You are too near me,” said he.

“Ah, I feel I am,” she said, shaking her head.

“I mane,” he added, “for your own safety.  Give me your hand, dear Sarah.”

He took her hand, and raising himself a little on his right side, he looked upon her again; and as he did so, she felt a few warm tears falling upon it.

“Now,” he said, “lay me down again, Sarah.”

A few moments of ecstatic tumult, in which Sarah was unconscious of anything about her, passed.  She then rose, and sitting down on the little stool, she wept for some minutes in silence.  During this quiet paroxysm no one spoke; but when Dalton turned his eyes upon Mave Sullivan, she was pale as ashes.