“Come away—­it’s dangerous to stop where this fever is—­you ought to be careful of yourself—­you have friends that loves you, and that would feel for you if you were gone.  You have a kind good father,—­a lovhin’ mother—­a lovin’ mother, that you could turn to, an’ may turn to, if ever you should have a sore heart—­a mother—­oh, that blessed word—­what wouldn’t I give to say that I have a mother!  Many an’ outrage—­many a wild fit of passion—­many a harsh word, too—­oh, what mightn’t I be now if I had a mother?  All the world thinks I have a bad heart—­that I’m without feelin’; but, indeed, Mave Sullivan, I’m not without feelin’, an’ I don’t think I have a bad heart.”

“You have not a bad heart,” replied Mave, taking her hand; “no one, dear Sarah, could look into your face and say so; no, but I think so far from that, your heart is both kind and generous.”

“I hope so,” she replied, “I hope I have—­now come you and leave this dangerous house; besides I have something to say to you.”

Mave and she proceeded along the old causeway that led to the cabin, and having got out upon the open road, Sarah stood.

“Now, Mave Sullivan,” said she, “listen—­you do me only justice to say that I love truth, an’ hate a lie, or consalement of any kind.  I ax you now this—­you discovered awhile ago that I love Condy Dalton?  Isn’t that thrue?”

“I wasn’t altogether certain,” replied Mave, “but I thought I did—­an’ now I think you do love him.”

“I do love him—­oh, I do—­an’ why as you said, should I be ashamed of it?—­ay, an’ it was my intention to tell you so the first time I’d see you, an’ to give you fair notice that I did, an’ that I’d lave nothing undone to win him from you.”

“Well,” replied the other, “this is open and honest, at all events.”

“That was my intention,” pursued Sarah, “an’ I had, for a short time, other thoughts; ay, an’ worse thoughts; my father was pursuadin’ me—­but I can’t spake on that—­for he has my promise not to do so.  Oh, I’m nothing, dear Mave—­nothing at all to you.  I can’t forget your words awhile ago—­bekaise I knew what you meant at the time, when you said to Con, ’any earthly thing that I can do to give aise and comfort to your mind.  I am ready to do it.  If it would relieve you, forget that you ever saw me or ever knew me.’  Now, Mave, I’ve confessed to you that I love Con Dalton—­but I tell you not to trouble your heart by any thoughts of me; my mind’s made up as to what I’ll do—­don’t fear me, I’ll never cross you here.  I’m a lonely creature,” she proceeded, bursting into bitter tears; “I’m without friends and relations, or any one that cares at all about me—­”

“Don’t say so,” replied Mave, “I care about you, an’ it’s only now that people is beginning to know you—­but that’s not all, Sarah, if it’s any consolation to you to know it—­know it—­Condy Dalton loves you—­ay, loves you, Sarah M’Gowan—­you may take my word for that—­I am certain this day that what I say is true.”