Her sweet and gentle magnanimity, however, rose over every other consideration but the frightfully desolate state of her unhappy rival.  Even in this case, also, her own fears of contagion yielded to the benevolent sense of duty by which she was actuated.

“Come what will,” she said to her own heart; “we ought to return good for evil; an’ there’s no use in knowing what is right, unless we strive to put it in practice.  At any rate, poor girl—­poor, generous Sarah, I’m afeard that you’re never likely to do harm to me, or any one else, in this world.  May God, in his mercy, pity and relieve you—­and restore you wanst more to health!”

Mave, unconsciously, repeated the last words aloud; and Sarah, who had been lying with her back to the unprotected opening of the shed, having had a slight mitigation, and but a slight one, of the paroxysm under which she had uttered the previous incoherencies, now turned round, and fixing her eyes upon Mave, kept sharply, but steadily, gazing at her for some time.  It was quite evident, however, that consciousness had not returned, for after she had surveyed Mave for a minute or two, she proceeded—­

“The devil was there a while ago, but I wasn’t afeard of him, because I knew that God was stronger than him; and then there came an angel—­another angel, not you—­and put him away; but it wasn’t my guardian angel for I never had a guardian angel—­oh, never, never—­no, nor any one to take care o’ me, or make me love them.”

She uttered the last words in a tone of such deep and distressing sorrow, that Mave’s eyes filled with tears, and she replied—­

“Dear Sarah, let me be your guardian angel; I will do what I can for you; do you not know me?”

“No, I don’t; arn’t you one o’ the angels that come about me?—­the place is full o’ them.”

“Unhappy girl—­or maybe happy girl,” exclaimed Mave, with a fresh gush of tears, “who knows but the Almighty has your cold and deserted—­bed I can’t call it—­surrounded with beings that may comfort you, an’ take care that no evil thing will harm you.  Oh no, dear Sarah, I am far from that—­I’m a wake, sinful mortal.”

“Bekaise they’re about me continually an’—­let me see—­who are you?  I know you.  One o’ them said a while ago, ’May God relieve you and restore you wanst more to health;’ I heard the voice.”

“Dear Sarah, don’t you know me?” reiterated Mave; “look at me—­don’t you know Mave Sullivan—­your friend, Mave Sullivan, that knows your value and loves you.”

“Who?” she asked, starting a little; “who—­what name is that?—­who is it?—­say it again.”

“Don’t you know Mave Sullivan, that loves you, an’ feels for your miserable situation, my dear Sarah.”

“I never had a guardian angel, nor any one to take care o’ me—­nor a mother, many a time—­often—­often the whole world—­jist to look at her face—­an’ to know—­feel—­love me.  Oh, a dhrink, a dhrink—­is there no one to get me a dhrink!  I’m burnin’, I’m burnin’—­is there no one to get me a dhrink!  Mave Sullivan, Mave Sullivan, have pity on me!  I heard some one name her—­I heard her voice—­I’ll die without a dhrink.”