Aymer took the "famine fever," and was very ill for many weeks, and his mother was sadly worn in nursing him.
Some time before this, Lizzie had been married to the son of a Scotch farmer who had recently come into the country; and when the distress began, Helen, with her mother's consent, took a situation as nursery governess in the family of a Mr. Wynne, who lived a few miles from Ballintra. So there were two less to provide for; and Helen sent every penny she could spare to her mother.
But of course the work all fell upon poor Elise, and the nursing of Aymer too. She worked, and stinted herself, and kept things going; and Aymer recovered, and was soon as well as ever. But his mother was worn out, poor gentle, loving woman! worn out and heart-sore, and had no longer strength to bear up under her trials. Another babe was born to her at about this time, and though she recovered, and was once more about and at work, she felt that her days were numbered; her long, weary work was done. And so it proved. Silently and meekly, as she had lived, she passed away.
Helen had come home to nurse her; Lizzie was there too; all her children were about her, even poor Clarice, propped up on her couch, that she might watch the dear worn face to the last. If deep and reverential love could have made her happy, she surely had it from those warm young hearts; but all their love could not keep her with them. Her work was done, and she entered into her rest.
A week passed like a dream. Elise Egerton lay buried in the little churchyard of Kilsteen, and her children sat in the bare, tidy parlour, trying to face bravely their future life. In losing their mother, they had lost their provider, their adviser, their head and guide; and very desolate the poor things felt. Yet they must live, and the question was how could their orphaned life be best managed?
"One thing is certain," said Helen, "I must stay at home. In fact, I have written to Mrs. Wynne to explain to her why I cannot go back, even for a week. But I am afraid I shall make a bad hand of it, having been now for some time out of the way of such work; and the twenty pounds a year is a loss, too. Aymer, have you any idea how much we have to depend upon?"
"Oh yes," said Aymer, with a short laugh—not a very mirthful one. "And it won't be much trouble to you to count it. Nothing. That's the sum."
"Nothing! But there must be something, or how do we live at all?"
"Nothing to depend on, I mean. There's no letting the land now, you know; the country is a desert, and there's no one left to take it. Guy and I put our work and strength into it, and we get out of it just what feeds us and helps to clothe us, after paying the rent. It is well for us that the debt was paid off before the famine, for we could not even pay the interest now. But as to depending on it, why, if one of us was ill again, or had an accident, the game would be up. And that's not the worst of it, either."
"Why, what worse can there be?" exclaimed Lizzie. "I am sure that's bad enough. You all work like slaves, and just get coarse food (not too much even of that), and clothes that barely keep you warm in winter. What worse can there be than that?"