“Oa, blessed hour! she’s kilt. Her head’s dhreepin wid blood.”
Marian shuddered and felt faint again.
“Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She must ha fell agin the stoave. It’s the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that brought her to it. It’s little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy would do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it.”
“You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza.”
“What could I do, miss, when she axed me?”
“There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder to have kept it from her.”
“Sure I know. Many’s the time I tould her so. But she could talk the birds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God send her well out of her throuble!”
Here the doctor returned. “How are you now?” he said.
“I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?”
“It’s all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the kitchen,” he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable lamentation, out of the room.