“An accident, perchance. Only think, what lives of misery we should lead were we ever tracing our own fears, and connecting them with all the changes that go on around us!”
“It's two days she's away, now,” muttered the old woman, who only heeded her own thoughts; “she was to be back last night, or early this mornin'.”
“Where had she gone to?” asked Kate, who now saw that the other had lapsed into confidence.
“She's gone to the islands!—to Innishmore, and maybe, on to Brannock!”
“That's a long way out to sea,” said Kate, thoughtfully; “but still, the weather is fine, and the day favorable. Had she any other object than pleasure in this excursion?”
“Pleasure is it?” croaked Catty. “'Tis much pleasure she does be given herself! Her pleasure is to be where there 's fever and want,—in the lonely cabin, where the sick is lyin'! It 's to find a poor crayture that run away from home she 's gone now,—one Joan Landy. She's missin' this two months, and nobody knows where she 's gone to! and Miss Mary got so uneasy at last that she could n't sleep by night nor rest by day,—always talkin' about her, and say in' as much as it was all her fault; as if she could know why she went, or where?”
“Did she go alone on this errand, then?”
“To be sure she did. Who could she have with her? She towld Loony she 'd want the boat with four men in it, and maybe to stay out three days, for she 'd go to all the islands before she came back.”
“Loony 's the best sailor on the coast, I 've heard; and with such weather as this there is no cause for alarm.”
Catty did not seem to heed the remark; she felt that within her against which the words of consolation availed but little, and she sat brooding sorrowfully and in silence.