Such was the plain, unvarnished story of Agnes Auriol, which she related in the intervals that were unbroken by a hard, consumptive, and undoubtedly, "churchyard cough."
"I have but one wish now," she added, as she lay back exhausted; "and that I cannot gratify."
"Is it so difficult to achieve?" I asked, in a low voice.
"There are insuperable difficulties."
"And this desire?"
"Is to leave this place for ever," she said, almost in a whisper, while the hot tears ran unheeded down her pale cheeks; "and—and——"
"Go where?"
"To look on poor papa's grave, and on dear mamma's, and then die."
"No, no, do not speak in this hopeless manner," I urged, feeling that I, a young officer of cavalry, was a very unfitting comforter or adviser at such a time; and I rose to retire, for the evening was now far advanced.
"This craving is so strong in the poor lamb's heart, sir, that she will be a dyin' as sure as we look on her, unless it be gratified, and athout a angel comes from heaven; I don't know how it is to be done," said Mrs. Goldsworthy, weeping noisily, like all people of her class, as she ushered me to the door, and to my horse, which was pawing the ground impatiently, with the dew on his coat and saddle.