"The saints forbid!" exclaimed the old dame fervently. "It would be sacrilege."
"The holy water couldn't be put to a better use," I said, as my uncle darted to look for some receptacle to convey the water in.
"Is not this lady's name Daphne Leslie?" inquired the old dame, chafing the hands of her patient.
"Yes; how did you learn it?" I asked in amazement.
"I have heard it often enough," she smiled, "on the lips of my boy Angelo. You know him well. I am his old nurse. Perhaps you have heard him speak of me."
"I believe I have," I replied.
"Ah me! this lady has turned my poor boy's brain. He is mad—quite mad—with love for her. No sleep had he last night. All through the long hours he was walking his room to and fro, to and fro, to and fro, repeating her name. Ah, why did Father Ignatius frown so on him? I want to tell her that he is a good youth and can have done nothing wrong. The Father is a hard man, and the lightest trifle displeases him. I saw this lady faint at my poor boy's disgrace, and I want to tell her that it is all well with him. Jesu, Maria!" she ejaculated suddenly, looking with loving adoration on Daphne's face "how beautiful she is! A worthy match for my handsome boy."
So this, then, was her motive in attending Daphne! To pour into her ear the praises of Angelo, and to assure her of the goodness of his character!
"Your 'boy,' as you call him, shall never have Daphne," I exclaimed savagely—"never!"