"It was splendid of him," I said. "I am sure God has forgiven him."
"And I need not tell my husband? I have felt ever since that I must confess to him. If I did he might forgive me, but it would never be the same again. Now I have slaked my thirst for confession by telling you. Bawn, do you think I must tell him?"
I felt as though I answered her with a voice and an authority not my own.
"You must never tell him," I said. "You owe it to him not to destroy his happiness. If you have ever the need for confession again, come to me."
"I will, Bawn dear, and God bless you," she said, her face lighting. "You have helped me so much. Perhaps, after all, Robin may not be sickening for the small-pox. What a thing that would be!"
"If he is he will still be in the hands of God," I said.
For many days after that I waited for news of Richard Dawson so eagerly that it seemed to break in upon my expectation.
One thing I knew at least, and that was that love was nursing him. The information came to me through Maureen, in a characteristic manner. Even the happiness of these days did not make Maureen gentle.
"You've heard about Nora Brady, Miss Bawn?" she said.
"No?"