Here Miss O'Flynn turned a face of anguish in Kathleen's direction.
"It is I that must leave you, my darling," she said. "I will go back to town with the messenger, get off to London to-night, and cross in the morning. Ah, the creature! And she's my dearest friend. Let us hope that Providence will spare her precious life. Oh dear, dear, dear! This is awful!"
"I don't see why you should go, Aunt Katie," said Kathleen. "I want you very badly indeed just now."
"Then, my sweet child, come straight away with me to Dublin; for as to leaving Peggy in her hour of extremity, I wouldn't do it even for you, Kathleen, and that's saying a good deal."
"But how can I come? I have my society and—and the school."
"Well, then, stay, love; only don't keep me now. Good-bye to you, pet; I haven't a minute to lose—Tom—is that your name?—go out and tell the messenger that I will go back with him to Merrifield."
"And what about my almshouse?" screamed out Mrs. Church. "This is a nice state of things, I must say. Who minds what a slip of a young lady says?—meaning no offence to you, miss; but I have been spending my money right and left, getting tea that beats all for gentility, and now one of the ladies is off as it were in a flash of an eye. What about my almshouse?"
Miss O'Flynn looked rather indignant.
"You shall have your almshouse if it can be got. How
unfeeling you are to think only of yourself when my dearest friend may be at death's door. Here's a sovereign, which will more than cover the expenses of the tea.—Good-bye, Kathleen, core of my heart.—Good-bye, all of you."