"Here are our new daughters," said the priest, "and tired enough they are, poor things. I fear the child is not well."
"Holy Virgin! I trust she hath not brought the sickness among us," said one of the number, shrinking back.
"I dare say she is only weary with her journey," said a kind voice, and one of the ladies took my hand to lead me into the house. "Come with me, my child, and we will find some supper and a bed for these tired little bones."
I am conscious of hearing the words, but they sounded far and strange, as talk does in the very early morning, when one is half-asleep. I heard also an exclamation of surprise and pity, and then my senses failed me. The next I knew, I found myself being undressed and put into bed, while my teeth chattered and every limb was shaking under the influence of a strong ague.
From that time, for several weeks, my recollections are mostly a blank. I remember begging for water, water, and loathing the apple-tea and gruel they brought me instead. I remember seeing people about me and hearing voices, but it is all dim and dreamlike. At last, one day, I woke and saw Father Austin standing by my bed, with a lady so exactly like him, that if they had changed clothes no one would have known which was which.
"Water!" I gasped. It was always my first word on waking.
"Do you think I might give her a little?" asked the lady. "She does crave it so, poor little thing."
"Yes, give her what she wants; it will make no difference," said the priest, sadly.
He went away, and the lady brought me a small cup of cool, fresh water. I drained every drop and begged for more.
"You shall have more by and by, if this does not hurt you," said the lady. "Be a good child."