"What strange mixtures we are," said Miss Vernon; "I felt so sad after looking at those drawings of Dungar; and now it seems to me as if the mere sense of existence is happiness enough. Ah, there is a great deal that is delightful in this life of ours, let poets and popular preachers say of it what they will."
"It's only hearts like yours, avourneen, that draw the sunshine round them," said Mrs. O'Toole.
"True, Miss Vernon," I observed; "but what long intervals of much that is unpleasant—what bitter mortifications!"
"Yes," she replied; "but there is no life so sad that it has not something sweet also."
"When the curse of poverty falls on you, and holds you back from the accomplishment of all your soul most longs for," I said.
"Ah, that would be terrible indeed," said she, a little startled at my vehemence; "but do you know poverty is not so dreadful."
"Och! then, God help you Miss Kate, what do you know about poverty? sure givin' up a fine house an' horses, an' carriages, an' grandeur, is bad enough; but for poverty, wait till the crathers ye love call to ye for bread, an' ye havn't the screed of a pitaty to give them—that's poverty. Isn't that dreadful? The blessed Saver shield ye from it, darlint, any how."
"And to think that your own folly had placed you in such," I observed, not minding nurse.
"Then I am quite sure," said Miss Vernon, "that a steadfast resignation to what you brought on yourself, an unmurmuring struggle to retrieve, would work its own cure; there is so much strength in perfect submission!"