Mr. O'Shane's eyes opened, and he fixed them with a gloating stare upon the bills. He counted them; there was a hundred dollars.
"God bless you, miss, for a saint as ye are!" ejaculated he, as he put the money in his pocket. "Ye saved me from doing the worst thing I ever did in me life. I'll send the receipt to Mrs. Kent to-day;" and he walked away towards his own house.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SICK GIRL.
The last part of the interview between Fanny and Mr. O'Shane had been witnessed by Mrs. Kent, who came out of the house when she had attended to the wants of her sick child. The dark cloud which menaced her a few moments before had rolled away, and, if the sunshine did not beam upon her, she was comparatively happy in having one trouble less to weigh her down. She was calm now, but the tears—they were tears of relief—still rolled down her wan and furrowed cheek.
"I have prayed for help, and help has come," said she to her deliverer, as the harsh landlord walked away.
Fanny could not make any reply to a statement of this kind. She was a fugitive and a wanderer; she was a thief, shunning the gaze of men, and she could not conceive of such a thing as that she had been sent as an angel of relief to the poor woman in answer to her prayers. As she thought what she was and what she had been doing, a blush of shame suffused her cheek. She was silent; there was nothing which she could say at such a moment.
"Heaven will bless you for your good, kind heart. You are an angel," continued Mrs. Kent.
Fanny knew how far she was from being an angel, and she had no heart for deceiving the poor woman. It might be fun and excitement to deceive the people at Woodville, but Mrs. Kent seemed to be sanctified by her sorrows.