"What time is it?" said Jason.
"Time, love? Lord help us, what does the boy want with the time? But it's just the way with all of them. Mid-evening, love."
"What day is it—Sunday?"
"Sunday, love? No, but Tuesday. It was on Sunday you fell senseless, poor boy."
"Where was that?"
"Where? Why, where but in the Cathedral yard, just at the very minute the weddiners were coming out at the door."
And hearing this Jason's face broke into a smile like sunshine, and he uttered a loud cry of relief. "Thank God. Oh, thank God."
But while an angel of hope seemed to bring him good tidings of a great peril averted, and even as a prayer gushed from his torn heart, he remembered the vision of his delirium, and knew that he was forever a bereaved and broken man. At that his face, which had been red as his hair, grew pale as ashes, and a low cunning came over him, and he wondered if he had betrayed himself in his unconsciousness.
"Have I been delirious?" he asked.
"Delirious, love? Oh, no, love, no; only distraught a little and cursing sometimes, the Saints preserve us," said the old landlady in her shrill treble.