We worked hard over the last of the proofs, and I suppose I was tired at the end of them, for when Martin carried me upstairs to-night there was less laughter than usual, and I thought he looked serious as he set me down by the bed.
I bantered him about that ("A penny for your thoughts, mister"), but towards midnight the truth flashed upon me— I am becoming thinner and therefore lighter every day, and he is beginning to notice it.
Moral—I must try to walk upstairs in future.
JULY 30. Ah, me! it looks as if it were going to be a race between me and the Expedition—which shall come off first—and sometimes I am afraid I am going to be the loser!
Martin ought to sail on the sixteenth—only seventeen days! I am expected to be married on the tenth—only eleven! Oh, Mary O'Neill, what a strange contradictory war you are waging! Look straight before you, dear, and don't be afraid.
I had a letter from the Reverend Mother this evening. She is crossing from Ireland to-morrow, which is earlier than she intended, so I suppose Father Dan must have sent for her.
I do hope Martin and she will get on comfortably together. A struggle between my religion and my love would he more than I could bear now.
JULY 31. When I awoke this morning very late (I had slept after daybreak) I was thinking of the Reverend Mother, but lo! who should come into the room but the doctor from Blackwater!