"Ah, now I know!" the quiet matron exclaimed in subdued surprise, "the young lady with the dog, sure enough—sure enough, but we don't count her somehow," said the woman, interrupting her exclamation of surprise.
"I am so glad that you remember at last," said Guy, whose heart was throbbing with anxiety while she spoke, "do tell me all you remember of her, like a good woman."
"Well, you see," the provokingly slow woman began, "I was just serving my first year, and I was full of pity and sympathy for the poor souls I saw in trouble—though I become quite used to 'em now—and this young creature in particular went straight to my heart. I was good to her, and she took to me, and we became fast friends; she never would give up the great big dog, and he clung to her in return for all he was worth, but one day this sweet creature called me, and says she, 'don't be uneasy about me Mrs. Hammond, there is nothing very wrong with my brain,' says she, 'I've had a very bad attack of brain fever,' says she, 'and I feel its effects sometimes yet, but that will soon pass away,' says she, 'and I'll be as right as ever again,' I did not mind this," continued the narrator addressing Guy confidentially, "for the worst of them sometimes talk as sensible as you or me, but, for all that, I hoped in my heart 'twas the truth, and I kept on coming to see her, and talking common sense to her, like I would to you or any other sensible folk, and by and bye, I found out that her own predictions was true, and that she had quite recovered her senses. We reported this, and the attending physician agreed with us, and we were all mighty glad, sir," the woman said kindly "for the sweet girl's own sake."
"And what became of her then?" asked Guy, impatiently, unable to await the woman's pleasure to hear the happy sequel.
"Well sir," continued she, "the young lady said she had neither money nor friends, and expressed a wish to retire to some place, where she could practice acts of gratitude to the Almighty, for having saved her from the threatened fate of madness. She did not tell us quite as plain as that what her intentions were, but we soon found out, so unless anything unusual happened, you will find her yet, cloistered voluntarily in the home of some pious ladies who dwell on the outskirts of the city. Anyone will drive you there; you are on the road now; it is far enough on the outskirts of the town, but a pleasant drive for all that, and sure, sir, I, for one, wish you the best of success in your undertaking."
"Thank you, my good woman, a thousand times I thank you. You have lightened a great burden from my heart, and I will not forget it either," and as he showered his protestations of gratitude on the head of the gratified matron, he bowed himself out, and beat a hasty retreat back to his carriage.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman.
Tho' they may gang a kennin' wrang,
To step aside is human."
—Burns.
"Is it the little home on the hill?" said the half-indignant calèche driver, "well, to be sure I know it as well as I do the nose on my face; step in sur, and: you'll soon see if I do or not."
Jumping hastily up, Guy settled himself for, as he hoped, the last drive to the first part of the success he strove so hard to win.