“I do love him—oh, I do—an' why as you said, should I be ashamed of it?—ay, an' it was my intention to tell you so the first time I'd see you, an' to give you fair notice that I did, an' that I'd lave nothing undone to win him from you.”
“Well,” replied the other, “this is open and honest, at all events.”
“That was my intention,” pursued Sarah, “an' I had, for a short time, other thoughts; ay, an' worse thoughts; my father was pursuadin' me—but I can't spake on that—for he has my promise not to do so. Oh, I'm nothing, dear Mave—nothing at all to you. I can't forget your words awhile ago—bekaise I knew what you meant at the time, when you said to Con, 'any earthly thing that I can do to give aise and comfort to your mind. I am ready to do it. If it would relieve you, forget that you ever saw me or ever knew me.' Now, Mave, I've confessed to you that I love Con Dalton—but I tell you not to trouble your heart by any thoughts of me; my mind's made up as to what I'll do—don't fear me, I'll never cross you here. I'm a lonely creature,” she proceeded, bursting into bitter tears; “I'm without friends and relations, or any one that cares at all about me—”
“Don't say so,” replied Mave, “I care about you, an' it's only now that people is beginning to know you—but that's not all, Sarah, if it's any consolation to you to know it—know it—Condy Dalton loves you—ay, loves you, Sarah M'Gowan—you may take my word for that—I am certain this day that what I say is true.”
“Loves me!” she exclaimed.
“Loves you,” repeated Mave, “is the word, an I have said it.”
“I didn't suspect that when I spoke,” she replied.
Each looked upon the other, and both as they stood were as pale as death itself. At length Mave spoke.
“I have only one thought, Sarah, an' that is how to make him happy; to see him happy.”
“I can scarcely spake,” replied Sarah; “I wouldn't know what to say if I did. I'm all confused; Mave, dear, forgive me!”