As the pedlar was going away, he called her aside, so as that her brother might not hear.
“Did you ever see me afore?” he asked.
“I did,” she replied, blushing. “Well, achora,” he proceeded, “if ever you happen to be hard set, either for yourself or your friends, send for me, in Widow Hanlon's house at the Grange, an' maybe I may befriend either you or them; that is, as far as I can—which, dear knows, is not far; but, still an' all, send. I'm known as the Cannie Sugah, or Merry Pedlar, an' that'll do. God mark you, ahagur!”
Her brother's intelligence respecting the situation of the Daltons, as well as of Sarah M'Gowan, saved Mave a long explanation to her parents for the act of having parted with her hair.
“We are able to live—barely able to live,” she exclaimed; “an' thanks be to God we have our health; but the Daltons—oh! they'll never get through what they're sufferin'; an' that girl—oh! mother, sich a girl as that is—how little does the world know of the heart that beautiful craythur has. May the mercy of God rest upon her! This money is for the poor Daltons an' her; we can do without it—an', mother dear, my hair will grow again. Oh! father dear, think of it—lyin' in a could shed by the road-side, an' no one to help or assist her—to hand her a drink—to ease her on her hard bed—bed!—no on the cold earth I suppose! Oh! think if I was in that desolate state. May God support me, but she's the first I'll see; an' while I have life an' strength, she musn't want attendance; an' thank God her shed's on my way to the Daltons!”
She then hastily sent her brother into Ballynafail for such comforts as she deemed necessary for both parties; and in the mean time, putting a bonnet over her clean nightcap, she proceeded to the shed in which Sarah M'Gowan lay.
On looking at it ere she entered, she could not help shuddering. It was such a place as the poorest pauper in the poorest cabin would not willingly place an animal in for shelter. It simply consisted of a few sticks laid up against the side of a ditch; over these sticks were thrown a few scraws—that is, the sward of the earth cut thin; in the inside was the remnant of some loose straw, the greater part having been taken away either for bedding or firing.
When Mave entered, she started at the singular appearance of Sarah. From the first moment her person had been known to her until the present, she had never seen her look half so beautiful. She literally lay stretched upon a little straw, with no other pillow than a sod of earth under that rich and glowing cheek, while her raven hair had fallen down, and added to the milk-white purity of her shining neck and bosom.
“Father of Mercy!” exclaimed Mave, mentally, “how will she live—how can she live here? An' what will become of her? Is she to die in this miserable way in a Christian land?”
Sarah lay groaning with pain, and starting from time to time with the pangs of its feverish inflictions. Mave spoke not when she entered the shed, being ignorant whether Sarah was asleep or awake; but a very few moments soon satisfied her that the unhappy and deserted girl was under the influence of delirium.