“I won't break my promise, father, but I'll break my heart; an' I can't even give her warnin'. Ah! but it's threacherous—an' I hate that. No, no—I'll have no hand in it—manage it your own way—it's threacherous. She has crossed my happiness,you say—ay, an' there you're right—so she has—only for her I might—amn't I as handsome, you say, an' as well shaped—haven't I as white a skin?—as beautiful hair, an' as good eyes?—people say betther—an' if I have, wouldn't he come to love me in time?—only for her—or if there wasn't that bar put between us. You're right, you're right. She's the cause of all my sufferin' an' sorrow. She is—I agree—I agree—down with her—out o' my way with her—I hate the thoughts of her—an' I'll join it—for mark me, father, wicked I may be, but more miserable I can't—so I'll join you in it. What need I care now?”
Mave felt her heart sink, and her whole being disturbed with a heavy sense of terror, as Sarah uttered the incoherent rhapsody which we have just repeated. The vague, but strongly expressed warnings which she had previously heard from Nelly, and the earnest admonitions which that person had given her to beware of evil designs on the part of Donnel Dhu and his daughter, now rushed upon her mind; and she stood looking upon the desolate girl with feelings that it is difficult to describe. She also remembered that Sarah herself had told her in their very last interview, that she had other thoughts, and worse thoughts than the fair battle of rivalry between them would justify; and it was only now, too, that the unconscious allusion to the Prophet struck her with full force.
Her sweet and gentle magnanimity, however, rose over every other consideration but the frightfully desolate state of her unhappy rival. Even in this case, also, her own fears of contagion yielded to the benevolent sense of duty by which she was actuated.
“Come what will,” she said to her own heart; “we ought to return good for evil; an' there's no use in knowing what is right, unless we strive to put it in practice. At any rate, poor girl—poor, generous Sarah, I'm afeard that you're never likely to do harm to me, or any one else, in this world. May God, in his mercy, pity and relieve you—and restore you wanst more to health!”
Mave, unconsciously, repeated the last words aloud; and Sarah, who had been lying with her back to the unprotected opening of the shed, having had a slight mitigation, and but a slight one, of the paroxysm under which she had uttered the previous incoherencies, now turned round, and fixing her eyes upon Mave, kept sharply, but steadily, gazing at her for some time. It was quite evident, however, that consciousness had not returned, for after she had surveyed Mave for a minute or two, she proceeded—
“The devil was there a while ago, but I wasn't afeard of him, because I knew that God was stronger than him; and then there came an angel—another angel, not you—and put him away; but it wasn't my guardian angel for I never had a guardian angel—oh, never, never—no, nor any one to take care o' me, or make me love them.”
She uttered the last words in a tone of such deep and distressing sorrow, that Mave's eyes filled with tears, and she replied—
“Dear Sarah, let me be your guardian angel; I will do what I can for you; do you not know me?”
“No, I don't; arn't you one o' the angels that come about me?—the place is full o' them.”
“Unhappy girl—or maybe happy girl,” exclaimed Mave, with a fresh gush of tears, “who knows but the Almighty has your cold and deserted—bed I can't call it—surrounded with beings that may comfort you, an' take care that no evil thing will harm you. Oh no, dear Sarah, I am far from that—I'm a wake, sinful mortal.”