“It may be, lady; I may have wished to go and see the world, though not to leave my mother; for who would care for her if I was gone? Uncle Shane would, but he is old and couldn’t protect her for long. Besides you know that not a year passes but that some of the men on our coast lose their lives.”
“And does your mother know the truth? Can she read the Bible, boy?” asked Miss O’Reilly.
“No, she cannot read the Bible, but the priest takes care that she should know what he believes to be the truth, I am sure.”
“Your mother loves you?”
“Oh! indeed she does,” answered Dermot; “she would spill her heart’s blood for my sake, though she often sits melancholy and sad when alone, yet the moment I return, her eye brightens, and she opens her arms to receive me. Yes, lady, my mother does love me, that I know.”
“I should like to come and talk to your mother,” said the blind lady. “Will you lead me to her some day? I should not be afraid to descend the cliff with so strong an arm as yours to rest on.”
A few days after this, Dermot having finished his lesson with the vicar, met Miss O’Reilly close to the house, and expressed his readiness to take her to his mother’s cottage, the sea at the time happening to be far too rough to allow their boat to go forth to fish.
“I am ready to go with you,” said the blind lady; “but remember you must lead me all the way back, Dermot.”
“That will just double the honour, lady,” was the young Irishman’s reply. Dermot talked much of his mother to the blind lady, as he led her down to the cottage.
The widow’s voice pleased Miss O’Reilly, and all she said increased the interest she was inclined to take in her. Perhaps more than all, was that deep love which she felt for her only boy, and which had become, as it were, part of her being.