And Pat, thus left alone, sat down suddenly on a stone and burst into a passion of maudlin sobs. Why hadn’t he killed her, and then himself? A cheap revolver was in his pocket; it was loaded in four chambers. If the Connors had been three minutes later in coming down past Foley’s Corner, the chronicle of Mary of the Gate would have concluded here. * * * * * The cold Miss Usher had contracted “held her,” to use an Irish term, for one whole week, and during that time, she had a most tender, thoughtful, and assiduous nurse in her young protegée. Mary was afraid to venture into the garden. Pat might waylay her again; also she experienced a certain shyness with respect to mixing with her old friends, and she spent a good deal of her time in the sick-room, reading aloud to the patient, answering notes--she wrote a fine hand, thanks to the School Board--and concocting drinks, possets, and poultices with much skill. Her attendance was so quiet, her little hands so deft and quick, her soft voice so sympathetic, that the invalid felt herself becoming warmly attached to this treasure-trove; and as she lay in bed, waited on by Mary, she instilled into the girl’s mind some practical hints, without seeming to be continuing her much-neglected education. As Mary read aloud the papers Miss Usher threw in remarks and information. It was socially she was so desperately wanting--yes, in the common A B C of deportment and conduct. Otherwise the good lady was surprised to discover how well the girl was posted up in the most unexpected subjects. She had read widely for one of her station. Tennyson, Sir Walter Scott, Thackeray, the Brontës, some of Victor Hugo’s works, Hans Andersen, Macaulay’s history and essays, Carlyle’s _French Revolution_, with a fair knowledge of history, geography, grammar, and arithmetic; she was not too badly equipped. Questioned, she could tell a good deal about the Crusades, the Wars of the Roses, and was eloquent respecting the battle of Clontarf, which was a new name to Miss Usher; but then, she had never studied Irish history. At last Miss Usher was sufficiently recovered to start for Dublin, where Lord Mulgrave was to meet his daughter and convey her home. Her chaperon had suggested at least a week in the Irish capital, in order that, before she was actually launched into her new life, Mary, the ignorant child of the pastures, might see things; such, for instance, as a large city with its traffic and shops, a fashionable hotel, a regiment marching, a theatre, a picture-gallery, and a good milliner. Before she crossed the Irish Sea she must be suitably dressed. At present she was merely clothed.