"Why, my poor child," he added, drawing me towards him, "I should be a perfect savage to dream of such a thing; besides, how ungallant to go and desert a lady in distress! Never more could Cornelius O'Reilly--a disgrace to his name and country--show his face after so dark a deed." He was laughing at me again; I did not mind it now; but as the grim landlady, who had lingered by, looked mystified, Cornelius amused himself by treating me with the most attentive and fastidious politeness during the whole of breakfast-time. To complete her satisfaction, and to make up for the missing carpet-bag, she was edified by the arrival of Miss Burns's luggage from Thornton House. We left early. We rode outside the stage-coach. It was a fine autumn day, and the journey was pleasant until evening came on; Cornelius then drew me closer to him, and shared with me the folds of his ample cloak. The unusual warmth and motion soon sent me to sleep. Once or twice I woke to the momentary consciousness of a starlight night, and trees and houses rapidly passing before me; but after this all was darkness; the cloak had shrouded me completely. I merely opened my eyes to close them again and fall asleep, with my head resting against Cornelius, and his arm passed around me to save me from falling. I have a vague remembrance of reaching a large and noisy city, of leaving the stage-coach to enter a cab, where I again fell fast to sleep, and at length of awaking with a start, as Cornelius said, "Margaret, we are at home." The cab had stopped; Cornelius had got out; he lifted me down even as he spoke, and the cab rolled away along the lonely lane in which we stood. CHAPTER VI. I felt a little bewildered. The night and the spot were both dark; all I could see was a low garden-wall, half lost in the shadow of a few tall trees, and a narrow wooden door. The gleam of light that appeared through the chinks, and the sound of a quick step on the gravel within, spared Cornelius the trouble of ringing. The door opened of its own accord, and on the threshold appeared a lady in black, holding a low lamp in her right hand. We entered; she closed the door upon us, and, almost immediately, flung the arm that was free around the neck of Cornelius. "God bless you!" she exclaimed eagerly, and speaking in a warm ardent tone, that sounded like a gentle echo of his; "God bless you! I have been so wretched!" "Did you not get my letter?" "Yes, but I had such a dream!" "A dream! Oh Kate!" he spoke with jesting reproach, but pausing in the path, he stooped and kissed his sister several times, each time more tenderly. "How is the child? Where is she?" asked Miss O'Reilly. "She is here, and well. By the bye, I have left her little property outside." "Deborah shall fetch it. Take her in." We were entering the house, which stood at the end of the garden.