"I'll never forgive mee Lady Desmond, fur lettin' ye stay behind this away. There's no use in talkin' but I know there's been some ruction betune yez--any ways, I'll do yer biddin', an' stay out the four weeks wid her; but afther that, don't lay a vow upon me, avourneen! an' ye'll write me long letthers." "Write! Ah, yes, it will be my only comfort until we meet--for we must--we shall meet soon again." And Miss Vernon threw herself on nurse's bosom, overpowered by the feelings she had so long suppressed. Long and passionately did she weep--and nurse, nobly hushing her own grief, strove to cheer her child, whose unwonted emotion absolutely frightened the honest, warm-hearted woman. Gradually Kate listened to her words, rallied herself from the flood of bitterness which had swept over her spirit, and after some desultory and mournful conversation, obeyed nurse's kindly command. "There's no use talking any more darlin, you must go to yer bed." Kate, fatigued by the tears and sorrow of the day, was soon wrapped in sleep; and nurse bent over her long and tenderly as she lay, one long wavy tress escaping from the deep lace of her cap, her hands crossed upon her bosom, which heaved slightly with each regular softly drawn breath, the rosy lips apart, while "On her snowy lids, whose texture fine Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath, The baby sleep--lies pillowed." As nurse gazed at this picture of profound and innocent repose, lovely as sleeping youth must be, to every eye capable of acknowledging beauty, all her own grief at the separation of to-morrow pressed quick and stern upon her. "Ah, who'll watch over ye, pulse iv me heart? Who'll ye go spake to when yer in throuble? Where will ye turn when yer sperrit scorns the ways iv them that's about ye. Ah, where indeed! Oh, Mary, sweet queen of heaven, look on ye. Sure ye niver had a purer heart than hers. Blessed Jasus shield ye. Ah, Captin, agra, it's here ye ought to be, with the warm heart an' the strong arm to hold her up through this weary world." And sinking on her knees, nurse devoutly told her beads, often wiping away the fast-falling tears, yet, with the peculiarity of her race, fervently hoping through it all. "There is a prescience given to grief, Which joy may never know, A hope of future good, to cheer, The ruggedness of woe! It is the soul's deep whisper heard When earth's rude tumult sleeps, A moment hushed, when pain or grief, Across the spirit sweeps. Then through the gloom of doubt and dread, An angel voice we hear, Which speaks its inborn happiness, Undimmed by grief or fear." CHAPTER VII. TERRA INCOGNITA. "There is one thing more I wish to say to you, dearest nurse," said Miss Vernon, as she was dressing to go to Mrs. Storey the morning after the conversation above recorded; all her trunks and packages were lying about the room in desolate disorder, and she was hurrying to join her cousin at luncheon.