“Afraid!” broke in Crow. “I'd like to know what she's afraid of. Ask Mr. Scanlan what would frighten her.” But Mr. Scanlan had already slipped noiselessly from the room, and was already on his way down the shore. “Well,” said Merl, lighting his cigar, and drawing an arm-chair close to the fire, “I don't see the advantage of all that. She could send the doctor, I suppose, and make her servants take down to these people whatever she wanted to send them. What especial utility there is in going herself, I can't perceive.” “I'll tell you, then,” said Crow. “It's more likely the doctor is busy this minute, ten or fifteen miles away,--for the whole country is down in sickness; but even if he was n't, if it were not for her courage in going everywhere, braving danger and death every hour, there would be a general flight of all that could escape. They'd rush into the towns,--where already there's more sickness than they know how to deal with. She encourages some,--she shames more; and not a few are proud to be brave in such company, for she is an angel,--that's her name,--an angel.” “Well, I should like to see her,” drawled out Merl, as he smoothed down his scrubby mustachios. “Nothing easier, then,” rejoined Crow. “Put on your coat and hat, and we 'll stroll down the beach till she comes out; it can't be very long, for she has enough on her hands elsewhere.” The proposition of a “stroll” in such weather was very little to Mr. Merl's taste; but his curiosity was stronger than even his fear of a drenching, and having muffled and shawled himself as if for an Arctic winter, they set out together from the inn. “And you tell me,” said he, “that the Martins used to live here,--actually pass their lives in this atrocious climate?” “That they did,--and the worst mistake they ever made was to leave it,” said Crow. “I confess you puzzle me,” said Merl. “Very possibly I do, sir,” was the calm reply; “but you'd have understood me at once had you known this country while they resided at Cro' Martin. It was n't only that the superfluities of their wealth ran over, and filled the cup of the poor man, but there was a sense of hope cherished, by seeing that however hard the times, however adverse the season, there was always 'his Honor,' as they called Mr. Martin, whom they could appeal to for aid or for lenient treatment.” “Very strange, very odd, all this,” said Merl, musing. “But all that I hear of Ireland represents the people as if in a continual struggle for mere existence, and actually in a daily state of dependence on the will of somebody above them.” “And if that same condition were never to be exaggerated into downright want, or pushed to an actual slavery, we could be very happy with it,” said Crow, “and not thank you, or any other Englishman that came here, to disturb it.” “I assure you I have no ambition to indulge in any such interference,” said Merl, with a half-contemptuous laugh.