"Although I never touched him, Bawn, I never touched him," she kept on assuring me. "_He_ would not permit it. Bawn, if he is to die, don't you think God will forgive him his sins because of that great act of charity? The poor creature was horrible, horrible. I ran away from him when the lamps were turned on his face. But Richard Dawson was not afraid." "It was splendid of him," I said. "I am sure God has forgiven him." "And I need not tell my husband? I have felt ever since that I must confess to him. If I did he might forgive me, but it would never be the same again. Now I have slaked my thirst for confession by telling you. Bawn, do you think I must tell him?" I felt as though I answered her with a voice and an authority not my own. "You must never tell him," I said. "You owe it to him not to destroy his happiness. If you have ever the need for confession again, come to me." "I will, Bawn dear, and God bless you," she said, her face lighting. "You have helped me so much. Perhaps, after all, Robin may not be sickening for the small-pox. What a thing that would be!" "If he is he will still be in the hands of God," I said. For many days after that I waited for news of Richard Dawson so eagerly that it seemed to break in upon my expectation. One thing I knew at least, and that was that love was nursing him. The information came to me through Maureen, in a characteristic manner. Even the happiness of these days did not make Maureen gentle. "You've heard about Nora Brady, Miss Bawn?" she said. "No?" My heart sank, apprehending some new calamity; while Maureen went on in bitter tones-- "I never thought well of her and now I'm proved right. The minute she heard that Master Richard was took with the small-pox she ran off to him like a mad thing. And there she is ever since. Not a womankind in the house but herself. Her mother was a decent woman; I'm glad she didn't live to see it." "And if she did, Maureen," I said sternly, "she might be proud of her girl. It isn't possible that you are making scandal out of Nora's mercy to the sick? I think it most noble, most Christian of her. I honour her for it." "Whisht, child!" said Maureen, scornfully. I shall never inspire respect in Maureen's breast. "I know what I know. To be sure, you'd be the last to know of it, of the walks and the talks with Master Richard. Every one knew except yourself." "Be silent, Maureen," I said, asserting myself for once. "I know everything, everything. And I know that Nora is a good, innocent girl. Don't dare to speak to others as you have spoken to me." And then I was contrite, seeing my old nurse quail before me, for I had never shown her that I could be angry. CHAPTER XXXIX THE BRIDEGROOM COMES