"Shure there's me mother--maybe me father too; but you could scarce get
them here, miss--beggin' your honour's pardon," she added hastily.
"Is there no one else, Eily? no one that you think of sometimes--no one
who was kind to you, and loved you dearly?" Bee was leaning over the wan
face eagerly, and what she saw for answer was a deep crimson flush that
covered face, neck, and brow, while tears rolled down the cheeks. Eily
had been thinking of Dermot continually of late, wishing with all her
heart that she had not so scorned his love; she had learnt many lessons
in the quiet watches of the night and the weary hours of weakness
through which she had passed.
Bee Vandaleur said no more, but patted the dark curls gently. "Don't
cry, Eily, all will be right soon," and she left the room.
Eily was alone once more.
"Ah, Dermot, Dermot asthore! why was it I trated ye so!" The tears were
trickling through her fingers, and her heart was aching with
self-reproach.
"Eily, mavourneen!"
The tear-stained fingers were taken in two big, strong hands, and
Dermot, with a depth of love in his eyes, bent over the sorrow-stricken
face and laid a kiss on the quivering lips; not another word was spoken,
but Dermot's protecting arms were around her, and with her head on the
heart that throbbed with love and devotion all the past was blotted out,
all her folly forgotten, and Eily found rest.
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