But with the exhaustion of spirit natural to excitement so strong, came the wish for human sympathy, without which none can exist; and groping her way to the door, through the darkness, perceived for the first time, she opened it, and was caught in the arms of Mrs. O'Toole, who, with a silent, watchful love, equalled only by Cormac's, waited, humbly ready, until that love was wanted.
"You are all that is left me," sobbed the poor girl, as nurse held her in her arms; and they were the only words that escaped her lips, for the long hours through which she wept, in unutterable grief.
She obeyed all nurse's suggestions with the simplicity of a child, incapable of thinking for itself; and, at last, that faithful friend had the satisfaction of seeing her gradually sink into a sleep, still and heavy, but interrupted with deep sighs, which, at intervals, unclosed the lovely lips that seemed only formed for joyous smiles.
Then came the terrible awaking, the first unconscious exclamation--"Dear nurse, I have had such dreadful dreams!" The sober sense of waking grief--the struggle to think calmly and resignedly of all--the partial success--the sudden fresh outburst of sorrow.
So the day dragged on; and at the same hour at which Kate had last heard that voice, which had ever spoken fondly to her, a heavy travelling carriage, drawn by four posters, laden with numerous trunks and imperials, dashed in hot haste down the quiet little street. It stopped at the house of mourning; and the next moment, a tall lady, wrapped in a travelling cloak of velvet and costly furs, throwing back her veil, grasped Mrs. O'Toole's hand; and, after a piercing glance at the honest, troubled face before her, exclaimed--
"Not to comfort mee darlint, glory be to God! Yer come at last, me lady! He said you would be here this day."
"Kate, Miss Vernon, where is she?" said Lady Desmond, in clear, firm tones, that sounded as if command was natural to them; and passing on to the stairs.
And Mrs. O'Toole opened the parlour door, Kate, at the moment, entering from the inner room. She stopped, for an instant, while Lady Desmond advanced rapidly, and clasped her to her heart, straining her closely in her arms.
"Oh! Georgy," cried Kate, amid her sobs, "you will never hear his voice again--he is gone! gone before a gleam of hope or prosperity brightened the sad evening of his life; before I could see him as he was, before the bitter dregs of the cup of adversity had lost their bitterness by use. And I could do nothing for him, nothing! Oh, when we parted last, who, who could have thought, that it would have ended thus?"