e'll recover, and then what shall I do? Stand to the offer Daly made
to Kelly, I suppose!" And then he sat down close to the table, with his
elbow on it, and his chin resting on his hand; and there he remained,
full of thought. To tell the truth, Barry Lynch had never thought more
intensely than he did during those ten minutes. At last he jumped up
suddenly, as though surprised at what had been passing within himself;
he looked hastily at the door and at the window, as though to see that
he had not been watched, and then went upstairs to dress himself,
preparatory to his visit to the inn.

XXIV. ANTY LYNCH'S BED-SIDE SCENE THE FIRST

Anty had borne her illness with that patience and endurance which were
so particularly inherent in her nature. She had never complained; and
had received the untiring attentions and care of her two young friends,
with a warmth of affection and gratitude which astonished them,
accustomed as they had been in every little illness to give and receive
that tender care with which sickness is treated in affectionate
families. When ill, they felt they had a right to be petulant, and to
complain; to exact, and to be attended to: they had been used to it
from each other, and thought it an incidental part of the business. But
Anty had hitherto had no one to nurse her, and she looked on Meg and
Jane as kind ministering angels, emulous as they were to relieve her
wants and ease her sufferings.

Her thin face had become thinner, and was very pale; her head had been
shaved close, and there was nothing between the broad white border of
her nightcap and her clammy brow and wan cheek. But illness was more
becoming to Anty than health; it gave her a melancholy and beautiful
expression of resignation, which, under ordinary circumstances, was
wanting to her features, though not to her character. Her eyes were
brighter than they usually were, and her complexion was clear,
colourless, and transparent. I do not mean to say that Anty in her
illness was beautiful, but she was no longer plain; and even to the
young Kellys, whose feelings and sympathies cannot be supposed to have
been of the highest order, she became an object of the most intense
interest, and the warmest affection.

"Well, doctor," she said, as Doctor Colligan crept into her room, after
the termination of his embassy to Barry; "will he come?"

"Oh, of course he will; why wouldn't he, and you wishing it? He'll be
here in an hour, Miss Lync