ight now the ghosts cried as they had cried when I was
a child, when Uncle Luke went away.

It might have been a week from my wedding-day when there lay one morning
beside my plate a letter, the handwriting on which made my heart leap
up.

Fortunately I was first at the table and I was able to hide the letter.
I could not have read it under the eyes of my grandparents, and they
must have noticed if I had taken it away unopened, because I had so few
correspondents, apart from the wedding-presents and congratulations.

I had barely hidden it when my grandparents took their places, and Neil
Doherty set the big Crown Derby teapot before my grandmother and then
went round and removed the cover of the silver dish that was in front of
my grandfather. I believe the three of us between us did not eat the
food of one healthy appetite in those days; but the things appeared all
the same, and hot dishes were flanked by cold meats on the side-board
as though we had the appetites of hunters.

I heard Neil say as he stood by my grandfather that, glory be to God,
the sickness was disappearing, that there hadn't been a new case in
Araglin village for more than a fortnight, and the doctors thought that
the worst was over. Our servants were on the usual terms of Irish
servants with their employers--that is to say, they treated us with a
respectful familiarity; and now that owing to the sickness there was
little visiting we had to depend upon Neil mostly for our news.

"It will not be the same at Miss Bawn's wedding, Neil," I heard my
grandfather say, "as though there had not been the sickness. When I
married her Ladyship the whole county came to see it."

"True for you," said Neil. "There's many a one under the sod that looked
to dance at Miss Bawn's wedding, and there's many another that their own
mothers won't know when they see them."

"The great thing is," said my grandmother, "that the sickness is coming
to an end. Please God, we can lift up our hearts towards the New Year."

"And thank God for that," said my grandfather; and I felt that it was
not only for cessation of the sickness he gave thanks.

There were, indeed, many new graves, and many, too, whose living or
dying yet hung in the balance; and if I had been a happy woman I would
have felt it ominous to be married at such a time. But as it was,
nothing mattered.

"You are sure Nora Brady has not taken the sickness, Neil?" I asked.

"No, Miss Bawn; she's safe so far.