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Whilst the guests prepare to make themselves comfortable in different ways, the kindly farm-lady leaves them, amid many and enthusiastic blessings, and returns to the house. In less than half-an-hour she reappears, followed by a female servant, both carrying tokens of a true hospitality that expects no return.
Mrs Prothero such is the name of our farm-lady had been haunted all night long by visions of the poor Irish girl. She had not slept as soundly as the other members of her family, because there was a fellow-creature suffering within her little circle.
Again the farm-lady goes away, and returns bearing a small bottle of medicine, that she bids the red-cloaked woman give the sick girl in about an hour. She then leaves her patient and motley guests to their supper and night's repose, followed by such prayers as the poor alone know how to utter, and perhaps how to feel.
The brown straw bonnet is raised from the breast, and we perceive that the girl is neither dead nor sleeping. We perceive something more a pair of the most painfully melancholy, and beautiful violet eyes that we ever looked into, which are languidly uplifted to the farm-lady.
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