Such as had typhus in their own families were incapable of attending to the wants or distress of others, and such as had not, acting under the general terror of contagion which prevailed, avoided the sick houses as they would a plague.
On the morning after old Dalton's removal to prison, Jerry Sullivan and his family were all assembled around a dull fire, the day being, as usual, so wet that it was impossible to go out unless upon some matter of unusual importance; there was little said, for although they had hitherto escaped the fever, still their sufferings and struggles were such as banished cheerfulness from among them.

Mave appeared more pale and dejected than they had ever yet seen her, and it was noticed by one or two of the family, that she had been occasionally weeping in some remote corner of the house where she thought she might do so without being observed.
"Mave, dear," said her father, "what is the matter wid you?
You look, darlin', to be in very low spirits to-day.

Were you cryin' ?" She raised her large innocent eyes upon him, and they instantly filled with tears.
"I can't keep it back from you, father," she replied, "let me do as I will--an' oh, father dear, when we look out upon the world that is in it, an' when we see how the hand o' God is takin' away so many from among us, and when we see how the people everywhere is sufferin' and strugglin' wid so much--how one is here this day, and in a week to come in the presence of their Judge! Oh, surely, when we see all the doin's of death and distress about us, we ought to think that it's no time to harbor hatred or any other bad or unchristian feelin's in our hearts!" "It is not, indeed, darlin'; an' I hope nobody here does." "No," she replied; and as she spoke, the vibrations of sorrow and of sympathy shook her naturally sweet voice into that tender expression which touches the heart of the hearer with such singular power--"no, father," she proceeded, "I hope not; religion teaches us a different lesson--not only to forgive our enemies, but to return good for evil." "It does, _achora machree_," replied her father, whose eyes expressed a kind of melancholy pride, as he contemplated his beautiful but sorrowful looking girl, giving utterance to truths which added an impressive and elevated character to her beauty.
"Young and ould, _achushla machree_, is fallin' about us in every direction; but may the Father of Mercy spare you to us, my darlin' child, for if anything was to happen you, where--Oh, where could we look upon your aiquil, or find anything that could console us for your loss ?" "If it's my fate to go, father, I'll go, an if it isn't God will take care of me; whatever comes, I'm resigned to His will." "Ay, dear, an' you ever wor, too--and for the same raison God's blessin' will be upon you; but what makes you look so low, avourneen?
I trust in my Saviour, you are not unwell, Mave, dear." "Thanks be to God, no, father; but there's a thing on my mind, that's distressin' me very much, an' I hope you'll allow me my way in it." "I may say so, dear; because I know you wouldn't ax me for anything that 'ud be wrong to grant you.

What is it, Mave ?" "It's the unhappy an' miserable state that these poor Daltons is in," she replied.

"Father, dear, forgive me for what I'm about to say; for, although it may make you angry, there's nothin' farther from my heart than to give you offence." "You needn't tell me so, Mave; you need not, indeed; but sure you know, darlin', that unfortunately, we have nothing in our power to do for them; I wish to the Lord we had! Didn't we do all that people in our poor condition could do for them?
Didn't you, yourself, achora, make us send them such little assistance as we could spare ?--ay, even to sharin' I may say, our last morsel wid them; an' now, darlin', you know we haven't it." "I know that," she replied, as she wiped away the tears; "where is there a poorer family than we are, sure enough?
but, father, dear; we can assist them--relieve them; ay, maybe save them--for all that." "God be praised then!" exclaimed Sullivan; "only show me how, an' we'll be glad to do it; for I can forget everything now, Mave, but their distress." "But do you know the condition they're in at this moment ?" she asked, "do you know, father, that they're stretched on the bed of sickness?
I mean Nancy an'-- an' young Con, who has got into a relapse; poor Mary is scarcely able to go about, she's so badly recovered from the fever; an' Tom, the wild unfortunate young man, is out of his senses, they say.
Then there's nobody to look to them but Mrs.Dalton herself; an' she, you know, has to go 'out' to ask their poor bit from the neighbors.