One o' them said a while ago, 'May God relieve you and restore you wanst more to health;' I heard the voice." "Dear Sarah, don't you know me ?" reiterated Mave; "look at me--don't you know Mave Sullivan--your friend, Mave Sullivan, that knows your value and loves you." "Who ?" she asked, starting a little; "who--what name is that ?--who is it ?--say it again." "Don't you know Mave Sullivan, that loves you, an' feels for your miserable situation, my dear Sarah." "I never had a guardian angel, nor any one to take care o' me--nor a mother, many a time--often--often the whole world--jist to look at her face--an' to know--feel--love me.

Oh, a dhrink, a dhrink--is there no one to get me a dhrink! I'm burnin', I'm burnin'-- is there no one to get me a dhrink! Mave Sullivan, Mave Sullivan, have pity on me! I heard some one name her--I heard her voice--I'll die without a dhrink." Mave looked about the desolate shed, and to her delight spied a tin porringer, which Sarah's unhappy predecessors had left behind them; seizing this, she flew to a little stream that ran by the place, and filling the vessel, returned and placed it to Sarah's lips.

She drank it eagerly, and looking piteously and painfully up into Mave's face, she laid back her head, and appeared to breathe more freely.

Mave hoped that the drink of cold water would have cooled her fever and assuaged her thirst, so as to have brought her to a rational state--such a state as would have enabled the poor girl to give some account of the extraordinary situation in which she found herself, and of the circumstances which occasioned her to take shelter in such a place.

In this, however, she was disappointed.