Barry remained standing in the parlour, looking at the glasses and the
decanter, as though he were speculating on the manner in which they had
been fabricated. "She may recover, after all," thought he to himself.
"She's as strong as a horse--I know her better than they do. I know
she'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