more than flesh
and blood can bear. Here am I, having been backward and forward over
nine hundred miles, looking after you all, at my age, till I don't
know which it is, Lancashire or Somerset I'm in, or whether I'm on my
head or my heels, though I'm sure I can count every bone of my body by
the aching of them;--and I did think I was coming back to a little
peace and comfort at length. That island of his, Sophia, will be the
death of me! I wish it was at the bottom of the sea: that is the only
thing that will bring your brother to his senses, I believe. Now he
might as well be in his grave at once, like Rupert, for all the good
he is; though, for that matter it's more harm than good poor Rupert
ever did while he was alive----"

"Excuse me, Aunt Rose," here exclaimed Sophia, heroically, her
corkscrew ringlets trembling with agitation, "but I must beg you to
refrain from such remarks--I cannot hear my dear brother...."

But Miss O'Donoghue waved the interruption peremptorily away.

"Now it's no use your going on, Sophia. _We_ don't think a man flies
straight to heaven just because he's dead. And nothing will ever make
me approve of Rupert's conduct in all this dreadful business. Of
course one must not speak evil of those who can't defend themselves,
but for all that he is dead and buried, Rupert might argue with me
from now till doomsday, and he never would convince me that it is the
part of a gentleman to act like a Bow Street runner. I _hope_, my
dear, he has found more mercy than he gave. I _hope_ so. But only for
him my poor dear grand-niece Molly would never have gone off on that
mad journey, and my poor grand-niece Madeleine would not be buried
alive on that other island at the back of God's speed. Ah, yes, my
dear, it has been a very sad time! I declare I felt all the while as
if I were conducting a corpse to be buried; and now I feel as if I had
come back from the dear girl's funeral. We had a dreadful passage, and
she was _so_ sick that I'm afraid even if she wanted to come out of
that place again she'd never have the courage to face the crossing.
She was a wreck--a perfect wreck, when she reached the convent. Many a
time I thought she would only land to find herself dead. _I_ wanted
her to come to the hotel with me, where I should have popped her into
bed with a hot bottle; but nothing would serve her but that she must
go to the convent at once. 'I shall not be able to rest till I am
there,' she said. 'And it