ound in
a marshy spot and brought in to Salemina, who was not in her usual
spirits; who indeed seemed distinctly anxious.

She was enchanted with the changeful charm of the landscape, and found
Mrs. Delany's Memoirs a book after her own heart, but ever and anon
her eyes rested on Benella's pale face. Nothing could have been
more doggedly conscientious and assiduous than our attentions to the
Derelict. She had beef juice at Kildare, malted milk at Ballybrophy,
tea at Dundrum; nevertheless, as we approached Limerick Junction we were
obliged to hold a consultation. Salemina wished to alight from the
train at the next station, take a three hours' rest, then jog on to any
comfortable place for the night, and to Cork in the morning.

"I shall feel much more comfortable," she said, "if you go on and amuse
yourselves as you like, leaving Benella to me for a day, or even for two
or three days. I can't help feeling that the chief fault, or at least
the chief responsibility, is mine. If I hadn't been born in Salem, or
hadn't had the word painted on my trunk in such red letters she wouldn't
have fainted on it, and I needn't have saved her life. It is too late
to turn back now; it is saved, or partly saved, and I must persevere in
saving it, at least until I find that it's not worth saving."

"Poor darling!" said Francesca sympathisingly. "I'll look in Murray
and find a nice interesting place. You can put Benella to bed in the
Southern Hotel at Limerick Junction, and perhaps you can then drive
within sight of the Round Tower of Cashel. Then you can take up the
afternoon train and go to--let me see--how would you like Buttevant?
(Boutez en avant, you know, the 'Push forward' motto of the Barrymores.)
It's delightful, Penelope," she continued; "we'd better get off, too. It
is a garrison town, and there is a military hotel. Then in the vicinity
is Kilcolman, where Spenser wrote the Faerie Queene: so there is the
beginning of your literary pilgrimage the very first day, without any
plotting or planning. The little river Aubeg, which flows by Kilcolman
Castle, Spenser called the Mulla, and referred to it as 'Mulla mine,
whose waves I whilom taught to weep.' That, by the way, is no more than
our Jane Grieve could have done for the rivers of Scotland. What do you
say? and won't you be a 'prood woman the day' when you sign the hotel
register 'Miss Peabody and maid, Salem, Mass., U.S.A'"

I thought most favourably of Buttevant, but on pru