The fever and its accompanying delirium had abated, and the danger was past; but, as is usual in such cases, extreme weakness was the result.
'God bless you, my ladies,' she murmured, as Miss Gwynne stooped over her to inquire how she did, and Mrs Prothero took her thin hand.

'I am better, thank ye; I can see and understand, and know now all that you have done for the wretched beggar.' Here the poor girl's tears began to flow.
'We only wish to see you get well,' said Miss Gwynne softly, 'and then we can help you to find your friends.' 'I have no friends in the world miss, asthore; my father died years ago, and my mother, brother, and sister all died of this horrible famine and pestilence! oh me! oh me!' The tears flowed still faster, and Mrs Prothero begged her to be silent, and not to excite herself; but with restless eagerness she went on, as if anxious to pour forth her sorrows whilst she felt the strength to do so.

It was remarkable that her English was very good, and that, with the exception of an occasional Irish epithet of endearment, you would scarcely have discovered her country.

Indeed, the Welsh peculiarities of expression and accent sometimes appeared, so that it would have been difficult to say where she was born or brought up.
'I am going to look for my friends, if I live, and then, may be, I may be able to repay you for your kindness to me, a poor, wretched wanderer on the face of God's earth.

If you'll be pleased to listen whilst I have the strength, I will tell you my story.
'My mother was a Welshwoman, born in some part of South Wales; she was the daughter of a clergyman, and respectably brought up.