"Ellish," said he, in smothered sobs--"Ellish, acushla machree, sure I'm
wid you here; here I'm sittin' on the bed wid you, achora machree."
"Catch my hand, thin. Ah, Pether! won't you pity your Ellish?--Won't you
pity me--won't you pity me? Oh! this pain--this pain--is killin' me!"
"It is, it is, my heart's delight--it's killin' us both. Oh, Ellish,
Ellish! I wish I was dead sooner nor see you in this agony. I ever loved
you!--I ever an' always loved you, avourneen dheelish; but now I would
give my heart's best blood, if it'ud save you. Here's Father Mulcahy
come."
"About the mon--about the money--Pether--what do you intind----Oh! my
blood--my blood's a-fire!--Mother o'Heaven!--Oh! this pain is--is takin'
me from all--faix!--Rise me up!"
"Here, my darlin'--treasure o' my heart here--I'm puttin' your head
upon my breast--upon my breast, Ellish, ahagur. Marciful Virgin--Father
dear," said Peter, bursting into bitter tears--"her head's like fire! O!
Ellish, Ellish, Ellish!--but my heart's brakin' to feel this! Have
marcy on her, sweet God--have marcy on her! Bear witness, Father of
heaven--bear witness, an' hear the vow of a brakin' heart. I here
solemnly promise before God, to make, if I'm spared life an' health to
do it, a Station on my bare feet to Lough Derg, if it plases you, sweet
Father o' pity, to spare her to me this day! Oh! but the hand o' God,
Father dear, is terrible!--feel her brow!--Oh! but it's terrible!"
"It is terrible," said the priest; "and terribly is it laid upon her,
poor woman! Peter, do not let this scene be lost.
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