, Kate," said her husband, "you're a Trojan--by japers you're a
Trojan; you've settled him any way--is there life in him?" he asked, "if
there is, dash wather or something in his face, an' drag him up out o'
that--ha! ha! Well done, Kate; only for you we'd lead a fine life wid
him--ay! an' a fine life that is--a hard life we led until you did
come--there now, more power to you--by the livin' Counthryman, there's
not your aquil in Europe--come now, settle down, an' don't keep all
movin' that way as if you wor at him again--sit down now, an' here's
another glass of whiskey for you."

In the mean time, Ned and Teddy Phats succeeded in recovering Philip,
whom they dragged over and placed upon a kind of bench, where in a few
minutes he recovered sufficiently to be able to speak--but ever and anon
he shook his head, and stretched his neck, and drew his breath deeply,
putting his hands up from time to time as if he strove to set his
windpipe more at ease.

"Here Phil, my hairo," said his triumphant brother Bat, "take another
glass, an' may be for all so strong and murdherin' as you are wid others
you now know--an' you knew before what our woman' can do at home wid
you."

"I've--hoch--hoch--I've done wid her--she's no woman; there's a devil
in her, an' if you take my advice, it's to Priest M'Scaddhan you'd bring
her, an' have the same devil prayed out of her--I that could murdher ere
a man in the parist a'most!"

"Lave Bryan M'Mahon out," said Kate.

"No I won't," replied Phil, sullenly, and with a voice still hoarse,
"no, I won't--I that could make smash of ere a man in the parish, to be
throttled into perdition by a blasted woman. She's a devil, I say; for
the last ten minutes I seen nothin' but fire, fire, fire, as red as
blazes, an' I hard somethin' yellin', yellin', in my ears."

"Ay!" replied Kate, "I know you did--that was the fire of hell you seen,
ready to resave you; an' the noise you hard was the voices of the devils
that wor comin' for your sowl--ay, an' the voices of the two wives you
murdhered--take care then, or I'll send you sooner to hell than you
dhrame of."

The scowl which she had in return for this threat was beyond all
description.

"Oh, I have done wid you," he replied; "you're not right, I say--but
never mind, I'll put a pin in M'Mahon's collar for this--ay will I."

"Don't!" she exclaimed, in one fearful monosyllable, and then she added
in a low condensed whisper, "or if you do, mark the cons