if I would or could tell
you that! I say, you woman, you're doing what's not right in asking me a
question you ought not let to cross your lips--look to yourself, and
what's over you."

The simple woman, thinking her meaning literal, almost leaped off her
seat with terror, and turned up her eyes to ascertain whether or not any
dreadful appearance had approached her, or hung over her where she sat.

"Woman," said she, "I spoke you kind an' fair, an' I wish you
well--but----"

"But what?" replied the other--and her eyes kindled into deep and
profound excitement, apparently upon very slight grounds.

"Why--hem--nothin' at all sure, only----"

"Only what?" asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to
torture every feature out of its proper lineaments.

"Dacent woman," said Mrs Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand with
terror upon her head, "sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a
perplexity, whin a _Lianhan Shee_ is undher the one roof wid me. 'Tisn't
that I want to know anything at all about it--the dear forbid I should;
but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as you are. I always
used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends well."

"Husht!" said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, "I'll not
tell: it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me?
Am I to be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked and cruel for no
reason!"

"Thry," said Mrs Sullivan, "an' bless yourself; call on God."

"Ah!" shouted the other, "are you going to get me killed?" and as she
uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great
pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat; her bosom heaved up
and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by
force.

"Don't mention that name," said she, "in my presence, except you mean to
drive me to utter distraction. I mean," she continued, after
considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner--"hear me with
attention--I mean, woman--you, Mary Sullivan--that if you mention that
holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives into my heart!
Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me something, I'm in
your power!"

"Will you ate anything?" said Mrs Sullivan; "poor crathur, you look like
hunger an' distress; there's enough in the house, blessed be them that
sent it! an' you had betther thry an' take some nourishment, any way";
and she raised her eyes in a sil