essed her tears.

For some time before her arrival, the mother and sisters of Mike had
been removed to another room, lest the tumultuous expression of their
mingled joy and sorrow might disturb him. The fair, artless girl,
although satisfied that he still lived, entertained no hopes of his
recovery; but she ventured, in a low, trembling voice, to inquire from
Darby some particulars of the melancholy transaction which was likely to
deprive her of her betrothed husband.

"Where did the shot sthrike him, Darby?"

"Clane through the body, avillish; jist where Captain Cramer was shot
at the battle o' Bunker's Hill, where he lay as good as dead for twelve
hours, and was near bein' berried a corp, an' him alive all the time,
only that as they were pullin' him off o' the cart, he gev a shout, an'
thin, a colleen dhas, they began to think he might be livin' still. Sure
enough, he was, too, an' lived successfully, till he died wid dhrinkin'
brandy, as a cure for the gout; the Lord be praised!"

"Where's the villain, Darby?"

"He's in the mountains, no doubt, where he had thim to fight wid that's
a match for him--God, an' the dark storm that fell awhile agone. They'll
pay him, never fear, for his thrachery to the noble boy that chastised
him for your sake, acushla oge! (* my young pulse) sthrong was your
hand, a Veehal, an' ginerous was your affectionate heart; an' well you
loved the fair girl that's sitting beside you! Throth, Peggy, my heart's
black with sarrow about the darlin' young man. Still, life's in him; an'
while there's life there's hope; glory be to God!"

The eulogium of the pilgrim, who was, in truth, much attached to Mike,
moved the heart of the affectionate girl, whose love and sympathy were
pure as the dew on the grass-blade, and now as easily affected by the
slightest touch. She remained silent for a time, but secretly glided
her hand towards that of her lover, which she clasped in hers, and by a
gentle and timid pressure, strove to intimate to him that she was beside
him. Long, but unavailing, was the struggle to repress her sorrow; her
bosom heaved; she gave two or three loud sobs, and burst into tears and
lamentations.

"Don't cry, avourneen," whispered Darby--"Don't cry; I'll warrant you
that Darby More will ate share of your weddin' dinner an' his, yit.
There's a small taste of color comin' to his face, which, I think,
undher God, is owin' to my touchin' him wid the cruciwhix. Don't cry, a
colleen, h