e'll get over it an' more than it, yit, a colleen bawn!"

Darby then hurried her into the room where Mike's mother and sisters
were. On entering she threw herself into the arms of the former, laid
her face on her bosom, and wept bitterly. This renewed the mother's
grief: she clasped the interesting girl in a sorrowful embrace; so did
his sisters. They threw themselves into each other's arms, and poured
forth those touching, but wild bursts of pathetic language, which are
always heard when the heart is struck by some desolating calamity.

"Husht!" said a neighboring man who was present; "husht! it's a shame
for yez, an' the boy not dead yit."

"I'm not ashamed," said Peggy: "why should I be ashamed of bein' sarry
for the likes of Mike Reillaghan? Where was his aquil? Wasn't all hearts
upon him? Didn't the very poor on the road bless him whin he passed?
Who ever had a bad word agin him, but the villain that murdhered him?
Murdhered him! Heaven above! an' why? For my sake! For my sake the pride
of the parish is laid low! Ashamed! Is it for cryin' for my betrothed
husband, that was sworn to me, an' I to him, before the eye of God
above us? This day week I was to be his bride; an' now--now--Oh, Vread
Reillaghan, take me to you! Let me go to his mother! My heart's broke,
Vread Reillaghan! Let me go to her: nobody's grief for him is like ours.
You're his mother, an' I'm his wife in the sight o' God. Proud was I out
of him: my eyes brightened when they seen him, an' my heart got light
when I heard his voice; an' now, what's afore me?--what's afore me but
sorrowful days an' a broken heart!"

Mrs. Reillaghan placed her tenderly and affectionately beside her, on
the bed whereon she herself sat. With the corner of her handkerchief she
wiped the tears from the weeping girl, although her own flowed fast.
Her daughters, also, gathered about her, and in language of the most
endearing kind, endeavored to soothe and console her.

"He may live yet, Peggy, avourheen," said his mother; "my brave and
noble son may live yet, an' you may be both,happy! Don't be cryin' so
much, _asthore galh machree_ (* The beloved white (girl) of my heart);
sure he's in the hands o' God avourneen; an' your young heart won't
be broke, I hope. Och, the Lord pity her young feelins!" exclaimed
the mother affected even by the consolation she herself offered to the
betrothed bride of her son: "is it any whundher she'd sink undher sich a
blow! for, sure enough, w