's his bed," he exclaimed; "there's our boy's bed--but where is
he himself? gone, gone forever! There's his clothes, our darlin' son's
clothes; look at them. Oh God! oh God! my heart will break outright. Oh
Connor, our boy, our boy, are you gone from us forever! We must sit down
to our breakfast in the mornin', to our dinner, an' to our supper at
night, but our noble boy's face we'll never see--his voice we'll never
hear."

"Ah, Fardorougha, it's thrue, it's thrue!" replied the wife; "but
remember he's not in the grave, not in the clay of the churchyard; we
haven't seen him carried there, and laid down undher the heart--breakin'
sound of the dead--bell; we haven't hard the cowld noise of the clay
fallin' in upon his coffin. Oh no, no--thanks, everlastin' thanks to
God, that has spared our boy's life! How often have you an' I hard
people say over the corpses of their children, 'Oh, if he was only alive
I didn't care in what part of the world it was, or if I was never to see
his face again, only that he was livin'!' An' wouldn't they, Fardorougha
dear, give the world's wealth to--have their wishes? Oh they would, they
would--an' thanks forever be to the Almighty! our boy is livin' and may
yit be happy. Fardorougha, let us not fly into the face of God, who has
in His mercy spared our son."

"I'll sleep in his bed," replied the husband; "on the very spot he lay
on I'll he."

This was, indeed, trenching, and selfishly trenching upon the last
mournful privilege of the mother's heart. Her sleeping here was one of
those secret but melancholy enjoyments, which the love of a mother or
of a wife will often steal, like a miser's theft, from the very hoard of
their own sorrows. In fact, she was not prepared for this, and when he
spoke she looked at him for some time in silent amazement.

"Oh, no, Fardorougha dear,the mother, the mother, that her breast was
so often his pillow, has the best right, now that he's gone, to lay her
head where his lay. Oh, for Heaven's sake, lave that poor pleasure to
me, Fardorougha!"

"No, Honor, you can bear up undher grief better than I can. I must sleep
where my boy slept."

"Fardorougha, I could go upon my knees! to you, an' I will, avourneen,
if you'll grant me this."

"I can't, I can't," he replied, distractedly; "I could sleep nowhere
else. I love everything belongin' to him. I can't, Honor, I can't, I
can't."

"Fardorougha, my heart--his mother's heart is fixed upon it, an' was. Oh
la