‘“It’s many years since I was here before,” said I to the host, as he stood opposite to me, watching the progress I was making with my breakfast—“so many that I can scarce remember more than the names of the people I knew very-well. Is there a Miss O’Kelly living in the town? It was somewhere near this, her house.”
‘“Yes, above Mr. Moriarty’s, that’s where she lived; but sure she’s dead and gone, many a day ago. I mind Father Donnellan, the priest that was here before Mr. Nolan, saying Masses for her sowl, when I was a slip of a boy.”
‘“Dead and gone,” repeated I to myself sadly—for, though I scarcely expected to meet my poor old relative again, I cherished a kind of half hope that she might still be living. “And the priest, Father Donnellan, is he dead too?”
‘“Yes, sir; he died of the fever, that was so bad four years ago.”
‘“And Mrs. Brown that kept the post-office?”
‘“She went away to Ennis when her daughter was married there; I never heard tell of her since.”
‘“So that, in fact, there are none of the old inhabitants of the town remaining. All have died off?”
“Every one, except the ould captain; he’s the only one left”
‘“Who is he?”
‘“Captain Dwyer; maybe you knew him?”