“To be sure I am; I seen Father Ned bless it himself, and sprinkle it too!” said she.
“Oh, the heavenly—” He stopped, and in a lower voice added, “Say it for me, Molly!—say it for me, Molly! I can't say it myself.”
“Keep your eyes on the blessed candle!” said the hag, peevishly; “'t is a quarter dollar it cost me.”
“Wouldn't he come, Molly?—did he say he wouldn't come?”
“Father Ned! arrah, 'tis likely he'd come here at night, with the Tapageers on their rounds, and nothing to give him when he kem!”
“Not to hear my last words!—not to take my confession!” cried he, in a kind of shriek. “Oh, 'tis the black list of sins I have to own to!”
“Whisht, whisht!” cried the hag. “'T is many a year ago now; maybe it's all forgot.”
“No, it's not,” cried the dying man, with a wild energy he did not seem to have strength for. “When you wor away, Molly, he was here, standing beside the bed.”
The old hag laughed with a horrid sardonic laugh.
“Don't—don't, for the love of—ah—I can't say—I can't say it,” cried he; and the voice died away in the effort.