“Let us be going,” said Darby, in a whisper. “There 'a no spaking to her when she 's one of them fits on her.”
We moved silently from the hovel, and gained the road. My heart was full to bursting; shame and abasement overwhelmed me, and I dated not look up.
“Good-by, Peg. I hope we 'll be better friends when we meet again,” said Darby, as he passed out.
She made no reply, but entered the cabin, from which, in an instant after, she emerged, carrying a lighted sod of turf in a rude wooden tongs.
“Come along quick!” said Darby, with a look of terror; “she's going to curse you.”
I turned round, transfixed and motionless. If my life depended on it, I could not have stirred a limb. The old woman by this time had knelt down on the road, and was muttering rapidly to herself.
“Gome along, I say I,” said Darby, pulling me by the arm.
“And now,” cried the hag aloud, “may bad luck be your shadow wherever you walk, with sorrow behind and bad hopes before you! May you never taste happiness nor ease; and, like this turf, may your heart be always burning here, and—”