Danny Is that you, mother?
Sheelah I’ve brought the docther, asthore. [Danny looks up.
Danny The priest!
Sheelah [On her knees, R. of bed.] Oh, my darlin’! don’t be angry wid me, but dis is the docther you want; it isn’t in your body where the hurt is; the wound is in your poor sowl—there’s all the harrum.
Father T Danny, my son—[Sits L. of bed.]—it’s sore-hearted I am to see you down this way.
Sheelah And so good a son he was to his ould mother.
Danny Don’t say that—don’t! [Covering his face.
Sheelah I will say it—my blessin’ on ye—see that, now, he’s cryin’.
Father T Danny, the hand of death is on ye. Will ye lave your sins behind ye here below, or will ye take them with ye above, to show them on ye? Is there anything ye can do that’ll mend a wrong? leave that legacy to your friend, and he’ll do it. Do ye want pardon of any one down here? tell me, avick; I’ll get it for ye and send it after you—may be ye’ll want it.
Danny [Rising up an arm.] I killed Eily O’Connor.