“Now, what d’ye mean to do, Patrick?”
“Mean to go, sure; because I can’t help myself; and to come back again, if ever I’ve the luck of it. My heart’s leaping out of my mouth entirely.”
“And mine’s dead,” replied Judith, in tears.
“It’s no use crying, mavourneen. I’ll be back to dance at my own wedding, if so be I can.”
“There’ll be neither wedding for you, Patrick, nor wake either, for you’ll lie on the cold ground, and be ploughed in like muck.”
“That’s but cold comfort from you, Judith, but we’ll hope for a better ending; but I must go back now, and you’ll meet me this evening beyond the shealing.”
“Won’t it be for the last time, Patrick,” replied Judith, with her apron up to her eyes.
“If I’ve any voice in the matter, I say no. Please the pigs, I’ll come back a colonel.”
“Then you’ll be no match for Judith McCrae,” replied the sobbing girl.
“Shoot easy, my Judith, that’s touching my honour; if I’m a general it will be all the same.”