“The sorra ha’porth is wrong with me!” said Dan, “but as for what I seen...! troth, it may be a ghost, or it may not! But the appearance there was upon it was of little Rosy Rafferty, that marrit Art Heffernan ... and we heard last week was after burying him, God rest his sowl! supposing it’s true that he’s gone....”
“And is it true?”
“Och, so she says, and that poor Art was only lying a short time, though out of his health for long enough ... but I must be off now....”
“Stop a minute, Dan! What brings her here now?”
“Wirra, if I know! going back home to the poor old mother, she says. And now, will ye lave the way, and let me out on the door?”
Kitty was standing between him and it.
“To the mother! And is it that Rosy doesn’t know?”
“The sorra word she knows!”
“And you didn’t let on to her about it?”
“No! nor wouldn’t, for a pound-note. Let me get out of this place, woman dear, I tell ye. She’ll be here in no time, and I’ll not stop to be seeing her....”