“They come to me, Norah, and I know it’s them. When I wake, don’t I feel the cold water of the sea chilling my temples? The saints save us, Norah, from such visiters to our bridal bed! You think me changed and that my heart is turned, and my manner is unkind—but, Norah dear, what will I do, what can I do?”
“It’s all your sick fancy, Patrick—and maybe your conscience is not easy,” said Norah, shaking off the spectral influence of Paddy’s dreams. “It’s all your own notion, Paddy dear. Your mother and all of them are well and happy—barring that they feel the loss of you as much as you do their absence. And I know their consciences are not easy, Patrick, for the hard words they said to you must leave a deep wound in their own hearts. You must go to them, Patrick.”
“What, Norah, and leave you!”
“And why not? Sure, Paddy dear, you’re not worth a body’s having now, and that’s the truth. You are not the same lad that you were at all, and what will I do with such a man? It’s a long lane that has no turn, and all will come right by and by.”
“Norah!”
“Well!”
“Wouldn’t you go with me too?”
“Sure I thought you’d be asking that, Patrick. Ellen said you were selfish—and wasn’t it the truth she said! Will you change the load from your heart to mine? Haven’t I a father and mother, and sisters too? Will I give them up and go away, because you can’t give yours up? It isn’t reason, Patrick.”
In vain did our hero strive to alter Norah’s determination. Her arguments were unanswerable, and he was fain to submit. After many days’ irresolution he resolved, but still not without doubts and misgivings, to follow his parents to America. The resolution was taken, the spectral appearances which had annoyed him ceased. He was half-tempted to retreat from his purpose, but Norah gave him no encouragement, and his nocturnal visiters threatened to renew their visits; so that he was fain to adhere to his resolve, and take a steerage passage to the great entre-pot of the New World—New York.
Great was his amazement upon arriving there to find that it was a place so large, and one of many large places; and that to inquire for his family there was of as little utility as it would be to ask for his master’s dog in Dublin. It was a sad trial to Patrick that he had come to a strange land, he verily believed, to no purpose. But it was necessary for him to do, or starve, and finding employment he worked, with a heavy heart it is true, but not without hope. Chance—or we should better say Providence—directed him to a priest, to whom he related his difficult position and almost extinguished hopes. The kind father was struck with his tale, and, after a moment’s pondering referred to his record of priestly acts, and sure enough, there he found the name of Ellen O’Brien—O’Brien no longer!