“I trust in God's mercy it won't,” replied Honor; “for till his heart, poor man, is brought more to God—”
She paused with untaught delicacy, for she reflected that he was her husband.
“For that matther, who is there,” she continued, “that is fit to go to their last account at a moment's warnin'? That's a good girl, Biddy; give me the feathers; there's nothing like them. Dheah Gratihias! Dheah Gratihias!” she exclaimed, “he's not—he's not—an' I was afeard he was—no, he's recoverin'. Shake him; rouse him a little; Fardorougha, dear!”
“Where—where am I?” exclaimed her husband; “what is this? what ails me?”
He then looked inquiringly at his wife and O'Brien; but it appeared that the presence of the latter revived in his mind the cause of his excitement.
“Is it—is it thrue, young man? tell me—tell me!”
“How, dear, can any one have spirits to tell you good news, when you can't bear it aither like a man or a Christian?”
“Good news! You say, then, it's thrue, an' he's not to be hanged by the neck, as the judge said; an' my curse—my heavy curse upon him for a judge!”
“I hate to hear the words of his sentence, Fardorougha,” said the wife; “but if you have patience you'll find that his life's granted to him; an', for Heaven's sake, curse nobody. The judge only did his duty.”
“Well,” he exclaimed, sinking upon his knees, “now, from this day out, let what will happen, I'll stick to my duty to God—I'll repent—I'll repent and lead a new life. I will, an' while I'm alive I'll never say a word against the will of my heavenly Saviour; never, never.”