“If it's money to get cloes either for yourself or Connor, there's no use in it. I needn't sit; you don't want a stitch, either of you.”
Honor, without more ado, seized the coat, and, flinging it aside, pushed him over to a seat on which she forced him to sit down.
“As heaven's above me,” she exclaimed, “I dunna what come over you at all, at all. Your money, your thrash, your dirt an' filth, ever, ever, an' for evermore in your thought, heart and sowl. Oh, Chierna! to think of it, an' you know there is a God above you, an' that you must meet Him, an' that widout your money too!”
“Ay, ay, the money's what you want to come at; but I'll not sit here to be hecthor'd. What is it, I say again, you want?”
“Fardorougha ahagur,” continued the wife, checking herself, and addressing him in a kind and affectionate voice, “maybe I was spakin' too harsh to you, but sure it was an' is for your own good. How an' ever, I'll thry kindness, and if you have a heart at all, you can't but show it when you hear what I'm goin' to say.”
“Well, well, go an,” replied the pertinacious husband; “but—money—ay, ay, is there. I feel, by the way you're comin' about me, that there is money at the bottom of it.”
The wife raised her hands and eyes to heaven, shook her head, and after a slight pause, in which she appeared to consider her appeal a hopeless one, she at length went on in an earnest but subdued and desponding spirit—
“Fardorougha, the time's now come that will show the world whether you love Connor or not.”
“I don't care a pin about the world; you an' Connor know well enough that I love him.”
“Love for one's child doesn't come out merely in words, Fardorougha; actin' for their benefit shows it better than spakin'. Don't you grant that?”