“Pether,” said the sick woman, “will you get the car ready for to-mor—to-morrow—till I look at that piece o' land that Dan bought, before he—he closes the bargain?”
“Father, jewel!” said Pether, “can't you get the world banished out of her heart? Oh, I'd give all I'm worth to see that heart fixed upon God! I could bear to part wid her, for she must die some time; but to go wid this world's thoughts an' timptations ragin' strong in her heart—mockin' God, an' hope, an' religion, an' everything:—oh!—that I can't bear! Sweet Jasus, change her heart!—Queen o' Heaven, have pity on her, an' save her!”
The husband wept with great sorrow as he uttered these words.
“Neither reasoning nor admonition can avail her,” replied the priest; “she is so incoherent that no train of thought is continued for a single minute in her mind. I will, however, address her again. Mrs. Connell, will you make a straggle to pay attention to me for a few minutes? Are you not afraid to meet God? You are about to die!—prepare yourself for judgment.”
“Oh, Father dear! I can't—I can't—I am af—afraid—Hooh!—hooh!—God! You must do some thin'for—for me! I never done anything for myself.”
“Glory be to God! that she has that much sinse, any way,” exclaimed her husband. “Father, ahagur, I trust my vow was heard.”
“Well, my dear—listen to me,” continued the priest—“can you not make the best confession possible? Could you calm yourself for it?”
“Pether, avick machree—Pether,”—
“Ellish, avourneen, I'm here!—my darlin', I am your vick machree, an' ever was. Oh, Father! my heart's brakin'! I can't bear to part wid her. Father of heaven, pity us this day of throuble?”
“Be near me, Pether; stay wid me—I'm very lonely. Is this you keepin' my head up?”