“Have you had a family?”
“A fine family, sir, of sons and daughters.”
“And how long is it since you began to suspect her?”
“Why, sir, I—I—well, no matther about that; she was always a good wife and a good mother, until—” Here he paused, and again wiped his eyes.
“Until what?”
“Why, sir, until Billy Fulton, the fiddler, came across her.”
“Well, and what did Billy Fulton do?”
“He ran away wid my ould woman, sir.”
“What age is Billy Fulton?”
“About my own age, sir; but by no means so stout a man; he's a dancin' masther, too, sir; and barrin' his pumps and white cotton stockin's, I don't know what she could see in him; he's a poor light crature, and walks as if he had a hump on his hip, for he always carries his fiddle undher his skirt. Ay, and what's more, sir, our daughter, Nancy, is gone off wid him.”