“Dominick,” said the wife, “what news? What was done?”
“Vara,” replied Dominick, “do you remimber the day—fair and handsome you wor then—when I first kissed your lips, as my own darlin' wife?”
“Ah, avourneen, Dominick, don't spake of them times. The happiness we had then is long gone, acushla, in one sense.”
“It's before me like yestherday, Vara—the delight that went through my heart, jist as clear as yestherday, or the blessed sun that's shinin' through the broken windy on the floor there. I remimber, Vara, saying to you that day—I don't know whether you remimber it or not—but I remimber sayin' to you, that if I lived a thousand years, I could never feel sich happiness as I did when I first pressed you to my heart as my own wife.”
“Well, but we want to hear what happened, Dominick, achora.”
“Do you remimber the words, Vara?”
“Och! I do, avourneen. Didn't they go into my heart at the time, an' how could I forget them? But I can't bear, somehow, to look back at what we wor then, bekase I feel my heart brakin', acushla!”
“Well, Vara, look at me. Amn't I a poor wasted crathur now, in comparishment to what I was thin?”
“God he sees the change that's in you, darlin'! But sure 'twasn't your fau't, or mine either, Dominick, avilish!”
“Well, Vara, you see me now—I'm happpier—before God, I'm happier—happier, a thousand degrees than I was thin! Come to my arms, asthore machree—my heart s breakin'—but it's wid happiness—don't be frightened—it's wid joy I'm sheddin' these tears—it's wid happiness an' delight In' cryin'! Jemmy is livin', an' well, childhre—he's livin' an' well, Vara—the star of our hearts is livin', an' well, an' happy! Kneel down, childhre—kneel down! Bend before the great God, an' thank him for his kindness to your blessed brother—to our blessed son. Bless the Colonel, childhre; bless him whin you're down, Protestant an' all, as he is. Oh, bless him as if you prayed for myself, or for Jemmy, that's far away from us!”