"It's too dark, maybe, for them to see me, or poor Kathleen would send
the darlins to give me the _she dha veha_ (* the welcome). Kathleen,
avourneen machree! how my heart beats wid longin' to see you, asthore,
and to see the weeny crathurs--glory be to Him that has left them to
me--praise and glory to His name!"
He was now within a few perches of thy door; but a sudden misgiving shot
across his heart when he saw it shut, and no appearance of smoke from
the chimney, nor of stir or life about the house. He advanced--
"Mother of glory, what's this!--But, wait, let me rap agin. Kathleen,
Kathleen!--are you widin, avourneen? Owen--Alley--arn't ye widin,
childhre? Alley, sure I'm come back to you all!" and he rapped more
loudly than before. A dark breeze swept through the bushes as he spoke,
but no voice nor sound proceeded from the house;--all was still as death
within. "Alley!" he called once more to his little favorite; "I'm come
home wid something for you, asthore! I didn't forget you, alanna!--I
brought it from Dublin, all the way. Alley!" but the gloomy murmur of
the blast was the only reply.
Perhaps the most intense of all that he knew as misery was that which
he then felt; but this state of suspense was soon terminated by the
appearance of a neighbor who was passing.
"Why, thin, Owen, but yer welcome home agin, my poor fellow; and I'm
sorry that I haven't betther news for you, and so are all of us.
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