"
He whom he addressed had almost lost the power of speech.
"Frank," said he, and he wrung his hand, "What--what? was death among
them? For the sake of heaven, spake!"
The severe pressure which he received in return ran like a shoot, of
paralysis to his heart.
"Owen, you must be a man; every one pities yez, and may the Almighty
pity and support yez! She is, indeed, Owen, gone; the weeny fair-haired
child, your favorite Alley, is gone. Yestherday she was berrid; and
dacently the nabors attinded the place, and sent in, as far as they
had it, both mate and dhrink to Kathleen and the other ones. Now, Owen,
you've heard it; trust in God, an' be a man."
A deep and convulsive throe shook him to the heart. "Gone!--the
fair-haired one!--Alley!--Alley!--the pride of both our hearts; the
sweet, the quiet, and the sorrowful child, that seldom played wid the
rest, but kept wid mys--! Oh, my darlin', my darlin'! gone from my eyes
for ever!--God of glory; won't you support me this night of sorrow and
misery!"
With a sudden yet profound sense of humility, he dropped on his knees
at the threshold, and, as the tears rolled down his convulsed cheeks,
exclaimed, in a burst of sublime piety, not at all uncommon among our
peasantry--"I thank you, O my God! I thank you, an' I put myself an' my
weeny ones, my _pastchee boght_ (* my poor children) into your hands.
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