“Aisy,” said the others; “let them alone—­a little thing will do it now—­it’s almost over—­she has given him his gruel—­an’ divil’s cure to him—­he knew well enough what she could do—­but he would have it.”

Faint convulsive movements were all now that could be noticed in the huge limbs of their brother, and still the savage tigress was at his throat, when her husband at length said:—­

“It’s time, Ned—­it’s time—­she may carry it too far—­he’s quiet enough now.  Come away, Kate, it’s all right—­let him alone—­let go your hoult of him.”

Kate, however, as if she had tasted his blood, would listen to no such language; all the force, and energies, and bloody instincts of the incarnate fury were aroused within her, and she still stuck to her victim.

“Be japers she’ll kill him,” shouted Bat, rushing to her; “come, Ned, till we unclasp her—­take care—­pull quickly—­bloody wars, he’s dead!—­Kate, you divil!—­you fury of hell! let go—­let go, I say.”

Kate, however, heard him not, but still tugged and stuck to the throat of Philip’s quivering carcass, until by a united effort they at length disentangled her iron clutches from it, upon which she struggled and howled like a beast of prey, and attempted with a strength that seemed more akin to the emotion of a devil than that of a woman to get at him again and again, in order to complete her work.

“Come, Kate,” said her husband, “you’re a Trojan—­by japers you’re a Trojan; you’ve settled him any way—­is there life in him?” he asked, “if there is, dash wather or something in his face, an’ drag him up out o’ that—­ha! ha!  Well done, Kate; only for you we’d lead a fine life wid him—­ay! an’ a fine life that is—­a hard life we led until you did come—­there now, more power to you—­by the livin’ Counthryman, there’s not your aquil in Europe—­come now, settle down, an’ don’t keep all movin’ that way as if you wor at him again—­sit down now, an’ here’s another glass of whiskey for you.”

In the mean time, Ned and Teddy Phats succeeded in recovering Philip, whom they dragged over and placed upon a kind of bench, where in a few minutes he recovered sufficiently to be able to speak—­but ever and anon he shook his head, and stretched his neck, and drew his breath deeply, putting his hands up from time to time as if he strove to set his windpipe more at ease.

“Here Phil, my hairo,” said his triumphant brother Bat, “take another glass, an’ may be for all so strong and murdherin’ as you are wid others you now know—­an’ you knew before what our woman’ can do at home wid you.”

“I’ve—­hoch—­hoch—­I’ve done wid her—­she’s no woman; there’s a devil in her, an’ if you take my advice, it’s to Priest M’Scaddhan you’d bring her, an’ have the same devil prayed out of her—­I that could murdher ere a man in the parist a’most!”

“Lave Bryan M’Mahon out,” said Kate.

“No I won’t,” replied Phil, sullenly, and with a voice still hoarse, “no, I won’t—­I that could make smash of ere a man in the parish, to be throttled into perdition by a blasted woman.  She’s a devil, I say; for the last ten minutes I seen nothin’ but fire, fire, fire, as red as blazes, an’ I hard somethin’ yellin’, yellin’, in my ears.”