“Not dead!” exclaimed the woman, with her body bent in the proper attitude, her hands extended, and the crying face turned with amazement to Darby.  “Not dead!  Wurrah, man alive, isn’t he murdhered?”

“Hell resave the matther for that!” replied Darby.  “I tell you he’s livin’ an’ will live I hope, barrin’ your skirlin’ dhrives the life that’s in him out of him.  Go into the room there to the women, an’ make yourself scarce out o’ this, or by the padareens about me, I’ll malivogue you.”

“We can’t be angry wid the dacent woman,” observed old Reillaghan, “in regard that she came to show her friendship and respect.”

“I’d be angry wid St. Pettier,” said Darby, “an’ ’ud not scruple to give him a lick o’ my c——­ Lord presarve us! what was I goin’ o say!  Why, throth, I believe the little wits I had are all gone a shaughran!  I must fast a Friday or two for the same words agin St. Pether.  Oxis Doxis Glorioxis—­Amin.”

Hope is strong in love and in life.  Peggy, now that grief had eased her heart of its load of accumulated sorrow, began to reflect upon Darby’s anecdote of Captain Cramer, which she related to those about her.  They all rejoiced to hear that it was possible to be wounded so severely and live.  They also consoled and supported each other, and expressed their trust that Mike might also recover.  The opinion of the doctor was waited for with such anxiety as a felon feels when the foreman of the jury hands down the verdict which consigns him to life or death.

Whether Darby’s prescription was the result of chance or sagacity we know not.  We are bound, however, to declare that Reillaghan’s strength was in some degree restored, although the pain he suffered amounted to torture.  The surgeon (who was also a physician, and, moreover, supplied his own medicines) and the priest, as they lived in the same town, both arrived together.  The latter administered the rites of his church to him; and the former, who was a skilful man, left nothing undone to accomplish his restoration to health.  He had been shot through the body with a bullet—­a circumstance which was not known until the arrival of the surgeon.  This gentlemen expressed much astonishment at his surviving the wound, but said that circumstances of a similar nature had occurred, particularly on the field of battle, although he admitted that they were few.

Darby, however, who resolved to have something like a decided opinion from him, without at all considering whether such a thing was possible, pressed him strongly upon the point.

“Arrah, blur-an-age, Docthor Swither, say one thing or other.  Is he to live or die?  Plain talk, Docthor, is all we want, an’ no feasthalagh (* nonsense).”

“The bullet, I am inclined to think,” replied the Doctor, “must either not have touched a vital part, or touched it only slightly.  I have known cases similar, it is true; but it is impossible for me to pronounce a decisive opinion upon him just now.”