“Father, jewel!” said Pether, “can’t you get the world banished out of her heart?  Oh, I’d give all I’m worth to see that heart fixed upon God!  I could bear to part wid her, for she must die some time; but to go wid this world’s thoughts an’ timptations ragin’ strong in her heart—­mockin’ God, an’ hope, an’ religion, an’ everything:—­oh!—­that I can’t bear!  Sweet Jasus, change her heart!—­Queen o’ Heaven, have pity on her, an’ save her!”

The husband wept with great sorrow as he uttered these words.

“Neither reasoning nor admonition can avail her,” replied the priest; “she is so incoherent that no train of thought is continued for a single minute in her mind.  I will, however, address her again.  Mrs. Connell, will you make a straggle to pay attention to me for a few minutes?  Are you not afraid to meet God?  You are about to die!—­prepare yourself for judgment.”

“Oh, Father dear!  I can’t—­I can’t—­I am af—­afraid—­Hooh!—­hooh!—­God!  You must do some thin’for—­for me!  I never done anything for myself.”

“Glory be to God! that she has that much sinse, any way,” exclaimed her husband.  “Father, ahagur, I trust my vow was heard.”

“Well, my dear—­listen to me,” continued the priest—­“can you not make the best confession possible?  Could you calm yourself for it?”

“Pether, avick machree—­Pether,”—­

“Ellish, avourneen, I’m here!—­my darlin’, I am your vick machree, an’ ever was.  Oh, Father! my heart’s brakin’!  I can’t bear to part wid her.  Father of heaven, pity us this day of throuble?”

“Be near me, Pether; stay wid me—­I’m very lonely.  Is this you keepin’ my head up?”

“It is, it is!  I’ll never lave you till—­till”—­

“Is the carman come from Dublin wid—­wid the broadcloth?”

“Father of heaven! she’s gone back again!” exclaimed the husband.

“Father, jewel! have you no prayers that you’d read for her?  You wor ordained for these things, an’ comin’ from you, they’ll have more stringth.  Can you do nothin’ to save my darlin’?”

“My prayers will not be wanting,” said the priest:  “but I am watching for an interval of sufficient calmness to hear her confession; and I very much fear that she will pass in darkness.  At all events, I will anoint her by and by.  In the meantime, we must persevere a little longer; she may become easier, for it often happens that reason gets clear immediately before death.”

Peter sobbed aloud, and wiped away the tears that streamed from his cheeks.  At this moment her daughter and son-in-law stole in, to ascertain how she was, and whether the rites of the church had in any degree soothed or composed her.

“Come in, Denis,” said the priest to his nephew, “you may both come in.  Mrs. Mulcahy, speak to your mother:  let us try every remedy that might possibly bring her to a sense of her awful state.”

“Is she raving still?” inquired the daughter, whose eyes were red with weeping.