'I'm not cold when I'm near you, Masther Richard. I'd wait the whole night long for a chance of seeing you; but oh! ho--(she was crying as if her heart would break, looking in his face, and with her hands just a little stretched towards him), oh, Masther Richard, I'm nothing to you now--your poor wild Nan!' Poor thing! Her mother had not given her the best education. I believe she was a bit of a thief, and she could tell fibs with fluency and precision. The woman was a sinner; but her wild, strong affections were true, and her heart was not in pelf. 'Now, don't cry--where's the good of crying--listen to me,' said Devereux. 'Sure I heerd you were sick, last week, Masther Richard,' she went on, not heeding, and with her cold fingers just touching his arm timidly--and the moon glittered on the tears that streamed down her poor imploring cheeks--'an' I'd like to be caring you; an' I think you look bad, Masther Richard.' 'No, Nan--I tell you, no--I'm very well, only poor, just now, Nan, or _you_ should not want.' 'Sure I know, Masther Richard: it is not that. I know you'd be good to me if you had it: and it does not trouble me.' 'But see, Nan, you must speak to your friends, and say--' 'Sorra a friend I have--sorra a friend, Masther Richard; and I did not spake to the priest this year or more, and I darn't go near him,' said the poor Palmerstown lass that was once so merry. 'Why won't you listen to me, child? I won't have you this way. You must have your cloak and hood. 'Tis very cold; and, by Heavens, Nan, you shall never want while I have a guinea. But you see I'm poor now, curse it--I'm poor--I'm sorry, Nan, and I have only this one about me.' 'Oh, no, Masther Richard, keep it--maybe you'd want it yourself.' 'No, child, don't vex me--there--I'll have money in a week or two, and I'll send you some more, Nan--I'll not forget you.' He said this in a sadder tone; 'and, Nan, I'm a changed man. All's over, you know, and we'll see one another no more. You'll be happier, Nan, for the parting, so here, and now, Nan, we'll say good-bye.' 'Oh! no--no--no--not good-bye; you couldn't--couldn't--couldn't--your poor wild Nan.' And she clung to his cloak, sobbing in wild supplication. 'Yes, Nan, good-bye, it must be--no other word.' 'An' oh, Masther Richard, is it in airnest? You wouldn't, oh! sure you wouldn't.' 'Now, Nan, there's a good girl; I must go. Remember your promise, and I'll not forget you, Nan--on my soul, I won't.' 'Well, well, mayn't I chance to see you, maybe? mayn't I look at you marching, Masther Richard, at a distance only? I wouldn't care so much, I think, if I could see you sometimes.' 'Now, there, Nan, you must not cry; you know 'tis all past and gone more than a year ago. 'Twas all d----d folly--all my fault; I'm sorry, Nan--I'm sorry; and I'm a changed man, and I'll lead a better life, and so do you, my poor girl.'