“It does me good, Martin, and I must say what I have to say to you. I mayn’t be able again. Had it plazed God I should have lived, I would have prayed for nothing higher or betther than to be one of such a family as yourselves. Had I been—had I been”—and now Anty blushed again, and she also found a difficulty in expressing herself; but she soon got over it, and continued, “had I been permitted to marry you, Martin, I think I would have been a good wife to you. I am very, very sure I would have been an affectionate one.” “I’m shure you would—I’m shure you would, Anty. God send you may still: av you war only once well again there’s nothing now to hindher us.” “You forget Barry,” Anty said, with a shudder. “But it doesn’t matther talking of that now”—Martin was on the point of telling her that Barry had agreed, under certain conditions, to their marriage: but, on second thoughts, he felt it would be useless to do so; and Anty continued, “I would have done all I could, Martin. I would have loved you fondly and truly. I would have liked what you liked, and, av I could, I would’ve made your home quiet and happy. Your mother should have been my mother, and your sisthers my sisthers.” “So they are now, Anty—so they are now, my own, own Anty—they love you as much as though they were.” “God Almighty bless them for their goodness, and you too, Martin. I cannot tell you, I niver could tell you, how I’ve valued your honest thrue love, for I know you have loved me honestly and thruly; but I’ve always been afraid to spake to you. I’ve sometimes thought you must despise me, I’ve been so wake and cowardly.” “Despise you, Anty?—how could I despise you, when I’ve always loved you?” “But now, Martin, about poor Barry—for he is poor. I’ve sometimes thought, as I’ve been lying here the long long hours awake, that, feeling to you as I do, I ought to be laving you what the ould man left to me.” “I’d be sorry you did, Anty. I’ll not be saying but what I thought of that when I first looked for you, but it was never to take it from you, but to share it with you, and make you happy with it.” “I know it, Martin: I always knew it and felt it.” “And now, av it’s God’s will that you should go from us, I’d rather Barry had the money than us. We’ve enough, the Lord be praised; and I wouldn’t for worlds it should be said that it war for that we brought you among us; nor for all County Galway would I lave it to Barry to say, that when you were here, sick, and wake, and dying, we put a pen into your hand to make you sign a will to rob him of what should by rights be his.”