“Oh! you're not dying, mother;--you can't be dying!” cried Johnny, in the greatest agony; “such a thought as that of your dying never crossed mee brain,--and I can't bear it;--Sure, mother, I'm home, and I'll watch you, and be wid you night and day:--there's hope for us yet. Isn't there hope, mother? Don't you feel life come into you at the sight of me, and mee tears and repentance for what I've done?” “No, Johnny,” said the ould woman; “I'm sure I'll not see the morning. The sight of you does me good; but I'd live longer iv you hadn't come:--now I've nothing to wait for, as I know mee last look will be fixed on the child I bore, and who's the only one that's kith, kin, or kind to me, on the face of the earth. But, oh! mee child!--don't do as you have done!” “Why spake of it, mother?--be quiet about the past, for it troubles me--so it does.” “I've had bad dreams of you, Johnny. Neighbours, iv you'd let me be alone awhile wid me child, I'd thank you.” The women retired slowly from the room, and closed the door behind them. “What have you been dreaming, mother?” eagerly inquired Johnny, as soon as they had departed. “There was a river of blood, Johnny, wid yourself struggling for life in it; and me in a boat, widout rudder or oar, not able to save you: and then--” “Don't go on, mother! it's worse than throwing water on me!--I'm shaking from head to foot.” “You didn't mind dreams once, Johnny;--and you used to laugh at me when I'd be telling you warnings I had that way, about you.” “I wasn't so bad then, may be, mother, as I'm now: bud you'll live long yet, and help me to pray meeself out of all of it; and I'll mind what you say, and go to work for you honestly, instead of feeding you wid what I got in sorrow and sin. If I escape this once, I'll make a vow never to sleep out of mee own little bed there again. Oh! that I never had!--bud it's too late to make that wish.” “Don't despair, darling! for he that's above us is good: and iv you're penitent, and do as your father's son should, my dear, in spite of that other bad dream I had, the grass will grow on your grave, as it does on his.” “Oh! mercy! and did'nt the grass grow over me, mother? And did you see mee grave in your dreams?” “A thousand times, Johnny, since you were gone:--the little hillock itself was barren and bare, and all round it, as far as the eye could reach, there was nothing bud wild turnips growing.” “Mother! you're mad to tell me so! You couldn't have dreamed that--you couldn't have seen the prushaugh vooe--” “I see it now, my dear boy, as I did in mee dreams, waving its yellow flowers backwards and forwards, summer and winter, as iv they were to last for ever and ever.” “Oh! mother, mother! spake no more o'them! Iv I thought it wouldn't be the death of you, I'd aize mee mind.” “Pray God, you've murdered nobody!”