er; and try to remember what I've said to you this day. Kiss me
before you go, Barry."

Barry leaned over the bed, and kissed her, and then crept out of the
room, and down the stairs, with the tears streaming down his red
cheeks; and skulked across the street to his own house, with his hat
slouched over his face, and his handkerchief held across his mouth.

XXV. ANTY LYNCH'S BED-SIDE SCENE THE SECOND

Anty was a good deal exhausted by her interview with her brother, but
towards evening she rallied a little, and told Jane, who was sitting
with her, that she wanted to say one word in private, to Martin. Jane
was rather surprised, for though Martin was in the habit of going into
the room every morning to see the invalid, Anty had never before asked
for him. However, she went for Martin, and found him.

"Martin," said she; "Anty wants to see you alone, in private."

"Me?" said Martin, turning a little red. "Do you know what it's about?"

"She didn't say a word, only she wanted to see you alone; but I'm
thinking it's something about her brother; he was with her a long long
time this morning, and went away more like a dead man than a live one.
But come, don't keep her waiting; and, whatever you do, don't stay
long; every word she spakes is killing her."

Martin followed his sister into the sick-room, and, gently taking
Anty's offered hand, asked her in a whisper, what he could do for her.
Jane went out; and, to do her justice sat herself down at a distance
from the door, though she was in a painful state of curiosity as to
what was being said within.

"You're all too good to me, Martin," said Anty; "you'll spoil me,
between you, minding every word I say so quick."

Martin assured her again, in a whisper, that anything and everything
they could do for her was only a pleasure.

"Don't mind whispering," said Anty; "spake out; your voice won't hurt
me. I love to hear your voices, they're all so kind and good. But
Martin, I've business you must do for me, and that at once, for I feel
within me that I'll soon be gone from this."

"We hope not, Anty; but it's all with God now--isn't it? No one knows
that betther than yourself."

"Oh yes, I do know that; and I feel it is His pleasure that it should
be so, and I don't fear to die. A few weeks back the thoughts of death,
when they came upon me, nearly killed me; but that feeling's all gone
now."

Martin did not know what answer to make; he again told her he hope