d did the old woman utter in reply. She lay there with her
eyes closed and her poor old face puckered up, unheeding all Kate
Mahony's attempts at consolation. These, though well meant, were
slightly inconsistent, as she now assured her friend that indeed it
was well for her, and asked who wouldn't be glad to be out o' that;
and in the next moment informed her that maybe when she was anointed
she might find herself cured out an' out, as many a wan had before
her, an' wasn't it well known that them that the priest laid his holy
hands on, as likely as not took a good turn immaydiate?

Later on Sister Louise bent over Mrs. Brady with gentle reassuring
words.

"God knows best, you know," she said, at the end of her little homily;
"you will say 'His will be done,' won't you?"

"Sure Sisther, how can I?" whispered Mrs. Brady, opening her troubled
eyes; her face almost awful to look on in its grey pallor. "How can I
say 'His will be done' if I'm to die in the workhouse? An' me poor
little boy comin' as fast as he can across the say to take me out of
it, an' me breakin' my heart prayin' that I might live to see the day!
An' when he comes back he'll find the parish has me buried. Ah,
Sisther, how am I to resign meself at all? In the name o' God how _am_
I to resign meself?"

The tears began to trickle down her face, and Sister Louise cried a
little too for sympathy, and stroked Mrs. Brady's hand, and coaxed,
and cajoled, and soothed and preached to the very best of her ability;
and at the end left her patient quiet but apparently unconvinced.

It was with some trepidation that she approached her on the morrow.
Mrs. Brady's attitude was so unusual that she felt anxious and
alarmed. As a rule the Irish poor die calmly and peacefully, happy in
their faith and resignation; but this poor woman stood on the brink of
eternity with a heart full of bitterness, and a rebellious will.

Mrs. Brady's first words, however, reassured her.

"Sisther, I'm willin' now to say 'His will be done.'"

"Thank God for that," cried Sister Louise fervently.

"Aye. Well, wait till I tell ye. In the night when I was lying awake I
took to lookin' at St. Pathrick beyant, wid the little lamp flickerin'
an' flickerin' an' shinin' on his face, an' I thought o' Barney, an'
that I'd niver see him agin, an' I burst out cryin'. 'Oh, St
Pathrick!' says I, 'how'll I ever be able to make up my mind to it at
all?' An' St. Pathrick looked back at me rale wicked.