which he did not do until about three o'clock
in the morning, he looked wildly about him, and, starting up in the bed,
put his two hands on his temples, like a man distracted by acute pain;
yet anxious to develop in his memory the proceedings of the foregoing
day. The inmates, however, were startled from their sleep by a shriek,
or rather a yell, so loud and unearthly that in a few minutes they stood
collected about his bed. It would be impossible, indeed, to conceive,
much less to describe, such a picture of utter horror as then presented
itself to their observation. A look that resembled the turbid glare of
insanity was riveted upon them whilst he uttered shriek after shriek,
without the power of articulating a syllable. The room, too, was dim and
gloomy; for the light of the candle that was left burning beside him had
become ghastly for want of snuffing. There he sat--his fleshless hands
pressed against his temples; his thin, gray hair standing out wildly
from his head; his lips asunder; and his cheeks sucked in so far that
the chasms occasioned in his jawbones, by the want of his back teeth,
were plainly visible.

"Chiemah dheelish," exclaimed Honor, "what is this? as Heaven's above
me, I believe he's dyin'; see how he gasps! Here, Fardorougha," she
exclaimed, seizing a jug of water which had been left on a chair beside
him, but which he evidently did not see, "here, here, darlin', wet your
lips; the cool water will refresh you."

He immediately clutched the jug with eager and trembling hands, and at
one rapid draught emptied it to the bottom.

"Now," he shouted, "I can spake, now I can spake. Where's my son?
where's my son? an' what has happened me? how did I come here? was I
mad? am I mad? but tell me, tell me first, where's Connor? Is it thrue?
is it all thrue? or is it me that's mad?"

"Fardorougha, dear," said his wife, "be a man, or, rather, be a
Christian. It was God gave Connor to us, and who has a better right
to take him back from us? Don't go flyin' in His face, bekase He won't
ordher everything as you wish. You haven't taken off of you to-night, so
rise, dear, and calm yourself; then go to your knees, lift your heart
to God, and beg of Him to grant you stringth and patience. Thry that
coorse, avoumeen, an' you'll find it the best."

"How did I come home I say, Oh tell me Honor, was I out of my wits?"

"You fainted," she replied; they gave you whiskey to support you; an'
not bein' accustomed to it,