The father, on seeing Bryan approach, stood for a few moments and looked
at him eagerly; he then approached him with a hasty and unsettled step,
and said, "Bryan, Bryan, I see it in your face, she has left us, she has
left us, she has left us all, an' she has left me; an' how am I to live
without her? answer me that; an then give me consolation if you can."
He threw himself on his son's neck, and by a melancholy ingenuity
attempted to seduce him as it were from the firmness which he appeared
to preserve in the discharge of this sorrowful task, with a hope that he
might countenance him in the excess of his grief--"Oh," he added, "I've
have lost her, Bryan--you and I, the two that she--that--she--Your word
was everything to her, a law to her; and she was so proud out of you--I
an' her eye would rest upon you smilin', as much as to say--there's my
son, haven't I a right to feel proud of him, for he has never once vexed
his mother's heart? nayther did you, Bryan, nayther did you, but now who
will praise you as she did? who will boast of you behind your back, for
she seldom did it to your face; and now that smile of love and kindness
will never be on her blessed lips more. Sure you won't blame me,
Bryan--oh, sure above all men livin', you won't blame me for feelin' her
loss as I do."
The associations excited by the language of his father were such as
Bryan was by no means prepared to meet.
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