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If the rapscallions didn't fire a whole plathoon, as serjeant Joyce calls it, right at the Knoll, my name is not Michael O'Hearn, or my nature one that dales in giving back as good as I get." "But the volley came first from the house why did my father order his people to make the first discharge?" "For the same r'ason that he didn't.
The Doctor turned his attention to Calhoun. “As I live, one of Morgan’s men,” he exclaimed, “and hard hit, too. How did he come here?” “His horse brought him,” answered one of the men. “He clung to his horse as far as here, when he fell off. Miss Joyce caught him as he fell. That is what makes her so bloody.” “Well! well! well!” was all that the old Doctor could say.
When they had gone over it once, and taken up what seemed like a small cart-load of dust, they found that, after all, there remained almost as much as ever on the floor. Cynthia was for going over it again. "Oh, never mind it!" sighed Joyce. "My arms ache and so do yours. We'll do it again another time. Now let's dust the furniture and pictures."
She was nevertheless resolved to put the best possible face upon the situation. "Well, Mrs. Joyce, ma'am, and how's yourself this long while?" said Jerry Dunne, coming up. "Bedad I'm glad to see you so finely, and it's an iligant place you've got up here." "Ah, it's not too bad whatever," said Mrs. Joyce, "on'y 'twas a great upset on us turnin' out of the ould house at home.
Theresa much disliked doing this, as a rule, though she broke it on one occasion in a way that surprised and puzzled those who knew her best. But whether Mrs. Joyce forecast the future rightly or wrongly, she had certainly an erroneous impression on her mind when, as often happened, she wound up her disconsolate musings by saying resentfully, "And the back of me hand to some I could name."
She touched, with stiff fingers, the hand of the man she had come to meet the man who was to save her from her love. "Jude!" she whispered hoarsely; "Jude!" A falling log started the others to a redder glow. The face of the man upon the floor lay exposed. The eyes were open but unseeing, and Joyce knew that Jude was frozen to death! She made no cry.
She shivered as she gazed around upon the bleakness everywhere, perhaps largely accentuated by a gray, chilly morning of early spring, with the small patches of snow, left by winter, blackened and foul. Ellen Dover, at her elbow, remarked plaintively, "There, Miss Joyce, I knowed you'd need your sealskin such a day," to which the girl only answered, with an odd smile,
Standish O'Grady for leave to give 'The Knighting of Cuculain' from that prose epic he has curiously named History of Ireland, Heroic Period; Professor Joyce for his 'Fergus O'Mara and the Air Demons'; and Mr. Douglas Hyde for his unpublished story, 'The Man who never knew Fear. The two volumes make, I believe, a fairly representative collection of Irish folk tales.
She took off her bonnet and mantle, and laid them on a chair, gave a twitch or two to her cap, as she surveyed it in the pier-glass, and went upstairs. Joyce answered her knock at the invalid's door; and Joyce, when she saw who it was, turned as white as any sheet. "Oh, ma'am, you must not come in!" she blundered out, in her confusion and fear, as she put herself right in the doorway.
Finding remonstrances of no avail, Richard sat down and allowed himself to be helped to a morning repast. While eating he looked over the paper, and found quite a number of places worth hunting up. By the aid of the map Mr. Joyce had loaned him he sorted out the addresses in regular order, and put them down in his note-book.
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