So, in any case, you will want to come and see the home I have made this old colonial mansion, with its Corinthian pillars and verandah, high steps, hard-wood floors polished like a pan, every room hung in dimity and chintz, and the smell of fruit and flowers everywhere.

You will want to see it all, and you'll want to live here.
There's little rain here, so it's not like Ireland, and the green is not so green; but the flowers are marvellously bright, and the birds sing almost as well as they sing in Ireland, though there's no lark.
Strange it is, but true, the only things that draw me back to Ireland in my soul are you, and Sheila, whom I've never seen, and the lark singing as he rises until he becomes a grey-blue speck, and then vanishing in the sky.
Well, you and the lark have sung in my heart these many days, and now you must come to me, because I need you.

I have placed to your credit in the Bank of Ireland a thousand pounds.

That will be the means of bringing you here--you and Sheila--to my door, to Moira.
Let nothing save death prevent your coming.

As far as Sheila's eye can see-north, south, east, and west--the land will be hers when I'm gone.