At length the chord was touched, and the heart of the wife and mother could restrain itself no longer.

The children had been for some time whispering together, evidently endeavoring to keep the youngest of them still; but they found it impossible--he must go to awaken his daddy.
This was too much for them, and the poor things burst out into an uncontrollable wail of sorrow.

The conversation among the spectators was immediately hushed; but the mother started to her feet, and turning to the bed, bent over it, and raised a cry of agony such as I never heard nor hope ever to hear again.

She clapped her hands, and rocking herself up and down over him, gave vent to her accumulated grief, which now rushed like a torrent that had been dammed up and overcome its barriers, from her heart.
"O Harry," said she in Irish--but we translate it--"O Harry, the husband of the kind heart, the loving father, and the good man! O Harry, Harry, and is it come to this with you and me and our childre! They may say what they will, but you're not a murderer.

It was your love for our unfortunate Nannie that made you do what you did.