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SHIANA
had been so long out of the country that he did not know who she was.
"Fy don't you marry me?" said she.
Kate.—I understand it all now. Diarmaun has not passed their door since, and he would not be more loth to meet a red soldier on the road than either of the two—Janet or her father.
Sheila.—Say it in Irish, Abbie.
Abbie.—“Cad ’na ṫaoḃ ná pósann tú mise?” said she.—“Cad é an gnó ḃéaḋ agam díot-sa, a ṗlaosg óinsiġe?” said he.
Sheila.—There, now I understand it. What an ugly sort of talk that English is! I don't know, myself, why in the world people want so much to speak it. They say nothing but "Fot? fot? fot?" like a hen with the pip.
CHAPTER XII.
MARY FOLLOWS SHIANA'S EXAMPLE.
Nora.—Listen, Peg; surely Shiana was not bound not to marry.
Peg.—I think, Nora, he was bound not to do what was wrong.
Nora.—That was not what Short Mary understood from him, but that there was a special obligation upon him before God, like the vow of a nun or of a monk.
