"Is this," he inquired, "the house in which Dominick M'Evoy lives?"
"That's my name, sir," replied Dominick. "The family, I trust,
are--all--well? I have been desired--but--no--no--I cannot--I
cannot--father!--mother!
"It's him!" shrieked the mother--"Its himself!--Jemmy"
"Jemmy!--Jemmy!" shouted the lather, with a cry of joy which might be
heard far beyond the house.
"Jemmy!--our poor Jemmy!--Jemmy!!" exclaimed his brothers and sisters.
"Asy, childhre," said the father--"asy; let the mother to him--let her
to him. Who has the right that she has? Vara, asthore--Vara, think of
yourself. God of heaven! what is comin' over her?--Her brain's turned!"
"Father, don't remove her," said the son. "Leave her arms where they
are: it's long since they encircled my neck before. Often--often would I
have given the wealth of the universe to be encircled in my blessed and
beloved mother's arms! Yes, yes!--Weep, my father--weep, each of
you. You see those tears:--consider them as a proof that I have never
forgotten you! Beloved mother! recollect yourself: she knows me not--her
eyes wander!--I fear the shock has been too much for her. Place a chair
at the door, and I will bring her to the air."
After considerable effort, the mother's faculties were restored so far
as to be merely conscious that our hero was her son. She had not yet
shed a tear, but now she surveyed his countenance, smiled and named
him, placed her hands upon him, and examined his dress with a singular
blending of conflicting emotions, but still without being thoroughly
collected.
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