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But
for
the
remembrance
of
this
,
the
Galwegian
might
have
been
still
more
terrified
--
if
that
were
possible
--
while
striding
back
and
forth
upon
the
floor
of
the
jacalé
.
For
a
long
time
he
was
speechless
--
not
knowing
what
to
say
--
and
only
giving
utterance
to
such
exclamations
as
came
mechanically
to
his
lips
.
As
the
time
passed
,
and
he
began
to
feel
,
not
so
much
a
return
of
confidence
,
as
of
the
power
of
ratiocination
,
his
tongue
became
restored
to
him
;
and
a
continuous
fire
of
questions
and
exclamations
succeeded
.
They
were
all
addressed
to
himself
.
Tara
was
no
longer
there
,
to
take
part
in
the
conversation
.
They
were
put
,
moreover
,
in
a
low
whispered
tone
,
as
if
in
fear
that
his
voice
might
be
heard
outside
the
jacalé
.
"
Ochone
!
Ochone
!
it
cya
n't
av
been
him
!
Sant
Pathrick
protict
me
,
but
fwhat
was
it
thin
?
"
Thare
was
iverything
av
his
--
the
horse
--
the
sthriped
blankyet
--
them
spotted
wather
guards
upon
his
legs
--
an
the
head
itself
--
all
except
the
faytures
.
Thim
I
saw
too
,
but
was
n't
shure
about
eyedintifycashin
;
for
who
kud
till
a
face
all
covered
over
wid
rid
blood
?
"
Ach
!
it
cud
n't
be
Masther
Maurice
at
all
,
at
all
!
"
It
's
all
a
dhrame
.
I
must
have
been
aslape
,
an
dhramin
?
Or
,
was
it
the
whisky
that
did
it
?
"
Shure
,
I
was
n't
dhrunk
enough
for
that
.
Two
goes
out
av
the
little
cup
,
an
two
more
from
the
dimmyjan
--
not
over
a
kupple
av
naggins
in
all
!
That
wud
n't
make
me
dhrunk
.
I
've
taken
twice
that
,
widout
as
much
as
thrippin
in
my
spache
.
Trath
have
I.
Besoides
,
if
I
had
been
the
worse
for
the
liquor
,
why
am
I
not
so
still
?
