"I hird that myself afore," observed Nogher, "that she never dhrinks
hard whiskey. Well, myself never tasted punch but wanst, an' be goxty
its great dhrink. Death alive, Honora More," he continued, in his most
insinuating manner, "make us all a sup. Sure, blood alive, this is not
a common night, afther what God has sint us: Fardorougha himself would
allow you, if he was here; deed, be dad, he as good as promised me he
would; an' you know we have the young customer's health to drink yet."

"Throth, an' you ought," said the mid-wife; "the boy says nuttin' but
the thruth--it's not a common night; an' if God has given Fardorougha
substance, he shouldn't begridge a little, if it was only to show a
grateful heart."

"Well, well," said Honora More--which means great Honora, in opposition
to her daughter, Fardorougha's wife; this being an epithet adopted for
the purpose of contradistinguishing the members of a family when called
by the same name--"Well," said she, "I suppose it's as good. My own
heart, dear knows, is not in a thrifle, only I have my doubts about
Fardorougha. However, what's done can't be undone; so, once we mix it,
he'll be too late to spake if he comes in, any way."

The punch was accordingly mixed, and they were in the act of sitting
down to enjoy themselves with more comfort when Fardorougha entered.
As before, he was silent and disturbed, neither calm nor stern, but
laboring, one would suppose, under strong feelings of a decidedly
opposite character. On seeing the punch made, his brow gathered into
something like severity; he looked quickly at his mother-in-law, and was
about to speak, but, pausing a moment, he sat down, and after a little
time said in a kind voice--