'"
Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped his
forehead in his hand sadly.
"I've brought grief to your kind heart, father," she said.
"No, no," he replied, "not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffey
side, though it's forty years and more since I left it, and I'm an old
man now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too.
. . . I am listening."
"Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and the
place where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, as
though they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another's;
but at last he said:
"'And what will you do? I don't quite know where he is, though; when
last I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley.'
"My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was because of
what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, but
had had little delight; and I said:
"'There's only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, and I
must go to him--that is,' said I, 'if you think he cares for me still,
--for my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed.'
"'I know his heart,' said he, 'and you'll find him, I doubt not, the
same, though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb,--the tomb of a
sweet remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin'.
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