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1"It was in the winter," she said, "about the beginning of the winter when I was going to leave my grandmother's and come
2up here to the convent. And he was ill at the time in his lodgings in Galway and wouldn't be let out and his people in
3Oughterard were written to. He was in decline, they said, or something like that. I never knew rightly." She paused for
4a moment and sighed. "Poor fellow," she said. "He was very fond of me and he was such a gentle boy. We used to go out
5together, walking, you know, Gabriel, like the way they do in the country. He was going to study singing only for his
6health. He had a very good voice, poor Michael Furey." "Well; and then?" asked Gabriel. "And then when it came to the
7time for me to leave Galway and come up to the convent he was much worse and I wouldn't be let see him so I wrote him a
8letter saying I was going up to Dublin and would be back in the summer and hoping he would be better then." She paused
9for a moment to get her voice under control and then went on: "Then the night before I left I was in my grandmother's
10house in Nuns' Island, packing up, and I heard gravel thrown up against the window. The window was so wet I couldn't see
11so I ran downstairs as I was and slipped out the back into the garden and there was the poor fellow at the end of the
12garden, shivering." "And did you not tell him to go back?" asked Gabriel. "I implored of him to go home at once and told
13him he would get his death in the rain. But he said he did not want to live. I can see his eyes as well as well! He was
14standing at the end of the wall where there was a tree." "And did he go home?" asked Gabriel. "Yes, he went home. And
15when I was only a week in the convent he died and he was buried in Oughterard where his people came from. O, the day I
16heard that, that he was dead!" She stopped, choking with sobs and, overcome by emotion, flung herself face downward on
17the bed, sobbing in the quilt. Gabriel held her hand for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on
18her grief, let it fall gently and walked quietly to the window. She was fast asleep. Gabriel, leaning on his elbow,
19looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So
20she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he,
21her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man
22and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been
23then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange, friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to
24say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael
25Furey had braved death. Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had
26thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen down:
27the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded?
28From his aunt's supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good-night
29in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with
30the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was
31singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk
32hat on his knees. The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose
33and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would
34find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon. The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He
35stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one they were all becoming
36shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with
37age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes
38when he had told her that he did not wish to live. Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that
39himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and
40in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were
41near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not
42apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the
43solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling. A few light taps upon
44the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark,
45falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the
46newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the
47treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous
48Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.
49It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns.
50His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent
51of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
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