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Now you, in your turn, listen to the truth, which is bad enough--ochone!

Ochone! sad's the day, I know it,' he murmured in the voice of tribulation.

It's like a masquerade in the good old times; yet my heart is dreadful sore--ochone!'

"Och, ochone, mise 'n diugh; 'tis a dark hour this."

"Ochone arie! ochone! ochone!" cried Tate, wringing his hands with the gestures of violent grief, as he moved up and down before the windows.