"I said. 'True, your riverence.'"

"I'm afraid that is hardly the truth, Annorah. If anything has improved your language, it is your reading."

"To be shure. But is it not because I am with those who spake English well, that I'm learning to read? So it was the truth, after all."

"Not the whole truth, Annorah."

Just then Annorah turned, and saw the shadow of a man on the sloping rock at the left hand. Her first impulse was to cry out, but the fear of alarming Annie, and her own natural courage, prevented her; and she soon thought she could detect in the shadowy outline a resemblance to Father M'Clane. "Och, then, the murder's out," she thought; "the mane creature has been listening, and faith now he shall have a pill that will settle his stomach intirely.--What were you saying, Miss Annie?"

she asked aloud, turning towards Annie's carriage.

"I said that you did not tell him the whole truth."

"Small matter for that. It was all he asked for, and it's better plazed he is than if it were more. He's a lying ould thing himself, any way!"

"Why, Annorah?"

"Ye may well open yer eyes. Did he not tell me last Sunday that you, miss, with your sweet voice and comforting ways, were jist a temptation placed in me way, by the ould inimy himself?"

"I, Annorah? What does he know of me?"

"Nothing at all, savin' that ye are a saint, and he an ould--"

"Stop, stop, Annorah. We must not speak evil of any one. I hope that you were civil in your reply."

"Civil! indade I was. I said, 'Ye should teach your flock better than to tempt honest people.' 'It's gettin' impudent ye are,' says he; 'ye'll be turnin' heretic next. You must be seen to and taken care of,' says he. 'Bad luck to ye!' says I; 'when ye sees me two eyes light me to confession again, ye may take care o' me and welcome.'"

"And shall you not go again?"

"Never again." Annorah saw the shadow raise its hand threateningly.

"No, indade. Where's the use o' telling all ye know to an ould creature like him? Doesn't the blessed Book say that no man can come to the Father but only through Jesus Christ? An' shure, the great Father in heaven is angered to see me kneel down before that biggest o' scamps, when I should be praying to himself. I'll do it no more."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Annorah; I do so hope," said Annie, as the affectionate tears stole down her thin cheek, "that you are beginning to learn in the school of Christ. But, my poor girl, you will meet much opposition. I am afraid that your family will join with the priest in opposing you."

"Let them. I'll fight them all with pleasure--more especially the praste."

"But fighting is not the way to make them think well of the religion of Jesus. He was mild and gentle, patient under abuse and persecution; and he must be your pattern, if you desire to please G.o.d. You must pray to him, Annorah, for a new heart, so that none of these angry feelings will trouble you."

"Is it the new heart, miss, that makes you so sweet and patient?"

"If I have any goodness, Annorah, it is because G.o.d has changed my old heart, and made it better. It is his grace that enables me to suffer without complaining; and it is his love, which I feel in my heart, that makes me calm and happy in my greatest pain."

"Then I am sure," said the girl earnestly, forgetting for a moment that she was overheard. "I will never rest a day at all, till I get that same done for me. But mayhap he will not be so willing to look upon me."

"In his holy Book we read that he is no respecter of persons, and that whosoever cometh unto him he will in no wise cast out."

"Why, then, I can coom as soon as the grandest. _How_ shall I coom?"

"I will tell you how I came to him. I studied his holy Word to learn his will, and I prayed often that he would give me his Spirit to teach me the way to him."

"An' did he?"

"Yes. In a little time I began to know more about myself, and to see how much I needed a Saviour; and then I saw how willing Jesus must be to save me, having died for me as well as for others; and so, in a way that I can't explain, I was led to give myself to him, and I soon found peace in believing. He will teach you, Annorah, and lead you right, if you earnestly seek him. Look at the sunset clouds. Did you ever see such gold, and crimson, and purple before? But the sunset is not half so bright and beautiful as the true Christian's prospects."

Looking at the sunset reminded Annorah that it was late for her charge to be out. A very slight rustle in the bushes behind her, recalled what she had strangely forgotten, in her interest in the conversation.

She took up a large stone and threw it among the bushes.

"What is there, Annorah?" asked Annie, in alarm.

"Only a sarpint, miss."

"Well, let us hasten home. Mamma will be anxious."

After they left, the dark form of a man rose from behind the green knoll where they had been sitting, and moved slowly along the bank of the stream, down the valley. It was Father M'Clane.

CHAPTER IV.

THE PRIEST MEETS ANNORAH AT HER MOTHER'S COTTAGE.

Biddy Dillon had just finished a large ironing for one of the families in the village, and having placed the clothes-frame where the dust from the open fire-place could not fall on the fine starched linens and muslins, she began to set her table for tea, at the same time counting over the gains of the week. Not a trifle in her calculations were the wages of Annorah, who came regularly every Sat.u.r.day evening to add her contribution to the family fund.

"It's a good child she is gettin' to be, and a pleasant-tempered one, too," said Mrs. Dillon to herself; "it's made over intirely, she is, our Lady be praised!"

She began to sing the burden of an Irish ditty, but the broken-nosed tea-kettle over the fire beginning to sing too, she commenced talking again.

"Heaven send it mayn't be thrue, but it does look like the heretic's doings. She were like a brimstone match, or like gunpowder itself, at home, and tender-hearted as a young baby besides. Shure, it's a mighty power, any way, that has so changed her. I can't jist feel aisy about it, for it's Father M'Clane will find out the harm of her good s.p.a.ches and doings."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the priest entered. The storm on his brow was not unnoted by Biddy, but she respectfully set a chair for him in the cleanest part of the room. She was not quite so easily terrified by priestly wrath and authority as she had been in her own country; for she had the sense to know that the ghostly father's malediction did not, as in Ireland, entail a long course of temporal misfortunes upon the poor victims of his displeasure. But she had not yet acknowledged to herself the doubts that really existed in her mind in regard to the truth of the Romish faith; she still clung to the errors in which she had been brought up, and feared the effect on her eternal happiness of Father M'Clane's displeasure. So it was with a beating heart that she awaited his time to address her.

"Do you know that your daughter is a heretic?" was his first question.

"Indade, no, yer riverence," replied Biddy.

"An' what sort o' a mother are you, Biddy Dillon, to stand still and look on while the wolf stales the best o' yer flock? You might have known that heretic family would lave not a stone unturned to catch her at last. And so she can read--"

"_Read!_" interrupted the astonished woman.

"Yes, read! And it's the heretics' Bible she has read, too,--and all through your fault. Mighty proud ye have been o' all the fine housekeeping ways she has learned, and very thankful, no doubt, for the bits o' could victuals from the big house; but where's the good now? Ye may thank yourself that she will lose her sowl for ever."

Mrs. Dillon started and turned pale as the door softly opened, and Annorah herself, un.o.bserved by the priest, came in. He went on: "Do you call her better, the pestilent crather, when, from her first going to the grand place on the hill, never a word about them has been got from her at confession? The obstinate crather!"

"I came to your riverence for spiritual good," said Annorah, now coming forward and laying a fat chicken and sundry paper parcels beside her week's wages on the little table by her mother's side. "I came for spiritual good, and ye thried to teach me to tattle. It's a mane trade intirely, lettin' alone the maneness of sich as teach it."

"Annorah!" exclaimed her mother, "do you dare to spake in that way o'

the praste himself?"