“Yes; but they’ll let her alone in some houses. Sorra a bit do the most o’ them care what becomes o’ the sowl, an’ the work be done to their liking. Our Lady be praised! it’s to the far counthrees that the Protestant missionaries are sent, and the silver is given; for one-half o’ the pains taken wi’ the poor crathurs who work in their kitchens would have ruined us all.”
“Yer riverence spakes thrue, to be shure,” said Biddy; “but for all that, it will never be a bit o’ use to thry to make a good Catholic o’ Norah, now that she can read the big books and talk so bravely herself. An’ it were to be the savin’ o’ her life, she would never confess to a praste again, or take the holy wafer from his hands. But if ye would take it aisy and lave it to me, and persuade these meddlesome boobies to mind their own particular business, and throuble us no more, it’s meself would be sure to bring the handsome sum to yer riverence when I come to confession. Contrariwise, you see, and you kape fussing, and they kape fussing, it’s all loss it is to ye, and no gain.”
The priest’s countenance brightened perceptibly. He seemed much impressed with Biddy’s view of the case, and was not slow to perceive its worldly wisdom. So, after addressing the waiting company to some purpose, he left them.
But Biddy sat thoughtfully in a corner, with her lame boy. She had, in her conversation with the priest, cunningly hit on an expedient to propitiate him for a time, but she was ill at ease. She could not at once throw off the chains of teaching that had bound her all her life; and so dim was the light that she had received, that she dared not yet follow it.
“Oh, then, it’s a jewel she is, core o’ me heart, Norah dear!”
The last two words were whispered so loud that Phelim heard them, and he said, “I’ve seen her to-night, mother.”
“Who? Spake aisy, mavourneen.”
“Our Norah.”
“When?” questioned his mother, with an anxious glance at the unheeding revellers.
“Afther dusk. I thought ye would like her to kape away to-night.”