"And I tell you, you were dreaming. Do you think you'd make me believe that such a young gentleman as Mr. Thady would turn murderer all of a sudden? Now go home, and take my advice; if you don't want to find yourself in a worse scrape than Captain Ussher, or Mr. Keegan, don't repeat such a tale as that to any one."
McGovery sneaked off with his tail, allegorically speaking, between his legs. He didn't exactly know what to make of it; for though, as has been before said, he did not wish on this occasion to make Father John the depositary of his fears, he did not expect even from him to meet with such total discomfiture. He consoled himself, however, with the recollection that if anything did happen now, either to the revenue officer or the attorney,—and he almost hoped there would,—he could fairly say that he had given warning and premonitory tidings of it to the parish priests, which, if attended to, might have prevented all harm. With this comfortable feeling, to atone for Father John's displeasure, and now not quite sure whether he had overheard any allusion last night to Keegan and a bog-hole or not, he returned to his wife.
As soon as he was gone, Cullen, as much surprised as McGovery at the manner in which Father John had received the story, asked him if he thought it was all a lie.
"Perhaps not all a lie," answered the priest; "perhaps he heard something about Keegan—not very flattering to the attorney; no doubt Thady was asking the boys about the rent, and threatening them with Keegan as a receiver over the property, or something of that sort; and very likely one of those boys from Drumleesh said something about a bog-hole, which may be Thady didn't reprove as he ought to have done. I've no doubt it all came about in that way,—but that fellow with his tales and his stories, will get his ears cut off some of these days, and serve him right. Why, he wanted yesterday, to make me believe that these fellows who are to drown Keegan this morning, were to shoot Ussher last night! He's just the fellow to do more harm in the country than all the stills, if he were listened to.—Well, Cullen, good day, I'm going into Mr. McKeon's here;"—and Cullen went away quite satisfied with Father John's view of the affair.
Not so, Father John. For Thady's sake—to screen his character, and because he did not think there was any immediate danger—he had given the affair the turn which it had just taken; but he himself feared—more than feared—felt sure that there was too much truth in what the man had said. Thady's unusual intoxication last night—his brutal conduct to his sister—to Ussher, and to himself—the men with whom he had been drinking—his own knowledge of the feeling the young man entertained towards Keegan, and the hatred the tenants felt for the attorney—all these things conspired to convince Father John that McGovery had too surely overheard a conversation, which, if repeated to Keegan, might probably, considering how many had been present at it, give him a desperate hold over young Macdermot, which he would not fail to use, either by frightening him into measures destructive to the property, or by proceeding criminally against him. Father John was not only greatly grieved that such a meeting should have been held, with reference to its immediate consequences, but he was shocked that Thady should so far have forgotten himself and his duty as to have attended it. But with the unceasing charity which made the great beauty of Father John's character, he, in his heart, instantly made allowances for him; he remembered all his distress and misery—his want of friends—his grief for his sister—his continued attempts and continued inability to relieve his father from his difficulties; and he determined to endeavour to screen him.
His success with McGovery, whom he had made to disbelieve his own senses, and with Cullen, who was ready enough to take his superior's views in any secular affair, had been complete; and he did not think that either would now be likely to repeat the story in a manner that would do any injury. We shall, in a short time, see what steps he took in the matter with Thady himself. In the meanwhile, we will follow him into Mrs. McKeon's house, at whose door he had now arrived.
CHAPTER XV.
THE M'KEONS.
When Father John opened the wicket gate leading into the small garden which separated Mrs. McKeon's house from the street, he saw her husband standing in the open door-way, ruminating. Mr. McKeon was said to be a comfortable man, and he looked to be so; he was something between forty-five and fifty, about six feet two high, with a good-humoured red face. He was inclined to be corpulent, and would no doubt have followed his inclination had he not accustomed himself to continual bodily activity. He was a great eater, and a very great drinker; it is said he could put any man in Connaught under the table, and carry himself to bed sober. At any rate he was never seen drunk, and it was known that he had often taken fifteen tumblers of punch after dinner, and rumour told of certain times when he had made up and exceeded the score.