“So you’ve been saying your prayers?” he began.
“Yes, yer honour”—a curtsey—“but there was a sermon too.”
“Was it a good one?”
“It was so, sir.”
“Tell me what is your idea of a good sermon, Mary?”
“Oh, well, one that makes yer blood creep. Father Dunne is a nice quiet man, but he never frightens ye, or puts the fear of death in ye, not like Father Daly. ’Twas him as preached to-day.”
“Yes. Tell me all about it?”
“Then, sir, I declare ye might have heard the people breathing! They were just paralysed!”
“Ah! And were you frightened?”
“I cannot say I was all out—just a bit disheartened with myself. I know I’m a black sinner.”