“By the sacred Powers, your reverence, I heard the cry of her myself, as I came by the bend of the lough. If it’s not the truth that I’m after speaking, may I be the one that she’s come for.”
“Doesn’t he play the part splendidly?” said Lady Innisfail. “I’d almost think that he was in earnest. Look how the people are crossing themselves.”
Miss Stafford looked at them through her double eye-glasses with the long handle.
“How lovely!” she murmured. “The Cruiskeen is the Oberammergau of Connaught.”
Edmund Airey laughed.
“God forgive us all for this night!” said the priest. “Sure, didn’t I think that the good that would come of getting on the chapel roof would cover the shame of this night! Go to your cabins, my children. You were not to blame. It was me and me only. My Lady”—he turned to the Innisfail party—“this entertainment is over. God knows I meant it for the best.”
“But we haven’t yet heard the harper,” cried Lady Innisfail.
“And the native bards,” said Miss Stafford. “I should so much like to hear a bard. I might even recite a native poem under his tuition.”
Miss Stafford saw a great future for native Irish poetry in English drawing-rooms. It might be the success of a season.
“The entertainment’s over,” said the priest.