At this moment a pistol-shot sounded. The priest stopped, and the men stopped also. They did not understand it. The priest did not know the cause of the shot, but seeing the alarm of the men he endeavored to excite their fears. One of the men went back, and was cursed by Girasole for his pains. So he returned to the grave, cursing every body.
The coffin was now lowered into the grave, and the priest urged the men to go away and let him finish the work; but they refused. The fellows seemed to have some affection for their dead comrade, and wished to show it by putting him underground, and doing the last honors. So the efforts of the Irish priest, though very well meant, and very urgent, and very persevering, did not meet with that success which he anticipated.
Suddenly he stopped in the midst of the burial service, which he was prolonging to the utmost.
"Hark!" he cried, in Italian.
"What?" they asked.
"It's a gun! It's an alarm!"
"There's no gun, and no alarm," said they.
All listened, but there was no repetition of the sound, and the priest went on.
He had to finish it.
He stood trembling and at his wit's end. Already the men began to throw in the earth.