"Oh, how I hate you!" said Minnie to Girasole. The latter said nothing. Ethel kissed Minnie, and descended the stairs after him.
The Irish priest was standing over the grave bathed in a cold perspiration, his heart throbbing violently, every new thud of the earth, as it sounded violently against the coffin, sending a cold chill of horror through every nerve. Already enough earth had been thrown to cover three-quarters of the lid, and at the foot it was heaped up some distance. He tried to frame some excuse to get the men away. His brain whirled; his mind was confused; his thoughts refused to be collected.
And now, in the midst of this, the attention of all was attracted by a loud stern voice, which sounded from some one near. The priest looked around. The men stopped shoveling, and turned to see the cause of the noise.
Girasole was seen approaching, and was already near enough to be distinguished. Behind him followed a female form. At this sight the priest's mind misgave him.
Girasole came up, and now the priest saw that the female was no other than Ethel.
"Where is this priest?" asked Girasole, angrily, speaking, of course, in Italian.
The priest advanced.
"I am here," said he, with quiet dignity.
At this change in the state of affairs the priest regained his presence of mind. The cessation in the work gave him relief, and enabled him to recall his scattered and confused thoughts. The men stood looking at the speakers, and listening, leaning on their shovels.
"You were sent for?"