"Difficulty!" thought Molly with scorn. "Fiddlesticks!"
The silence was unbroken for some moments. The fresh autumn air blew into the room. A sandy coloured cat came from under the bed, looked at them, and then rubbed her arched back against the unsteady leg of the only table, which was laden with bottles and basins, finally retired into a further corner, and upset and broke one of the pink candles that belonged to the neighbour.
But Mrs. Moloney never took her eyes off the priest's pale face.
"I'll wait until he wakes," he said to her, "but is there anywhere else I could go? It's not good to crowd up this room."
"That's intended to remove me," thought Molly, "but it won't succeed."
Mrs. Moloney moved into the little back room, and pulled forward a chair. When the priest was seated she shut the door behind her and whispered to him—
"Father, you'll not let his soul slip through your fingers, will you, father dear? Just because of the poor lady who knows no better!"
"Who is she? She is not like the district visitors I've seen about in the parish."
"No, indeed; she is a lady, and I've done some work for her, and she would not be satisfied when she heard Moloney was ill but she must come herself, and yesterday, not to grudge her her due, father, the doctor said if he pulled through that I owed her his life. Well, that's proved a mistake, anyhow, but she's after spoiling his last chance, and he's not been the good man he was once, father."
"Yes, Mrs. Moloney, you must watch him carefully, and here I am if there is any change. I'm sure that lady is an excellent nurse, and we mustn't let any chance slip of keeping him alive, must we?"