O'Regan went over, loosed his cravat, and stayed with him a few moments, after which he returned to Raymond and the priest, who were now in the ruin.
“I think he will be well enough shortly,” he observed, “but the truth is, Raymond, that he wasn't worth your vengeance. I will now go and fetch a few of the neighbors to assist in bringing my poor mother down from this lonely spot, that she may at least have a Christian roof over her.”
He accordingly departed, and Father Roche in a few minutes had Phil's mind completely disentangled from the train of dark thoughts and affectionate impulses by which it had been for some time past alternately influenced.
“Raymond,” said the priest, “how could you think of committing such a frightful act as murder?”
“Ha, ha!” he replied, “sure i'twas when I thought of Mary M'Loughlin and poor White-head.”
“And how did it happen that, of all places in the world, you both came here?”
“Becaise White-head and the rest are here. Sure he thought he was comin' to a poor creature upon no good, and when he was drunk it was aisey to bring him anywhere—ha, ha! that's one too—for I—can manage him.”
“I thank the Almighty Father,” ejaculated the priest, “that I was able to prevent another murder this night—for most assuredly, Raymond, you would have taken his life.”
“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the fool, with a little of his former ferocity, “sure it was for that I brought him here—aye, aye, nothin' else.”
“Well, while you live,” continued the old man, “never attempt to have the blood of a fellow creature on your soul. I must go over and see how he feels—I perceive he is able to sit up. Young man,” he proceeded, addressing Phil, “I render God thanks that I have been instrumental in saving your life this night.”