“But few, if any,” answered the priest, “they are nearly all dead or gone away who once lived there; the curse of your country has been upon them. The aged and the young, the married and the single, the widow and her children, have all been swept away.”
“Yes, I have heard that great changes have taken place in this neighbourhood of late years,” answered the young officer, a shade of melancholy crossing his countenance. “And now, sir, in spite of the somewhat rough way in which you first addressed me, I wish you good morning, and thank you for your information.”
Father O’Rourke had, all the time he was speaking, been examining the countenance of the young officer.
“Ah, to be sure, I was somewhat irritated by a trifle just before I met you, but your politeness has conquered me,” he answered blandly, “and I beg you, should you come near my humble abode, to believe that I shall be happy to receive you. We poor, oppressed Catholics have little to offer our guests, but to such as I possess you will be welcome. Our business is to look after the souls of our parishioners. If we can but show them the right way to heaven we should be content.”
The young officer seemed somewhat inclined to smile at these remarks of the priest.
“I will not fail to avail myself of your invitation,” he answered, “but at present I do not intend to extend my walk along the sea-shore.”
“Well then, sir, as you have wished me good morning, I must wish you the same, and a pleasant walk to you, only let me advise you to be cautious where you go; it isn’t just the safest part of the country for a king’s officer to be found wandering in by himself. However, sir, I have given you a friendly warning, and now again farewell.” The priest, somewhat to the surprise of the officer, considering the father’s previous greeting, put out his hand, which he was too courteous not to take, then quickly turning round, Father O’Rourke proceeded up the gorge into the country.
Father O’Rourke was not accustomed to explain to others the object of his proceedings. He had good reasons in his own estimation for everything that he did. They were possibly conscientious; but then his conscience might have been a very erring guide, and led him far wrong, as is the case with many other people in the world.
“It cannot be helped,” said the priest to himself, alluding to something which was passing in his own mind, “but no harm may come of it to me after all. The boys were to meet at O’Keef’s last night, and there will be plenty of them still about there; they will be glad enough of the chance of getting hold of a king’s officer, and if he shows fight and some one gives him a knock on the head, or sends a pistol-bullet through him, it will settle the business. He is certain to be down in the cove, and if the boys are quick they will catch him there. I am pretty sure that I am not mistaken, but at all events he will be a valuable prize if he can be got hold of any way.”
Such thoughts occupied the mind of the priest as turning off from the beaten path he took his way across a mountainous region which still remained in all its primitive wildness. After proceeding for some distance at a speed which was surprising considering his age, he reached some rude turf-covered huts, scarcely discernible from the rocks and grass amid which they stood. The priest gave a peculiar call, which soon brought out a number of shaggy-looking heads and eager faces with grey frieze-coats beneath them. Father O’Rourke did not take long to explain the object of his visit, which was quickly comprehended, nor did he wrongly estimate the inclinations of his hearers, who gleefully undertook to carry out the plan he proposed to them. All things being arranged to his satisfaction, he returned to his own abode, saying to himself, “I warned him of danger, so that if he is attacked and escapes, he cannot accuse me of having had anything to do in the matter.”