'Ye lie again, you--you fat crature--'tis thryin' to provoke you to
_keep_ the pace I am. Listen to me, the both o' yez--the leedy up
stairs, the misthress iv this house, and widow of poor Charles
Nutter--Mrs. Sally Nutther, I say--is well liked in the parish; an' if
they get the wind o' the word, all I say 's this--so sure as you're
found here houldin' wrongful possession of her house an' goods, the boys
iv Palmerstown, Castleknock, and Chapelizod will pay yez a visit you
won't like, and duck yez in the river, or hang yez together, like a pair
of common robbers, as you unquestionably _are--not_,' he added, with a
sudden sense of legal liability.

'Who's that?' demanded the lynx-eyed lady, who saw Pat Moran cross the
door in the shadow of the lobby.

'That's Mr. Moran, a most respectable and muscular man, come here to
keep possession, Madam, for Mrs. Sally Nutther, our good friend and
neighbour, Ma'am,' replied the priest.

'As you plase, Sir,' replied the attorney; 'you're tumblin' yourself and
your friend into a nice predicament--as good a consthructive ousther, vi
et armis, as my client could possibly desire. Av coorse, Sir, we'll seek
compensation in the regular way for this violent threspass; and we have
you criminally, you'll obsarve, no less than civilly.'

'Now, look--onderstand me--don't affect to misteek, av you plase,'
said the priest, not very clear or comfortable, for he had before
had one or two brushes with the law, and the recollection was
disagreeable: 'I--Mr. Moran--we're here, Sir--the both iv us, as you
see--pacibly--and--and--all to that--and at the request of Mrs. Sally
Nutther--mind that, too--at her special desire--an' I tell you what's
more--if you make any row here--do you mind--I'll come down with the
magisthrate an' the soldiers, an' lave it to them to dale with you
accordin'--mind ye--to law an' equity, civil, human, criminal, an'
divine--an' make money o' that, ye--ye--mountain in labour--savin' your
presence, Ma'am.'

'I thank you--that'll do, Sir,' said the lawyer, with a lazy chuckle.

'I'll now do myself the honour to make my compliments to Mrs. Sally
Nutther,' said Father Roach, making a solemn bow to Mrs. Matchwell, who,
with a shrill sneer, pursued him as he disappeared with--

'The lady in the bed-room, your reverence?'

Whereat Dirty Davy renewed his wheezy chuckle.

Nothing daunted, the indignant divine stumped resolutely up stairs, and
found poor Sally Nutter, to whose