bit is strong, and she peered through the little window with
reddened eyes. And these eyes, as she afterwards described it, "sprod in
her head" at what she saw. For, on the floor, in his favorite attitude,
his head propped between his hands, was the hunchback, Jemmy, studying
with all the intense appreciation of an Edison, how to construct an airy
castle out of certain painted wood-blocks, which strewed the floor; and
there, his back turned towards the window, was her arch-enemy, Father
Letheby, his right hand raised aloft and dangling an india-rubber baby;
whilst Patsey, his eyes dilated with excitement, made frantic attempts
to seize the prize, and crowed and chuckled in the exuberance of his
delight. Mrs. Darcy drew back hastily, then peeped again. No doubt of
it. It was no phantasm of the imagination. She looked again. Then
whispered something softly to herself, and, with a great lump in her
throat, sped swiftly through the village and up to the "Great House."
The result of her interview with Miss Campion we have seen. Father
Letheby has scored again. There were heavy bets of fifteen to one in
half-gallons of porter, laid by desperate gamblers, that Father Letheby
would make Mrs. Darcy wash her face. It was supposed to be a wild plunge
in a hopeless speculation. I am told now, that the betting has gone up
at the forge, and is now fifty to one that, before a month, she'll have
a lace cap and "sthramers" like the maids at the "Great House."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Saxon, linhay.]

CHAPTER VI

AT THE STATION

Captain Campion was one of that singular race of Catholics, with which
Ireland was familiar fifty years ago, but which is now dying rapidly
away under the new conditions and environments of our age. A strong,
rough lot they were, with whom a word meant a blow; gentlemen every inch
of them, who would die for the faith whose dogmas they knew nothing of,
and whose commands they ignored. Often in the town and country clubs of
Ireland strange things happened, of which the outer world heard nothing;
for stewards are discreet, and managers imbibe the spirit of
respectability from their superiors. But the walls could tell of wine
glasses shattered, and billiard cues broken, and hot blows exchanged for
a word about the Pope, or against the priests; it was a leap of hot
flame, which died out in a moment, and they were gentlemen again. And
the perfervid imagination of the Celt had invented some such heroism
a