yer nose, an' wint
be the rath in a gallop, like he'd seen the good people. But niver mind,
I'll tell ye the shtory some time, only I was thinkin' O'Moore might have
knewn betther.

"But they tuk the Cashel road an' wint on as fast as they cud, for it was
afthernoon an' gettin' late. An' O'Moore kept lookin' about an' wonderin'
that he didn't know the counthry, though he'd niver been to Tipperary but
wanst, an' afther a while, he gev up that he was lost entirely. No more
wud he ax the people on the road, but gev thim 'God save ye' very short,
for he was afeared Nora might make throuble. An' by an' by, it come on to
rain, an' whin they turned the corner av a hill, he seen the Rock o'
Cashel wid the churches on it, an' thin he stopped.

"'Phat's this at all,' says he. 'Faix, if that isn't Cashel I'll ate it,
an' we've come out o' the way altogether.'

"Nora answered him niver a word, an' he shtarted to turn round, but whin
he looked at the horse, the poor baste was knocked up entirely.

"'We'll go on to Cashel,' says he, 'an' find a shebeen, an' go back in the
mornin'. It's hard luck we're afther havin',' says he.

[Illustration: "Where is me dawther?"]

"So they wint on, an' jist afore they got to the Rock, they seen a nate
lodgin' house be the road an' wint in. He left Nora to sit be the fire,
while he wint to feed the horse, an' whin he come back in a minit, he
looked for her, but faith, she'd given him the shlip an' was gone
complately.

"'Where is me dawther?' says he.

"'Faith, I dunno,' says the maid. 'She walked out av the dure on the
minit,' says she.

"Owld O'Moore run, an' Satan an' none but himself turned him in the way
she was afther takin.' God be good to thim, no wan iver knewn phat tuk
place, but whin they wint wid a lanthern to sarch fur thim whin they
didn't raturn, they found the marks o' their feet on the road to the
strame. Half way down the path they picked up Nora's shawl that was torn
an' flung on the ground an' fut marks in plenty they found, as if he had
caught her an' thried to howld her an' cudn't, an' on the marks wint to
the high bank av the strame, that was a torrent be razon av the rain. An'
there they ended wid a big slice o' the bank fallen in, an' the sarchers
crassed thimselves wid fright an' wint back an' prayed for the repose av
their sowls.

"The next day they found thim, a good Irish mile down the strame, owld
O'Moore wid wan hand howlding her gown an'