“Diabolus arripiat me si possim unum solum verbum intelligere!” cried the priest.  “Be jabers if I ondherstan’ yez at all at all; an’ there ye have it.”

And with this the priest raised his head, with its puzzled look, and scratched that organ with such a natural air, and with such a full Irish flavor in his brogue and in his face, that both of his visitors were perfectly astounded.

“Good gracious!” cried Tozer; and seizing the priest’s hand in both of his, he nearly wrung it off.  “Why, what a providence!  Why, really, now!  And you were an Irishman all the time!  And why didn’t you speak English?”

“Sure and what made you spake Latin?” cried the priest.  “And what was it you were thryin’ to say wid yer ‘sempiternum durum,’ and yer ‘tonitruendum malum?’ Sure an’ ye made me fairly profeen wid yer talk, so ye did.”

“Well, I dare say,” said Tozer, candidly—­“I dare say ’tain’t onlikely that I did introduce one or two Americanisms in the Latin; but then, you know, I ain’t been in practice.”

The priest now brought chairs for his visitors, and, sitting thus in the church, they told him about their adventures, and entreated him to do something for them.  To all this the priest listened with thoughtful attention, and when they were done he at once promised to find horses for them which would draw the carriages to this hamlet or to the next town.  Ethel did not think Lady Dalrymple could go further than this place, and the priest offered to find some accommodations.

He then left them, and in about half an hour he returned with two or three peasants, each of whom had a horse.

“They’ll be able to bring the leedies,” said the priest, “and haul the impty wagons afther thim.”

“I think, miss,” said Tozer, “that you’d better stay here.  It’s too far for you to walk.”

“Sure an’ there’s no use in the wide wurruld for you to be goin’ back,” said the priest to Ethel.  “You can’t do any gud, an’ you’d betther rist till they come.  Yer frind’ll be enough.”

Ethel at first thought of walking back, but finally she saw that it would be quite useless, and so she resolved to remain and wait for her aunt.  So Tozer went off with the men and the horses, and the priest asked Ethel all about the affair once more.  Whatever his opinions were, he said nothing.

While he was talking there came a man to the door who beckoned him out.  He went out, and was gone for some time.  He came back at last, looking very serious.

“I’ve just got a missage from thim,” said he.

“A message,” exclaimed Ethel, “from them?  What, from Girasole?”

“Yis.  They want a praste, and they’ve sint for me.”

“A priest?”

“Yis; an’ they want a maid-servant to wait on the young leedies; and they want thim immajitly; an’ I’ll have to start off soon.  There’s a man dead among thim that wants to be put undherground to-night, for the rist av thim are goin’ off in the mornin’; an’ accordin’ to all I hear, I wouldn’t wondher but what I’d be wanted for somethin’ else afore mornin’.”