“Fling the blasted idiot off,” shouted Sharpe; “don’t you see he has let the cat out o’ the bag—­how could the man be hurted if he was dead; I knew it was a schame.”  To throw Raymond off, however, was easier said than done, as the fellow found on attempting it.  A struggle commenced between them, which, though violent, was not of long duration.  Raymond’s eye got turbid, and glared with a fiery light; but otherwise his complexion did not change.  By a vehement twist, he wrenched the arms out of Steele’s hands, hurling him from him at the same time, with such force, that he fell on the floor with a crash.

“Now,” said he, pointing the bayonet to his neck, “would you like it?—–­ha, ha!—­think of that.”

Four carbines—­the whole party consisting of five—­were immediately levelled at him; and it is not improbable that half a minute more would have closed both his existence and his history, had not Father Roche and the widow both succeeded, with some difficulty, in drawing him back from the prostrate officer of justice.  Raymond, after a little time, gave up the arms; but his eye still blazed at his opponent, with a glare that could not be misunderstood.

Harman, who had hitherto taken no part whatsoever in the altercation, now interfered; and with feelings which he found it nearly impossible to restrain, pointed out to them the wanton cruelty of such conduct towards both the living and the dead.  “I am ashamed of you,” said he, “as countrymen, as Irishmen.  Your treatment of this poor heartbroken woman, amidst her desolation and sorrow, is a disgrace to the country that gave you birth, and to the religion you profess, if, indeed, you profess any.”

“Come, come, my good fellow,” said Sharpe, “what is it you say about my religion?  I tell you I’ll allow no man to spake a syllable against my religion; so keep quiet if you’re wise, and don’t attack that, otherwise don’t be surprised if I make you dance the devil’s hornpipe in half a shake, great a hairo as you are.”

“And yet you felt no scruple in just now insulting religion, in the person of this reverend gentleman who never offended you.”

“Him! why what the hell is he but a priest?”

“And the more entitled to your respect on that account—­but since you are so easily excited in defence of your own creed, why so ready to attack in such offensive and insulting language that of another?”

“Come, come, Sharpe,” said another of them, “are we to be here all day—­whatever we’re to do let us do it at once; if the fellow’s dead, why he has had a devilish good escape of it, and if not, let us clap him on a horse, that is, provided he’s able to travel.  I think myself he has got the start of us, and that the wind’s out of him.”

“Take your time,” said Steele, who felt anxious to avenge his defeat upon some one, “we must know, that before ever we leave the house—­and by the great Boyne, the first person that goes between me and him will get the contents of this,” and as he uttered the words he coolly and deliberately cocked the gun, and was advancing as before to the dead body.