“Very well, my buck,” said Steele—­“that’s your sort—­here goes—­”

He once more advanced with a savage determination to effect his purpose—­when the priest gently and in a mild spirit of remonstrance laid his hand upon his shoulder; but he had scarcely done so, when one of them seized him by the collar and flung, or rather attempted to fling, him back with great violence.

“Go on, Steele,” shouted the last speaker, whose name was Harpur—­“Go on—­and be cursed, man, we will support you.”

The words, however, were scarcely out of his lips, when Raymond, his eye glaring like that of a tiger with the wildness of untamed resentment, sprang upon him with a bound, and in a moment they once more grappled together.  It was, however, only for a moment—­for by the heavy blow he received from Raymond, the man staggered and fell, but ere he reached the ground, the gun, which had been ineffectually aimed at the poor fool, went off, and lodged its contents in the heart of the last speaker, who staggered, groaned, and fell lifeless where he stood.

For a minute or so, this fatal and unexpected catastrophe stunned them.  They looked upon each other amazed and apparently stupefied, “What,” cried Sharpe, “is Harpur dead?” Two of them then placed their arms against the wall in order to ascertain the exact nature of the injury inflicted.

At this moment, Sharpe, who saw at once the man was indeed lifeless, raised his gun about to take aim at Raymond, when a blow from Harman felled him to the earth.

“And here’s for your kindness, Mister Harman,” shouted Steele; but ere the words were uttered, O’Regan’s wife threw herself upon him so effectually, that he felt it impossible to avail himself of his fire-arms.

“Fight now,” she shouted in Irish, “it is for your lives—­it is for the widow—­for the orphan—­for the bed of death—­and the dead that’s upon it—­fight now—­for God will be with us!  May his strength and power be in your arms and your hearts, prays the woeful widow this day!  Villain—­villain,” she shouted, “I have you powerless now—­but it’s the strength of God that is in me, and not my own!”

The conflict that ensued now was bitter, savage, deadly.  The moment Sharpe was knocked down, Raymond flew to their firearms, handed one to Harman, and kept the other himself.  The men who used them were fierce, and powerful, and cruel.  In a moment a furious contest took place.  The four men immediately grappled, each one attempting to wrest the gun from his antagonist.  Raymond, whose passions were now roused so as to resemble the ravenous fury of madness itself, at one time howled like a beast of prey, and shouted, and screamed, and laughed with maniac wildness that was enough to make almost any heart quail.  His eyes blazed, his figure dilated, his muscles stood out, his mouth was white with froth, and his eyebrows were knit into a deep and deadly scowl.  Altogether his appearance was frightful and appalling.