“You won’t tell to-morrow; ha, ha, there now, take a rub too—­that’s one.”

“Poor creature,” said the priest to his companion, “I am told he is affectionate, and where he takes a fancy or has received a kindness, very grateful.”

The parish where the circumstances we are describing occurred, having been that in which Raymond was born, of course the poor fool was familiar to every one in it, as indeed every one in it, young and old, was to him.

During the short dialogue between him and the priest, the female, absorbed in her own heavy sorrow, was observed by Raymond occasionally to wipe the tears from her eyes; a slight change, a shade of apparent compassion came over his countenance, and turning to her, he gently laid his hand upon her shoulder, and said, in a voice different from, his flighty and abrupt manner—­

“Don’t cry, Mary, he has company, and good things that were brought to him—­he has indeed, Mary; so don’t be crying now.”

“What do you mean, poor boy?” asked the woman; “I don’t understand you, Raymond.”

“It is difficult to do that at all times,” said Father Roche, “but notwithstanding the wildness of his manner, he is seldom without meaning.  Raymond will you tell me where you came from now?” he asked.

“From your house,” he replied; “I went to fetch you to him; but you were both gone, and I overtook you—­I could aisy do that—­ha ha.”

“But what is the company that’s with him, Raymond?” asked the female, naturally anxious to understand this part of his communication.  Raymond, however, was now in one of his silent moods, and appeared not to hear her; at all events, he did not think it worth his while to give her any reply.  For a short period he kept murmuring indistinctly to himself, or if a word or two became audible, it was clear that his favorite sport of cock-fighting had altogether engrossed his attention.

They had now reached a rough, dark knoll of heath, which brought them in view of the cabin to which they were going, and also commanded an extensive and glorious prospect of the rich and magnificent inland country which lay behind them.  The priest and his now almost exhausted companion, to whom its scenery was familiar, waited not to look back upon its beauty or its richness.  Not so Raymond, who, from the moment they began to ascend the elevation, kept constantly looking back, and straining his eyes in one particular direction.  At length he started, and placing his right hand upon the priest’s shoulder, said in a suppressed but eager voice—­

“Go on—­go on—­they’re coming.”  Then, turning to the female—­“Come,” said he; “come, Mary,—­I’ll help you.”

“Who is coming?” she exclaimed, whilst the paleness of death and terror settled in her face; “for God’s mercy, Raymond, who is coming?”

“I saw them,” said he; “I saw them.  Come—­come fast—­I’ll help you—­don’t thrimble—­don’t thrimble.”