“Can you not say which?” asked Mr. Temple.

“No,” replied the Cannie Soogah; “I axed the stranger the same question, and he couldn’t tell me.  Now, sir, you know them, and I know how much they respect you; and the thing is this,—­I think if you’d see them, and thry to get them to go to Lisnagola, or some safe place, takin’ their lives and money along wid them, you’d save them from murdher; they’d be apt to listen to you; but as for me, or the likes o’ me, they’d laugh at me; indeed, they’re rather wishin’ for an attack, in hopes they might get revenge upon the people, for, to tell you the truth, they’ve been foolish enough to say so; an’ as their words has gone abroad, the people’s determined, it seems, to let them know which o’ them is strongest.”

“Well,” replied the curate, “I am sorry to hear this—­it is dreadful.  That they are unpopular—­nay, detested—­I know; as I do, also, that they have latterly gone daring lengths—­oppressive and unjustifiable lengths —­in collecting tithes.  I shall, however, see them, and endeavor to make them take refuge in some place of security.”

“It will be a good act,” said the pedlar, “and if I can do anything, humble as I am, to save them, I’ll do it.”

“I think they ought to get a party of police to protect the house,” observed Mr. Temple.

“I know they ought, sir,” replied the pedlar, “but the truth is, they’re so proud and foolhardy, that the very mention of such a thing throws them into a fury.”

“That is unfortunate,” said the other.  “At all events, I shall leave nothing undone within my power to prevail on them to take steps for their security.  You may rely on it,” he added, “that whatever I can do for that purpose, I shall do.”

“Well, now,” said the Cannie, “my mind, thank God’s, aisier.  I’ll lose no time myself in seein’ what I can do to prevent this business; that is, I mane, their stayin’ in the house,” he added, as if checking or correcting himself.

He then bade Mr. Temple good morning, and hurried away, without waiting to see his fair friend, Lilly, as was his custom to do.

CHAPTER XVII.—­Midnight Court of Justice

—­Sentence of the Proctor and His Sons.

Breakfast in the proctor’s, on the morning of Christmas Eve, was eaten as if it had been a funeral meal.  The proctor himself could not raise his spirits, which were generally high and cheerful.  John and Alick were much more serious than usual; and were it not for the presence of M’Carthy, the meal in question would have been a very gloomy one indeed.  Even M’Carthy himself felt the influence of the spirit that prevailed, and found that all his attempts to produce cheerfulness or mirth among them were by no means successful.  The two sons, as if acting under the influence of some unaccountable presentiment, engaged themselves in casting bullets for the fire-arms with which the house was furnished,