In this stable did the wanderer take up her residence at night; and when we consider the belief of the people in the night-scenes, which were supposed to occur in it, we need not be surprised at the new feature of horror which this circumstance super-added to her character.  Her presence and appearance, in the parish were dreadful; a public outcry was soon raised against her, which, were it not from fear of her power over their lives and cattle, might have ended in her death.  None, however, had courage to grapple with her, or to attempt expelling her by violence, lest a signal vengeance might be taken on any who dared to injure a woman that could call in the terrible aid of the Lianhan Shee.

In this state of feeling they applied to the parish priest, who, on hearing the marvellous stories related concerning her, and on questioning each man closely upon his authority, could perceive, that, like most other reports, they were to be traced principally to the imagination and fears of the people.  He ascertained, however, enough from Bartley Sullivan to justify a belief that there was something certainly uncommon about the woman; and being of a cold, phlegmatic disposition, with some humor, he desired them to go home, if they were wise—­he shook his head mysteriously as he spoke—­“and do the woman no injury, if they didn’t wish—­” and with this abrupt hint he sent them about their business.

This, however, did not satisfy them.  In the same parish lived a suspended priest, called Father Philip O’Dallaghy, who supported himself, as most of them do, by curing certain diseases of the people—­miraculously!  He had no other means of subsistence, nor indeed did he seem strongly devoted to life, or to the pleasures it afforded.  He was not addicted to those intemperate habits which characterize “Blessed Priests” in general; spirits he never tasted, nor any food that could be termed a luxury, or even a comfort.  His communion with the people was brief, and marked by a tone of severe contemptuous misanthropy.  He seldom stirred abroad except during morning, or in the evening twilight, when he might be seen gliding amidst the coming darkness, like a dissatisfied spirit.  His life was an austere one, and his devotional practices were said to be of the most remorseful character.  Such a man, in fact, was calculated to hold a powerful sway over the prejudices and superstitions of the people.  This was true.  His power was considered almost unlimited, and his life one that would not disgrace the highest saint in the calendar.  There were not wanting some persons in the parish who hinted that Father Felix O’Rourke, the parish priest, was himself rather reluctant to incur the displeasure, or challenge the power, of the Lianhan Shee, by, driving its victim out of the parish.  The opinion of these persons was, in its distinct unvarnished reality, that Father Felix absolutely showed the white feather on this critical occasion—­that he became shy, and begged leave to decline being introduced to this intractable pair—­seeming to intimate that he did not at all relish adding them to the stock of his acquaintances.