“You are right!  What a fool I was not to tell Dick!  Cousin, a word!”

Here the clamour became somewhat louder, the priest taking an active part, and speaking rapidly and earnestly in their native tongue to the evidently excited peasantry.  He suddenly broke from them, and hastening to the Protestant clergyman, grasped his hand, and, shaking it heartily, wished him “health, long life, and happiness:”  and lifting a tumbler of punch to his lips, drank off nearly half its contents, exclaiming the customary, “God save all here!” He then presented the liquor to the stranger, saying in a low earnest voice, “Drink that toast, sir!”

This order was instantly complied with.  The clear tones of the young man’s unfaltering voice and the hearty cordiality of his utterance had a singular effect upon the more turbulent; the priest passed rapidly from the one to the other, and endeavoured to say something pleasant to all, but, despite his attempts at calmness, he was evidently ill at ease.

Tim Carroll again sidled up to his young master.

“The boys mane harrum, sir,” said Tim; “but never mind, there’s five of us here.  We’ve not been idle, we’ve all been taking pick o’ the sticks, and divil a stroke falls upon one of the ould ancient family widout showing a bruck head or a flat back for it.”

“What am I to understand by this?” inquired the young stranger.

“That you’re like Tom Fergusson when he rode the losing horse—­you’ve mounted the wrong colour; and, be dad, you are pretty well marked down for it, sir; but never mind, there’s Tim Carroll looking as black as the inside of a sut-bag.  Let him come on! he peeled the skin off them shins o’ mine at futball; maybe, I won’t trim his head with black thorn for that same, if he’s any ways obstropolis this blessed night.”

“Silence, sir! neither my inclination nor sacred calling will allow me to countenance a broil!  I have been the first offender—­to attempt to leave the room now would but provoke an attack; leave this affair to me, and don’t interfere.”

“By the powers! if man or mortal lifts his hand to injure you, I’ll smash the soul out of him!  Do you think, omen or no omen, I’ll stand by and see you harmed?—­not a bit of it!  If you are a parson and a child of peace, I have the honour to be a soldier, and claim my right to battle in your cause.”

Maugre the pacific tone of the unfortunately-accoutered ecclesiastic, there was something of defiance in his flashing eye and crimson cheek, as he turned his brightening glance upon what might almost be called the host of his foes; and the nervous pressure which returned the grasp of his cousin’s sinewy hand, spoke something more of readiness for battle than could have been gathered from his expressed wishes.

“If, Jack, it comes to that, why, as human nature is weak—­excuse what I may feel compelled to do; but for the present pray oblige me by keeping your seat and the peace; or, if you must move and fidget about, go and make that pugnacious Tim Carroll as decent as you can.”