He began digging again near the door, but before he had thrown up more than a couple of shovelfuls, he noticed a man’s hand laid bare by the spade.  “By my soul, I’ll go no further, then,” said he to himself; “what use is it for me?” And he threw the clay in again on it, and settled the flags as they had been before.

He left the church then, and his heart was heavy enough, but he shut the door and locked it, and left the key where he found it.  He sat down on a tombstone that was near the door, and began thinking.  He was in great doubt what he should do.  He laid his face between his two hands, and cried for grief and fatigue, since he was dead certain at this time that he never would come home alive.  He made another attempt to loosen the hands of the corpse that were squeezed round his neck, but they were as tight as if they were clamped; and the more he tried to loosen them, the tighter they squeezed him.  He was going to sit down once more, when the cold, horrid lips of the dead man said to him, “Carrick-fhad-vic-Orus,” and he remembered the command of the good people to bring the corpse with him to that place if he should be unable to bury it where he had been.

He rose up, and looked about him.  “I don’t know the way,” he said.

As soon as he had uttered the word, the corpse stretched out suddenly its left hand that had been tightened round his neck, and kept it pointing out, showing him the road he ought to follow.  Teig went in the direction that the fingers were stretched, and passed out of the churchyard.  He found himself on an old rutty, stony road, and he stood still again, not knowing where to turn.  The corpse stretched out its bony hand a second time, and pointed out to him another road—­not the road by which he had come when approaching the old church.  Teig followed that road, and whenever he came to a path or road meeting it, the corpse always stretched out its hand and pointed with its fingers, showing him the way he was to take.

Many was the cross-road he turned down, and many was the crooked boreen he walked, until he saw from him an old burying-ground at last, beside the road, but there was neither church nor chapel nor any other building in it.  The corpse squeezed him tightly, and he stood.  “Bury me, bury me in the burying-ground,” said the voice.

Teig drew over towards the old burying-place, and he was not more than about twenty yards from it, when, raising his eyes, he saw hundreds and hundreds of ghosts—­men, women, and children—­sitting on the top of the wall round about, or standing on the inside of it, or running backwards and forwards, and pointing at him, while he could see their mouths opening and shutting as if they were speaking, though he heard no word, nor any sound amongst them at all.