“Was he?  The people are not attacking you, I suppose, because he’s let loose?”

“Wait till I tell you.  No; the people are mad because O’Connell and his myrmidons are to be locked up; and, mingled with their fury on this head are their insane rejoicings at the escape of this priest.  They are, therefore,—­or were, till Saturday last, howling for joy and for grief at the same time.  Oh! such horrid howls, Mr Armstrong.  I declare, Mr Armstrong, I have trembled for my children this week past.”

The earl, who well knew Mr O’Joscelyn, and the nature of his grievances, had heard all these atrocities before; and, not being very excited by their interest, had continued sipping his claret in silence till he began to doze; and, by the time the worthy parson had got to the climax of his misery, the nobleman was fast asleep.

“You don’t mean that the people made any attack on the parsonage?” said Mr Armstrong.

“Wait till I tell you, Mr Armstrong,” replied the other.  “On Thursday morning last they all heard that O’Connell was a convicted felon.”

“Conspirator, I believe?  Mr O’Joscelyn.”

“Conspiracy is felony, Mr Armstrong—­and that their priest had been let loose.  It was soon evident that no work was to be done that day.  They assembled about the roads in groups; at the chapel-door; at Priest Flannery’s house; at the teetotal reading-room as they call it, where the people drink cordial made of whiskey, and disturb the neighbourhood with cracked horns; and we heard that a public demonstration was to be made.”

“Was it a demonstration of joy or of grief?”

“Both, Mr Armstrong! it was mixed.  They were to shout and dance for joy about Father Tyrrel; and howl and curse for grief about O’Connell; and they did shout and howl with a vengeance.  All Thursday, you would have thought that a legion of devils had been let loose into Kilcullen.”

“But did they commit any personal outrages, Mr O’Joscelyn?”

“Wait till I tell you.  I soon saw how the case was going to be, and I determined to be prepared.  I armed myself, Mr Armstrong; and so did Mrs O’Joscelyn.  Mrs O’Joscelyn is a most determined woman—­a woman of great spirit; we were resolved to protect our daughters and our infants from ill-usage, as long as God should leave us the power to do so.  We both armed ourselves with pistols, and I can assure you that, as far as ammunition goes, we were prepared to give them a hot reception.”

“Dear me!  This must have been very unpleasant to Mrs O’Joscelyn.”

“Oh, she’s a woman of great nerve, Mr Armstrong.  Mary is a woman of very great nerve.  I can assure you we shall never forget that Thursday night.  About seven in the evening it got darkish, but the horrid yells of the wild creatures had never ceased for one half-hour; and, a little after seven, twenty different bonfires illuminated the parish.  There were bonfires on every side of us:  huge masses of blazing turf were to be seen scattered through the whole country.”