The Irish priest was standing over the grave bathed in a cold perspiration, his heart throbbing violently, every new thud of the earth, as it sounded violently against the coffin, sending a cold chill of horror through every nerve.  Already enough earth had been thrown to cover three-quarters of the lid, and at the foot it was heaped up some distance.  He tried to frame some excuse to get the men away.  His brain whirled; his mind was confused; his thoughts refused to be collected.

And now, in the midst of this, the attention of all was attracted by a loud stern voice, which sounded from some one near.  The priest looked around.  The men stopped shoveling, and turned to see the cause of the noise.

Girasole was seen approaching, and was already near enough to be distinguished.  Behind him followed a female form.  At this sight the priest’s mind misgave him.

Girasole came up, and now the priest saw that the female was no other than Ethel.

“Where is this priest?” asked Girasole, angrily, speaking, of course, in Italian.

The priest advanced.

“I am here,” said he, with quiet dignity.

At this change in the state of affairs the priest regained his presence of mind.  The cessation in the work gave him relief, and enabled him to recall his scattered and confused thoughts.  The men stood looking at the speakers, and listening, leaning on their shovels.

“You were sent for?”

“Yes.”

“And a maid?”

“Yes.”

“You brought this lady?”

“Yes.”

“You put her in disguise; you passed her off as an Italian?”

“Yes.”

The priest made no attempt at denial or equivocation.  He knew that this would be useless.  He waited for an opportunity to excuse himself, and to explain rather than to deny.  But every answer of his only served to increase the fury of Girasole, who seemed determined to visit upon the head of the priest and Ethel the rage that he felt at his last interview with Minnie.

“Then why,” cried Girasole, “did you try to trick us?  Don’t you know the punishment we give to spies and traitors?”

“I have nothing to do with spies and traitors.”

“You are one yourself.”

“I am not.”

“You lie!”

“I do not,” said the priest, mildly.  “Hear me, and let me tell my story, and you will see that I am not a traitor; or, if you don’t wish to listen, then question me.”

“There is but one question.  What made you bring this lady?”

“That is simply answered,” said the priest, with unfaltering calmness.  “This lady and her friends arrived at my village and claimed hospitality.  They were in distress.  Some of their friends had been taken from them.  A message came from you requesting my presence, and also a lady’s-maid.  There was no stipulation about the kind of one.  This lady was the intimate friend of the captive, and entreated me to take her, so that she should see her friend, and comfort her, and share her captivity.  I saw no harm in the wish.  She proposed to become a lady’s-maid.  I saw no harm in that.”