“In the first place,” replied the old man, with a firm and intrepid voice, “I am no villain; and in the next, I say, that if any man directed you to this house in quest of a priest, he must have purposely sent you upon a fool’s errand.  I am a Protestant, Captain Smellpriest; but, Protestant as I am, I tell you to your face that if I could give shelter to a poor persecuted priest, and save him from the clutches of such men as you and Sir Robert Whitecraft, I would do it.  In the meantime, there is neither priest nor friar under this roof; you can come in and search in the house, if you wish.”

“Why, gog’s ’ouns, father,” exclaimed one of the men, “how does it come that we find you here?”

“Very simply, John,” replied his father—­for such he was—­“I took this cottage, and the bit of land that goes with it, from honest Andy Morrow, and we are not many hours in it.  The house was empty for the last six months, so that I say again, whoever sent Captain Smellpriest here sent him upon a fool’s errand—­upon a wild-goose chase.”

The gallant captain started upon hearing these latter words.

“What does he say,” he asked—­“a wild-goose chase!  Right—­right,” he added, in a soliloquy; “Strong is at the bottom of it, the black scoundrel! but still, let us search the house; the old fellow admits that he would shelter a priest.  Search the house I say.

     ’There was an old prophecy found in a bog,
     Lillibullero, bullen ala, &c., &c.’”

The house was accordingly searched, but it is unnecessary to add that neither priest nor friar was found under the roof, nor any nook or corner in which either one or the other could have been concealed.

The party, who then directed their steps homewards, were proceeding across the fields to the mountain road which ran close by, and parallel with the stripe, when they perceived at once that Smellpriest was in a rage, by the fact of his singing “Lillibullero;” for, whenever either his rage or loyalty happened to run high, he uniformly made a point to indulge himself in singing that celebrated ballad.

“By jabers,” said one of them to his companions, “there will be a battle royal between the captain and Mr. Strong if he finds the parson at home before him.”

“If there won’t be a fight with the parson, there will with the wife,” replied the other.  “Hang the same parson,” he added; “many a dreary chase he has sent us upon, with nothing but the fatigue of a dark and slavish journey for our pains.  With what bitterness he’s giving us ‘Lillibullero,’ and he scarcely able to sit on his horse!  I think I’ll advance, and ride beside him, otherwise, he may get an ugly tumble on this hard road.”

He accordingly did so, observing, as he got near him, “I have taken the liberty to ride close beside you, lest, as the night is dark, your horse might stumble.”

“What! do you think I’m drunk, you scoundrel?—­fall back, sir, immediately.