Harman was still better matched, and the struggle with his foe was for some time doubtful enough, the latter being one of the strongest and most resolute men in the whole parish.  A powerful tug for the gun now took place, each pulling in opposite directions with all his might.  At length a thought struck Harman, who all at once let the gun go, when the other having no longer any resisting power to sustain him, fell back upon the floor, and in an instant Harman’s knee was on his chest and the gun in his possession.  The man ground his teeth, and looking up into his face with a black scowl of hatred, exclaimed—­

“It is your turn now, but I will have mine.”

“You have had yours too long, villain,” replied the other, “but in the mean time I will teach you to respect the bed of death and the afflictions of the widow.”

Saying which, he vigorously applied the butt of the gun to his ribs, until he had rendered him anything but disposed for further conflict.

Both victories were achieved much about the same time; Raymond’s opponent being far the more severely punished of the two.  “What, however, was their surprise after each had expelled his man from the cabin, to find Steele down, his gun lying on one side.  O’Regan’s wife fastened on his throat, and himself panting and almost black in the face!

“Here now,” she exclaimed, “the battle of the widow was well fought, and God gave us strength.  Put this man out with the rest.”  This was accordingly done, but as in the case of his companions, the gun for the present was retained.

“See now,” she proceeded, still in Irish, “what the hand of a weak woman can do, when her heart is strengthened by God, against cruelty and oppression.  What made that strong man weak in my grasp?  Because he knew that the weakness of the widow was his shame—­the touch of her hand took away his strength; and what had he within or about him to depend upon? could he look in upon his wicked heart, and be strong? could he look upon the darkness of a bad conscience, and be strong? could he look on me—­upon my dead husband, and his bed of death, and be strong?  No—­and above all, could he look up to the Almighty God in heaven, and be strong—­no—­no—­no—­but from all these I gained strength—­for surely, surely, I had it not in myself!”

She uttered these sentiments with wonderful energy, and indeed, from the fire in her eye, and the flush of her cheek, it was evident she was highly excited.  Father Roche, who had been engaged, and indeed, had enough to do in keeping the poor child quiet and aloof from the fray, especially from his mother—­now entreated that she would endeavor to compose herself, as she had reason to thank God, he said, that neither she herself nor her resolute defenders had sustained any personal injury.  She did not seem to have heard him—­for on looking on the body of her husband she almost bounded over to the bed, and kneeling down rapturously, and in a spirit of enthusiastic triumph, kissed his lips.