“Yes,” replied Ned, bitterly; “it’s an aisy thing for Lord Cumber to know what’s either good or bad upon his estate—­how the people live, or how they die—­very aisy, indeed, for a man who never puts a foot on it, but leaves them to the mercy of such villains as M’Clutchy.  Had he been livin’ on his property, or looked afther it as he ought to do, I don’t think it’s lyin’ stretched, far from house or habitation, that you would be this night, my blessed mother—­my poor father, and your childre cut down by persecution, and yourself, without house or home, runnin’ an’ unhappy, deranged creature about the country, and now lyin’ there widout a roof to cover your poor remains.”

“Do not say so,” replied Father Roche; “she shall be waked in my house, and buried at my expense.”

“If you’ll allow her to be waked there, I will thank you, Father Eoche; but the expenses of her burial, I am myself able to pay; and so long as I am, you know, I could not suffer any one else to intherfare; many thanks to you, sir, in the meantime.”

“Well then,” said the priest, “as I know and understand the feeling, I shall not press the matter; but since the body cannot be left without protection, I think you had better go down, and fetch a few neighbors with a door, and let her be removed forthwith.  I shall remain till you return.”

“It’s a very hard thing, Father Roche, that you should be put to sich a duty,” replied O’Regan; “but the truth is, I wouldn’t take all the money in the King’s exchequer, and remain here by myself.”

“But I have no such fears,” said the priest; “I shall stay within the shelter of this old ruin until your return, which will be as quick, I trust, as possible.”

O’Regan was about to start off at the top of his speed; and Father Roche began to walk to and fro the old ruin, struck by the pale moonlight, as it fell through the gray stone windows, loopholes, and breaches of the walls, lighting up some old remnant of human ambition, or perhaps exposing a grinning skull, bleached by time and the elements into that pale white, which is perhaps the most ghastly exponent of death and the dead.  At this moment, however, they were each in no small degree startled by the sound of human voices; and, to complete their astonishment, two figures approached the humble grave on which the dead body of Mary O’Regan lay stretched.  On turning towards the moon they were both immediately recognized by the priest and O’Regan, who looked on in silence and wonder, and waited to hear, if possible, the object of their visit.

“I say again,” said Phil, “I say my jolly ph-foolosophy—­eh foolosopher—­that is to say, you deal in foolosophy—­an ex-excellent trade for a fool—­I say again, you have brought me the wrong way, or misled me somehow—­upon my honor and reputation, Rimon, I rather think you’re short of sense, my man.  Come, I say, let us be off home again—­what the devil did you bring me to a church-yard for?—­eh?”