probably the most appropriate that could be made; when we consider the position of the one writhing helplessly upon the ground, and the other howling in all the insatiable wildness of bloodthirsty triumph over him.  So hard and desperate indeed was the tug for life, and so deadly was the immediate sense of suffocation becoming, that Phil, whose eyes were already blinded, and who was only able to utter a low hoarse gurgle, which sounded like the death-rattle in his throat, was utterly unable either to think of or to use his fire-arms.  The onset, too, was so quick, that neither Father Roche nor O’Regan had time to render assistance.

“Great heaven,” exclaimed the priest, “is the young man, bad and wicked as he is, to be murdered before our eyes by that gigantic idiot!”

He proceeded to the spot just when Raymond was about to repeat, in reality, the imaginary scene with the pillow.

“Ho, ho,” he shouted, “give us betther measure—­a little more of it—­the same tongue never was your own friend, nor the friend of any one else—­ha, ha,—­ho, ho, ho.  There, that’s one—­take it out o’ that, will you?—­whoo, hoo—­hello, hach, ach!—­This for White-head, and this for Mary M’——­”

“What’s this, Raymond?” said Father Roche, gently laying his hand upon his huge arm, the muscles of which, now strung into almost superhuman strength, felt as hard as oak.  “Stop, Raymond,” he proceeded, “would you like that work yourself, my good boy?”

“Father Roche!” said Raymond, relaxing his hold more from surprise than anything else.

“If you will take your hand from his throat, Raymond, my good boy, I will tell you where you will get a cock that no other bird in the country could have a chance with.  There’s a good boy—­let him go.  Follow me over here, and leave him.”

“A cock that cannot be beat?” exclaimed Raymond, starting at once to his feet, “no, but will you?”

“I will tell you where he is,” said the priest, “but do not harm him more,” pointing to Phil,—­“I only trust in God that it is not too late.”  He stooped to examine Phil’s countenance, and indeed the sight was as strongly calculated to excite mirth as disgust.  There he lay, his foul tongue projecting out of his mouth, which was open and gasped for wind; his huge goggle eyes, too, had their revolting squint heightened by terror into an expression very like that assumed by a clown when he squints and makes faces at the audience, whilst his whole countenance was nearly black from excess of blood, and the veins about his forehead and temples stood out swollen as if filled with ink.

“Aye, you may look at him,” said Raymond—­“he is apurty boy now, countin’ the stars there.  A beauty you were, a beauty you are, and so I leave you!”

“Come over,” said Father Roche to O’Regan, “and see if you can render him any assistance.  You are stronger.”

“Would he know me, do you think?” said O’Regan before he went over.