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Updated: June 5, 2025
Dillon, eying her daughter rather curiously. "Blessed little good can we say o' Father M'Clane, whin we spake truth, as ye know, mother dear; and it's not to be expected o' her to tell lies for his sake." "Does she spake o' the Catholic Church Norah?" asked her mother. "Never at all, mother; so make yer heart aisy.
"It's not yer mother, honey, that has a word to say against you; but when Father M'Clane talks o' yer being a heretic, it angers me. This Bible that he frets about, what is it, Norah?" "It's God's truth, mother, that he has given to teach us all; and a brave book it is.
Her brothers and sister, and Irish acquaintance generally, soon heard that she no longer went to mass or to confession; and great was the uproar among them. The unsparing rebukes of Father M'Clane, whenever he met with any one supposed to have any influence over her, soon fanned into life not only a vehement hatred of the Protestants, but a bitter feeling of enmity toward the poor girl herself.
On every pleasant evening Biddy Dillon's cottage was thronged by those who came to listen to the Word of God. It was in vain that Father M'Clane opposed these meetings. His threats and arguments, once so potent, seemed now but to lessen his power.
"The saints preserve us! what a tongue the woman has!" exclaimed Father M'Clane, making a futile effort to smile, as he turned his face, now pale as death, toward the company. "But I have no time to stay longer. I warn ye all, my friends, to kape away from this accursed house, and to turn a deaf ear to all that is said to ye here. Your souls are in peril. Ye are almost caught in the snare.
She took up a large stone and threw it among the bushes. "What is there, Annorah?" asked Annie, in alarm. "Only a sarpint, miss." "Well, let us hasten home. Mamma will be anxious." After they left, the dark form of a man rose from behind the green knoll where they had been sitting, and moved slowly along the bank of the stream, down the valley. It was Father M'Clane.
"Annorah!" exclaimed her mother, "do you dare to spake in that way o' the praste himself?" "I mean no harm, mother." "No harm!" repeated Father M'Clane, turning fiercely toward her. "You won't cheat me with words like these." Annorah tossed her head scornfully and sat down opposite the priest, who on his part seemed far less desirous to carry on the war since her arrival.
Preparations had been made by Father M'Clane for holding a regular confessional; and an hour before sunset, he had taken his seat in the little darkened chamber, behind a table on which four tallow-candles were burning, with an uncertain, flickering light.
Now, Biddy Dillon had too much of the national character to sit down quietly and receive their abuse, and soon a regular quarrel ensued, which would have speedily become a fight, but for the descent of Father M'Clane into their midst, and his imperative command that each one should sit down quietly and "hould his tongue." "Whisht! whisht! Of what are ye thinking, ye silly gossoons?
"An' it's not all a queer drame," she said; "I'll hear her for meself coom next Saturday Och! what a row it will make an' Father M'Clane, and Teddy Muggins, and Mike Murphy get wind o' a heretic Bible being brought to the place!
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