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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Should I send Eily home to earn for myself the reputation of a faithless villain!" said Hardress. "Why, then I'll tell you what I'd do," said Danny, nodding his head. "Pay her passage out to Quaybec, an' put her aboard of a three-master. Do by her as you'd do to dat glove you have on your hand. Make it come off as well as it comes on, an' if it fits too tight, take the knife to it.
"That's right," said Guy, half seriously, though slightly amused at the strange way the fellow spoke his determination. "Have you ever been to this place, we are going to, Pat?" "Troth there isn't an inch nor a fut o' ground in all Quaybec that this ould nag and meself didn't explore some time or other." "Who runs the institution?" Guy queried next.
Crowley must have repented his own surliness in the stingy information he gave, respecting the place they were driving to, for, settling himself in a safe heap on the leather cushion of his semi-respectable conveyance, he began: "This house, yer honor, that we're dhrivin to, mebbe, you'd like to know, now that I do remember that I know somethin' of it, 'tis the natest little hole in Quaybec, though I don't think many knows much about it, ye see, it doesn't belong to any reg'lar nuns, them allays does good, and so does these, although they remind me more of the 'old maid, they live in what they call 'volunthry sayclusion, an faith it don't matther a hang to the world what they live in, I belave there's no love lost between 'em an' the world, leastways no one knows where they came from, an' there's not manny as tries to find out, they do be singin' an' prayin' an' carryin' on wid all sorts o' religis capers, and in troth, I think meself, that Pat Crowley's battered ould sowl 'ud look as fine in Heaven any day, that is, if it ever gets there."
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