The Van Buren press., 1894-07-21

cold in an awful aNepiei5n. was creep
Ing over MIN, asked stcrnly where was
the Scene OF the crime? who was the
murdered man? Then there had
come low, jeering laugh through the
grating.
Sure thin, your flverence's own
bruther, Terence! and now We know II,
but under the seal uf confession,
father, SO We can't inform on me-"
Too true was the lhaddening t6nht-
too perfect and secure the cruelty dew
ilish revenge. and well both murderer
and priest knew that the former
must go free fer ali The latter
could dc. the canon is absolute
1.-The sacred seal inviolate of that
told to the priest In confession,
and the assassin Of Terence O'Brien
must go free in the full knowledge OF
the living brother--which was the very
revenge Borke meant, and now gloated
over. He had not told the where.
abouts of the crime either, Test pessls
bly, some clue might be got from that.
1t might possibly, the priest thought,
when he could think at all calmily.abe
open to question whsthet Economically
such confession, made not in pepi-
tenoe but avowcdly in revenge, BIAS
phemy Of the sacrament surely, was q
true confession at all, but that Of
course only his ecclesiastical superiors
could consider, and even then how was
a poor parish priest buried in remote
district to get at such distances very
quickly? Meanwhile ths man could
escape,
Hut Rorlse did not leave the village
at oncc-not he; he hung about just
for the devilish pleasure OF constantly
throwing himself in the priests way,
with leer and grin of low triumph,
and after a mocking "top O. the morn
ing to your reverence, sure It's Ill ye're
looking"
Father O'Brien, stern and pale, never
took the slightest notice of the fel.
low. who was more often at the whis-
ky shop than anywhere else; and
looked upon askance by most of the
villagers rs rather hang-dog spal-
peen-a stranger to whom no one took.
Two or three weeks from that terri
bic Friday passed in this way, and then
one afternoon farmer at distance
sent for Father Patrick to come over
his son was very i'll. OF course, the
priest went at once, borrowing from
one Of his flock who actually possessed
such riches, an old but strong mare,
and little low built cart--a primitive
equipage boasting even for the reins
only two very long pieces of rope which
coiled down in the cart.
II mayn't be back tonight, Norah,' y
Father Patrick told the old dame who
waited on him, and off he drove with
the small boy who had brought the
message. Nor was the good priest
back that night for the farmer would
not hear of it, and it was not till the
next morning, therefore, that Father
O'Brien started of again for jog
trot home over fifteen miles of rough
roads-so called by courtesy-tracks,
our American cousins would have more
correctly termed them, tor most of the
way.
well 60 round by the crossroads,
acushla macree," said Father Patrick,
STOPPING forwards to pat the mare.
''1t's trifle longer, but it's better
road. and when we're there we're only
Ave miles from home, Money"
The old mare doubtless quite under
stood. and logged on contentedly
enough, till presently the crossroads,
in scattered sort of wooding, were
reached. The priest pulled up where
the four roads met, and got down.
"Sure, Aileen, it's rest and a bit Of
grass that yell have here" said he.
"There'it is, old honey, as fresh as a
daisy, bedad."
Whilst he was talking to the mare, a
rough head, guiltless of even cor
bcen," was lifted from behind a mass