The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1894-07-21

cold In an awful suspicion. was creep
ing over him, asked sternly where was
the scene of the crime? who was the
murdered man? Then there had
come a low, jeering laugh through the
grating.
''Sure thin, your riverence's own
brother, Terence! and now ye know it,
but under the, seal of confession,
father, so We can't inform on me-"
Too true was.thc maddening taunt-
too perfect and secure the cruelty dew
ilish revenge; and well both murderer
and priest knew that the former
must go free for all the latter
could do; the canon is absolute
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, lest possi-
bly, some clue might be got from that.
1t might possibly, the priest thought,
when he could think at all calmly--be
open to question whether canonically
such a confession, made not in pepi-
tence but avowedly in revenge, bias
phemy of the sacrament surely, was
true confession at all, but that of
course only his ecclesiastical superiors
could consider, and even then how was
poor parish priest buried in remote
district to get at such distances very
quickly? Meanwhile the man could
escape.
But Rorke did not leave the village
at once-not he; he hung about just
for the devilish pleasure of constantly
throwing himself in the priests way,
with a leer and grin of low triumph
and after 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 fell
low, who was more often at the whis-
ky shop than anywhere else; and
looked upon askance by most of the
villagers as rather a hang-dog spal-
peen-a stranger to whom no one took.
Two or three weeks from that terri
BILE Friday passed in this way, and then
one afternoon farmer at a distance
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.
81 mayn't be back tonight, Norah,
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 off again for a 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.
Wen go round by the crossroads,
acushla macree," said Father Patrick,
STOPPING forwards to pat the mare.
Its a trifie longer, but it's better
road, and when we're there we're only
five miles from home, honey"
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 a rest and bit OF
grass that yen 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
been" was lifted from behind mas.