ical lights, "and whatever is good comes from God."

"The effect may be good," said the priest, "the instrument is bad. What
is that?" and he pointed to the rope that was dangling in his hand.

The young man was silent.

"You are afraid to tell? Now what is it? There's something uncanny about
it?"

He fumbled with his vest, and looked sullenly into the darkening night.

"Then, as you won't answer, I'll take it with me," said the priest,
folding the rope into a coil, and preparing to put it in his pocket.

There was a sullen smile around the young man's mouth.

"The owner will be looking for it," said he.

"Tell the owner that Father Letheby has it, and she can come to me for
it," said the priest. He put the rope in his pocket and moved to the
door.

"Don't! don't! Father dear," said the old woman. "It isn't good. Give
it back, and Ned will give it to the good 'oman to-morrow."

"No! I shall give it myself," said the priest, "and a bit of my mind
with it."

The young man moved to the door, and stood beside the priest.

"You would not touch it if you knew what it was," he whispered.

"What?" said Father Letheby.

"Do you remember old Simmons, the pinsioner, down at Lougheagle?"

"Who destroyed himself?"

"Yes! he hanged himself to a rafter in the barn."

"I remember having heard of it."

"He hanged himself with a rope."

"I presume so."

"Your reverence has the rope in your pocket."

The priest stepped back as if stung. The thing was so horrible that he
lost his self-possession. Then a great flood of anger swept his soul;
and taking the hideous instrument from his pocket, he passed over to the
open hearth; with one or two turns of the wheel, that answers the
purpose of a bellows in Ireland, he kindled the smouldering ashes into
flame, buried the rope deep down in the glowing cinders, and watched it
curl into a white ash, that bent and writhed like a serpent in pain. The
old woman told her beads, and then blessed the priest, with, however, a
tremor of nervous fear in her voice. The young man lifted his hat, as
the priest, without a word, passed into the darkness.

"She'll be after asking for the rope, your reverence?" he said at
length, when the priest had gone a few yards.

"Refer her to me," Father Letheby said. "And look here, young man," he
cried, coming back and putting his face close to the peasant's, "I'd
advise you to go to your confession as soon as you can, lest, in the
words of Scrip