ng my blood. The young woman
stood by the fire, half in shadow, half in the yellow flame of the turf
fire, her attitude quiet but tense, very alert for any movement in the
sick room.

The door of the room stood slightly open, and the low murmur of the
Friar's voice reciting a prayer in Latin could be heard. The young woman
sighed, her bosom rising and falling in a quick breath of pain. Then she
made the sign of the Cross.

"My brother is very low," she said, sitting down by the fire after a
time. Her eyes were upon the fire. Her face was less hard than the
faces I had seen on the hills. She looked good-natured.

"Is he long ill?"

"This long while. But to look at him you would conceit he was as sound
as a trout. First he was moody, moping about the place, and no way
wishful for company. Hours he would spend below at the butt of the
meadow, nearby the water, sitting under the thorn bush and he playing
upon the fideog. Then he began to lose the use of his limbs, and crying
he used to be within in the room. Some of the people who have knowledge
say he is lying under a certain influence. He cannot speak now. The holy
Friar will know what is best to be done."

When the Friar came out of the room he was divesting himself of the
embroidered stole he had put over his shoulders.

The white-capped old woman had excitement in her face as she followed
him.

"Kevin spoke," she said to the other. "He looked up at the blessed man
and he made an offer to cross himself. I could not hear the words he
was speaking, that soft they come from his lips."

"Kevin will live," said the younger woman, catching some of the
excitement of her mother. She stood tensely, drawn up near the fire,
gazing vacantly but intently across the kitchen, as if she would will it
so passionately that Kevin should live that he would live. She moved
suddenly, swiftly, noiselessly across the floor and disappeared into the
room.

The priest sat by the fire for some time, the old woman standing by,
respectful, but her eyes riveted upon him as if she would pluck from him
all the secrets of existence. The priest was conscious, a little uneasy,
and a little amused, at this abnormal scrutiny. Some shuffling sounded
outside the house as if a drove of shy animals had come down from the
mountain and approached the dwelling. Presently the door creaked. I
looked at it uneasily. The atmosphere of the place, the fumes of the
poteen in my head, the heat of the fire, had