Maccarty, if ye come
out, ye may go back to yer ditchin', but if ye wait fur me to fetch ye,
the crows 'ull be atin' ye at sunrise. Shtrike a light,' says he. So they
did, an' looked in an' saw Tim an' Kathleen, wan on aitch side o' the
althar, holdin' wid all their mights to the crass that was on it.

"'Dhrag thim out av it,' says Lord Robert, an' the min went in, but afore
they come near thim, Saint Tigernach shtopped shnorin', bein' wakened wid
the light an' jabberin', an' shtud up on the flure.

"'Howld on now,' says the blessed saint, 'phat's the matther here? Phat's
all this murtherin' noise about?' says he.

"Lord Robert's min all dhrew back, for there was a power o' fear av the
saint in the county, an' Lord Robert undhertuk to axplain that the girl
was a sarvint av his that run away wid that thafe av a ditcher, but Saint
Tigernach seen through the whole thrick at wanst.

[Illustration: "Her masther stood be her side"]

"'Lave aff,' says he. 'Don't offer fur to thrape thim lies on me. Pack aff
wid yer murtherers, or it's the curse ye'll get afore ye can count yer
fingers,' an' wid that all the min went out, an' Lord Robert afther thim,
an' all he cud say 'udn't pervail on the sojers to go back afther the
girl.

"'No, yer Anner,' says they to him; 'we ate yer Anner's mate, an' dhrink
yer Anner's dhrink, an' 'ull do yer Anner's biddin' in all that's right.
We're parfectly willin' to wait till mornin' an' murther the ditcher an'
shtale the girl whin they come out an' get away from the saint, but he
musn't find it out. It's riskin' too much. Begorra, we've got sowls to
save,' says they, so they all got on their horses an' shtarted back to the
cassel.

"Lord Robert folly'd thim a bit, but the avil heart av him was so set on
Kathleen that he cudn't bear the thought av lettin' her go. So whin he got
to the turn av the road, 'T'underation,' says he, ''t is the wooden head
that's set on me showldhers, that I didn't think av the witch afore.'

"Ye see, in the break av the mountains beyant the mill, where the rath is,
there was in thim times the cabin av a great witch. 'T was a dale av avil
she done the County Clare wid shtorms an' rainy sayzons an' cows lavin'
aff their milk, an' she'd a been dhrownded long afore, but fur fear av the
divil, her masther, that was at her elbow, whinever she'd crook her
finger. So to her Lord Robert wint, an' gev a rap on the dure, an' in.
There she sat wid a row av blac