“For what? What was she doing? She went to confession at four o’clock.” “Confession, how are ye? And did she tell ye _who_ confesses her?” And he looked under his eyebrows, with an unpleasant expression. “Father Connell, you unfortunate natural, and who else?” “No--but Father Denis Malone; I saw him confessing her, and sluthering and kissing her, in the lane by the horse park, not twenty minutes ago.” Mrs. Maccabe rose hastily, and felt round for the ox tail. Many a time it had descended heavily on the dwarf’s shrinking shoulders. “Joey! I’ll give you a lathering that you’ll remember to your dying day,” advancing between him and the door. “How _dar_ you tell your black lies on a respectable girl like Lizzie?” “Before the mother of God, and all the blessed saints, I swear I saw her,” howled Joey, holding a chair between himself and the virago, and trembling in every limb; but the thought of Denis spurred his flagging courage, and he added, “Sure Miss Betty saw them _too_, and hasn’t it been going on this year or more!” “Ye little lying baste!” she screamed, swinging the tail, and bringing it down with a resounding whack. “Take that, and that, and _that_.” “Oh! Mrs. Maccabe, ma’am! Oh! holy Moses! Oh! well maybe ye can read their writing,” and out of a very greasy pocket he unearthed three letters--one from Denis, and two in the handwriting of the fair Lizzie, written (were further proof required) on bill paper, with a little picture of a fat ox surmounted by “Bridget Maccabe and Sons, Butchers and Salesmen.” Mrs. Maccabe became yellow (white she could never be), staggered over to the table, laid her weapon down at her right hand, and slowly perused the letter, whilst Joey, armed with a shield, in the shape of a large round basket, watched her narrowly, with his little sly grey eyes. “If this is _true_, Foxy Joe,” she said at last, removing her horn spectacles, with shaking fingers, “ye had better take the hatchet and choppers out of me reach. I don’t want a murder on me soul! for I believe I could kill her. Her that was a pattern in the convent, and that talked of a vocation, and of taking the black veil! Her that can scarcely lift her eyes to a man and that comes of dacent people--her that no one has ever been able to say a word against, and _me_ that has always kept myself so distant, and so high, and that has always been respected. Oh! oh! oh!----” and--sight never seen before! sight that dilated Joey’s narrow eyes--Mrs. Maccabe threw her blue checked apron over her head, for once in her life gave way to her feelings, and lifted up her voice and wept. This strange paroxysm was of brief duration; she presently dried her eyes, and retreated into her inner parlour, with the letters and the lamp, leaving Joey alone in the dark shop. An instant later, Lizzie came in, pink-cheeked, brisk, and smiling, and, unaware of her danger, walked straight into the lion’s mouth.