"Every body knows how that Satan is shlicker than a weasel, an’ has a mem’ry like a miser’s box that takes in everything an’ lets nothin’ go out. When ye do anything, sorra a bit av it ’scapes the divil, an’ he hugs it clost till a time comes when he can make a club av it to bate ye wid, an’ so he does. The owld felly remimbered all that passed betune Kathleen an’ the blessed saint, an’ he knewn how hard it was fur Saint Kevin to forgit her, so he thought he’d put him in a fix. Afther the saint had cuddled up in his shtraw wid his cloak over him an’ was shnoring away as snug as a flea in a blanket, comes the divil, a-climbin’ up the rock, in the exact image o’ the young Kathleen. Ye may think it quare, but it’s no wondher to thim that undherstands it, fur the divil can take any shape he plazes an’ look like any wan he wants to, an’ so he does for the purpose av temptin’ us poor sinners to disthruction, but there’s wan thing be which he’s always known; when ye’ve given up to him or when ye’ve baten him out o’ the face, no matther which, he’s got to throw aff the disguise that’s on him an’ show you who he is, an’ when he does it, it isn’t the iligant, dressed-up divil that ye see an’ that I was just tellin’ ye av, but the rale, owld, black nagur av a rannychorus, widout a haporth o’ rags to the back av him, an’ his horns an’ tail a-shtickin’ out, an’ his eyes as big as an oxen’s an’ shinin’ like fire, an’ great bat’s wings on him, an’, savin’ yer prisince, the most nefairius shmell o’ sulfur ye ever shmelt. But before, he looks all right, no matther phat face he has, an’ it’s only be the goodness o’ God that the divil is bound fur to show himself to ye, bekase, Glory be to God, it’s his will that men shall know who they’re dalin’ wid, an’ if they give up to the divil, an’ afther findin’ out who’s in it, go on wid the bargain they’ve made, sure the fault is their own, an’ they go to hell wid their eyes open, an’ if they bate him, he’s got to show himself fur to let thim see phat they’ve escaped. "Well, I was afther sayin’, the divil was climbin’ up the rock in the form o’ Kathleen, an’ come to the saint’s bed an’ teched him an the shouldher. The blessed saint was layin’ there belike dhraming o’ Kathleen, fur sure, there was no harm in that, an’ when he woke up an’ seen her settin’ be his side, he thought the eyes ’ud lave him. "’Kathleen,’ says he, ’is it yoursilf that’s in it, an’ me thinkin’ I’d parted from you forever?’ "’It is,’ says the ould desaver, ’an’ no other, Kevin darlint, an’ I’ve come to shtay wid ye.’ "’Sure darlint,’ says the saint, ’ye know how it bruk me heart entirely to lave ye, no more wud I have done it, but be the will o’ God. Ye know I loved ye, an’ God forgive me, I’m afeared I love ye still, but it isn’t right, Kathleen. Go in pace, in the name o’ God, an’ lave me,’ says he.