"Nothing, your reverence," said the poor fellow. "Tell the priest, Ned, alanna," said the old woman from her bed. "Sure, 't is only a charm which the good 'oman has set, Father. And it's cured him already." The young man scowled at his aged mother; and in response to an emphatic gesture from the priest, he pulled out a little coil of rope, partly worn at the end into a little wisp of flax. "And are you such an utter fool," said the priest, angrily, holding the rope gingerly between his fingers, "as to believe that that wretched thing could cure you?" "It _has_ cured me," said the young man. "Look here!" Father Letheby looked; and sure enough, there was but a faint scar, as of a burn, on the place where he knew well there had been a hideous running ulcer a few days ago. He was struck dumb. "I am not surprised," he said, recovering himself rapidly; "I know Satan possesses supernatural power. But you, unhappy man, do you not know that it is to the devil you owe your cure?" "I told him so, your reverence," whimpered the poor mother. "I said, better be sick forever, Ned, than break God's law. Sure, nothing good can come from it." "Thin why did God allow it?" said the young man, angrily. "If you knew anything of your religion," said the priest, "you might know that God permits evil things to happen. So much the worse for evil doers. You have committed grave sin." "But, sure, this is good," said the poor fellow, feebly groping after theological 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."