“Nevir bite or sup more will I take till I’ve tidings of her!’ said the mother superior. “The more rayson why I’ll not be waiting longer for ye now,” commented the priest; and with this he left the room. As he closed the door behind him, a grateful odor of frying bacon momentarily spread upon the air. Mrs. Fergus sniffed it, and half rose from her seat; but the nuns clung resolutely to their theme, and she sank back again. “’T is my belafe,” Sister Ellen began, “that voice we heard, ’t is from no Hostage at all--’t is the banshee of the O’Mahonys.” The mother superior shook her head. “Is it likely, thin, Ellen O’Mahony,” she queried, “that _our_ banshee would be distressed for an O’Daly? Sure the grand noise was made whin Cormac himself disappeared.” “His marryin’ me--’t is clear enough that putt him in the family,” said Mrs. Fergus. “’T would be flat injustice to me to ’ve my man go an’ never a keen raised for him. I’ll stand on me rights for that much Agnes O’Mahony.” “A fine confusion ye’d have of it, thin,” retorted the mother superior. “The O’Dalys have their own banshee--she sat up her keen in Kilcrohane these hundreds of years--and for ours to be meddlin’ because she’s merely related by marriage--sure, ’t would not be endured.” The dubious problem of a family banshee’s duties has never been elucidated beyond this point, for on the instant there came a violent ringing of the big bell outside, the hoarse clangor of which startled the women into excited silence. A minute later, the white-capped lame old woman-servant threw open the door. A young man, with a ruddy, smiling face and a carriage of boyish confidence, entered the room. He cast an inquiring glance over the group. Then recognizing Mrs. Fergus, he gave a little exclamation of pleasure, and advanced toward her with outstretched hand. “Why, how do you do, Mrs. O’Daly?” he exclaimed, cordially shaking her hand. “Pray keep your seat. I’m just playing in luck to find _you_ here. Won’t you--eh---be kind enough to--eh--introduce me?” “’T is a young gintleman from Ameriky, Mr. O’Mahony by name,” Mrs. Fergus stammered, flushed with satisfaction in his remembrance, but doubtful as to the attitude of the nuns. The ladies of the Hostage’s Tears had drawn themselves into as much dignified erectness as their age and infirmities permitted. They eyed this amazing new-comer in mute surprise. Mother Agnes, after the first shock at the invasion, nodded frostily in acknowledgment of his respectful bow. “Get around an’ spake to her in her north ear,” whispered Mrs. Fergus; “she can’t hear ye in the other.” Bernard had been long enough in West Carbery to comprehend her meaning. In that strange old district there is no right or left, no front or back--only points of the compass. A gesture from Mrs. Fergus helped him now to guess where the north might lie in matters auricular.