"Oh, he ain't a real priest," she interrupted with brutal candor.
"They're just fakes. They ain't even Catholics."
A pang of irritation shot through Maurice at the girl's words, but his
sense of humor asserted itself, and helped him to smile at his own
weakness.
"But, Norah," he said, ignoring the taunt, "I want to know about
yourself. We've often tried to find you," he added, a sudden perception
of the possible importance of this recognition coming into his mind.
"You know we depended on you to tell us a lot of things at the time of
Aunt Hannah's death."
"He told me you'd be after me," Norah exclaimed with rising excitement.
"He said you'd be laying it to me; but, Master Maurice, by the Mother
of Mercy, I never"--
"I know that," he interrupted, to check her excitement; "but why did
you go off in that way?"
"She told me to go. She ordered me out of the house like a dog, just
because I wouldn't give up Tim when she'd accidentally seen him when
he'd had one drop more than the full of him,--and any poor body might
take a wee drop more'n he meant to take beforehand. She was that hot
in her way when her temper was up, rest her soul,--and that nobody
knows better than yourself,--that the devil himself couldn't hold her
with a pair of red-hot tongs,--saving the presence of your riverinces
for mentioning the Old Gentleman.
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