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—Whatever it was that put her eye out, the woman who came to Dermot was blind of one eye. And if the eye that was gone was as piercing as the eye she still had, it was well for Dermot that she had not the two eyes when she looked at him, or she might have given him a relapse. The poor man was not able to eat a morsel of food for the rest of that day, for thinking of that one eye, and of the hen, and of the "sruv, srov!" and of the bad company that his daughter had met with; so that Poll went out and called some of the neighbours, and they came in, and they said the priest ought to be sent for before nightfall for fear the man might get bad, and that they would have to call the priest in the middle of the night.

The priest was sent for and he came. When he heard from Dermot about the fortune-teller he laughed.

"I know that rogue of a woman well," said he. "She was never in Ulster, nor one-half the distance