u are
surely not rising yet; here's a fresh cooper of port just come in; sit
down, I entreat."

"I say it with grief, my dear colonel, we must away; the half-hour has
just chimed, and we must be within 'the gates' before twelve. The truth
is, the superior has been making himself very troublesome about our
'carnal amusements' as he calls our innocent mirth, and we must therefore
be upon our guard."

"Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losing your society
altogether, for an hour or so now; so, one bumper to our next meeting
--to-morrow, mind, and now, M. D'Abbe, au revoir."

The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and taking a most affectionate
leave of their kind entertainers, sallied forth under the guidance of
Major Jones, who insisted upon accompanying them part of the way, as,
"from information he had received, the sentries were doubled in some
places, and the usual precautions against surprise all taken." Much as
this polite attention surprised the objects of it, his brother officers
wondered still more, and no sooner did they perceive the major and his
companions issue forth, than they set out in a body to watch where this
most novel and unexpected complaisance would terminate.

When the priests reached the door of the barrack-yard, they again turned
to utter their thanks to the major, and entreat him once more, "not to
come a step farther. There now, major, we know the path well, so just
give us the pass, and don't stay out in the night air."

"Ah oui, Monsieur Jones," said the Abbe, "retournez, je vous prie. We
are, I must say, chez nous. Ces braves gens, les North Cork know us by
this time."

The major smiled, while he still pressed his services to see them past
the picquets, but they were resolved and would not be denied.

"With the word for the night, we want nothing more," said Father Luke.

"Well, then," said the major, in the gravest tone, and he was naturally
grave, "you shall have your way, but remember to call out loud, for the
first sentry is a little deaf, and a very passionate, ill--tempered
fellow to boot."

"Never fear," said Father Mooney, laughing; "I'll go bail he'll hear me."

"Well--the word for the night is--'Bloody end to the Pope,'--don't
forget, now, 'Bloody end to the Pope,'" and with these words he banged
the door between him and the unfortunate priests; and, as bolt was
fastened after bolt, they heard him laughing to himself like a fiend over
his vengeance.