I had dragged
him away from these last sad rites, he gave it as his opinion that any
other bishop would have stopped, just for a moment at least, and been
friendly and enthusiastic, if only in an undertone.

"He may get thousands of opportunities to bury people, but he will never
have a chance of seeing you again," said my brother. Then he added, as
an afterthought, "And very probably you will never get another
opportunity of talking to an Irish bishop."

[Illustration: "WE MET PODBURY."]

After that he sneered at the local medical practitioner, and said that
likely enough the deceased would not have died at all in proper hands.

Then a thought struck me, the horror of which reduced my brother to
absolute despair. I said:

"Perhaps the Bishop is interring Podbury. In that case everybody you
know on this island will be busy, and we shan't get any hospitality, or
punch, or anything."

"Just my luck if he is," answered the Doctor gloomily. He then kept
absolute silence for half-an-hour, during which time we walked to the
Roseau River and beheld many black laundresses out in mid-stream washing
clothes. Turning from this spectacle, he spoke again and said:

"Our present state of suspense is destroying me. I've a terrible
presentiment that they _were_ burying Podbury. If so, we're done all
round. I'm going right away to Podbury's now. I shall see in a moment by
the blinds if the worst has happened."

We sought out Podbury's desolate home, and the Doctor asked bitterly why
Providence should have snatched away one whose skill in the matter of
rum punch was a household word. I said:

"Try and feel hopeful. We cannot yet be absolutely certain that he has
gone."

And then we met Podbury in the Market Place. He was thoroughly alive,
and apparently in good health.

"Ah, Doctor!" he exclaimed, "back again. Glad to see you. How are the
boys on the 'Rhine?' Who's your friend?"

I was made known to Podbury, and explained how the sight of him had
turned our mourning into joy, and how I had come out from England as
much to taste his celebrated rum punch as anything else. He appeared
gratified at this, and led the way to his house.

[Illustration: "'MAGNIFICENT!'"]

We asked him who the Bishop was burying, and he did not even know. He
said:

"A nigger, for certain. Can't be anybody of much account or I should
have heard tell of it."

Then we reached his home, and while he brewed cold punch, we talked to
his wife and d