r
psalms were uttered in a disconnected jumble, though I could not but
apply the words to my own case.

"_Libera nos a malo--ora pro nobis, peccatoribus--ab hoste maligno
defende me--ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me--peccator videbit et
irascetur--desiderium peccatorum peribit_----" came from the priest with
torrent speed.

"Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee!" roared a dozen throats above the half-way
landing. Then came the stamp of many feet to the door.

"Wait, men!" Hamilton's voice commanded. "I'll see if he's here!"

"_Simulacra gentium argentum et aurum, opera manuum hominum_," like
hailstones rattled the Latin words down on my prison.

"One moment, men," came Eric's voice; but he could not hold them back.
In burst the door with a rush, and immediately the room was crowded with
vociferating French soldiers.

"_Manus habent, et non palpabunt; pedes_----"

"Is Gillespie here?" interrupted Hamilton, without the slightest
recognition of the priest in his tones.

"_Pedes habent et non ambulabunt; non clamabunt in gutture suo_,"
muttered the priest, finishing his verse; then to the men with a
stiffness which I did not think Father Holland could ever assume--

"How often must I be disturbed by men seeking that young scoundrel? Look
at this place, fairly topsy-turvy with their hunt! Faith! The room is
before you. Look and see!" and with a great indifference he went on with
his devotions.

"_Similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea_----"

"Some one here before us?" interrupted an Englishman with some
suspicion.

"Two parties here before ye," answered the priest, icily, as if these
repeated questions rumpled ecclesiastical dignity, and he gabbled on
with the psalm, "_similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea, et omnes_----"

"If we lifted that box," interrupted the persistent Englishman, "what
might there be?"

"If ye lift that box," answered Father Holland with massive
solemnity--and I confess every hair on my body bristled as he rose--"If
ye lift that box there might be a powr--dead--body," which was very
true; for I still held the cocked pistol in hand and would have shot the
first man daring to molest me.

But the priest's indifference was not so great as it appeared. I could
tell from a tremor in his voice that he was greatly disturbed; and he
certainly lost his place altogether in the vesper psalm.

"_Requiescat in pace_," were his next words, uttered in funereal
gravity. Singularly enough, they seemed to fit the sit