lied the lawyer; "he
will not administer the last rites of the Church to the living, nor will
I let my patient die."

Then he and the widow retired, as the priest took out a book, knelt by
the bedside, and opened it. The reverend gentleman, however, was in too
great a hurry to begin, and too little sensible how far his penetrating
voice would carry, for, at the first words of the prayer, Coristine made
an indignant start and frowned terribly. The words he heard were,
"Oratio pro sickibus, in articulo mortis, repentant shouldere omnes
transgressores et confessionem makere----"

He felt inclined to rush in and turn the impudent impostor and profaner
of the sacred office out of the house neck and crop, especially as the
poor mother took him by the arm, and, with broken voice through her
tears, said: "O, doctor, doctor, it's the last words he's taking!" But
his legal training acted as a check on his impetuosity, and, standing
where he was, he answered the grief-stricken woman: "Never fear, Mrs.
Toner, you and I will pull him through," which greatly comforted the
widow's heart.

Five minutes passed by Coristine's watch, and then he determined to
stand the nonsense no longer. He coughed, stamped his feet, and finally
walked in at the door, followed by the widow. The pseudo priest was
sitting on a chair now, listening to the penitent's confidences. "Time
is up," said the lawyer fiercely, and the impostor arose, resumed his
three-cornered black wideawake, pocketed his book, which really was a
large pocket book full of notes in pencil, and expressed his regret at
leaving, as he had another family, a very sad case, to visit that night.
As he passed Coristine, the latter refused his proffered hand and hissed
in his ear: "You are the most damnable scoundrel I ever met, and I'll
serve you out for this with the penitentiary." The masquerader grinned
unclerically, his back being to the other occupants of the house, and
whispered back, "Not much you won't, no nor the halfpenny tentiary
either; bye-bye!"

"How are you feeling, Ben?" the lawyer asked the sick man, as he
approached his bedside.

"Powerful weak and so-er," replied the patient.

Coristine called the mother, poured some St. Jacob's Oil into the palm
of her hand, and bade her rub down her son's back at the small. "Rub
hard!" he said; and she rubbed it in. Three or four more doses followed,
till the back was a fine healthy colour.

"How does that work, Ben?"

"It sm