n," said he, "your husband, I trust, is not in such danger.
Mr. Clement cannot certainly be long absent, and he will attend; I am
not quite well, or I should willingly go myself."

"Very well," said the woman, "between you, I suppose, you will let the
priest, M'Cabe have him; and then it will be said he died a Papish."

"What's that?" inquired Mr. Lucre, with an interest which he could not
conceal; "what has M'Cabe to do with him?"

"Why,", returned the woman, "he has made him a Papish, but I want him to
die a True Blue, and not shame the family."

"I shall attend," said Lucre; "I shall lose no time in attending. What's
your husband's name?"

"Bob Beatty, sir."

"Oh, yes, he is subject to epilepsy."

"The same, sir."

She then gave him directions to find the house, and left him making very
earnest and rapid preparations to do what he had not done for many a
long year--attend a death-bed; and truly his absence was no loss.

In the meantime, Father M'Cabe having heard an account of Bob's state,
and that the minister had been sent for, was at once upon the alert, and
lost not a moment in repairing to his house. So very eager, indeed,
were these gentlemen, and so equal their speed, that they met at the
cross-roads, one of which turned to Bob's house. In the meantime, we
may as well inform our readers here, that Bob himself had, in his wife's
presence, privately sent for Father Roche.

Each instantly suspected the object of the other, and determined in his
own mind, if possible, to frustrate it.

"So, sir," said the priest, "you are on your way to Bob Beatty's, who
is, as you know, one of my flock. But how do you expect to get through
the business, Mr. Lucre, seeing that you are so long out of practice?"

"Bob Beatty was never, properly speaking, one of your flock, Mr. M'Cabe.
I must beg leave to ride forward, sir, and leave you to your Christian
meditations. One interview with you is enough for any man."

"Faith, but I love you too well to part with you so easily," said the
priest, spurring on his horse, "cheek by jowl--and a beautiful one you
have--will I ride with you, my worthy epicure; and, what is more, I'll
anoint Bob Beatty before your eyes."

"And, perhaps, perform another miracle," replied Mr. Lucre, bitterly.

"Ay will, if it be necessary," said the priest; "but I do most solemnly
assure you that by far the most brilliant miracle of modern days is to
find the Rev. Phineas Lucre at a sick-bed. Depe