At these words he turned suddenly round towards the Virgin, and crossing himself devoutly, added,—
And sure it’s yourself knows if it’s fair to make me pay for devils that don’t know their duties; and after all, if you don’t understand English nor Irish, I’ve been wasting my time here this two hours.”
“I say, Mike, how’s my friend the major! How’s Major O’Shaughnessy?”
“Charmingly, sir. It was only loss of blood that ailed him. A thief with a pike—one of the chaps they call Poles, bekase of the long sticks they carry with them—stuck the major in the ribs; but Doctor Quill—God reward him! he’s a great doctor and a funny divil too—he cured him in no time.”
“And where is he now, Mike?”
“Just convanient, in a small chapel off the sacristy; and throuble enough we have to keep him quiet. He gave up the confusion of roses, and took to punch; and faith, it isn’t hymns nor paslams [psalms] he’s singing all night. And they had me there, mixing materials and singing songs, till I heard the bell for matins; and what between the punch and the prayers, I never closed my eyes.”
“What do they call this convent?”
“It is a hard word, I misremember. It’s something like saltpetre. But how’s your honor? It’s time to ask.”
“Much better, Mike, much better. But as I see that either your drink or your devotion seems to have affected your nerves, you’d better lie down for an hour or two. I shall not want you.”
“That’s just what I can’t; for you see I’m making a song for this evening. The Rangers has a little supper, and I’m to be there; and though I’ve made one, I’m not sure it’ll do. May be your honor would give me your opinion about it?”