“'You would not have us eat flesh on the fast, padre mio!' said the hypocritical knave. 'Poor fellows like us have no dispensation, nor the money to buy it' And so they packed up everything, and then, helping me to my seat, wished me a pleasant journey, and departed.”
“I am curious to know if you really forgave them, padre?” said Jekyl, with an air of serious inquiry.
“Have I not said so!” rejoined the priest, testily.
“Why, you tried to insinuate something that surely was not a blessing, father.”
“And if I did, the fellow detected it. Ah, that rogue must have served Mass once on a time, or his ears had never been so sharp!”
“Are yours quick enough to say if that be the tramp of a horse?” asked Norwood, as he listened to the sounds.
“Yes, that is a horse,” cried Jekyl.
“Now, then, for the soup,” exclaimed the canon. “Ah, yes!” added he, with a sigh, as he turned to Lady Hester, “these are the crosses,——these are the trials of life; but they are good for us,—they are good for us! Poor mortals that we are! Non est sanitas in carne meâ. Oimè! oimè!” And so moralizing, he gave her his arm as he reentered the house. In less than a minute later, D'Esmonde galloped up to the door, and dismounted.
“Has anything occurred?—you are late to-night,” asked Norwood, hastily.
“Nothing. The city, however, was in great alarm, and the tocsin was twice sounded in the churches when I left at ten o'clock; the guards were doubled at the gates, and mounted patrols making the rounds in every quarter.”