“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.