“Mr. Harman,” said the priest, a good deal surprised, “who could have expected to find you here?”

They shook hands as he spoke, each casting his eyes upon this woeful scene of misery.  “God pity them,” ejaculated the priest, clasping his hands, and looking upwards, “and sustain them!”

“I owe it to poor Raymond, here,” replied the other, “and I feel obliged to him; but,” said he, taking Father Roche over to the door, “here will be a double death—­father and son.”

“Father and son, how is that?—­she mentioned nothing of the son.”

“It is very possible,” said Harman, “that they are not conscious of his danger.  I fear, however, that the poor boy has not many hours to live.”

All that we have just described, occurred in three minutes; but short as was the time, the wife’s impatience to have the rites of the church administered, could scarcely be restrained; nor was poor Raymond’s anxiety much less.

“They’re comin’,” said he, “Mr. Harman, they are comin’; hurry, hurry, I know what they’ll do.”

“Who are coming, Raymond?” asked Harman.  “Oh!” said the fool, “hurry—­M’Clutchy’s blood-hounds.”

The wife clapped her hands, shrieked, and falling on her knees, exclaimed in a piercing voice, “merciful God, look down on us!  Oh, Father Roche, there is not a moment to be lost!”

The priest and Harman again exchanged a melancholy glance;—­“you must all retire into the little room,” said the clergyman, “until I administer to him the last rites.”

They accordingly withdrew, the woman having first left a lit rush light candle at his bed-side, as she knew the ceremony required.

The man’s strength was wasting fast, and his voice sinking rapidly, but on the other hand he was calm and rational, a circumstance which relieved the priest’s mind very much.  As is usual, having put a stole about his neck, he first heard his confession, earnestly exhorted him to repentance, and soothed and comforted him with all those promises and consolations which are held out to repentant sinners.  He then administered the Extreme Unction; which being over, the ceremony, and a solemn one it must be considered, was concluded.  On this occasion, however, his death-bed consolations did not end here.  There are in the Roman Catholic Church prayers for the dying, many of them replete with the fervor of Christian faith, and calculated to raise the soul to the hopes of immortality.  These the priest read in a slow manner, so as that the dying man could easily accompany him, which he did with his hands clasped, upon his breast, and his eyes closed, unless when he raised them occasionally to heaven.  He then exhorted him with an anxiety for his salvation which transcended all earthly and temporal considerations, prayed with him and for him, whilst the tears streamed in torrents down his cheeks.  Nor was the spirit of his holy mission lost; the penitent man’s face assumed