“Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losing your society altogether, for an hour or so now; so, one bumper to our next meeting —­to-morrow, mind, and now, M. D’Abbe, au revoir.”

The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and taking a most affectionate leave of their kind entertainers, sallied forth under the guidance of Major Jones, who insisted upon accompanying them part of the way, as, “from information he had received, the sentries were doubled in some places, and the usual precautions against surprise all taken.”  Much as this polite attention surprised the objects of it, his brother officers wondered still more, and no sooner did they perceive the major and his companions issue forth, than they set out in a body to watch where this most novel and unexpected complaisance would terminate.

When the priests reached the door of the barrack-yard, they again turned to utter their thanks to the major, and entreat him once more, “not to come a step farther.  There now, major, we know the path well, so just give us the pass, and don’t stay out in the night air.”

“Ah oui, Monsieur Jones,” said the Abbe, “retournez, je vous prie.  We are, I must say, chez nous.  Ces braves gens, les North Cork know us by this time.”

The major smiled, while he still pressed his services to see them past the picquets, but they were resolved and would not be denied.

“With the word for the night, we want nothing more,” said Father Luke.

“Well, then,” said the major, in the gravest tone, and he was naturally grave, “you shall have your way, but remember to call out loud, for the first sentry is a little deaf, and a very passionate, ill—­tempered fellow to boot.”

“Never fear,” said Father Mooney, laughing; “I’ll go bail he’ll hear me.”

“Well—­the word for the night is—­’Bloody end to the Pope,’—­don’t forget, now, ‘Bloody end to the Pope,’” and with these words he banged the door between him and the unfortunate priests; and, as bolt was fastened after bolt, they heard him laughing to himself like a fiend over his vengeance.

“And big bad luck to ye, Major Jones, for the same, every day ye see a paving stone,” was the faint sub-audible ejaculation of Father Luke, when he was recovered enough to speak.

“Sacristi!  Que nous sommes attrappes,” said the Abbe, scarcely able to avoid laughing at the situation in which they were placed.

“Well, there’s the quarter chiming now; we’ve no time to lose—­Major Jones!  Major, darling!  Don’t now, ah, don’t! sure ye know we’ll be ruined entirely—­there now, just change it, like a dacent fellow—­the devil’s luck to him, he’s gone.  Well, we can’t stay here in the rain all night, and be expelled in the morning afterwards—­so come along.”

They jogged on for a few minutes in silence, till they came to that part of the “Duke’s” demesne wall, where the first sentry was stationed.  By this time the officers, headed by the major, had quietly slipped out of the gate, and were following their steps at a convenient distance.