“And you thought,” replied Father M’Cabe, “that he would die a Protestant or a heretic, which is the same thing.”

Bob squeezed Father M’Cabe’s hand once more.

“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “be pleased to sit down—­you are both Christian ministers, I hope.”

“No,” said Father M’Cabe, “there is but one of us a Christian; Mr. Lucre here is not worthy of the name, Bob.”

Bob squeezed the priest’s hand a third time.

“Beatty,” said Mr. Lucre, “this is a solemn occasion, and I’m bound to say, that the priest here is merely a representative of Antichrist.  This is not a time to disguise the truth.”

Bob squeezed Mr. Lucre’s hand a third time also.

“Beatty,” continued Mr. Lucre, “if you permit yourself to die a Papist, you seal your own everlasting punishment.”

“True,” said Bob.

“Bob,” said the priest, “if after the explanations of the true church which I have given you, you allow yourself to relapse into heresy, you will suffer for it during all eternity.”

“True,” said Bob.

“There is no hope for those, who, like the Papists and idolators, hew for themselves vessels that will hold no water,” said Lucre.

[Illustration:  PAGE 322—­ “Ah, very right,” said Bob.]

“Ah, very right,” said Bob.

“There is but one Faith, one Church, and one Baptism, and that is ours,” said the priest.

“Ah, you can do it,” said Bob, with a squeeze.

“Bob,” said the wife, “what do you mean?  I don’t understand you—­die a True Blue, and don’t shame your friends.”

“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “I feel disposed to sleep a little.  It is likely that a few minutes’ rest may strengthen my weak body, and clear my mind for the consolations of religion, which you are both so beautifully prepared to give me.  I feel rather drowsy, so I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes, and doze a little.”

Bob closed his eyes for about four mortal hours and a half, during which time our two worthy gentlemen sat at his bed-side with the most exemplary patience.  At length he opened his eyes, and inquired for his daughter Fanny, who had been sent for Father Roche; to her he whispered a few words, after which she went out, but almost immediately returned.  He looked at her inquiringly, and she answered: 

“Yes, just as I expected—­in a few minutes.”

“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “I am much aisier now; but I am at a loss whether to to prepared for heaven by you, Mr. Lucre, or by Father M’Cabe.”

“Beatty,” said Lucre, “you have have access to the Bible, and possessing, as you do, and as you must, the Scriptural knowledge, gained from that sacred book, to die in the church which worships crucifixes and images would leave you without hope or excuse.”

“Ah!” said Bob, “you are sound in point of doctrine.  No man is more orthodox than you.”

“Bob,” said the priest, “you know what the Council of Trent says:—­ ’There is but one Church, one Faith, and one Baptism’—­if you die out of that church, which is ours, woe betide you.  No, Bob, there is no hope for you if you die an apostate, Bob.”