“Sure, blood alive,” thought Darby, “now that every one’s turnin’, there’s no harm to have a thrial at it myself; I can become as good a Prodestan as most o’ them in four and twenty hours, and stand a chance of the Jaolership for my pains.  I’ll go to Mr. Lucre, who is a gentleman at any rate, and allow him to think he has the convartin’ o’ me.  Well,” he proceeded, with a chuckle, “it’s one comfort, divil a much religion I have to lose; and another, that the divil a much I have to gain in exchange; and now,” he went on, “there’s little Solomon thinks I did’nt see him burnin’ the wrong letther; but faith, Solomon, my lad, there must be something in it that would do neither you nor M’Clutchy much good, if it was known, or you wouldn’t thry that trick—­but, in the mean time, I’ve secured them both.”

Now, the reader must know, that Darby’s return in such a truly charitable spirit to ask Solomon for the virtue of his prayers in behalf of M’Clutchy, was as knavish a ruse as ever was put in practice.  Solomon had placed M’Clutchy’s letter secretly under a brief, as we have said, and Darby, who knew the identical spot and position in which M’Slime was in the habit of praying, knew also that he would kneel with his back to the desk on which the brief lay.  It all happened precisely as he wished, and, accordingly, while Solomon was doing the hypocrite, Darby did the thief, and having let in those who were approaching, he came away, as we said.

He lost not a moment after he had got to a lonely part of the road, in putting them between two flat stones—­we mean M’Clutchy’s letter to Solomon, with that gentleman’s answer.  There, he determined, they should remain until after dark, when he could secure both without risk, and see what might be done with them.

“Now,” thought he, “that I’ve Solomon in a double pickle—­for he can’t inquire about the letter without letting it be seen that he tould a lie, and practised a bit of knavery, any how—­an’ as regwdin’ the other thing, I have him fast.”

In the meantime, Father M’Cabe, who had read M’Slime’s paragraph in the Castle Cumber “True Blue,” respecting Darby’s conversion, had a sharp eye out for him, as they term it in the country.  Indeed, after two or three vain attempts to see him, the Rev. gentleman was satisfied with sending him a gentle message of congratulation upon his change of creed, which was significantly wound up by a slight hint, that he might, probably, on their next meeting, give him a nice treat, but of what particular description was not communicated.  Darby having secured the letters as described, was proceeding at a pretty quick pace towards Mr. Lucre’s, when, whom should he meet in a narrow part of the way, which was enclosed between two immense white thorn hedges, through which any notion of escape was impracticable—­but the Rev. Father M’Cabe.  He tried every shift—­looked back as if he expected some friend to follow him—­then to the right—­again