learly, my son, if we taste this old liquor. I have
kept it a long while to offer upon a proper occasion. The occasion is
here."

A ravishing bouquet quickly imbued the air. It was itself an
intoxication.

"The Brothers of St. Martin distilled this liquor," Father Beret added,
handing the cup to Farnsworth, "not for common social drinking, my son,
but for times when a man needs extraordinary stimulation. It is said to
be surpassingly good, because St. Martin blessed the vine."

The doughty Captain felt a sudden and imperious thirst seize his
throat. The liquor flooded his veins before his lips touched the cup.
He had been abstaining lately; now his besetting appetite rushed upon
him. At one gulp he took in the fiery yet smooth and captivating
draught. Nor did he notice that Father Beret, instead of joining him in
the potation, merely lifted his cup and set it down again, smacking his
lips gusto.

There followed a silence, during which the aromatic breath of the
bottle increased its dangerous fascination. Then Father Beret again
filled Farnsworth's cup and said:

"Ah, the blessed monks, little thought they that their matchless brew
would ever be sipped in a poor missionary's hut on the Wabash! But,
after all, my son, why not here as well as in sunny France? Our object
justifies any impropriety of time and place."

"You are right, Father. I drink to our object. Yes, I say, to our
object."

In fact, the drinking preceded his speech, and his tongue already had a
loop in it The liquor stole through him, a mist of bewildering and
enchanting influence. The third cup broke his sentences into
unintelligible fragments; the fourth made his underjaw sag loosely, the
fifth and sixth, taken in close succession, tumbled him limp on the
floor, where he slept blissfully all night long, snugly covered with
some of Father Beret's bed clothes.

"Per casum obliquum, et per indirectum," muttered the priest, when he
had returned the bottle and cup to their hiding-place." The end
justifies the means. Sleep well, my son. Ah, little Alice, little
Alice, your old Father will try--will try!"

He fumbled along the wall in the dark until he found the rapier, which
he took down; then he went out and sat for some time motionless beside
the door, while the clouds thickened overhead. It was late when he
arose and glided away shadow-like toward the fort, over which the night
hung black, chill and drearily silent. The moon was still some hours