cover of your 'sacred character' play all kinds of pranks. How the
dog must have chuckled when he gave you that!"

"Captain Frere," said Mr. Meekin, changing colour like a chameleon
with indignation and rage, "your interpretation is, I am convinced, an
incorrect one. How could the poor man compose such an ingenious piece of
cryptography?"

"If you mean, fake up that paper," returned Frere, unconsciously
dropping into prison slang, "I'll tell you. He had a Bible, I suppose,
while he was writing?"

"I certainly permitted him the use of the Sacred Volume, Captain Frere.
I should have judged it inconsistent with the character of my Office to
have refused it to him."

"Of course. And that's just where you parsons are always putting your
foot into it. If you'd put your 'Office' into your pocket and open your
eyes a bit--"

"Maurice! My dear Maurice!"

"I beg your pardon, Meekin," says Maurice, with clumsy apology; "but I
know these fellows. I've lived among 'em, I came out in a ship with
'em, I've talked with 'em, and drank with 'em, and I'm down to all their
moves, don't you see. The Bible is the only book they get hold of, and
texts are the only bits of learning ever taught 'm, and being chockfull
of villainy and plots and conspiracies, what other book should they make
use of to aid their infernal schemes but the one that the chaplain has
made a text book for 'em?" And Maurice rose in disgust, not unmixed with
self-laudation.

"Dear me, it is really very terrible," says Meekin, who was not
ill-meaning, but only self-complacent--"very terrible indeed."

"But unhappily true," said Mr. Pounce. "An olive? Thanks."

"Upon me soul!" burst out honest McNab, "the hail seestem seems to be
maist ill-calculated tae advance the wark o' reeformation."

"Mr. McNab, I'll trouble you for the port," said equally honest Vickers,
bound hand and foot in the chains of the rules of the services. And
so, what seemed likely to become a dangerous discussion upon convict
discipline, was stifled judiciously at the birth. But Sylvia, prompted,
perhaps, by curiosity, perhaps by a desire to modify the parson's
chagrin, in passing Mr. Meekin, took up the "confession," that lay
unopened beside his wine glass, and bore it off.

"Come, Mr. Meekin," said Vickers, when the door closed behind the
ladies, "help yourself. I am sorry the letter turned out so strangely,
but you may rely on Frere, I assure you. He knows more about convicts
than any m