to the patron saint of the house. Some saints are at times a little
revengeful, and your troubled mind and aching body you may owe to
him. Pray take the earliest opportunity to make amends."

"Who is the offended saint?" asked Mrs. Shortridge.

"I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "it is St. Meliboeus, the patron saint
of bees and honey."

"Take care," said L'Isle, laughing. "You are usurping the Pope's
function, and adding a new name to the calender."

"But what shall we do for Moodie?" she asked. "Whether stricken by the
saint or not, something must be done to relieve him."

"Your saint had nothing to do with my sickness," said Moodie,
angrily. "I was unwell yesterday, though I did not complain. I am sure
I was poisoned by that rascally innkeeper at Evora, with some trash he
called wine, which was nothing but drugged vinegar."

"If bad wine has poisoned you, good wine is the only antidote," said
L'Isle, and bidding his servant bring a cup and bottle from the
hamper, he persuaded Moodie to try the remedy.

Moodie tasted it with some hesitation, but the wine was excellent, and
in truth, just what he stood in need of. On being urged, he took a
good draught, and at L'Isle's suggestion, stowed away the bottle in
his valise for future reference.

Their host would receive but a small remuneration for the well timed