“What would you say?” asked the bishop.

“My lord, he was the principal means of saving the lives of six Protestants-heretics, I mean—­from being cut off in their iniquities and sins this night.”

“How do you mean?” replied the stern bishop; “explain yourself!”

The good priest then gave a succinct account of the circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted; and, after having finished his brief narrative, the unfortunate man perceived that, instead of having rendered Reilly a service, he had strengthened the suspicions of the prelate against him.

“So!” said the bishop, “you advance the history of this dastardly conduct as an argument in his favor!”

As he uttered these words, his eyes, which had actually become bloodshot, blazed again; his breath went and came strongly, and he ground his teeth with rage.

Father Maguire, and those who were present, looked at each other with eyes in which might be read an expression of deep sorrow and compassion.  At length a mild-looking, pale-faced man, with a clear, benignant eye, approached him, and laying his hand in a gentle manner upon his arm, said, “Pray, my dear lord, let me entreat your lordship to remember the precepts of our great Master:  ’Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you.’  And surely, my lord, no one knows better than you do that this is the spirit of our religion, and that whenever it is violated the fault is not that of the creed, but the man.”

“Under any circumstances,” said the bishop, declining to reply to this, and placing his open hand across his forehead, as if he felt confusion or pain—­“under any circumstances, this person must take the oath of secrecy with respect to the existence of this cave.  Call him up.”

Reilly, as we have said, saw at once that an angry discussion had taken place, and felt all but certain that he was himself involved in it.  The priest, in obedience to the wish expressed by the bishop, went down to where he stood, and whispering to him, said: 

“Salvation to me, but I had a hard battle for you.  I fought, however, like a trump.  The strange, and—­ahem—­kind of man you are called upon to meet now is one of our bishops—­but don’t you pretend to know that—­he has heard of your love for the Cooleen Bawn, and of her love for you—­be easy now—­not a thing it will be but the meeting of two thunderbolts between you—­and he’s afraid you’ll be deluded by her charms—­turn apostate on our hands—­and that the first thing you’re likely to do, when you get out of this subterranean palace of ours, will be to betray its existence to the heretics.  I have now put you on your guard, so keep a sharp lookout; be mild as mother’s milk.  But if you ’my lord’ him, I’m dished as a traitor beyond redemption.”

Now, if the simple-hearted priest had been tempted by the enemy himself to place these two men in a position where a battle-royal between them was most likely to ensue, he could not have taken a more successful course for that object.  Reilly, the firm, the high-minded, the honorable, and, though last not least, the most indignant at any imputation against his integrity, now accompanied the priest in a state of indignation that was nearly a match for that of the bishop.