“Alas! sir,” said he, “it was not too much learning, but too much persecution, that has made him mad.  That and the ascetic habits of his life have clouded or destroyed a great intellect and a good heart.  He has eaten only one sparing meal a day during the last month; and though severe and self-denying to himself, he was, until the last week or so, like a father, and an indulgent one, to us all.”

At this moment the pale, mild-looking clergyman, to whom we have alluded, went over to where the bishop sat, and throwing himself upon his bosom, burst into tears.  The sorrow indeed became infectious, and in a few minutes there were not many dry eyes around him.  Father Maguire, who was ignorant of the progressive change that had taken place in him since his last visit to the cave, now wept like a child, and Reilly himself experienced something that amounted to remorse, when he reflected on the irreverent tone of voice in which he had replied to him.

The paroxysm, however, appeared to have passed away; he was quite feeble, but not properly collected, though calm and quiet.  After a little time he requested to be put to bed.  And this leads us to the description of another portion of the cave to which we have not yet referred.  At the upper end of the stalactite apartment, which we have already described, there was a large projection of rock, which nearly divided it from the other, and which discharged the office of a wall, or partition, between the two apartments.  Here there was a good fire kept, but only during the hours of night, inasmuch as the smoke which issued from a rent or cleft in the top of this apartment would have discovered them by day.  Through this slight chasm, which was strictly concealed, they received provisions, water, and fuel.  In fact, it would seem as if the whole cave had been expressly designed for the purpose to which it was then applied, or, at least for some one of a similar nature.

On entering this, Reilly found a good fire, on which was placed a large pot with a mess in it, which emitted a very savory odor.  Around the sides, or walls of this rock, were at least a score of heather shake-down beds, the fragrance of which was delicious.  Pots, pans, and other simple culinary articles were there, with a tolerable stock of provisions, not omitting a good-sized keg of mountain dew, which their secluded position, the dampness of the place, and their absence from free air, rendered very necessary and gratifying.

“Here!” exclaimed Father Maguire, after the feeble prelate had been assisted to this recess, “here, now, put his lordship to bed; I have tossed it up for him in great style!  I assure you, my dear friends, it’s a shakedown fit for a prince!—­and better than most of the thieves deserve.  What bed of down ever had the sweet fragrance this flowery heather sends forth?  Here, my lord—­easy, now—­lay him down gently, just as a mother would her sleeping child—­for, indeed, he is a child,” he whispered, “and as weak as a child; but a sound sleep will do him good, and he’ll be a new man in the morning, please God.”