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.