"Well, that's just it. His Grace sent me to say he would see you at once. He expected you earlier." "I started the moment I received his Grace's letter. I suppose his Grace wishes to see me regarding my letter to Rome." The secretary hesitated, coughed, and Father MacTurnan wondered why Father Moran looked at him so intently. He returned in a few minutes, saying that his Grace was sorry that Father MacTurnan had had so long a walk. He hoped that he would rest awhile and partake of some refreshment.... The servant brought in some wine and sandwiches, and the secretary returned in half an hour. His Grace was now ready to receive him. Father Moran opened the library door, and Father MacTurnan saw the Bishop--a short, alert man, about fifty-five, with a sharp nose and grey eyes and bushy eyebrows. He popped about the room and gave his secretary many orders. Father MacTurnan wondered if the Bishop would ever finish talking to his secretary. He seemed to have finished, but a thought suddenly struck him, and he followed his secretary to the door, and Father MacTurnan began to fear that the Pope had not decided to place the Irish clergy on the same footing as the Greek clergy. If he had, the Bishop's interest in these many various matters would have subsided; his mind would be engrossed by the larger issue. On returning from the door his Grace passed Father MacTurnan without speaking to him, and going to his writing table he began to search amid his papers. At last Father MacTurnan said:-- "Maybe your Grace is looking for my letter to Rome?" "Yes," said his Grace, "do you see it?" "It's under your Grace's hand, those blue papers." "Ah, yes," and his Grace leaned back in his arm-chair, leaving Father MacTurnan standing. "Won't you sit down, Father MacTurnan?" he said casually. "You've been writing to Rome, I see, advocating the revocation of the decree of celibacy. There's no doubt the emigration of Catholics is a very serious question. So far you have got the sympathy of Rome, and, I may say of myself; but am I to understand that it was your fear for the religious safety of Ireland that prompted you to write this letter?" "What other reason could there be?" Nothing was said for a long while, and then the Bishop's meaning began to break in his mind; his face flushed, and he grew confused. "I hope your grace doesn't think for a moment that--" "I only want to know if there is anyone--if your eyes ever went in a certain direction, if your thoughts ever said, 'Well, if the decree is revoked--'" "No, your Grace, no. Celibacy has been no burden to me--far from it. Sometimes I feared that it was celibacy that attracted me to the priesthood. Celibacy was a gratification rather than a sacrifice." "I am glad," said the Bishop, and he spoke slowly and emphatically, "that this letter was prompted by such impersonal motives." "Surely, your Grace, His Holiness did not suspect--"