The Bishop murmured an euphonious Italian name, and Father MacTurnan understood that he was speaking of one of the Pope's secretaries. "More than once," said Father MacTurnan, "I feared that if the decree were revoked, I should not have had sufficient courage to comply with it." And then he told the Bishop how he had met Norah Flynn on the road. An amused expression stole into the Bishop's face, and his voice changed. "I presume you do not contemplate making marriage obligatory; you do not contemplate the suspension of the faculties of those who do not take wives?" "It seems to me that exception should be made in favour of those in orders, and, of course, in favour of those who have reached a certain age like your Grace." The Bishop coughed, and pretended to look for some paper which he had mislaid. "This was one of the many points that I discussed with Father Michael Meehan." "Oh, so you consulted Father Meehan," the Bishop said, looking up. "He came in one day I was reading over my Latin translation before posting it. I'm afraid the ideas that I submitted to the consideration of His Holiness have been degraded by my very poor Latin. I should have wished Father Meehan to overlook my Latin, but he refused. He begged of me not to send the letter." "Father Meehan," said his Grace, "is a great friend of yours. Yet nothing he could say could shake your resolution to write to Rome?" "Nothing," said Father MacTurnan. "The call I received was too distinct and too clear for me to hesitate." "Tell me about this call." Father MacTurnan told the Bishop that the poor man had come out of the work-house because he wanted to be married, and that Mike Mulhare would not give him his daughter until he had earned the price of a pig. "And as I was talking to him I heard my conscience say, 'No man can afford to marry in Ireland but the clergy.' We all live better than our parishioners." And then, forgetting the Bishop, and talking as if he were alone with his God, he described how the conviction had taken possession of him--that Ireland would become a Protestant country if the Catholic emigration did not cease. And he told how this conviction had left him little peace until he had written his letter. The priest talked on until he was interrupted by Father Moran. "I have some business to transact with Father Moran now," the Bishop said, "but you must stay to dinner. You have walked a long way, and you are tired and hungry." "But, your Grace, if I don't start now, I shall not get home until nightfall." "A car will take you back, Father MacTurnan. I will see to that. I must have some exact information about your poor people. We must do something for them." Father MacTurnan and the Bishop were talking together when the car came to take Father MacTurnan home, and the Bishop said:-- "Father MacTurnan, you have borne the loneliness of your parish a long while."