"There, now!" interrupted Raoul, with a well-acted assumption of vulgar triumph; "I knew your eccellenza, when you came to look into it, would see the folly of saying that a vessel which was standing from Capri toward Ischia was going on any other course than northwest!" "But this is not the question, amico. We all understand the bearings of these islands, which are the bearings of the whole coast down here-away; but the question is, which way the lugger was steering?" "I thought I had said, eccellenza, that she was heading across toward Ischia," answered Raoul, with an air of obtuse innocence. "If you do, you give an account exactly different from that which has been sent to the admiral by the good bishop of your own island. May I never eat another of his own quails if I think _he_ would deceive us; and it is not easy to suppose a man like him does not know north from south." Raoul inwardly muttered a malediction on all priests; a class of men which, rightly enough, he believed to be united in their hostility to France. But it would not do to express this in his assumed character; and he affected to listen, as one of his class ought to give ear to a fact that came from his spiritual father. "North from south, eccellenza! Monsignore knows a great deal more than that, if the truth were said; though, I suppose, these noble signori are acquainted with the right reverend father's great infirmity?" "Not we--none of us, I fancy, ever had the honor to be in his company. Surely, fellow, your bishop is a man of truth?" "Truth!--Yes, eccellenza, so true is he that if he were to tell me that the thing I saw myself had not and could not happen, I should rather believe Monsignore than believe my own eyes. Still, Signori, eyes are _something_; and as the right reverend father has _none_, or what are as bad as none, for any use they can be in looking at a vessel half a mile off, he may not always see what he thinks he sees. When Monsignore tells us that so and so is Gospel, we all believe it, for we know the time has been when he _could_ read; but we never think of going to his door to ask which way a ship is steering, having the use of our own senses." "Can this fellow tell us the truth, Griffin?" asked Cuffe, a good deal mystified by Raoul's artifice and his assumed simplicity. "If so, we shall be going exactly on the wrong scent by hauling round Campanella and running into the Gulf of Salerno. The French hold Gaeta yet, and it is quite likely that Master Yvard may wish to keep a friendly port open under his lee!" "You forget, Captain Cuffe, that his lordship has sent a light cruiser already up that way, and le Feu-Follet would hardly dare to show herself near one of our regular fellows--"