Reilly, as we have said, saw at once that an angry discussion had taken place, and felt all but certain that he was himself involved in it. 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. Reilly, the firm, the high-minded, the honorable, and, though last not least, the most indignant at any imputation against his integrity, now accompanied the priest in a state of indignation that was nearly a match for that of the bishop. “This is Mr. Reilly, gentlemen; a firm and an honest Catholic, who, like ourselves, is suffering for his religion.” “Mr. Reilly,” said the bishop, “it is good to suffer for our religion.” “It is our duty,” replied Reilly, “when we are called upon to do so; but for my part, I must confess, I have no relish whatsoever for the honors of martyrdom. I would rather aid it and assist it than suffer for it.” The bishop gave a stem look at his friends, as much as to say: “You hear! incipient heresy and treachery at the first step.” “He's more mad than the bishop,” thought Father Maguire; “in God's name what will come next, I wonder? Reilly's blood, somehow, is up; and there they are looking at each other, like a pair o' game cocks, with their necks stretched out in a cockpit--when I was a boy I used to go to see them--ready to dash upon one another.” “Are you not now suffering for your religion?” asked the prelate. “No,” replied Reilly, “it is not for the sake of my religion that I have suffered any thing. Religion is made only a pretext for it; but it is not, in truth, on that account that I have been persecuted.” “Pray, then, sir, may I inquire the cause of your persecution?” “You may,” replied Reilly, “but I shall decline to answer you. It comes not within your jurisdiction, but is a matter altogether personal to myself, and with which you can have no concern.”