“Well, my dear friend,” said the bishop, “let us be thankful for the protection which, we have received at the hands of the Protestant clergy and of many of the Protestant laity also. We now separate, and I for one am sensible how much this cruel persecution has strengthened the bonds of Christian love among us, and excited our sympathy for our poor persecuted flocks, so many of whom are now without a shepherd. I leave you with tears--but they are tears of affection, and not of despair. I shall endeavor to be useful wherever I may abide. Let each of you do all the spiritual good you can--all the earthly good--all good in its most enlarged and purest sense. But we must separate--probably, some of us, forever; and now may the blessing of the Almighty God--of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, rest upon you all, and be with you and abide in your hearts, now and forever! Amen!” Having pronounced these words, he covered his face with his two hands and wept bitterly. There were indeed few dry eyes around him; they knelt before him, kissed his ring, and prepared to take their departure out of the cavern. “My lord,” said Reilly, who still entertained apprehensions of the return of his malady, “if you will permit me I shall share your fate, whatever it may be. The poor people you allude to are not in a condition to attend to your wants. Allow me, then, to attend and accompany you in your retreat.” “My dear friend,” said the bishop, clasping his hand, “you are heaping coals of fire upon my head. I trust you will forgive me, for I knew not what I did. I shall be glad of your companionship. I fear I still stand in need of such a friend. Be it so, then,” he proceeded--“be it so, my dear friend; only that I should not wish you to involve yourself in unnecessary danger on my account.” “Danger, my lord!” replied Reilly; “there is not an individual here against whom personal malignity has directed the vengeance of the law with such a bloodthirsty and vindictive spirit as against myself. Why else am I here? No, I will accompany your lordship, and share your fate.” It was so determined, and they left the cavern, each to procure some place of safety for himself. In the meantime, Sir Robert Whitecraft, having had another interview with Hennessy, was prevailed upon to get a military party together, and the cunning reprobate, in order to excite the baronet's vengeance to a still higher pitch, mentioned a circumstance which he had before forgotten, to wit, that Reilly, his arch-enemy, was also in the cave. “But,” said Sir Robert, who, as we have already said, was a poltroon and a coward, “what guarantee can you give me that you are not leading me into an ambuscade? You know that I am unpopular, and the Papists would be delighted to have my blood; what guarantee, then, can you give me that you, are acting by me in good faith?”