“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?”

“The guarantee of my own life,” replied the other.  “Let me be placed between two of your men, and if you see any thing like an ambuscade, let them shoot me dead on the spot.”

“Why,” replied the baronet, “that is fair; but the truth is, I have been put on my guard against you by a person who escorted me home last night.  He rendered me some assistance when I fell from my horse, and he slept here.”

“What is his name?” asked Hennessy.

“He told me,” replied the baronet, “that his name was Drum.”

“Could you give me a description, Sir Robert, of his person?”

Sir Robert did so.

“I declare to God, Sir Robert, you have had a narrow escape from that man.  He is one of the most bigoted priests in the kingdom.  He used to disguise himself as a drummer—­for his father was in the army, and he himself was a drummer in his boyhood; and his object in preventing you from bringing a military party to the cavern was merely that he might have an opportunity of giving them notice of your intentions.  I now say that if you lose an hour’s time they will be gone.”