“The Lord forbid.”

“For my back’s sake,” the Bishop was looking at Mark’s strong shoulders, “for my back’s sake I hope the Lord does forbid.  But to your question.  I must get at the answer in a round-about way.  Father Murray, or Monsignore Murray, for he is a prelate, was one of my dearest friends.  For no man had I a greater regard.  He was the soul of generosity, earnest, zealous, kind, and—­I believed then—­a saint.”

“Then?”

“Then.  I am going to confide in you, and for a good purpose.  You like him.  His people in Sihasset adore him, as did his curates and his people at the Cathedral.  I expected, as did others, that he would be in the place I occupy to-day.”  The Bishop broke off to look fixedly at Mark for a moment.  “Mr. Griffin, may I trust you to do your friend a service?”

“Yes, Bishop, you may.”

“Then I will.  I have no other way to do this thing.  I cannot do it through another priest.  They are all of one mind except a few of the younger ones who might make matters worse.  You can help Monsignore Murray, if you will.  Now, listen well.  You heard the conversation between my secretary and myself at the rectory, did you not?  You were in the next room, I know.”

“Yes; I could not help hearing it, and there was no way of escape.”

“I know there was no escape.  You heard it all?”

“All.”

“That decides me to tell you more.  It may be providential that you heard.  A woman’s name was mentioned?”

“No name, only a reference to a woman, but I think I know who was meant.”

“Exactly.”  The Bishop’s voice took on even a graver tone.  “What I am going to say to you is given into your confidence for a stronger reason than to have you think more charitably of a bishop in his dealings with his priests.  I am taking you into my confidence chiefly for Monsignore Murray’s sake.  He is a different sort of man from the ordinary type.  He has few intimate friends because his charity is very wide.  You seem to be one of the rare beings he regards with special favor.  You like him in return.  The combination is excellent for my purpose.  I do not know when this woman first came into Monsignore Murray’s life, but he has seen her quite frequently during the last few years.  No one knows where she came from or who she is, except that she calls herself ’Miss Atheson.’”

“That is her name, if you are thinking of the lady I have in mind—­Ruth Atheson.”

“Exactly.  The old Bishop, my predecessor, seemed oblivious to the situation.  I soon learned, after my appointment, that Monsignore Murray and Miss Atheson were together almost daily, either at the rectory or at her hotel.  But I said nothing to Monsignore and had every confidence in him until—­well, until one day a member of the Cathedral clergy, unexpectedly entering the rectory library, saw Miss Atheson sitting on the arm of the priest’s chair, with her head close to his and her arm across his shoulders.  They were reading from a letter, and did not see the visitor, who withdrew silently.  His visit was never known to Monsignore Murray.  You understand?”