Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

96 The Truce of the Bishopoff Crookhaven and the Cape, which in those lawless watersmight signify nothing friendly. Has the country been more quietand better ordered in these later times ? "" It has never been more undisturbed than at this moment,"replied Turlogh, stealing another furtive glance backward at thepriests. They smiled grimly at him, and nodded their heads.The Bishop had closed his eyes, and his head drooped againupon his breast. Thus he passed unheeding through the brokenpostern, and saw nothing of the blackened havoc inside, whereonce the pleasant grassy bawn had been.In the castle urgent shift had been made to render certainlower rooms once more habitable. The Bishop, when the tiredmen placed him upon the chair drawn forth with cushions by hisservants, lacked the will to look about him. Turlogh, standingbehind those who bore the lights, gazed, marvelling, at the hugegirth of the man, whose trunk strained to bursting the black robewith purple buttons in which it was encased. The swollen face,hanging in the shadow, was more a death's head than ever. Stillhe held the casket upon his knees. The priest signed to Turloghto go out, and he did so. When he sent his physician to them,they more curtly bade him also to leave them.When the morrow came, no one in Dunbeekin found it strangethat the Bishop did not set forth on his journey. The mostsimple had seen death writ large upon him. The story that heknew nothing of the terrible devastation that had swept the landbare, passed vaguely from mouth to mouth. It was not easy tounderstand that so lofty and pious an ecclesiastic, standing at thehead of all men in the South for learning, should be in darkness inthis matter, which was known to the very horse-boys. Theydwelt curiously upon the thought of him—the high prelate withthe marvellous relic, coming to shattered and spoilt Dunbeekin todie,