"The boat?"
"Ah! have I not told you? Thormod Mylechreest—you remember him? A good man, Thormod—a tender heart, too, and wronged by his father, poor misguided man. Well, Mylechreest has promised—I have just left him—to come down to the harbor at nine to-night, and take the fishing-smack, the 'Ben-my-Chree,' and bring her round to the west coast of St. Patrick's Islet, and cast anchor there, and then come ashore in the boat, and wait for you."
"Wait for me, father?"
"Yes; for this prison is mine, and I shall open its doors to whomsoever it pleases me to liberate. Look!"
The Bishop rose to his full height, threw back his head, and with a feeble show of his wonted dignity strode to the door of the cell and cried, in a poor, stifled echo of his accustomed strong tone, "Paton Gorry, open thou this door."
Old Gorry answered from without, and presently the door was opened.
"Wider."
The door was thrown wide.
"Now, give me the keys, Paton Gorry," said the Bishop, with the same assumption of authority.
Old Gorry handed his keys to the Bishop.