With these tidings Greeba hurried away to the Bishop.
"The poor man has brain fever," she said. "He was ill when he made the threat, and when he recovers he will regret it; I am sure he will—I know he will. Set him at liberty, for mercy's sake," she cried; and she trembled as she spoke, lest in the fervor of her plea the Bishop should read her secret.
But he only shook his head and looked tenderly down at her, and said very gently, though every word went to her heart like a stab—
"Ah, it is like a good woman to plead for one who has injured her. But no, my child, no; it may not be. Poor lad, no one now can do anything for him save the President himself; and he is not likely to liberate a man who lies in wait to kill him."
"He is likely," thought Greeba, and straightway she conceived of
