in fifteen minutes."

"The devil is in you, I believe. Cannot----"

I interrupted him with a shout of laughter.

"Cardinal," I said noisily, "you have become profane; and a profane
priest is always the best of good fellows. Let us have some wine; and
I will sing you a German beer song."

"Heaven forgive me if I do you wrong," he said; "but I believe God has
laid the expiation of some sin on your unhappy head. Will you favor me
with your attention for awhile? I have something to say to you, and I
have also to get some sleep before my hour of rising, which is
half-past five."

"My usual hour for retiring--when I retire at all. But proceed. My
fault is not inattention, but over-susceptibility."

"Well, then, I want you to go to Wicklow. My reasons----"

"No matter what they may be," said I, rising again. "It is enough that
you desire me to go. I shall start forthwith."

"Zeno! will you sit down and listen to me?"

I sank upon my chair reluctantly. "Ardor is a crime in your eyes, even
when it is shewn in your service," I said. "May I turn down the
light?"

"Why?"

"To bring on my sombre mood, in which I am able to listen with
tireless patience."

"I will turn it down myself. Will that do?"

I thanked him and composed myself to listen in the shadow. My eyes, I
felt, glittered. I was like Poe's raven.

"Now for my reasons for sending you to Wicklow. First, for your own
sake. If you stay in town, or in any place where excitement can be
obtained by any means, you will be in Swift's Hospital in a week. You
must live in the country, under the eye of one upon whom I can depend.
And you must have something to do to keep you out of mischief and away
from your music and painting and poetry, which, Sir John Richard
writes to me, are dangerous for you in your present morbid state.
Second, because I can entrust you with a task which, in the hands of a
sensible man might bring discredit on the Church. In short, I want you
to investigate a miracle."

He looked attentively at me. I sat like a statue.

"You understand me?" he said.

"Nevermore," I replied, hoarsely. "Pardon me," I added, amused at the
trick my imagination had played me, "I understand you perfectly.
Proceed."

"I hope you do. Well, four miles distant from the town of Wicklow is a
village called Four Mile Water. The resident priest is Father Hickey.
You have heard of the miracles at Knock?"

I winked.

"I did not ask you what you think of them but