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 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/soulofbishopnove01wint
 
 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 B 'UovcL 
 
 JOHN STRANGE WINTEK, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 BOOTLES' BABY," "CAVALRY LIFE," "ARMY SOCIETY, 
 
 'BEAUTIFUL JIM." " MIGXON'S SECRET," " DINX A FORGET,' 
 
 "BUTTONS," "THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE," "GOOD-BYE," 
 
 "MRS. BOB," "ONLY HUMAN," "THREE GIRLS," 
 
 "MY GEOFF," "A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN," 
 
 "AUNT JOHNNIE," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 
 14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 1893.
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, 182, 183 AND 184, HIGH HOLBORN. W.C. 
 
 AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
 
 \ 
 
 815 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 In presenting " The Soul of the Bishop * to the world, I 
 feel that it is necessary for me to make some explanation 
 to my readers as to the reason which has made me choose 
 this unlikely theme as the motive of this story. I use the 
 word " unlikely " advisedly, because I am aware that I 
 have the reputation of being a writer of light stories, of 
 pretty trifles pour passer le temps — which is one of the 
 disadvantages of beginning to write novels while very 
 young, as it often creates a difficulty in more mature years 
 when the author wishes to be taken seriously, feeling 
 strongly that the work has grown in quality or in strength 
 with the years that have gone by. 
 
 " The Soul of the Bishop " has been on my mind for 
 more than two years, and I now offer it to the world with 
 • much diffidence, being not very sure whether I have made 
 out a good case or not. But if my readers see what my 
 aim has been, that it has been to present with unmis- 
 ^ takable force an attitude of mind which is very prevalent 
 to-day, then I shall not feel that I have thrown my work 
 away.
 
 7i PKEFACE. 
 
 I have not attempted to elucidate the situation, nor 
 have I tried to bring the story to the conventional ending 
 usual in such tales — a practice which, to my mind, has 
 utterly spoiled some of the best and most interesting 
 novels bearing on religion, which have appeared of late 
 years. What I have tried to show is the working of a mind 
 so thoroughly endowed with practical common-sense as 
 to be unable to reconcile an innate sense of justice and an 
 intense desire to follow real Christianity — I mean the 
 original religion which Christ Himself taught (regarding 
 Him from any Christian standpoint, or even from that of 
 the Agnostic) — with the so-called religion of Christ, as laid 
 down by some of the dogmas to which the Orthodox 
 Church sets her seal to-day. I have tried to shew how a 
 really honest mind may and, alas, too often does, suffer 
 mental and moral ship-wreck over those rocks which the 
 Church allows to endanger the channel to a harbour never 
 easy to navigate at any time. 
 
 I do not, of course, presume to expect that my story will 
 do much to bring about the removal of those rocks and 
 stumbling-blocks which the Church permits to stand in 
 the way of those who wish to believe in a religion which 
 shall be in true accord with that plain, unselfish, and 
 eminently practical one which Christ Himself taught while 
 on earth. Nor do I expect that any words of mine 
 will cause the Church's Articles of Religion to be
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 pruned of those which common-sense rejects, and so 
 make the Orthodox Church one more in accord with the 
 advanced thought, cultivation, and enlightenment of 
 modern times, instead of remaining as it is now, fast 
 bound by the out-of-date and worse than useless dogmas 
 of a constitution formed at a time when every energy was 
 directed so as to offer as much opposition as possible to- 
 wards the Church of Rome — an aim which was served to 
 such an extent that the real and practical religion of 
 Christ was almost lost sight of. I only desire to show that 
 these rocks do exist and that their effect upon thousands 
 of men and women who are, by the very conditions under 
 which we live, being taught day by day to think for 
 themselves on spiritual matters, is terrible indeed. 
 
 It was not many years ago that a great Churchman, 
 one in a position of much authority, refused in any way 
 to countenance a meeting of the British Association, which 
 was held in the town over which he held spiritual sway, on 
 the ground that the tendency of such meetings was bad for 
 " the people," causing them to think for themselves and to 
 discuss questions which had best remain untouched. There- 
 fore, during that week while the meetings were taking 
 place, he never once entered the town. To me the fact 
 that a highly-cultivated scholar could put forth views so 
 deliberately blinding came as the surest proof that there 
 must be something to find out, something to make eccle-
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 siastics afraid of " the people " learning about the religion 
 which they professed ; and this was the very first thing 
 which set me thinking of these matters. 
 
 was some years before I came to London and 
 mingled among those who will insist on thinking for 
 themselves, even about the abstruse points of their religion. 
 Sine those days, the wave of independent thought has 
 grown and thriven apace ; and to-day, men and women will 
 judge for themselves, regardless of the continual exhorta- 
 tions which, from time to time, peal forth from almost 
 every Orthodox pulpit in the land, to the effect that it is 
 impossible for the laity to think rightly for themselves 
 and that their only safety lies in being content to believe 
 what the clergy tell them they must believe — in order 
 
 to be saved ! 
 
 In the face of this growing tendency, the question 
 
 ar i ses — i s it right or wise of the Church to stand by hard 
 and fast rules, framed by men possessed only of the 
 narrow, highly-prejudiced views and opinions of the 
 Middle Ages, or of times even more remote than those ? I 
 imagine that the majority of those who think — the Agnos- 
 tics, who are increasing every day ; the Freethinkers, 
 who are many ; and all the multitude of creedless Chr s- 
 tians, who are legion — will be of one opinion and will join 
 in saying — NO ! 
 
 John Strange Winter.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAOE 
 
 I. — The Xew Bishop .... 1 
 
 II.— Dawn 17 
 
 III. — " What will the Story of these 
 
 Two be?" 44 
 
 IV. — The Comfortable Fatima . ,. 62 
 V. — Not Good Enough ! . . .81 
 
 VI.— One Word! 123 
 
 VII.—" Mt Homage to You "... 143 
 
 VIII. — A Straight Question . . . 164 
 
 IX.— A Plain Answer .... 193 
 
 X. — An Aching Soul .... 212
 
 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP.
 
 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 
 
 Who is the honest man ? 
 He that doth still and strongly good pursue, 
 To God, his neighbour, and himself most true ; 
 "Whom neither force nor fawning can 
 Unfix, or wrench from giving all their due. 
 
 — Herbert. 
 
 His bishopric let another take ! 
 
 — Acts, 
 
 The old city of Blankhampton was in 
 
 mourning, for John, by Divine Providence, 
 
 Lord Bishop of the Diocese, was lying dead 
 
 in his Palace a couple of miles away, and 
 
 people were speaking more kindly of him 
 
 than they had done for long enough. In 
 vol. i. 1
 
 2 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 truth the late Bishop had not been always 
 a very popular man, but had been of an 
 austere manner and somewhat haughty of 
 demeanour, but the townspeople had for- 
 gotten all that now, and only re-called his 
 great learning, his magnificent powers of 
 work, and his unimpeachable domestic 
 qualities. They told each other that it 
 would be well for the county and for the 
 town, if all the clergy had proved them- 
 selves to be as perfectly devoted husbands 
 and fathers as the late Prelate had 
 undoubtedly set them the example of 
 being. They reminded each other that if 
 the dead man had had some unlovable 
 qualities, he had had others that were 
 eminently lovable. If his high- stepping 
 horses had seemed, to his poorer brethren, 
 to be sure signs of their Bishop's arrogance 
 and haughtiness of mind, yet those same 
 horses had never been turned out on to the 
 hard world, to work out their declining
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 
 
 years in underfed neglect, for no horses 
 had ever been sold out of the episcopal 
 stables during the whole of the dead man's 
 
 reign. 
 
 Well, the reign had come to an end now, 
 and the shutters kept up in the windows 
 of the principal shops in sign of mourning 
 did honour to him who was bat just 
 departed from among them. There was 
 much hurrying to and fro at the Palace, 
 there was a great deal of extra business for 
 the florists, and there was a great gather- 
 ing of clergy and laity on the cold wintry 
 morning, when John, by Divine Providence, 
 Lord Bishop of the Diocese, was laid to 
 sleep, not with his fathers, but with his 
 predecessors ; and then that chapter in the 
 history of Blankhampton was closed for 
 ever. 
 
 The next question which troubled the 
 good people of Blankhampton and indeed of 
 Blankshire, was, who would be appointed
 
 4 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 to the Bishopric ? The Conservatives were 
 in power, so that probably the new Bishop 
 would be a man of good family ; it was 
 equally probable that he would be a man 
 of somewhat evangelical principles, to 
 which Blankshire people greatly objected, 
 although the late Bishop had been dis- 
 tinctly of a Low Church turn. Still, they 
 were not so anxious on that score as they 
 were that their new spiritual lord should 
 be a man of good family. They knew 
 what they wanted, and they were not slow 
 to express the same, although, it is true, 
 they only expressed it to one another, 
 which was not likely to make much differ- 
 ence to the eventual disposal of the See. 
 They also knew what they did not want ; 
 and one of their desires was, that they 
 should not have a school-master for their 
 Bishop, although the predecessor of the 
 dead Prelate had been a school-master in 
 his time and had been universallv beloved
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 5 
 
 and revered by all classes of the community 
 within his See. 
 
 Still, since those days, society had very 
 much changed. Blankhampton itself had 
 grown from a dull aristocratic Cathedral 
 city, with one cavalry regiment quartered 
 in its barracks and the little gathering of 
 good class men who took up their quarters 
 there during the winter months for the 
 hunting, to a big bustling rather frivolous 
 place, whose Cathedral set had been utterly 
 swamped by the gayer, livelier and more 
 worldly society which had gathered itself 
 about the now very large military garrison. 
 This part of Blankhampton wanted what 
 it called " a real swagger Bishop," and a 
 promoted head-master from one of the 
 public schools did not exactly fulfil their 
 ideas of this somewhat anomalous being. 
 
 However, in due course of time, the 
 doubts and fears of all sections of the 
 town were put finally at rest, for it became
 
 G THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 known that the Prime Minister had offered 
 the Bishopric of Blankhampton to a London 
 clergyman, by whom it had been accepted. 
 The news was for several days the one 
 topic of conversation in the old city. Who 
 was he ? What was he like ? How old 
 was he ? Was he High Church or Low ? 
 Was he married or single ? Had he been 
 popular in his London parish ? What had 
 he done that he should be made Bishop 
 of Blankhampton ? These and many other 
 such questions fluttered to and fro upon 
 the perturbed and expectant air. 
 
 Well, the natural curiosity was very 
 soon satisfied. Within a week, the Bishop 
 elect came down to look at the Palace, 
 and although the spectacle of a clergyman 
 walking quietly down the street by himself, 
 is not one of a very unusual character, 
 some instinct or other seemed to tell every 
 person whom he met that this was none 
 other than the new Bishop. He was not,
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 7 
 
 as yet, wearing Bishop's clothing — for the 
 very good reason that his tailor had not 
 yet sent home the garments for which he 
 had been measured some days previously 
 — but every man woman and child in 
 Blankkampton who had chanced to set eyes 
 upon him, knew that this was their new 
 spiritual head. 
 
 In person, the Eeverend Archibald 
 Netherby was a complete surprise to the 
 entire population. The majority of them 
 had expected that he would be a grave, 
 somewhat austere, middle-aged man, grizzly 
 and unkempt as to his hair, portly in 
 person, and wearing either pince-nez or 
 spectacles. He was, however, totally 
 different to this. Imagine a man of forty, 
 big, strong, athletic and alert, with a quick, 
 clean gait and a keen, interested, everyday 
 sort of manner. He was fair of complexion, 
 was clean shaven, and his thick, light- 
 brown hair was cut as closely as any
 
 8 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 soldier's up at the barracks. His eyes 
 were very blue and looked at you in a 
 straight and frank manner. For the rest, 
 his nose was straight, his mouth pleasant 
 enough, and his chin firm and square, with 
 a cleft in the middle of it. 
 
 The new Bishop had come on the 
 previous evening to the Station Hotel and 
 had put up there in a simple and unosten- 
 tatious manner. Having breakfasted in 
 the Coffee Eoom, and leisurely looked over 
 the London papers, he got up, flicked the 
 crumbs off his coat, smoothed his tall hat 
 round with his sleeve, like any other man, 
 and quietly sallied forth into the fresh and 
 pleasant morning. Of course, to a man 
 accustomed to the bustle of a busy London 
 parish, Blankhampton seemed almost 
 oppressively quiet and old-fashioned, but 
 he sauntered up St. Thomas's Street, taking 
 notes of houses and shops and people, and 
 before ever he reached the Cathedral, had
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 9 
 
 made up his mind that it was the very 
 place for him. 
 
 Now the shops in Blankhampton are 
 remarkably good, infinitely better than you 
 will find in most provincial towns, taking 
 exception always to the two delightful 
 watering-places, Brighton and Scarborough. 
 There is a big bookseller's shop in St 
 Thomas's Street at Blankhampton, which 
 seems almost always to arrest the attention 
 of the passer-by, and the Bishop-elect 
 proved no exception to the general rule. 
 He pulled up short at the sight of a battle 
 picture of Lady Butler's and stood looking 
 at it for some minutes, a marked and 
 noticeable figure on the wide pavement, 
 and at least a dozen people passing by said 
 to one another, " That must be the new 
 Bishop," although perhaps one would not 
 expect to see a bishop looking into a shop 
 window like any ordinary person. 
 
 " Oh no," said one girl to another,
 
 10 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " that's not the new Bishop — he's too 
 young." 
 
 " I'm sure it is," answered the one who 
 had spoken first, " I feel certain of it. 
 Let us stop and look into this window." 
 
 Now the window adjoining the book- 
 seller's shop happened to be a gunsmith's, 
 so was scarcely as appropriate for two 
 smart young girls to stop at as the book- 
 seller's window was for the Bishop. How- 
 ever, that is neither here nor there. They 
 stood looking in at six-shooters and the 
 latest thing in breech-loaders, while the 
 stranger passed from the window in which 
 Lady Butler's " Quatre Bras " was flanked 
 by beautifully-bound editions of the poets, 
 to the other one where the photographs of 
 the late Prelate were displayed, side by 
 side with the last Society beauty, and the 
 last notoriety in the way of skirt-dancing. 
 
 " I say," said one of the girls to the 
 other, " but isn't he splendid ? Fancy his
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 11 
 
 stopping to look at those photographs too ; 
 that doesn't look as if he was over and 
 above goody-goody, does it ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is not looking at them, he is 
 looking at the poor old Bishop," said the 
 other girl. 
 
 " Yes, he is," persisted the first speaker, 
 " I noticed that all the skirt dancers were 
 up at this end ; see, he's looking at them 
 now." 
 
 " I wonder whether he is married ? " said 
 the second girl. 
 
 " Married ? Yes," answered the other. 
 " and got half-a-dozen children at home. 
 Of course he's married — sure to be." 
 
 "Well, I don't know— he doesn't look 
 married to me," said her companion. 
 
 Well, the new Bishop, having had a 
 good look at the photographs, passed on 
 his way up the street, towards the 
 Cathedral. It certainly had, at that 
 moment, crossed his mind that it was an
 
 V2 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 odd thing for two pretty young girls to be 
 taking such interest in a gunsmith's 
 window, but imagining that in his ordinary 
 parson's clothes nobody would spot him — 
 yes, I know that " spot " is slang, but the 
 Bishop did say " spot " in his own mind, 
 and, as a humble but faithful chronicler, I 
 wish to present this man to my readers as 
 he really was — and not, in any sense, as the 
 pompous ass a typical bishop is supposed 
 to be — it never occurred to him that the 
 gunsmith's window was but an excuse for 
 them to get a good look at himself. So he 
 sauntered happily on, followed at a little 
 distance by the two girls. 
 
 His way led him to the Cathedral, a 
 glorious fane of nearly pure Xorman 
 architecture, always affectionately held up 
 by Blankhampton folk as the most perfect 
 Temple of God in the wide world and 
 always familiarly called by them — "the 
 Parish." The bells were just ringing for
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 13 
 
 morning-service and, when he passed under 
 the great organ screen into the choir, he 
 was seen and taken possession of by a soft- 
 voiced flat-footed verger, who never sus- 
 pected for a moment that this was the new 
 Bishop. Probably he was the only person 
 in Blankhampton, who did not suspect his 
 real condition ; but, as a rule, cathedral 
 vergers do not take much account of 
 clergymen, unless they happen to be 
 wearing gaiters. His cloth, however, 
 secured him a seat in the stalls, not very 
 far from the Dean's seat, and when the 
 Dean himself came in, he guessed in a 
 moment, who the tall fair-faced stranger 
 was, and at the conclusion of the short 
 service, sent ; his own verger to make sure 
 whether his suspicion was correct or not 
 and, if it was, to beg the stranger to join 
 him in the vestry. 
 
 From that moment, the new Bishop's 
 incognito came to an end ; he was the lion of
 
 14 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 the hour ; he was carried off to the Deanery 
 to lunch and he was driven over in the 
 Dean's carriage to see the Palace ; in short, 
 he was completely taken in hand and so 
 many of his future flock were presented to 
 him that he was almost bewildered. 
 
 After this, the good people of Blank- 
 hampton very soon learned all that there 
 was to learn about their new spiritual 
 head They learned first of all that the 
 Netherbys were one of the oldest families 
 that have ever flourished in the good old 
 North Country, and the Eeverend Archi- 
 bald of that name was the head of the 
 family, being the eldest son of the oldest 
 branch of the house; that he had been 
 educated at Eton and Oxford, where he had 
 done fairly well but not brilliantly ; that he 
 was nearly forty-one years of age and had 
 an unsurpassable record for dogged hard 
 work, and that he was possessed of the 
 quality of shrewd common-sense to a degree
 
 THE NEW BISHOP. 15 
 
 which almost amounted to brilliance. 
 They learned that, as vicar of one of the 
 busiest and most important parishes in 
 London, he had filled his church Sunday 
 after Sunday, with a crowd of people, all 
 eager and anxious to learn, although it was 
 generally acknowledged that his sermons 
 read infinitely better than they preached ; 
 indeed, to tell the truth, it was generally 
 admitted that the new Bishop of Blank- 
 hampton " could not preach a bit." They 
 learned also, that in administrative power 
 he was unequalled, that his net-work of 
 parish organisation had been the most com- 
 plete and the most useful that had ever 
 been known in that parish before, that he 
 had a perfect genius for administration, an 
 indomitable will, a simple unostentatious 
 manner, an exceedingly kind heart, and, on 
 occasion, the gay spirits of a boy. The good 
 people of Blankhampton learned also that 
 the inhabitants of his old parish were heart-
 
 16 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 broken at his promotion, although they 
 owned that it was no more than his due 
 that he should wear the lawn sleeves of a 
 bishop and fill one of the highest dignities 
 of the Church ; still, that they were parting 
 with him with infinite regret and tears of 
 sorrow, and looked forward to the future 
 with apprehension and almost with despair. 
 They learned that his servants were coming 
 with him in a body, and that the Palace was 
 to be done up and made fit for occupation by 
 a local firm. And they also discovered that 
 Archibald Netherby, Bishop-elect of Blank- 
 hampton, was not married.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DAWN. 
 
 0, that a man might know 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it sufficeth that the day will end, 
 
 And then the end is known. 
 
 — Julius Cesar. 
 
 Rachel was beautiful and well favoured. 
 
 — Genesis. 
 
 In due course of time, the new Bishop was 
 
 consecrated in Blankhampton Cathedral and 
 
 duly took up his abode at Blankhampton 
 
 Palace. The firm, who had received the 
 
 commission to do up and re-furnish that 
 
 charming old mansion, were so inordinately 
 
 proud of the order that when their task 
 
 was accomplished they took the liberty of 
 
 giving a sort of private view of the grand 
 vol. i. 2
 
 ]8 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 old house, and very many of the towns- 
 people, most of those indeed who happened 
 to be customers of the firm, took the oppor- 
 tunity of inspecting the work. 
 
 All sorts and conditions of men and 
 women drove or walked out to the rambling 
 but stately mansion, and went into raptures 
 over the size of the rooms, the beauty of 
 the gardens, the excellent accommodation in 
 the stables, and the good taste of the new 
 fittings and decorations. 
 
 " It is most extraordinary," said one lady 
 to another, " that a bachelor should make 
 himself a home like this." 
 
 " Perhaps he won't be a bachelor long," 
 returned the other, trying to calculate 
 mentally how a certain cosy-corner of white 
 and pale blue would suit her own drawing- 
 room, " perhaps he won't be a bachelor 
 long. I say, Maria, don't you like that cos} r - 
 corner ? " 
 
 " I like it all" said Maria gushingly.
 
 DAWN. 19 
 
 Maria was a sweet young thing " about " 
 forty, and had a gentle vision in her mind, 
 at that moment, of herself as mistress of 
 that beautiful old palace, of herself moving 
 to and fro in the spacious rooms, of herself 
 walking through life beside the new Bishop. 
 It was a mere vision, it was quite innocent, 
 it was almost as impossible as it was unlikely 
 of fulfilment ; but Maria was young in 
 mind and ambitious in thought, and her 
 little dream hurt nobody, not even herself. 
 She had not often an opportunity of seeing 
 the interior of a palace, and she was ready 
 to take every stick and stone of it to her 
 metaphorical bosom. Maria's friend, how- 
 ever, was more practical. 
 
 " I want something new in my drawing- 
 room," she said, reflectively, " and Eobert 
 has promised I shall have carte blanche. 
 I've waited ten years to have it done up, 
 you know, and the other day he told me I 
 could have it done when I liked, and I need 
 
 9*
 
 20 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 not stint myself as to the cost of it. I've 
 a good mind to have a corner like that one 
 — it would be out of the common, wouldn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes," sighed Maria," " it would be out 
 of the common, that's true. Everything 
 here is out of the common." 
 
 " Well, to my mind," said Maria's friend, 
 " it all looks a little new. Of course, 
 there's the wonderful old oak furniture in 
 the dining-room, and the large settees in 
 this room and the pictures and the chapel- 
 furnishings and the great chests in the hall, 
 they were all here before and are heirlooms, 
 so to speak ; but to me, it all looks as if it 
 wanted living in." 
 
 " It wants a wife," said Maria, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 That was exactly what all Blankhampton 
 said, nay more, it was what all Blankshire 
 said, that the Bishop's Palace had need 
 most of anything of a mistress.
 
 DAWN. 21 
 
 The Bishop himself, however, when he 
 came to take possession, seemed very well 
 satisfied to do without that luxury. He 
 brought with him a few favourite pieces of 
 furniture and a large quantity of pictures 
 and bric-a-brac of all kinds, and, in an 
 incredibly short time, he had settled down 
 and made himself thoroughly at home in 
 the big Palace. 
 
 But it must not be imagined that such a 
 man had lived for forty-one years in the 
 world without having the idea of marriage 
 suggested to him many times. He was, 
 unlike most bishops, a very rich man inde- 
 pendently of his office, and, on many occa- 
 sions, he had had hints thrown out to him 
 that it was a thousand pities he did not 
 marry. 
 
 " I look upon you, my dear Archie 
 Netherby," said an old friend, a very great 
 lady, to him one day, when dining at his 
 house in London, " I look upon you as a
 
 22 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 good husband wasted. Why, my dear boy, 
 with a house like this, with an income like 
 yours, with your position and, — I don't 
 want to natter you, Archie, — but, with your 
 looks, why you should enjoy it all by your- 
 self, I cannot imagine. Why don't you 
 
 . 
 
 It is true that the big parson turned a 
 little red and showed some signs of con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " My dear friend," he said, with an effort 
 to speak lightly, " I haven't time to think 
 of these things. Perhaps some day, I shall 
 find myself with more leisure." 
 
 " Leisure," echoed the lady, " oh, non- 
 sense — you want very little leisure to get 
 married. It is the will you want, Archie, 
 not the leisure." 
 
 However, be that as it may, Archibald 
 Netherby went down to Blankshire without 
 having changed his state, and he took up 
 his abode in the big palace and flung
 
 DAWN. 23 
 
 himself heart and soul into the many and 
 arduous duties of his office, and had 
 apparently, no intention whatever of giving 
 that same palace a mistress. 
 
 Blankhampton, not to say Blankshire, 
 took it into its general head that the new 
 Bishop wanted encouragement. That was 
 the favourite formula of the ladies in that 
 part of the world, when a man did not 
 easily surrender himself to the toils of the 
 match-maker ; and of a surety the en- 
 couragement that the new Bishop re- 
 ceived was enough to have tempted any 
 man at least to consider the question. But 
 the Bishop did not seem even to see the 
 little snares that were spread out for his 
 delectation ; he went serenely on his 
 way, making pilgrimage after pilgrimage 
 into the uttermost corners of the earth 
 — or, if not into the uttermost corner s 
 of the earth, certainly into the utter- 
 most corners of his diocese ; he started
 
 24 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 just such a wonderful network of organi- 
 zation from one end of it to the other, as 
 he had found of such good effect in his 
 London parish ; he infected all the young 
 ladies with a desire to do parish work, 
 and he infected all young men with an 
 enthusiasm for helping their less fortunate 
 brethren ; he made himself personally 
 acquainted with every clergyman in his 
 See ; he preached at every church in Blank - 
 shire : in short, he began like the proverbial 
 new broom, and he showed not the smallest 
 sign of turning into an old one. But he 
 did not get married. 
 
 The winter passed away and the bright 
 summer came in its stead. The new Bishop 
 proved himself as good at tennis and 
 cricket, as he had proved himself to be 
 full of energy in his work ; but even tennis 
 did not help matters on towards providing 
 the Palace with a mistress. He was very 
 popular, he was greatly admired, and he was
 
 DAWN. 25 
 
 a pattern to all his clergy ; but he remained 
 a bachelor. He received quite ten times as 
 many invitations as he could possibly accept ; 
 everybod}^ in the county said that he was 
 the best fellow, the finest all round w r orker, 
 and the kindest soul that they had ever 
 met. And they agreed, one and all, that, 
 although the matter of his sermons was 
 exceeding good, yet his manner of delivering 
 them was the one blot and blemish upon 
 his otherwise beautiful presence. 
 
 For a wonder the new Bishop was on 
 excellent terms with the Dean. It does 
 not always follow. In Blankhampton, at 
 least, the Deanery and the Palace had 
 never been on really good terms, excepting 
 during a very short period after the present 
 Dean had succeeded to the Deanery. It 
 is the case ' with many Deaneries and 
 Bishoprics. In Blankhampton, for instance, 
 up to the time of Archibald Netherby's 
 appointment, the relations between the two
 
 2'6 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOI\ 
 
 spiritual heads of the Church had been 
 more than usually strained. But at the 
 end of six months the Dean and the Bishop 
 were still great friends and on the best of 
 terms with each other, nor did there seem 
 to be any likelihood of any disagreement 
 arising between them. 
 
 One of their most pleasant arrangements 
 was that the Bishop should preach as often 
 as could be arranged in his Cathedral 
 Church. On Sunday mornings, of course, 
 the Prebends took their turn at preaching ; 
 but there were several of those who were 
 too old to take the journey on fixed days, 
 or to make the effort to preach in so large 
 an edifice. There were also a few off days, 
 when no one was specially appointed to nil 
 the pulpit. And there were some half- 
 dozen days in the year, when the late 
 Bishop had been set down as preacher, occa- 
 sions of which he had frequently not taken 
 advantage, so that Blankhampton people
 
 DAWN. 27 
 
 heard him but seldom. There were also a 
 good many days when the Dean was the 
 preacher, and a very good preacher too, so 
 that by taking a fair share of these, and an 
 equally fair share of the evening services, 
 when the choice of the preacher was solely 
 at the discretion of the Dean, the new 
 Bishop was enabled to hold forth at the 
 Parish, quite as often as his duties in other 
 directions would admit of. 
 
 In one thing Dr. Netherby made a great 
 change from the ways of his predecessor ; 
 for, whereas that dignitary had on all days 
 when he was not preaching at some church 
 in his See, been in the habit of attending 
 divine service in the quiet country church 
 adjoining his palace, the new Bishop, at all 
 such times, attended the services in the 
 beautiful old Cathedral. 
 
 He happened to be preaching there one 
 Sunday morning, on a lovely day in July, 
 when the sun was streaming through the
 
 28 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 glorious old windows, casting coloured rays" 
 of light upon the richly carven oak below ; 
 and when the choir was full to overflowing, 
 so that the gay dresses of the women and 
 the rich uniforms of the officers present, 
 made the sombre old building seem like a 
 garden in summer bloom. The Bishop, 
 looking as imposing as any in his satin 
 robes, lawn sleeves, and Doctor's hood, 
 joined in the service, without so much as 
 turning his eyes to right or to left ; but, 
 when he stood up to preach and grew 
 interested in his subject, he began un- 
 consciously and instinctively to pick out of 
 the sea of faces, the one or two which were 
 most in accord with his own feelings. 
 
 I think that there are but few preachers, 
 especially those who are very much in 
 earnest, who do not feel this power of 
 attraction more or less. If a man can 
 single out but one face that is earnest or 
 interested, whose soul is unmistakably in
 
 DAWN. 29 
 
 •touch with his own by the medium of ears 
 and eyes and mouth, that man has a better 
 chance of preaching a sermon that will 
 touch all who hear it, than if he preaches 
 to nothing more impressionable than a bit 
 of carving or a distant aisle. On that 
 particular occasion, when there was every- 
 thing to arouse a feeling of fervour 
 in the hearts of both preacher and 
 people — glorious sunshine, rich and stately 
 surroundings, entrancing music, and almost 
 perfect singing — the Bishop of Blank- 
 hampton found his attention gradually 
 ri vetting itself upon one of the faces just 
 across the choir, framed as in a shrine of 
 dark oak. 
 
 It was a woman's face, of course — well, 
 a woman scarcely passed early girlhood. 
 He had remarkably good eyesight but he 
 scarcely noticed or indeed thought about 
 the actual details of the face. He could 
 not have told precisely what the lady
 
 30 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 was like, excepting that she was young, 
 and that she was listening to him with 
 strained and eager attention, the eagerness 
 of a soul seeking for something. Yet, 
 although he could hardly have said whether 
 her hair was dark or light, whether her 
 eyes were brown or blue, whether her 
 features were regular or not, yet her face 
 had impressed itself upon his mind and he 
 knew that he would know her again, any- 
 where and at any time. After the service 
 was over, he went, as was his almost in- 
 variable custom, to lunch at the Deanery, 
 but he had no opportunity of even inquiring 
 who this lady might be. 
 
 July slipped over, as brilliant summer 
 days have a way of doing, but, although 
 the Bishop was twice present at the Parish 
 during the month, he did not see that face 
 again. The autumn came on, during which 
 he took a brief holiday, going abroad for 
 a change. Not a long holiday, because
 
 DAWK. 31 
 
 bishops, especially when they have not been 
 very long in their diocese, cannot afford to 
 lift their hand from the machinery which 
 they have set in motion and but barely 
 established. Still, the three weeks in which 
 he indulged himself served to give him 
 complete change from his busy life and he 
 came back like a giant refreshed with sleep 
 and once more took up the many threads 
 of his calling. 
 
 It happened towards the middle of 
 November, that the Bishop went to dine 
 at one of the largest houses in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Blankhampton, that of Sir 
 Thomas Vivian. The party was a very 
 large one, a gathering of important people, 
 in addition to a large house-party. The 
 Bishop took his hostess into dinner and sat 
 with her at the top of a long table. Now, 
 in some respects, Lady Vivian was an old- 
 fashioned woman — a very great lady, mind 
 you, a woman strong enough in her position
 
 32 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 to disregard many fashions, which mon- 
 daines look upon as essential. At that 
 time, table decorations were all the flattest 
 of the flat, there were even some ardent 
 reformers, who thought it so dreadful not 
 to be able to see your opposite neighbours, 
 that instead of decking their dinner- 
 tables with vases and epergnes they 
 merely strewed the table-cloth with rose- 
 leaves, violets, daffodils or any such simple 
 flowers, so that the whole effect should be 
 flat and yet be rich in colouring. Lady 
 Vivian, however, would have none of these 
 modern caprices for the dinner-table at 
 Ingleby. The great gold centre-piece 
 which had been presented to herself and 
 her husband at the time of their marriage, 
 was an everlasting joy to her soul and, on 
 all great occasions, it graced the centre of 
 the long table, and was graced in turn by 
 the most exquisite exotics and many fronds 
 of delicate fern.
 
 DAWN. 33 
 
 Lady Vivian had never been able to see 
 the force of putting her beautiful centre- 
 piece away into obscurity and placing her 
 flowers and ferns upon the table-cloth 
 itself. Moreover, at the time of their 
 silver-wedding, their tenantry and employes 
 had supplemented the original gift by the 
 addition of two beautiful five-branched 
 candelabra to match it. She had also other 
 beautiful gold plate, with which Sir Thomas 
 had enriched their collection from time to 
 time ; and truly, when the Ingieby dinner- 
 table was set out for a banquet, there was 
 no mistaking the display for ordinary pot- 
 luck. 
 
 On this occasion, having as guests the 
 
 Bishop and a great many other important 
 
 people, Lady Vivian had arranged her 
 
 table even more elaborately than usual 
 
 and, in consequence, those who sat round 
 
 it were not able to see every other person 
 
 present, an arrangement which, to my 
 vol. i. 3
 
 34 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 mind, is usually a very advantageous 
 one. 
 
 The fourth course was being handed 
 round, when something happened, some- 
 thing very unusual for the Bishop, so that 
 his heart seemed suddenly to stand still 
 within him ; a punier man would hardly 
 have felt the shock so great, but his heart 
 fairly jumped and then seemed to stand 
 still for an almost sickening length of time, 
 for he suddenly became aware that, at the 
 other end of the table, sat the lady whom 
 he had seen that bright July morning in 
 the choir of the Parish. It was only a 
 fleeting glimpse that he caught of her, for 
 unconscious of the interest that she was 
 exciting, the young lady turned her head 
 again to speak to her neighbour and a tall 
 arrangement of flowers shut her out of his 
 sight. 
 
 He turned presently, that is to say when 
 he felt he had once more got command of
 
 DAWN. 35 
 
 his voice and lips, to his hostess saying, 
 "Who is the young lady in the white 
 dress, at the other end of the table ? " Lady 
 Vivian looked up. "No, not that side," 
 said the Bishop, "on the other side. I 
 think she is third from the end." 
 
 " That— oh, that is Miss Constable," Lady 
 Vivian answered, " Sir Edward Constable's 
 only child, you know." 
 
 "Oh, really," said the Bishop, in as 
 indifferent a tone as he could put on. 
 
 " We think her exceedingly handsome," 
 said Lady Vivian, scenting a possible match, 
 which would help to keep up the repu- 
 tation of Ingleby as a garden of happiness 
 wherein many lonely wandering souls might 
 chance to light upon their own particular 
 affinities. 
 
 " Very handsome," said the Bishop, but 
 without any sign of enthusiasm. 
 
 " She sings very well," Lady Vivian went 
 on artlessly.
 
 36 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP, 
 
 " Be ally ! How very charming," was his 
 comment. 
 
 "Lady Constable died about six years 
 ago. Sir Edward was really quite young — 
 you see, he is nearly opposite to his daughter, 
 next to the lady in black velvet — we quite 
 thought he would have married again, but 
 I suppose Cecil makes him too happy even 
 to think of it. Of course, she was very 
 young when her mother died — not eighteen, 
 if I remember rightly." 
 
 The Bishop made a rapid mental calcu- 
 lation, — eighteen and six make twenty-four 
 — and he was already turned forty one. 
 His heart sank again. Yes, it was a 
 difference, a great difference, and probably 
 one that would form an insurmountable 
 barrier from her point of view. " But 
 there," his thoughts ran, " how foolish to 
 even think of such a thing — why, this 
 young lady might be engaged, for anything 
 he knew to the contrary. She might be —
 
 DAWN. 37 
 
 oh, it was ridiculous, it was perfectly use- 
 less even to think about it." 
 
 Still, although it was no use thinking of 
 a contingency which might be as impossible 
 as improbable, it must be confessed that 
 his blue eyes wandered pretty often to that 
 opening in the mass of flowers, through 
 which he had already caught a glimpse of 
 the face which had been haunting him, more 
 or less, ever since one bright Sunday morn- 
 ing during the previous July. 
 
 But Lady Vivian — her mind thus started 
 off in the direction of match-making — 
 which was her favourite pursuit and which 
 she followed always in such an exceedingly 
 delicate and nice-minded manner, that she 
 was almost able to persuade even herself 
 that she had never done anything to bring 
 about a single marriage in her life — began, 
 in a very round-about way, to question the 
 Bishop about his daily life. 
 
 " Tell me, my dear Bishop," she said,
 
 38 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 after they had discussed their autumn 
 holidays and various other unimportant 
 topics, " Tell me, how do you like Blank- 
 shire now you are really settled here ? " 
 
 " I like it immensely," he replied, " I have 
 never been so happy or felt so thoroughly 
 satisfied with my work in my life. But it is 
 not easy to be a bishop, Lady Yivian — I 
 can't think how old men do it." 
 
 " Ah, well," she said indulgently, " they 
 have either got their dioceses into such 
 good order, that things will work without 
 much trouble, or else they don't reform 
 everything as you are doing. Of course, 
 in a few years' time, you won't need to 
 work as you do now." 
 
 " I don't know," he murmured doubtfully, 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " But, tell me," she went on, bringing 
 him back to her original point again, " do 
 you still like the Palace ? " 
 
 "Immensely," he answered, "it is a
 
 DAWN. 39 
 
 delightful house to live in ; there's plenty 
 of room in it." 
 
 " Yes, plenty of room — that goes without 
 saying," she assented blandly. " But, tell 
 me, Bishop, don't you feel sometimes a little 
 lonely in that great place, all by your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Dear lady," he answered, " I never have 
 time to feel lonely ; I always have too much 
 to do." 
 
 " I have no doubt. But do you, for 
 instance, breakfast alone in that big dining- 
 hall?" 
 
 "Oh, no," he answered, " I — I always have 
 my meals when I am alone in the little ante- 
 room, which is quite big enough for one 
 person. Oh, no, I never think of taking 
 a meal by myself in the big dining-room, 
 why," with a laugh, " I should think the 
 draughts would blow me out of it." 
 
 " I am sure it must be lonely for you any 
 way," Lady Vivian returned. " Do you
 
 40 THE SOUL OF THE BISBO?. 
 
 know I have often thought of you and 
 wondered, when Sir Thomas and I have 
 been alone and we have felt almost lost in 
 this big room, what you were feeling like 
 in that huge dining-hall at the Palace. 
 Somehow, I am glad you don't sit there 
 alone," she added. 
 
 " Lady Vivian," he said with a laugh, " I 
 take very good care of myself — don't you 
 think," laughing again, " that I look as if I 
 did ? " 
 
 " Well, yes. But still, I think you must 
 find it very lonely, there's such a sense of 
 space at the Palace — of course, you cannot 
 always have a party, or even one or two 
 house-guests, can you? I rather wonder 
 you don't, as you are not married, have 
 some of your own people to live with you." 
 
 " No, thank you," said the Bishop with 
 decision, " no, thank you. I had my sister 
 living with me seven years ago — my last 
 unmarried sister — and, mercifully, she got
 
 DAWN. 41 
 
 married. I would not for the world have 
 stopped a happy marriage for selfish 
 reasons." Just then he caught another 
 glimpse of Miss Constable, who was talking 
 to her neighbour on the hand nearest to 
 them. " My sister married very happily, 
 Lady Vivian," he went on, when the flowers 
 had hidden the vision again, " and she is 
 much better off with a husband than she 
 was with me. She did not exactly take 
 interest in what interested me. I never 
 could get her to see that it was my pleasure, 
 as well as my duty, to make myself some- 
 thing more than a mere teacher to my 
 parishioners. She didn't like my having 
 young men in the evening ; she said that 
 they were out of her line. I daresay they 
 were ; for the most part, they were out of 
 mine, but I was very anxious to make the 
 two lines meet if I could." 
 
 " I can quite understand your sister," 
 said Lady Vivian quietly.
 
 42 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know. I was sorry for her 
 in some ways, because you see, I could not 
 do with junketings going on when I was 
 giving all my mind to a sermon ; and when 
 she had her ' At Home ' days, I generally 
 had a Mothers' Meeting or a parish-tea or 
 an engagement of some kind and I was 
 seldom or never able to show at them. So 
 that really, although it is a little lonely at 
 the Palace. I don't mind it much ; when 
 you are lonely, necessarily you don't annoy 
 anybody else, do you ? I am afraid that 
 my relations would be very unhappy if 
 they were doomed to live with me always 
 — and I am sure I should," he added, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 Well, although this was perhaps not a 
 very promising beginning, Lad}^ Vivian 
 took possession of him as soon as he 
 entered the drawing-room and promptly 
 made him known to her young friend and 
 neighbour, Miss Cecil Constable.
 
 DAWN. 43 
 
 " I want you, my dear," she said to her, 
 in her kindest tones, " I want you to know 
 our new Bishop, whom I think you have 
 not yet met, and to amuse him for a little 
 while." Then, as the Bishop bowed, she 
 quietly sailed away and considerately 
 turned her back upon the pair, so that 
 they might have a fair chance of doing 
 what she considered their obvious duty 
 towards one another and towards her, their 
 hostess. 

 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 WHAT WILL THE STOEY OF THESE TWO BE ? 
 
 The Road of Love is that which has no beginning 
 nor end; take heed to thyself, man, ere thou place foot 
 on it. 
 
 To everything there is a season a time to 
 
 love. 
 
 — Ecclesiastes. 
 
 The Bishop sat down on the wide lounge 
 beside Miss Constable. 
 
 " I am very charmed to meet you," he 
 said, in his most pleasant tones, " but I 
 rather wonder that we have not met 
 before, because I have been a long time 
 in Blankshire now and fancied that I had 
 met everybody." 
 
 She looked up smilingly. 
 
 " You would have met us," she answered,
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE ? 45 
 
 " but we have been away, niy father and I, 
 for a long time. We spent last w r inter 
 abroad and although we were here for a 
 little time in the summer, just when I 
 believe you were away, we went away 
 again and have only just returned." 
 
 " I hope you did not go on the score of 
 health," he said. 
 
 " No, not exactly," she answered. "My 
 father got it into his head that he wanted 
 a long change and that he was getting too 
 old to hunt — so we went to Italy. He did 
 not care much for Italy and he missed his 
 hunting dreadfully ; indeed he declared 
 that his rheumatism was very little better ; 
 so this year we tried the experiment of 
 going to Aix and then to the Engadine, by 
 way of building him up to get through a 
 winter in the ordinary English way. He 
 declares," smiling again, " that the plan is 
 much the better one and that his 
 rheumatism is not half so troublesome as
 
 46 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 it used to be. But, of course, we are only 
 at the beginning of the winter yet and I do 
 not know what he will feel like in three or 
 four months' time." 
 
 " But he will have had his huntinsr," said 
 the Bishop. 
 
 " Yes, that is what he says. I suppose, 
 if he gets it very badly, we shall have to go 
 away again, but he doesn't care about 
 Continental life, nor do I, so that until he 
 is obliged to move I am very happy where 
 I am." 
 
 "You hunt too?" the Bishop asked. 
 
 " Not very much — I do sometimes, but I 
 am not an enthusiast." 
 
 They sat talking there for a long time, 
 the Bishop gradually drawing out of her 
 much information concerning her daily life, 
 her tastes, her pursuits, and her ambitions ; 
 but he saw no trace of the eagerness, 
 which he had noticed the first time that he 
 had seen her in the Choir of the Cathedral.
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE? 47 
 
 He had, of course, a very good opportunity 
 of seeing her well, of noting every detail 
 of face and figure ; she was barely of the 
 middle height and was excessively hand- 
 some ; she was also a complete contrast to 
 the Bishop himself. Her hair was dark 
 and abundant and of that peculiar shining 
 quality which knows not the sear of the 
 curlings irons ; it was neither dragged 
 away from her forehead nor did it hang 
 over her eyes in a bush, but it lay in soft 
 rings on her brow, as you sometimes see 
 the hair of a little child do but seldom that 
 of a grown person. Her eyes were dark, 
 or rather they were grey eyes, put in with 
 a " dirty finger," the lashes being as black 
 as night. The eyebrows were fine, and 
 widely set, the features straight, though 
 the nose had a characteristic turn at the 
 end, which relieved its otherwise severe 
 lines, the mouth was neither too large nor 
 too small, the lips such as form themselves
 
 48 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 into the most charming curves, and the 
 teeth were white as pearls. For the rest, 
 her figure was good, her throat just long 
 enough, her complexion one of milk and 
 roses. In manner she was dignified and 
 very self-possessed, without having the 
 slightest sign of self-consciousness. She 
 had a sweet voice, an absolutely clear 
 enunciation, and a delightful smile, and I 
 may just as well own up frankly from the 
 beginning, the Bishop was already madly 
 in love with her. 
 
 A few days later, Sir Edward Constable 
 called upon him and within a week he was 
 invited to dine at Eaburn. Being a dinner- 
 part} r given in his honour, he naturally 
 took in the young hostess, who interested 
 him more and more with every word that 
 she uttered, with every glance that she 
 gave him. 
 
 It is doubtful whether he would, in the 
 ordinary course of events, have become so
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE ? 49 
 
 intimate as he subsequently did with Sir 
 Edward Constable. On Sir Edward's side, 
 it was not wonderful that he should con- 
 ceive a warmth of friendship, which might 
 almost be described as devotion, for this 
 mental, moral, and physical Anak of a 
 Churchman, the man who had during his 
 whole life possessed the power of drawing 
 all sorts and conditions of men under the 
 sway of his personal strength and influence. 
 Sir Edward, on the other hand, was a man 
 of a distinctly commonplace order. An 
 aristocrat, for the Constables had been 
 Constables of Eaburn since the time of 
 Henry VI., indeed from that time until the 
 present, in an unbroken line from father to 
 son. It had been at the time of Cecil's 
 birth and in her childhood, when there 
 seemed to be no chance of an heir follow- 
 ing her, somewhat of a trouble to Sir 
 Edward that his daughter had been a 
 
 daughter, but to that he had long ago 
 vol. i. 4
 
 50 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 grown accustomed and would not now 
 have changed his girl for a dozen sons. 
 With him, the lords of the soil were not 
 only the salt of the earth but they were 
 also the backbone of the kingdom. He 
 was very good to his people, in a free and 
 easy, yet lordly fashion, but, with him, 
 Constable of Eaburn was omnipotent in all 
 worldly affairs, within a certain radius of 
 Eaburn itself. 
 
 The plan of his life was to hunt six days 
 a week, if it were possible, and to go to 
 Church on Sunday, be it rain or shine. At 
 his parish church, he always read the 
 responses out very loud, a word or so in 
 front of the congregation — he quite 
 believed it to be his duty to do so, in order 
 to set his people a good example and to let 
 those more lowly and ignorant than himself 
 see that he really did take a personal 
 interest in the worship of Almighty God. 
 Invariably also, he went to sleep during
 
 WHAT WILL THE STOKY OF THESE TWO BE? 51 
 
 the sermon, although if taxed with doing 
 so, he would have stoutly denied the 
 imputation. With the hundred and one 
 schemes, which such men as Blank- 
 hamp ton's new Bishop draw out with such 
 loving care, for the benefit of humanity, Sir 
 Edward Constable had absolutely no 
 sympathy whatever. Eeligion with him 
 was a decent and respectable thing to 
 encourage. He held that all landowners, 
 great and small, should, to a certain 
 extent, provide for the welfare of those 
 who were, in a manner, dependent upon 
 them. He subscribed largely to the county 
 hospital, and to the county asylum. He 
 gave great doles of beef, and coals, and 
 flannels at Christmas-time, and none of his 
 labourers were turned off during the 
 winter ; but there his duty to humanity, as 
 he conceived it, stopped. With evening 
 classes, night schools, working men's clubs, 
 institutes, polytechnics and the like, he was 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOw
 
 52 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 utterty at variance. He saw no sense in 
 attempts to elevate the masses, for with 
 him, gentry were gentry, and working- 
 people were working - people, and he 
 believed, with a faith as childlike as it 
 was implicit, in the wisdom of the common 
 phrasing of that old exhortation, " to do 
 my duty in that state of life unto which it 
 shall please God to call me " — and for him 
 it read " unto which it has pleased God to 
 call me." 
 
 "I like him," he said, speaking of the 
 Bishop one day to a brother squire, " he's 
 the sort of man one would like to have for 
 one's vicar. He's tolerant and — well, 
 there's no cant about him. He isn't one of 
 your long-faced, psalm-singing devils, who 
 would rope you as soon as look at you ; 
 he's a mail, and I like a man — I always did. 
 Yes — yes, he's a good fellow all round." 
 
 To his daughter, however, Sir Edward 
 expressed himself somewhat differently.
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE 1 53 
 
 " My dear," lie said to her, the morning 
 after the Bishop had dined there for the 
 third time, " I hope you like him." 
 
 " Like whom, Father ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why the Bishop, of course." 
 
 "Yes, I think he is very nice," she 
 replied, in a guarded tone. 
 
 " Nice ! I don't call nice the word for a 
 man like that. He's a man, my dear, a 
 man after my own heart, a credit to his 
 cloth, in fact, rather more than that, he is 
 an ornament to it. He is a credit to his 
 country, and, still better, he is a credit to 
 his order. Now, last night, he said to me, 
 before we came into the drawing-room, in 
 speaking of an egregious blunder that has 
 been made by some parson over Warring- 
 ton way, ' Well, that is where I think a 
 man of good position makes such a 
 mistake, he uses those of a less good 
 social standing than himself to do work 
 that requires the hand and mind of a
 
 54 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 gentleman to carry it through properly. 
 It's the greatest mistake in the world. I 
 always take care to get my work done for 
 me by men as good as myself.' Now," 
 said Sir Edward, standing up in front of 
 the fire with his hands thrust deep down 
 in his pockets, " now, that's what I call a 
 sensible thing for a man to say. Most 
 men, who have to do with the church go 
 snivelling along on the equality business, 
 cramming down one's throat that we are 
 all alike in the sight of God, and that one 
 man is as good as another, and that Jack 
 will sit as high or higher than his master 
 in the Kingdom of Heaven. Well, I daresay 
 he will, but we haven't got to the King- 
 dom of Heaven yet— and when we do get 
 there, I fancy there will be a considerable 
 change in most of us. Why," he went on 
 scornfully, " what would be the result if 
 the Government were to pick out John 
 Simpson to be Ambassador to St. Peters-
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE ? 56 
 
 burgh ? John Simpson is the best head- 
 groom I have ever had in my employment, 
 he's Al. at his own work ; but I ask you, 
 what good would John Simpson be as a 
 diplomat ? Why, about as bad as he very 
 well could be. Every man to his trade, 
 that's what I say. I feel a very great 
 admiration and a very great liking for the 
 Bishop, and I hope, Cecil, my dear, that 
 you will bear it in mind and show him all 
 the honour you can, when he comes here. 
 He is a man whose friendship I feel very 
 proud of having. ' 
 
 " Well, dear," said Cecil, " I really don't 
 think you have any cause to complain on 
 that score, for he has dined here three 
 times and has always sat next to me at 
 dinner ; I daresay he was bored to death, 
 though he was very polite over it. I am 
 sure I think I have been tremendously 
 civil to him." 
 
 " Oh ! dear, yes. Bless my soul, child, I
 
 56 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 wasn't finding fault with you — when do I 
 ever find fault with you ? Only you know 
 my wishes — you won't do him too much 
 honour to please me." 
 
 " Very well, dear," said Cecil quietly. 
 
 Both times that she had dined at Eaburn 
 before, the Bishop had called on the 
 following day ; but, on both occasions, Miss 
 Constable had not been at home. This 
 time, however, he did not call until the 
 second day, when the servant replied in 
 the affirmative in answer to his enquiry for 
 the young mistress of the house, and con- 
 ducted him to a cosy little room on the 
 south side of the building, of whose 
 existence he had not previously been made 
 aware. 
 
 Here he found Miss Constable sitting, 
 in the soft lights cast by a fire and a 
 rose-shaded lamp, singing softly to herself, 
 from memory. He caught a few words 
 of her song, ere the servant made her
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE? 57 
 
 aware of his presence ; just the end of the 
 refrain — 
 
 " What will the story of these two be ? " 
 
 When she realised that he was in the 
 room, she jumped up, all in a hurry, and 
 came to meet him. 
 
 " Oh, is that } t ou, Bishop ? How glad I 
 am not to have missed you again. I did 
 not hear you come in, I was just singing to 
 myself. Matthew, bring some tea, please," 
 and she came forward out of the corner, 
 where the little piano stood endways 
 against the wall, into the soft yet brighter 
 circle of light cast by the [rose-shaded 
 lamp. " I am afraid my father is not at 
 home yet, he has gone to a rather distant 
 meet — in fact, he had to box to get there. 
 Why, how cold you are ! " she said, as she 
 laid her hand in his. 
 
 " Am I ? " looking down at his big hand, 
 " I never felt it. I am not much troubled
 
 58 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 with little variations of temperature — I 
 suppose it is rather cold to-day ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is dreadfully cold," she answered, 
 " dreadfully cold. 1 went out this 
 morning — I drove myself into Blank- 
 hampton — and I think I got chilled. I 
 was shuddering all the way home and, 
 really, I did not get warm until I had 
 made this room like an oven. Do you find 
 it too hot ? I hope not." 
 
 " Oh, no, I think it is charming," he 
 replied. He looked at her when he might 
 have looked at the room. 
 
 Miss Constable's colour deepened a little, 
 as she perceived the evident admiration in 
 his blue eyes. 
 
 " You have not seen my little den before, 
 have you ? " she asked. 
 
 " No — though I should not have called 
 it a ' den,' " he answered. 
 
 Then he looked at the room, than which 
 surely nothing is a better guide to a
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE ? 59 
 
 woman's character. Her sanctum told 
 him, accustomed to judge by trifles, more 
 of her than he had already learned during 
 the half dozen times that he had been in 
 her company. 
 
 It was not one of those rooms specially 
 designed for a lady's boudoir, by an enter- 
 prising and highly correct firm of 
 upholsterers — not at all. Its walls were of 
 a subdued rose colour, what they call " old 
 rose " ; its paint-work was a few shades 
 deeper, and the prevailing tint of the 
 draperies was of a dull, almost faded blue. 
 Add to this a little piano set modestly in a 
 corner, a large and roomy couch covered 
 with a rich material, of the same soft blue 
 tint as the draperies, three or four deep- 
 seated, luxurious-looking chairs, a great 
 white bear-skin spread before the fire, a 
 great many pictures and a good deal of 
 china, and there you have the portrait of a 
 room, which was in the Bishop's eyes, the
 
 60 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 prettiest and the most comfortable in which 
 he had ever found himself. 
 
 He was very happy, for Cecil was kind 
 and gracious to him, not at all over-awed 
 by his presence, as most of the young ladies 
 with whom he came in contact were, but 
 treating him quite as an equal, ministering 
 to him in the daintiest way, when Matthew 
 brought in a little tea-table and tray ; and 
 finally sending, for his benefit, for the two 
 greatest pets which she possessed, one a 
 magnificent Angora cat brindled like a 
 bull-dog the other a small satin-coated, 
 squash-faced, apricot-coloured pug. 
 
 " Don't say, Bishop, that you don't like 
 cats," she cried, " for Euffie and I are 
 tremendous friends, are we not, Euffie, 
 dear ? I can hardly imagine a friend more 
 faithful than this beautiful person," holding 
 the cat in her arm, exactly as she would 
 hold a long - clothes baby, " excepting 
 perhaps, this little fellow here," laying her
 
 WHAT WILL THE STORY OF THESE TWO BE? 61 
 
 disengaged band on the pug's satin-smooth 
 head. 
 
 " Miss Constable," he said, in a perfectly 
 grave voice, "I am afraid that I must 
 plead guilt} T to possessing a cat myself. I 
 have had her for eight years and she is 
 almost always the first person to greet me 
 when I return home, and very often the 
 last to take leave of me on the doorstep. 
 But she is not such a beauty as yours ; in 
 fact, she is only an ordinary kind of cat, 
 a mere come - by - chance, that probably 
 nobody else would have looked at." 
 
 Then, when they had made still greater 
 friends over the cat question, he asked her 
 if she would do something for him ? 
 
 " Why, surely," she said in reply. 
 
 " Then will you," he said, with all his 
 soul in his blue eyes, " will you sing me 
 the song you were singing when I came 
 in?"
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE C0MF0KTABLE FATIMA. 
 
 How can it ? 0, how can Love's eye be true, 
 That is so vexed with watching and with tears ? 
 No marvel then, if I mistake my view ; 
 The Sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 
 cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 Put on thy beautiful garments. 
 
 — Isaiah. 
 
 Miss Constable went across to the piano, 
 saying, " Now sit still, because I don't 
 often use music and I don't like anyone 
 standing beside me when I'm singing." 
 
 So the Bishop sat down on the roomy 
 couch again and settled himself comfort- 
 ably to hear the song which his entrance 
 had interrupted. 
 
 She had a beautiful voice, soft and rich 
 and sympathetic. She sang as clearly as
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 03 
 
 she spoke and the notes which stole out 
 from under her firm little white hands were 
 kept strictly in subordinance to the music 
 of her voice. The song was called " The 
 Story " ; the music was passionately 
 dreamy, and the words despairingly tender. 
 
 Two wee babes together came 
 
 Into a world of grief and shame ; 
 
 What will their fate be — praise or blame ? 
 
 Born in a stately castle he ; 
 And in a lowly cottage she ; 
 What will the story of these two be ? 
 
 Two young hearts together met ; 
 Love-filled eyes with glad tears wet ; 
 Passionate vows ; but the end not yet. 
 
 Tender and trusting and. true, ah ! me ; 
 High as the stars and deep as the sea ; 
 What will the story of these two be ? 
 
 Two sad souls in anguish drear, 
 Parted and sorrowful, year after year ; 
 She was so true — and he so dear ! 
 
 Two hearts broken — one life free : 
 Two souls apart that one should be : 
 This is the story — ah ! me — ah ! me !
 
 64 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 The Bishop did not miss a single line of 
 it and when the last sweet cadence came to 
 an end, Miss Constable got up and came 
 back into the circle of light again. 
 
 " There ! Do you like it ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered, " I think 
 it is a song to haunt you. I like the way 
 you sing it — how could I help it ? " And 
 then he rose to his feet and, almost 
 abruptly, said, " I have stayed an 
 unconscionable time, I must say good-bye 
 
 now." 
 
 I can hardly express to you quite what 
 Cecil Constable felt, when the door had 
 closed behind the Bishop and, a moment 
 later, she heard the wheels of his carriage 
 passing away down the avenue. A certain 
 chill sense of disappointment had fallen 
 over her, an undefinable feeling that she 
 had made a mistake, that she had done 
 something if not exactly to offend him, at 
 least to hurt him. Still he had asked for
 
 THE COMFORTABLE EATIMA. 65 
 
 that song and she had sung it — well, 
 certainly not any less well than usual. 
 And yet he had gone away so abruptly, so 
 — it was strange, it was odd ; she could not 
 make it out. 
 
 " Oh, I am getting fanciful," she ex- 
 claimed aloud. " Ruffie, my dear, your 
 missis is not used to Bishops who take 
 things into their heads and think things. 
 Ruffie, my child, your missis thinks Bishops 
 are not good for her." 
 
 She little thought that the Bishop him- 
 self had gone away in a state of mind much 
 more perturbed than her own. That he 
 was then driving through the dark wintry 
 evening in his smart Victoria, with the 
 refrain of her song still ringing in his ears, 
 ringing like a warning — 
 
 " This is the story — ah ! me — ah ! me ! " 
 
 She little thought that the despairing words 
 
 had wreathed themselves into a sort of 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 cloud, which hung over him like a pall ; 
 that if she was feeling a vague sense of 
 imagined vexation, he was feeling as if 
 some iron hand had gripped hard hold of 
 his heart. 
 
 " Euffie, my dear," she cried, " let us go 
 back and play a little ; Bishops are not 
 good for one." 
 
 She carried the cat to the little piano and 
 set him up upon the blue silken draperies 
 which shrouded it. The cat was an un- 
 common creature, for he loved music and 
 would sit for hours on the silken cushion, 
 which some of Miss Constable's visitors 
 sometimes remarked made an odd finish to 
 these same draperies. As soon as she 
 touched the keys, the cat settled himself 
 down in an attitude, which was neither one 
 of sleep nor of attention, but something mid- 
 way between the two. 
 
 After a few hours, the strange feeling of 
 uneasiness which the Bishop's manner had
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 67 
 
 aroused in her, wore away, and Cecil Con- 
 stable thought no more about the effect of 
 her song upon him. 
 
 They did not meet again for more than 
 a week, not indeed until she and Sir 
 Edward went to a large dinner-party at the 
 Palace. It was the first time that she had 
 entered the great house since the Bishop 
 had taken possession of it. She had known 
 it well enough in former days, of course, 
 but everything was so much changed from 
 the period of the last Bishop's reign, that 
 she could scarcely believe it was indeed the 
 same. 
 
 Since the sentimental Maria and her 
 friend had gone over the Palace, the 
 general aspect of the entire place was very 
 much changed. You see, the Bishop had set 
 the stamp of his own strong personality upon 
 everything. At that time the walls of the 
 drawing-rooms had presented great un- 
 decked surfaces of white and yellow ; they
 
 68 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 were now literally covered with pictures 
 and china. The great settees, which went 
 with the house, had all been re-covered to 
 match the window draperies, so that the 
 whole tone of the rooms had then been 
 somewhat of a dead level ; and it had been 
 the tone of the upholsterer, not of the 
 occupant. Now all the corner cupboards 
 and cabinets were filled with beautiful 
 china ; many photographs littered the 
 tables, and cushions and embroideries were 
 freely disposed about the settees and 
 lounges. They were not quite like the 
 rooms of a woman and yet, they were 
 unmistakably the rooms of a pre-eminently 
 lovable man, sufficiently artistic to love 
 beautiful things and sufficiently rich to 
 gratify his tastes. The cat, of which the 
 Bishop had spoken to Miss Constable, was 
 in possession of the great tiger-skin which 
 lay before the huge fire-place in the principal 
 drawing-room.
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 69 
 
 "Is that the cat ? " she asked, when he 
 took her hand and welcomed her to his 
 house. 
 
 He looked back. 
 
 11 Yes. My little friend is nearly always 
 about but of course she is a very common- 
 place person indeed, compared with your 
 beauty." 
 
 Then somebody else was announced and 
 Miss Constable sat down on the nearest 
 chair and began to make overtures towards 
 the come-by-chance, which had followed 
 the fortunes of the Bishop during the last 
 eight years. 
 
 "Pussy," she said, "Pussy, come here 
 and talk to me — I'm very fond of cats." 
 
 But pussy did not move. 
 
 It was a small cat of the tiger -like tabby 
 order, with a white breast ; it lay coiled up 
 in a circle, apparently quite oblivious to 
 anything that was going on. 
 
 When the Bishop had greeted the new
 
 70 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 arrivals, he came back again to the fire- 
 place. 
 
 " Fatima," he said, " Fatima, get up and 
 make yourself agreeable at once." 
 
 But Fatima did no more than open one 
 yellow eye and peer for a moment at her 
 master. 
 
 " Come," he said, stooping down and 
 lifting the cat on to its feet, " when a lady 
 takes notice of you, you must make your- 
 self agreeable. Fatima, I'm afraid your 
 manners have been neglected." 
 
 " Give her to me," said Miss Constable. 
 " Yes," as he hesitated, " put her right on 
 my knee — I love a cat dearly. Fatima 
 you are a beautiful little person. I think, 
 Fatima that you and I might become very 
 friendly, if we had the opportunity." 
 
 She looked up as she spoke and caught 
 the full gaze of the Bishop's eyes. A 
 sudden realization of the opening she had 
 given him, made her turn first red and
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 71 
 
 then white, she dropped her eyes again 
 immediately and then went on caressing 
 and making much of the none too friendly 
 Fatima. 
 
 For a moment the Bishop was almost 
 speechless, a wild desire to burst the bonds 
 of conventionality and pour out to her 
 everything that was in his mind, took 
 possession of him. He altogether forgot 
 that there were five-and -twenty people 
 gathered in the room, he indeed forgot 
 everything, excepting that this girl, whose 
 favour had come to be all the world to 
 him, had given him the chance of speak- 
 ing plainly, as plainly as even he could 
 desire. 
 
 At that moment a voice sounded above 
 the general hum of conversation. 
 
 " Sir Thomas and Lady Vivian," it said. 
 
 The words brought the Bishop back to 
 himself. He turned on his heel and went 
 forward to receive his latest quests. Miss
 
 72 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 Constable bent her head low down over the 
 cat, which had deliberately settled itself 
 into the most comfortable attitude possible 
 in her lap. 
 
 " Oh, Fatima," her thoughts ran, " but I 
 put my foot into it that time." 
 
 Almost immediately the dinner was 
 announced and her cavalier came to offer 
 her his arm. He happened to be one of 
 the officers of the cavalry regiment then 
 quartered in the town. Her neighbour on 
 the other hand was Lord Lucifer. The 
 Bishop himself sat between Lady Lucifer 
 and Lady Yivian, and was the most person- 
 able man at that long table. 
 
 For one thing, a Bishop who has a fine 
 physique, has a better chance of looking 
 well in the evening than an}- man not 
 possessing a uniform. His smart - cut 
 coat, corded across the breast, his knee 
 breeches, silk stockings, and big silver 
 buckles, all single him out from the ordinary
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 73 
 
 swallow-tail and expansive shirt-front of 
 regulation evening dress. 
 
 More than once Cecil Constable's eyes 
 strayed towards the giver of the feast and, 
 each time that they did so, he seemed to 
 be moved by some sympathetic instinct to 
 look in her direction also. She averted her 
 eyes instantly, vexed with herself for having 
 let them wander that way, and still more 
 vexed to feel the tell-tale blood creeping up 
 into her cheeks. 
 
 She scarcely knew why this man inte- 
 rested her so much, why he attracted and 
 even fascinated her so intensely. She was 
 not the very least little bit in love with him, 
 she had never admitted to herself that it 
 was possible for him to ask her to become 
 the mistress of the Palace ; scarcely indeed 
 did she think of his being attracted by her. 
 Miss Constable had not been brought up to 
 think it an even possible contingency, that 
 she might eventually marry a clergyman ; on
 
 74 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 the contrary, she had learned to look upon 
 the clergy as a class of men entirely set 
 apart from her own life. Until this friend- 
 ship with the Bishop, Sir Edward had never 
 in his life taken the smallest interest in 
 any clergyman. They had visited at the 
 Palace, at the Deanery, and at the Eesidence, 
 but in anything but an intimate manner. 
 Their own Vicar was an old man, a scholar, 
 a book-worm, and a bachelor. He came 
 to dine at Eaburn three or four times a 
 year, and her father was in the habit of 
 sending him game whenever he gave a 
 shooting-part} r . The last Bishop she had 
 known in a distant and formal kind of 
 manner, going sometimes to a garden- 
 party, and, at long intervals, exchanging 
 dinners ; but, in all her life, she had never 
 known a clergyman intimately, and would 
 as soon have thought of the likelihood of 
 her marrying an archangel, as of marrying 
 a Bishop. So it was with mixed feelings,
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 75 
 
 that she felt herself irresistibly attracted by 
 this Anak of a churchman. 
 
 It is true that he was unlike any other 
 churchman whom she had ever met, that 
 he more nearly approached to the ideal 
 soldier of Christ, than those who follow 
 religion as a profession generally do ; a 
 soldier whose religion was strictly of an 
 everyday kind, a churchman with whom 
 religion came before the Church, a Chris- 
 tian whose Christianity was the Christianity 
 of Christ himself, that plain, common-sense 
 everyday, practical teaching, of which we 
 see so deplorably little in these latter days. 
 In truth, the Bishop of Blankhampton was 
 a very giant among men ; a man whose 
 regular habit was to do right, because 
 it was right and not because it looked 
 right, a distinction which is too often 
 absent in the calculations of the priestly 
 man. 
 
 When the ladies passed out of the dining-
 
 76 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 room, it was the Bishop who opened the 
 door for their exit. Miss Constable scrupu- 
 lously avoided raising her eyes any higher 
 than his chin as she passed, although she 
 smiled a little and gave him a courteous 
 inclination of her head. Yet she was 
 conscious that her heart was beating much 
 more rapidly than was comfortable, and 
 she was conscious too, that the Bishop had 
 wished her to lift her eyes to his. 
 
 He did not afterwards in any sense 
 single her out by any special attention. It 
 was natural, as she was sitting near to Lady 
 Vivian, that he should draw near to that 
 gracious lady and speak to her once or twice 
 during the evening. Perhaps it was natural 
 too, that he should carry across to their part 
 of the room, an album filled with unmounted 
 photographs. 
 
 " I thought you would like to look at 
 these, Lady Vivian," he said, yet looking at 
 Cecil. " They are photographs of my own
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FATIMA. 77 
 
 home at Netherby and of other places that I 
 have lived in." 
 
 He drew the little table nearer to Lady 
 Vivian and put the book down upon it 
 before her. He did not wait to see how the 
 two ladies liked the views but moved here 
 and there among his other guests, speaking 
 to all though lingering with none. 
 
 " This is most interesting, dear," said 
 Lady Vivian, in her most urbane and bland 
 manner. " Oh, you see, here is Netherby 
 — oh, what a sweet place ! I knew of course, 
 that he was very well off, but I had no idea 
 that he had such a place as this — why, it is 
 lovely ! " 
 
 There were at least a dozen views of 
 Netherby, which took the first place in the 
 book. 
 
 "I wonder how he came to be a 
 clergyman — to go in for the Church," said 
 Lady Vivian, in a musing tone. " Not, as so 
 many young men do, because there was a
 
 78 THE SOCL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 fat living in the family, for he told me he 
 had never had a chance of that, as his 
 father's cousin had been there for some thirty 
 years, and is likely to hold it for a good many 
 years to come. And it could not have been 
 for that reason either, with a place like 
 this. I'm sure," Lady Vivian went on, 
 " it is really almost incredible now-a-days 
 to believe that a young man, with every 
 worldly advantage, has gone into the 
 Church for no other reason than from mere 
 conviction — and yet, it is a beautiful 
 reason, Cecil, and it seems to me that the 
 Bishop has not altered his convictions 
 either." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Cecil, diligently looking 
 at the views, " oh, no, he is quite a genuine 
 sort of clergyman, don't you think ? " 
 
 "Perfectly so," said Lady Yivian deci- 
 dedly. 
 
 It was a very interesting record that the 
 album formed for apparently it contained
 
 THE COMFORTABLE FA T IMA. 79 
 
 pictures of every house in which he had 
 lived for any length of time. As I said it 
 began with many views of Netherby, then 
 went on to one a large roomy house, the 
 inscription underneath which was, "My 
 first school." Then came views of Eton, 
 then views of Magdalen, and also the 
 interior of his sitting-room there. Then 
 the house and church of his first curacy, a 
 quiet idyllic country place ; then those of 
 his second charge in the East-end of 
 London. After these came many views of 
 his London parish and some beautiful new 
 photographs of the Palace, in which they 
 were all assembled at that moment. 
 
 Presently he came back and joined them 
 again. 
 
 " You see," he said, in his frank and 
 straightforward tones, "that I have 
 gathered all my dwelling-places together in 
 one book. Don't you think it's a good 
 idea ? I feel, though, as if the space at the
 
 80 THE SOUL 0¥ THE BISHOP. 
 
 end of the book is almost superfluous, 
 because I shall never be made an Arch- 
 bishop — at least I don't think so — and I 
 shall stay in Blankhampton for a few years, 
 till I feel that I can conscientiously give it 
 up, and then I shall go and spend the end of 
 my life in my own home." 
 
 " But not alone, my dear Bishop," said 
 Lady Vivian in her smooth tones. 
 
 " Ah, well," he answered, " that, you see, 
 will not altogether depend upon me." 
 
 £?■ 
 
 $£H$
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH ! 
 
 0, know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
 And you and love are still my argument ; 
 So all my best is dressing old words new, 
 Spending again what is already spent ; 
 For as the sun is daily new and old, 
 So is my love still telling what is told. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 Make haste, my beloved ! 
 
 — Song of Solomon. 
 
 The Bishop had been more than a year at 
 Blankhampton and the good people of the 
 neighbourhood very often said, to one 
 another, that it was wonderful how he con- 
 trived to get about and make himself 
 familiar and friendly with so many and 
 such widely different classes of Society. 
 
 He seemed to be here, there, and every- 
 vol. i 6
 
 82 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 where. In former times, when any clergy- 
 man had wanted the Bishop to preach 
 in his church, he had had to make some 
 special occasion the excuse for obtaining the 
 favour. Either he must contrive to restore 
 his church, or to get a new organ, or to 
 arrange that it should be chosen for a con- 
 firmation or some such ceremonial. But 
 with the new holder of the office, such sub- 
 stantial excuse was not necessary. He 
 seemed to be available for everything, for 
 all sorts and conditions of clerical functions, 
 given in the interests of all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men and women. In the hospital 
 and workhouse, he was almost as well 
 known as the chaplains of those institutions. 
 He penetrated into the prison, into the 
 asylums, and almshouses, made himself at 
 home in the Church Institutes and the 
 various associations for the recreation and 
 improvement of the young people of both 
 sexes. And yet he contrived, in addition
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 83 
 
 to all these labours, to go about a good deal 
 in his own rank of life. 
 
 To Cecil Constable it seemed as if she 
 met him everywhere ; as if she could not 
 enter any house or go to any gathering of 
 men and women, without seeing the fair 
 smooth head, towering above all others, 
 without meeting the gaze of the frank blue 
 eyes and hearing the pleasant, well-modu- 
 lated tones of his voice. 
 
 But extraordinarily popular as he had 
 made himself, I must confess that the first 
 time the Bishop of Blankhampton first 
 appeared in a ball-room, a little quiver of 
 excitement went from one end of the 
 diocese to the other. The new departure, 
 however, did the Bishop no harm in the 
 eyes of his people. On the contrary, his 
 presence in a great measure sanctified and 
 hallowed an amusement which he declared 
 was, in his estimation, both innocent and 
 
 healthful. 
 
 6*
 
 81 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 "No, I don't dance," lie said to Lady 
 Vivian, when speaking to her on the 
 subject, "because I am very big and I 
 never was very good at it. But I would 
 rather dance, although, perhaps, it would 
 be a little venturesome of a man in my 
 position to do so, than I would sit for hours 
 playing cards for money. I don't think 
 that much harm — no, to be quite candid, 
 I don't think that any harm has ever come 
 of dancing. It is pretty, it is intensely 
 enjoyable for those who dance well enough, 
 and I see no more reason why young 
 people should not dance, than why lambs 
 should not skip about the meadows. I 
 cannot see why we clergymen, should shun 
 a ball-room, any more than we should shun 
 a dinner table, and I believe that my half- 
 guinea will do as much or more good 
 towards the funds of the hospital, as any 
 other half-guinea, which is paid here to- 
 night. If it is wrong for us to dance, it is
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH ! 85 
 
 wrong for everybody and, as I said before, 
 I believe that there is no harm in it." 
 
 " Well, neither do I," said Lady Vivian 
 briskly, and still keeping her pet project in 
 mind, " and I am quite sure, my dear 
 Bishop, that a great deal of happiness is 
 brought about by such assemblies as this. 
 If we were to debar our young people from 
 all such meetings and confine our enter- 
 tainments entirely to dinner-parties and a 
 little music, what chance would they have 
 of meeting and growing better acquainted 
 with one another ? Why, just none at all. 
 And what would the world be like if there 
 were no marriages ? Of course, Bishop, I 
 know we are taught that in another 
 world there will be no marrying or giving 
 in marriage, but, at the same time, marriage 
 is the obvious duty of all people in this 
 world. I truthfully look upon all unmarried 
 people as having but half an existence — oh, 
 yes, and even yourself also, you unmarried
 
 86 THE SOUL OP THE BISHOP. 
 
 people are all tarred with the same brush 
 in my mind." 
 
 The Bishop laughed out loud. 
 
 " My dear Lady Vivian," he said, " you 
 must not be too hard upon us poor 
 bachelors. Some of us have not had time 
 to settle ourselves matrimonially and 
 others have not been so fortunate as to 
 meet with the right complement to them- 
 selves, and a few, I daresay, have met and 
 missed their affinity. You must surely pity 
 these." 
 
 "I don't think," said Lady Vivian, 
 looking at him with a pleasant smile, 
 " that you can claim to be one of those, 
 Bishop." 
 
 The Bishop laughed, but he reddened a 
 little and, almost instinctively, his blue 
 eyes wandered round the room, in search 
 of the shining dark eyes and proudly 
 carried head of the heiress of Eaburn. 
 
 " Let me take you to have some coffee,"
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 87 
 
 he said, by way of changing the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 He was engaged to Miss Constable — not 
 to dance, for, as I have said, he did not 
 dance, but for a little chat during the next 
 quadrille. Lady Vivian accepted his invi- 
 tation with alacrity and many eyes were 
 turned towards the two noticeable figures, 
 as he led her down the room towards the 
 refreshment table. 
 
 " Now that," said Sir Edward Constable 
 to Lord Lucifer, as they passed by them, 
 " that is what I call a man. No snivelling, 
 no whining, no yowling, but a genuine, 
 honest, Christian gentleman. My dear 
 Lucifer, if there were a few more men like 
 him in the Church, its power would be 
 simply unlimited." 
 
 " Then perhaps," said Lord Lucifer drily, 
 " it is a good thing that there are not." 
 
 " Tush, my dear fellow, tush, weak 
 organization is never a good thing. Strong
 
 88 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 organization is always good. I've believed 
 in strength all my life, and I shall believe 
 in strength to the end of the chapter. I 
 don't believe in parsons on the whole ; in 
 fact, though I like my own old chap at 
 Eaburn as well as I ever liked a parson in 
 my life, I've never been on terms of 
 intimacy with a parson of any sort till this 
 man came among us. But I do something 
 more than like him, I admire him almost 
 more than any man I have ever known." 
 
 In due course the Bishop escorted Lady 
 Vivian back to her seat and presently left 
 her to go in search of Miss Constable. 
 Her partner was just leaving her when the 
 Bishop offered her his arm, asking her if 
 she would not like to take a turn in the 
 corridor ? 
 
 It happened that evening that Cecil was 
 in an unusually gay mood. 
 
 "I never thought," she said, as they 
 passed out of the long ball-room into the
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 89 
 
 corridor, all decked with great palms and 
 lighted with shaded lamps, " I never 
 thought that I should walk out of Blank- 
 hampton Assembly Eooms in this highly 
 frivolous manner, on the arm of a bishop. 
 Eeally, you have worked marvels amongst 
 us. People seem to think that it is quite a 
 natural thing for you to be here to-night." 
 
 " It is a natural thing for me to be here 
 to-night," he maintained stoutly. 
 
 " Yes, I know it is natural for you, but if 
 the last Bishop had come to a ball Blank- 
 shire and Blankhampton would alike have 
 gone into fits over it. Until your time, I 
 really believe that all the dear folk round 
 here believed it was wicked for a bishop 
 even to laugh. But you know you ought 
 to dance, you really ought to dance ; it is 
 the first sign I have seen in you of doing 
 things by halves." 
 
 " I would dance," said the Bishop, " if I 
 could ; but I never was good at it, and I
 
 90 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 don't believe in giving myself away by 
 doing things badly." 
 
 "I am sure you don't," said Miss Con- 
 stable, laughing. 
 
 "I know perfectly well," the Bishop 
 went on, in a tone of much amusement, 
 " that, as you consented to waste a dance 
 over me, we ought to have sat upon two 
 chairs on the dais, talking very gravely 
 and formally of my own particular work — 
 in fact, talking shop — but, all the same, it's 
 very much pleasanter in this corridor, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Miss Constable laughed aloud. "Well, 
 yes, I am afraid it is." 
 
 " Oh, don't say afraid," said the Bishop, 
 "I'm sure you're not one of those 
 people who think that a man, because he 
 happens to be a Bishop, ought no longer 
 to take any interest in e very-day life. You 
 know, there is no earthly reason why a 
 man because he makes religion his pro-
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 91 
 
 fession as well as his life, should always 
 look down his nose to try and find out 
 where the corners of his mouth are gone 
 to. By the bye," he went on, in a different 
 tone, " here's a charming resting-place ; do 
 let us sit here awhile." 
 
 They were actually in the cosy little 
 retreat before Miss Constable had time to 
 draw back, without seeming to make a dis- 
 play of doing so. Not that she really 
 minded sitting there awhile with him for 
 her companion, for since that evening on 
 which she and her father had dined at the 
 Palace, when she had so awkwardly, so 
 completely and so unintentionally given 
 him a perhaps not wished for opening, he 
 had never by word or look reminded her of 
 the incident and, some months having gone 
 by, she had since thought that he had no 
 more feeling of interest in her, than he had 
 in any other young lady of his flock. True, 
 he had been several times to see her and she
 
 92 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 had more than once had long arguments 
 with him on the subject of women's rights 
 and other delectable topics of the day. 
 Still, these are not embarrassing topics, 
 nor at all personal ones, so it was with a 
 very light heart that she settled herself on 
 the comfortable lounge and went on talking 
 as gaily as if he were only some young 
 squire or officer of the garrison, rather 
 than the spiritual head of the Church and 
 the keeper of her soul. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, waving her great 
 feather fan to and fro, " how is the sleek 
 and comfortable Fatima ? " 
 
 A gleam of light came into the Bishop's 
 blue eyes but he did not answer her. 
 
 " Miss Constable," he said, " Lady Vivian 
 is very much concerned about me." 
 
 Cecil's eyes opened to their widest 
 extent. " What has Lady Vivian to do 
 with Fatima ? " she asked rather blankly. 
 
 The Bishop reddened a little.
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH ! 93 
 
 " Well, your mention of Fatima re- 
 minded me of something, that was all, 
 and " 
 
 " And what ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I spoke of what was 
 uppermost in my mind. I know, of 
 course, that you are quite unconscious of 
 what you said when you dined at the 
 Palace and were making much of my 
 humble little friend, Fatima." 
 
 " Oh, did I say anything ? " said Cecil, a 
 little awkwardly — she remembered perfectly 
 well what she had said, but she felt such 
 a desire to put off what was so evidently 
 coming, that she said just the one thing 
 which would invite the Bishop to go on. 
 " Did I say anything ? " she faltered. 
 
 " You said," he answered, " that you 
 thought you might become very good 
 friends with Fatima — if you had the 
 opportunity." 
 
 " Oh, well," she said vexedly, " of
 
 94 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 course, I haven't the opportunity — it goes 
 without saying. It is not possible that I 
 should have — how could I ? " 
 
 She flushed a vivid painful scarlet in 
 her anxiety to put off the evil moment, 
 and every word that she said but served to 
 draw the Bishop's explanation on. 
 
 One never quite knows how to describe 
 these affairs ; in truth, I can hardly tell 
 you how it all happened ; whether it was 
 from the flush on her face, or the look of 
 distress in her grey eyes, or from some 
 feeling in the Bishop's heart that he must 
 not lose such an opportunity as this. Be 
 that as it may, in less time than it takes me 
 to write the words, the big fan had fallen to 
 the ground and Miss Constable's slender 
 hands were fast imprisoned in the great 
 strong clasp of the man who loved her. 
 
 " There is only one way," he said, in a 
 trembling voice, " in which you could have 
 that opportunity — that is to become the
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 95 
 
 mistress of everything that the Palace 
 contains, myself included. Miss Constable 
 — Cecil — I may call you Cecil, may I 
 not — I am sure you must have known how 
 utterly I have been at your feet ever since 
 the first time we met — oh, and before that." 
 
 "Before that!" she echoed. " Why, 
 where did you see me before we met at 
 Ingleby ? " 
 
 He drew her little, white-gloved hands 
 up against his breast. 
 
 " I saw you," he said, devouring her 
 with his frank handsome eyes, " I saw you 
 one morning in the parish. I did not 
 know one soul from another, until I began 
 my sermon and, surely, you must have 
 known that I was preaching to you and for 
 you the whole time." 
 
 The girl positively shuddered. 
 
 " Oh, no, don't say that," she cried. 
 
 " But, my dear, I must say it — it is 
 true," he answered. " I did not know
 
 96 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 what you were like — I could not have told 
 what you were like to save my life — and 
 yet, the moment I saw you that night at 
 Ingleby, I knew you again for the soul that 
 seemed to be laid bare before me on that 
 bright July morning. I don't remember 
 what the sermon was about even — I re- 
 member nothing, except that you were 
 there and that my heart seemed to be 
 telling itself to yours." 
 
 If he had been less passionately in 
 earnest, he must have noticed how ghastly 
 pale the girl had grown. 
 
 " Oh, Bishop," she cried, " don't — don't 
 say any more — don't say it — it is no use — 
 I am not fit for you — I am not good 
 enough for you — you know so little of me 
 — don't say any more about it — it is im- 
 possible — what you ask is out of the 
 question — you only distress me. Did I 
 seem to be drawing you on, to be leading 
 you on, to be drawing you on to tell me
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 97 
 
 this ? Oh, if I did, forgive me — I had no 
 notion of it when we came in here. I 
 would have stayed away from every ball 
 from now until the end of my life, rather 
 than let you say what you have said. 
 Don't think of me in that light again — it is 
 out of the question — it is impossible." 
 
 But the Bishop was too utterly in love 
 himself, and too little used to any form of 
 philandering, to be easily put off without a 
 complete and convincing answer. He still 
 held her hands fast in his great grasp. 
 She could feel the strong beating of his 
 heart, she could see, by the blaze in his 
 eyes, how he was hanging on her words — 
 as a man would hang upon the issues of life 
 and death. His voice was very eager and 
 trembling but he was in no wise abashed 
 or disconcerted. 
 
 "You say it is impossible,'"' he said, 
 
 looking down into her lovely unwilling 
 
 eyes, " that you are not good enough for 
 vol. i. 7
 
 98 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 me — that you are not fit for me ; that it is 
 so impossible that you would have made 
 all sorts of unnecessary sacrifices, rather 
 than have let me speak out what was in 
 my mind. But that is ridiculous. To say 
 that you are not good enough for me is 
 nonsense, to say that you are not fit for me 
 is absurd, and the one thing which would 
 make it impossible for you to give yourself 
 to me, you have not said." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," she 
 cried, shrinking away yet a little more. 
 
 But it was no use shrinking, he was so 
 big, so confident, so gentle and yet so 
 manly, so masterful and yet so tender ; it 
 was practically of no use for her to attempt 
 to shirk what was inevitable. 
 
 " There is only one thing that you can 
 say, which would make me believe that it 
 is really impossible," he went on, " and 
 that would be to tell me — what you have 
 not told me — that you do not love me."
 
 KOT GOOD ENOUGH I 99 
 
 She tried hard not to look at him, to 
 reply without letting her eyes meet his, but 
 the personal power and fascination of the 
 man were so strong, that this was beyond 
 her strength. Slowly, unwillingly, yet 
 irresistibly, she raised her eyes, feeling with 
 every moment that her powers of resist- 
 ance were fast leaving her. But she said 
 nothing. 
 
 " There is nobody else ? " he asked. 
 But he spoke in a tone of complete 
 confidence, as if her answer was a fore- 
 gone conclusion. 
 
 " No, there is nobody else," she admitted. 
 
 " I don't know," he went on, " but I think 
 that there has never been anybody else on 
 your side. I don't generally go through life 
 with my eyes shut, it is my business to keep 
 them open, it is my business to judge of 
 men and women by what might to some, 
 seem mere trifles and, although I know 
 that a woman of your beauty and with
 
 100 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 all your advantages of position, and in- 
 fluence, and wealth, cannot have lived in 
 the world for some six or seven years, as 
 I am told you have done, without having 
 excited a great deal of admiration, I feel 
 almost as sure as I have ever been of any- 
 thing in my life, that your heart has been 
 untouched until now." 
 
 She did not answer him, except by a look 
 — but the look told him that he was 
 perfectly right. 
 
 " Then," he said, " I am waiting for the 
 one word which will send me away now 
 and for always. I feel," speaking in a very 
 triumphant tone, " that you do love me — I 
 know that I love you. I need not add any 
 protestations that my love for }'ou is such 
 that I have never felt for any woman, for 
 you will believe me when I tell you, that in 
 my whole life, until now, I have never 
 asked any woman to share it, I never 
 even thought of doing so. Come," holding
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 101 
 
 her hands yet closer, " I am waiting for 
 that one word." 
 
 I think at that moment, that Cecil Con- 
 stable would have given worlds, had she 
 been able to say it. 
 
 " But I can't say it — I do like you, and 
 you know it," she said brokenly. " I have 
 never cared for anybody — you are quite 
 right in that — but, all the same, you must 
 not ask me to marry you — you must not 
 ever think that I can come to the Palace, 
 except as my father's daughter. Indeed, 
 I am not good enough for you — I am not 
 fit for you — I should be doing wrong if I 
 said, yes. Oh, no, don't ask me why — 
 I know myself so much better than you 
 know me, and you must believe me when I 
 tell you that I am not fit to be your wife." 
 
 But to him the assertion was merely the 
 husk of an argument, whose kernel was 
 wholly wanting. 
 
 He was no laggard in love, this Bishop ;
 
 102 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 no gallant dragoon then quartered in the 
 garrison, could have been more eager and 
 more masterful than he. 
 
 " My dearest," he said, " you are talking 
 nonsense ; there is only one thing which 
 could prevent you and I being fit for each 
 other. If there were no love, I should not 
 have another word to say ; but I know 
 there is — I can see it in every look you 
 give me — I can hear it in your voice — feel 
 it in your hands — see it in every line of 
 your face." 
 
 She did not deny it, but at the same 
 time, neither did she admit it. 
 
 " You must not ask it," she said, under 
 her breath at last. 
 
 " Then I won't," he replied, setting one 
 of her hands free, " I won't ask it, I'll 
 take it." 
 
 He put his arm round her and drew her 
 still feebly resisting close to him — he was 
 just bending to kiss her, when a man's form
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 103 
 
 darkened the entrance to the retreat in 
 which they sat. As soon as he perceived 
 the kind of tete-a-tete upon which he was 
 intruding, the new-comer turned abruptly 
 on his heel and went away, not, however, 
 before Cecil Constable had caught a glimpse 
 of his retreating figure. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, pushing the Bishop 
 away from her, " somebody saw us — oh, 
 what shall I do, what can I say ? There is 
 no mistaking you. Why did you do it, 
 when I asked you not to — oh, why have 
 you put me in this awful position — I shall 
 never get over it, never." 
 
 " The way is very easy," said the Bishop 
 not in the least disturbed. "People are 
 bound to know sooner or later, there need 
 be no more than the usual surprise over an 
 engagement which many people must have 
 anticipated. I will come and see your 
 father to-morrow ; there can be no need to 
 distress yourself."
 
 104 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Oh, but I haven't said, yes " — she cried 
 — " I have told you that it is impossible. I 
 must have time — I must think — there is a 
 great deal to be thought about. It is not 
 as if you were a nobody, an ordinary man, 
 a soldier, or a squire, or somebody of no 
 importance, you are different -to everybody 
 else in the county — can't you see that ? 
 Don't you see that being a Bishop makes 
 it so very different ? " 
 
 "No, I don't," he said promptly, "I 
 don't see what my being a Bishop has to 
 do with my marriage. If you are good 
 enough to be Sir Edward Constable's 
 daughter, you are more than good enough 
 to be the wife of the Bishop of Blank- 
 hampton. And I don't marry you as a 
 Bishop, I marry you as Archibald 
 Netherby." 
 
 " Oh, if you only could," she burst out, 
 " but, you see, you are something more 
 than Archibald Netherby ; you are the
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 105 
 
 Bishop of Blankkampton. It makes the 
 whole situation different — it makes our 
 relations to each other different — it makes 
 mine to you so different. But I must go 
 back, I must go back and try to look as if 
 nothing had happened. Oh, it will be 
 dreadful — that man will have spread it 
 everywhere. There is no mistaking you, 
 you are so big, your dress itself is 
 different to everyone else's, there is no mis- 
 taking you and I am sure he saw me too. 
 Oh, I think if you will fetch my father I 
 will go straight home without going into 
 the room again." 
 
 " My dear child," said the Bishop, in a 
 perfectly composed voice, Ci you will do 
 nothing of the kind. You will sit down 
 again and you will talk to me for a little 
 while, and then I will take you back and 
 put you down beside our good friend, Lady 
 Vivian, and then you will have to dance 
 with one or two of the men you are
 
 106 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 engaged to. I never regretted before," lie 
 added, drawing her down upon the lounge 
 again, " that I am such a duffer at dancing." 
 
 She sat down again — oh, yes, she was 
 like wax in his hands — still, it was like the 
 kind of wax, of which you have to be very 
 careful, lest it break in your hands instead 
 of bending. 
 
 The Bishop was very judicious. He 
 picked up her fan and opening it, put it 
 into her left hand. 
 
 " There, hold that so," he said, " nobody 
 will see you — nobody will know who it is, 
 your dress is like a dozen other dresses here 
 to-night, and I will put my buckles out of 
 sight, so that nobody will know me even if 
 they come in, which is quite unlikely. Now, 
 I won't wom r you any more and we won't 
 argue any more to-night about your being 
 fit for me, or not good enough for me, or 
 not even about your not loving me, so you 
 can get quite composed and like yourself
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 107 
 
 again, and then I will take you back. I 
 may hold your hand, mayn't I ? " 
 
 He had already taken hold of her hand 
 and she had not the heart to withdraw it 
 from him. "Yes, they are a contrast," he 
 said, looking down with amused eyes upon 
 her little slender hand, in its well-fitting 
 glove, lying in his huge brown one, " but 
 then men's hands and women's hands should 
 be different and a contrast to each other. 
 I am not fond of masculine women, but I 
 . cannot endure an effeminate man." 
 
 He did uot say another word of what 
 was uppermost in his mind. He kept her 
 there for half-an-hour longer, until she was 
 as much herself again as she was likely to 
 be after such a trying conversation. 
 
 " Now, come," he said, in answer to her 
 wish that they should return to the crowd 
 again, " you must have a glass of cham- 
 pagne after this ; but before we part, tell me 
 would you like me to go away at once ? "
 
 108 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered. 
 
 " It would look as if you had refused me. 
 Yes, it would rather, and I don't want 
 people to think that, unless it's absolutely 
 inevitable. Then I may come to Eaburn 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " And you will answer definitely, one 
 way or the other ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will try." 
 
 " I don't think you will find it very 
 difficult," he said confidently. " I don't 
 feel as if you would turn me adrift after 
 all ; you couldn't do it — I know you 
 couldn't. But I am content to wait for 
 your pleasure, although I think you might 
 just as well say it now as to-morrow after- 
 noon — because you will have to say it ; 
 you cannot be false to yourself, putting me 
 out of the question. But supposing," 
 suddenly turning graver, " that we should 
 chance not to meet again, for one never
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 109 
 
 knows what may happen in a single night 
 — will you do me a favour now ? " 
 
 " Yes, if I can," she answered. 
 
 He did not put the question into words, 
 he stooped and kissed her. 
 
 "Now, I will take you back," he said 
 simply. 
 
 When they got back to the ball-room, 
 they found it comparatively deserted, for 
 supper was in full swing in the great room 
 adjoining. 
 
 "Let me give you some supper," he said, 
 in a matter-of-fact, yet masterful tone, 
 " you must need it, and it will keep people 
 quiet if they see us having supper together. 
 Don't look anxious, don't worry yourself 
 about what people may be thinking. 
 People in these little provincial towns are 
 always thinking something or other — 
 they've got nothing else to do, at least, a 
 good half of them haven't ; take our friend, 
 Lady Vivian, for instance, a good soul,
 
 110 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 brimming over with affection for her fellow- 
 creatures — how she has worried herself 
 over my affairs — how anxious she has been 
 to impress your charms upon me — how 
 delicately and deftly she has weaved little 
 scraps of praise of you into her everyday, 
 ordinary conversation ! I have been very 
 much amused during these past months." 
 
 '• I don't like Lady Vivian trying to make 
 people like me," said Cecil vexedly. 
 
 " It is one of the penalties of knowing a 
 thoroughly good-natured woman," said the 
 Bishop carelessly. " In this case, however, 
 her efforts were altogether and entirely 
 superfluous. It was an interesting little 
 game at cross-purposes that we played, she 
 and I, because she was giving an admirable 
 study of careless interpolation of your 
 name into her conversation, and I was 
 giving an equally admirable exhibition of 
 absolute indifference to you, feeling all 
 the time that it amused her and certainly
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! Ill 
 
 did not hurt me. Xow, shall I get you 
 some mayonnaise ? " 
 
 They found a seat at one of the side 
 tables, and he administered to her quietly 
 and without any fuss, indeed, as only a 
 certain class of men can do, and, as a result, 
 the colour stole back into her cheeks and 
 the scared look died out of her soft eyes, so 
 that when she once more found herself near 
 to Lady Vivian on the dais — an admirable 
 arrangement never seen in any ball-room 
 except at Blankhampton, saving always the 
 presence of royalty — Cecil was looking 
 bright and like herself again. 
 
 At last the music began again, and a 
 partner came very diffidently to claim her 
 for a dance. Miss Constable jumped up, 
 with more alacrity than she had ever dis- 
 played in her whole life. 
 
 " I was not sure," he began rather 
 hesitatingly, "whether you would wish to 
 dance this with me or not."
 
 112 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Why not ? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, you were engaged to me for a 
 waltz before, Miss Constable, and when I 
 went to look for you — I could not find you. 
 People tell me that I am to congratulate 
 you to-night." 
 
 " Not at all," she said sharply. " I was 
 wondering where my partners were. I 
 think I have been very badly treated 
 to-night." 
 
 The young man's manner changed 
 instantly and a thought flashed through 
 his mind that she had refused the Bishop. 
 He had indeed been the one to intrude 
 upon their tete-a-tete, and the one to spread 
 the news through the room that she and 
 the Bishop were going to make a match of 
 it. Poor Cecil ! 
 
 Ten minutes later Lady Vivian 
 " happened " to saunter past her. 
 
 " My dear child," she said very kindly, 
 " a thousand happinesses to you."
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 113 
 
 " You are very kind," said Cecil, " you 
 are always kind, dear Lady Vivian, but 
 why to-night of all others ? " 
 
 " Oh, a little bird told me what has 
 happened." 
 
 " Xothing has happened," she said 
 quickly." 
 
 " Oh, well, well, I am a little too soon, 
 am I? But I wish you joy all the same, 
 dear Cecil." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Cecil, 
 softening a little, " but there is really 
 nothing to wish me joy about — at least, not 
 yet." 
 
 " I see, I see. Well, dear, you will not 
 keep me in the dark when there is anything 
 to tell, will you ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Cecil, " when there is 
 
 anything to know, everybody shall know 
 
 it. But I am going to say good-night now, 
 
 Lady Vivian, I am very tired and I am 
 
 going home." 
 
 vol. i. 8
 
 114 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 She made her way to her father and 
 told him that she was tired, that her head 
 ached, and that she wanted to go home at 
 once. He good-natured man was nothing 
 loth ; he was accustomed to sit out balls to 
 the bitter end, as all fathers with good 
 daughters ought to do, but since Cecil 
 herself wished to go home, he was more 
 than pleased to fall in with her desires. 
 
 "By the bye," he said, suddenly, when 
 they had almost reached home, " what was 
 Lady Vivian so full of to-night ? " 
 
 " I did not know that she was full of 
 anything," said Cecil, mildly prevaricating. 
 
 " Oh, wasn't she, though ? She nodded, 
 and smirked, and threw out vague hints, 
 and went on exactly as if your engage- 
 ment had just been announced. You 
 haven't got engaged to anybody, have 
 you?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Cecil, " as if I 
 should get engaged without telling you.
 
 KOT GOOD ENOUGH l 115 
 
 Eeally, Father, you are as foolish as Lady 
 Vivian herself, and she lives for nothing 
 else but to try and worry people into 
 marrying each other. I wonder she doesn't 
 try to get you settled." 
 
 " Perhaps she will when you are," he 
 returned, with a laugh. 
 
 " Ah, that's very likely," said Miss 
 Constable, with more annoyance than the 
 occasion seemed to warrant. 
 
 " However, she is a good sort," Sir 
 Edward remarked, as the carriage drew up 
 at the great entrance. 
 
 Miss Constable did nor linger downstairs. 
 
 " I will go straight up to bed, dear 
 Father," she said, lifting her cheek up to 
 be kissed, " my head aches and I am very 
 tired. No, dear, I won't have anything ; 
 Louise will get me a cup of tea if I want 
 it." 
 
 However, when she reached her bedroom 
 she did not ask Louise to get her tea or
 
 116 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 anything else. She submitted to be un- 
 dressed and to have her shining hair 
 brushed out and braided loosely in a long 
 plait. 
 
 " No, nothing else, Louise," she said, 
 " nothing." 
 
 Surely, for a girl who had just received a 
 most brilliant offer, she was most quiet 
 and subdued. She drew a chair up to the 
 fire and sat there for a time, staring into 
 the glowing embers and thinking — thinking 
 — thinking. And then she put out her 
 light and got into bed, but not to sleep. 
 The embers sank slowly down into the 
 grate and gradually darkness closed in over 
 the still wide-open eyes and, at last, under 
 that friendly shelter, the tears began to 
 flow ; she hid her face in the pillow and 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 The Bishop, meantime, had gone home ; 
 that is to say, as soon as he perceived that 
 Miss Constable and her father were leaving,
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH I 117 
 
 he quietly and unostentatiously took himself 
 away, without bidding farewell to anyone. 
 He had a sort of idea that Lady Yivian was 
 bearing down upon him like a ship in full 
 sail, but he cleverly escaped her and got 
 out of the room before their paths could 
 meet, so that the only person who, in any 
 way, was able to approach the great topic 
 of the evening to him, was a hard-riding 
 old Squire, a hardened bachelor, who was 
 standing in the portico, waiting for his 
 brougham, while the Bishop was there for 
 a like purpose. 
 
 " Well, Bishop," he said, " I expect 
 you've enjoyed yourself to-night? " 
 
 " Yes, I have," answered the Bishop 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Your predecessor never went to 
 dances." 
 
 " No, so I'm told," the Bishop replied. 
 
 " And he was married, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, he was married."
 
 118 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 It was an assured fact, there was no 
 gainsaying it, indeed the Bishop did not 
 attempt to gainsay it. 
 
 " Ah, I daresay you'll be married after a 
 bit." 
 
 " I can't say," said the Bishop coolly. 
 " I may be, of course. But I don't think 
 that that would make any difference to my 
 going to a dance now and then. I think I 
 should like to see my fellow-creatures as 
 much, if I were married, as I do now that 
 I am single." 
 
 "Well, there's logic in that," said the 
 old Squire deliberately. " But, of course, 
 you know what people are saying to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " No, I never hear any scandal," said the 
 Bishop. " Of course I know that it's there 
 — I can see it, I can see it at any time, but 
 I never hear it ; even the most inveterate 
 scandalmongers draw the line at talking 
 scandal to me."
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 119 
 
 " I didn't say it was scandal," said the 
 other laughing. 
 
 " Oh, not scandal ? Well, I didn't hear 
 any particular news." 
 
 "No," said the other, "you wouldn't. 
 You'd be the last, of course. Still, I wish 
 you joy, my dear Bishop, I wish you joy, 
 and if I'm the first to congratulate you, 
 that's the greater pleasure for me." 
 
 " I'm sure you're very kind," said the 
 Bishop, laughing also. "I have no 
 especial cause for congratulations that 
 I know of, rather the contrary if the 
 truth were told ; but I'm obliged to you, 
 Mr. Vandeleur, I'm always glad to have 
 good wishes, even if the raison d'etre is a 
 little doubtful. " Well," as his brougham 
 drew up, " I'll wish you good-night and 
 many thanks and — congratulations when 
 your time comes." 
 
 u Congratulations when my time comes," 
 Squire Vandeleur's thoughts ran, as he got
 
 120 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 into his own carriage, " H'm, that sounds as 
 if my young lady had said no, doesn't it ? " 
 
 The Bishop, meantime, was driving home 
 through the darkness, his thoughts more 
 or less in a tumult, his brain in more or 
 less of a whirl, his heart full to overflowing 
 and with just enough of uncertainty over- 
 shadowing all to make his position one 
 of extreme anxiety. 
 
 And yet he knew that she loved him, he 
 was certain of it — why, he could hardly 
 say ; he could not have explained it, but he 
 felt that she loved him. She had not 
 denied it, indeed she had gone further than 
 that, she had told him that there had never 
 been another in her heart. 
 
 He was differently placed to her. A 
 sleepy footman opened the door and told 
 him in a machine-like, yet deferential tone, 
 that there was a good fire in the study ; 
 he also enquired whether his lordship would 
 like a fire in his bedroom. It was almost
 
 NOT GOOD ENOUGH! 121 
 
 an habitual custom in the house that the 
 Bishop should have that question put to 
 him and it was quite as usual for him to 
 reply no. 
 
 " You need not sit up, I have some work 
 to do, I shall be late. Let nobody sit up," 
 said the Bishop, as he gave his coat into the 
 man's charge. 
 
 " Very good, my lord," he replied. 
 
 The comfortable Fatima met him half- 
 way across the great entrance hall. She 
 received him with many demonstrations of 
 delight, purring and arching her back and 
 going through the whole feline category 
 of making herself agreeable. She followed 
 him into the study and mewed plaintively, 
 because he did not take any notice of her, 
 then sprang on to the table and rubbed 
 her head against his hand. 
 
 " Ah, is that you, Fatima," he said, 
 gently; "I had forgotten you, little friend, 
 I had forgotten you."
 
 122 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 He had apparently forgotten the work 
 which had been his excuse to the servant 
 for not going to bed. At all events, he 
 did no work that night, beyond walking up 
 and down the study and smoking as hard 
 as if he were a navvy instead of a bishop. 
 
 It was far into the small hours ere he, 
 at length, sought his sleeping-room, but, 
 unlike Cecil, he went to sleep at once, like 
 a child, and when morning came, got up 
 strong and handsome as ever, surely as 
 gallant a wooer as ever went to claim the 
 hand of his lady fair. Doubtful, yet 
 confident, assured and yet a little diffident, 
 proud yet humble, anxious and yet very 
 happy.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 ONE WORD ! 
 
 No good and lovely thing exists in this world without 
 
 its corresponding darkness ; and the universe presents 
 
 itself continually to mankind under the stern aspect of 
 
 warning, or of choice, the good and evil set on the right 
 
 hand or the left. 
 
 — Ruskin. 
 
 I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine. 
 
 — Song of Solomon. 
 
 When Cecil opened her eyes the following 
 morning, for she had fallen asleep at last, 
 her maid had just brought a cup of tea to 
 her bedside. 
 
 " Oh, Louise, is Sir Edward hunting 
 to-day ? " she asked, sleepily. 
 
 Usually Miss Constable had no need to 
 ask particulars of her father's movements, 
 being almost always the first person to be
 
 124 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 cognisant of them. But on this morning 
 her head was a blank, she could remember 
 nothing. 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle," Louise replied, 
 " Sir Edward is going out. The meet is'at 
 Burts' Hollow. Breakfast is ordered for 
 nine o'clock. 
 
 " Ah, yes, I remember." 
 
 Then she had no time to lose, she must 
 get up, for it was part of her household- 
 creed that when her father was hunting, 
 she should always be there to minister to 
 his comfort and see him safely off the 
 premises. 
 
 " Why, Cecil," he cried, when she went 
 down into the dining-room, just as the 
 gong was sounding, " you look all eyes, 
 you are as pale as a ghost. My dear, 
 you make a vast mistake in not hunting — 
 why did you not put on your habit and 
 come out with me, if it was only to the 
 meet ? "
 
 ONE WORD I 125 
 
 "Why, dear," she replied, "I didn't 
 feel like it — I have a headache, I was tired 
 last night." 
 
 "I saw uncommonly little of you last 
 night," said Sir Edward, opening his 
 letters. 
 
 " I kept myself very quiet," said Cecil. 
 
 She was thankful that he was engrossed 
 in his correspondence, for she could feel 
 the hot blood stealing up into her face and 
 telling its own tale to any one who cared 
 to read. 
 
 " You don't go out enough," he declared, 
 " that's where the mischief is. You get 
 mewing yourself up indoors, it's a very 
 bad thing. What are you going to do 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " I am going to do nothing," sail Cecil 
 quietly. 
 
 " Well, it's a very bad thing, doing 
 nothing. Can't you ride — can't you 
 drive ? "
 
 126 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Oh, I'll take care of myself, don't 
 worry about me. How would you like it," 
 she went on, as she carried his cup of 
 coffee and put it down beside him, " how 
 would you like me to worry you every 
 time you've got a twinge of the gout and 
 tell you you ought to do this and you 
 ought to do the other ? I've got a head- 
 ache dear, that's all ; there's nothing 
 particularly dangerous or mischievous about 
 a headache." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, perhaps not ; but I'm 
 always anxious about you if you look a bit 
 peaky — you know that." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I know," said she sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 She felt unusually relieved when she saw 
 his square scarlet- clad shoulders disappear- 
 ing down the long avenue. With a sigh 
 and a flickering little smile, she turned 
 from the great porch and went back into 
 the house again. There was much for her
 
 ONE "WORD! 127 
 
 to do, and Cecil was a methodical sort of 
 girl, who never shirked any of her duties, 
 even when she had a headache. On that 
 particular occasion, she wished that she had 
 a few more duties to do, because they 
 would have helped to put the time on. 
 However, such as they were, she con- 
 scientiously and diligently got through 
 them. 
 
 First an interview with the cook, then an 
 interview with the head housemaid, then the 
 round of the stables to see her ponies, and 
 every other four-legged thing that they 
 contained. Then a little tour round the 
 big conservatory and some dozen or so of 
 notes, which must be written that day. 
 Yet even when all these were done, 
 she had time to put on her hat and furs, 
 and to go down to theheadkeeper's cottage 
 to see his wife, who was ailing. And in 
 spite of all these varied occupations, she 
 had time to think, and think, and think,
 
 128 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 about what she should say to the Bishop, 
 when he came for his answer. 
 
 She had eaten next to no breakfast and 
 she ate next to no lunch. Her thoughts 
 were vague, and confused, and chaotic. 
 Try as she would, she could not get them 
 into anything like a proper sequence, she 
 could only go over the scene of the previous 
 evening, think of the mellow tones of his 
 voice, of the blaze in his blue eyes, of 
 the many difficulties of the situation and 
 then, shudderingly and despairingly of 
 that one thing, which had made her tell 
 him that a marriage between them was 
 impossible. 
 
 She had come no nearer to a decision 
 when the Bishop arrived. She had been 
 sitting for an hour with her head held hard 
 in her hands, at the table in her father's 
 study, when Matthew came to tell her that 
 the Bishop was in the boudoir. 
 
 " Is he driving ? " she asked.
 
 ONE WORD! 129 
 
 "Yes, Miss Constable, his Lordship is 
 driving." 
 
 "Well, you had better tell the coachman 
 to put up, and I am not at home to any- 
 body else." 
 
 " Very well, ma'am," Matthew replied. 
 
 " And Matthew" — hesitatingly — at which 
 Matthew turned back and waited in an 
 attitude of respectful attention — " don't 
 bring tea or anything until I ring. If I 
 want tea, I will ring twice ; if I only ring 
 once, you will understand it is for the 
 door." 
 
 " Very good, ma'am," the man replied. 
 
 She did not move from her place for a 
 
 moment or so. " I must go," she said 
 
 aloud, " I can't keep him waiting, and yet 
 
 what am I to say — what shall I say — what 
 
 can I say ? " She got up and went to the 
 
 hearth, looking at herself in the glass over 
 
 the mantel-shelf. " Oh, you white-faced 
 
 thing ! " she cried, shaking her head at her 
 vol. i. 9
 
 130 THE SOUL OF THE EISHOP. 
 
 own reflection, " why need you look like 
 that, you tell-tale ? " and she pressed the 
 palms of her hands hard against her cheeks. 
 But it was of little use ; she brought a 
 momentary patch of colour, which had the 
 effect of making her look more ill than if 
 she had left it alone ; her eyes were mourn- 
 ful and set in dark rings. 
 
 " It's no use looking at myself here ; I'll 
 go in and get it over," she exclaimed. 
 
 She honestly meant to go in and get it 
 over ; she had every intention, when she 
 went across the great hall and down the 
 little passage at the end of which was the 
 boudoir, of going in very quietly and in a 
 firm and dignified manner, telling the 
 Bishop that she was grieved and sorry to 
 have nothing more agreeable to say to him, 
 but that, for many reasons, it was impos- 
 sible that she should become his wife and 
 the mistress of the Palace. She quite 
 meant to say that she hoped they would
 
 ONE WORD! 131 
 
 always be good friends, the best of friends, 
 that there was no reason anyone should 
 suspect he had spoken out to her, and that 
 she would hope, with all her heart, that no 
 shadow of difference should come between 
 the friendship of her father and himself. 
 Poor girl, she had been all day trying to 
 think and now, at the last minute, she 
 suddenly resolved that this was the only 
 course open to her. 
 
 But how different it all was in reality. 
 She went with dignity enough across the 
 hall, but with less assurance down the little 
 passage, which led to the boudoir. She 
 opened the door with a trembling hand 
 and went into the room, shutting it behind 
 her. At the sight of the Bishop, who was 
 standing on the great white hearth-rug 
 looking more like a giant than ever, her 
 dignity and her resolution alike began to 
 melt away. 
 
 He came to meet her with his most 
 
 9*
 
 132 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 deferential air, an air that yet was an odd 
 mixture of confident tenderness and 
 masterful possession. 
 
 " Dearest," he said, " you are ill. Tell 
 me, has anything happened — something 
 must have happened to make you look like 
 this." 
 
 " Only that I did not sleep," she 
 answered. " I did not know that I 
 looked ill — at least, I did know," she 
 admitted, " for I looked in the glass just 
 now and I thought what a fright I was." 
 
 " A fright ! " he repeated, holding both 
 her hands and looking down on her with 
 love-filled eyes, " 1 don't think you look a 
 fright — though you are looking dreadfully 
 ill. Well, and have you made up your 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, I had made up my mind," she 
 replied, " when I came in here." 
 
 " And you were going to tell me ? " 
 
 "I was going to tell you," she said,
 
 ONE WORD! 133 
 
 trying hard to speak quietly and calmly, 
 " that what you asked is impossible." 
 
 " But you have changed your mind ? " 
 he said, in no wise cast down by her reply. 
 
 " I did not say so," said Cecil quickly. 
 
 " No, but you looked it," he rejoined 
 promptly. 
 
 They were still standing as they had met 
 and he was still holding her hands fast in 
 his. He could feel that she was trembling 
 violently and he could see that she was 
 growing whiter with each moment. 
 
 " Don't you think," he said, very gently, 
 " that you had better sit down ? I don't 
 like to see you like this, it distresses me. 
 If I were not sure that you loved me, 
 Cecil, I should be a brute to stay here at 
 all. But it is because I am so sure of it, 
 that I am not willing to take the answer 
 which you have given me. I know — I feel 
 sure — I feel confident that you love me 
 with your whole heart. Don't think I am
 
 134 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 a braggart, I only tell you honestly my 
 convictions, and until you can look me in 
 the eyes and say that you positively do not 
 love me, I shall not be content to take that 
 other answer. I know that you will not 
 do that," he added in a more gentle tone. 
 
 " I am not fit to marry you," she said, in 
 a dull voice, " I am not good enough to be 
 a Bishop's wife. I would rather that you 
 would go away and say no more about it. 
 Yes, I mean it, really, Bishop, I would 
 much, I would rather, far rather that you 
 would go away now and never mention the 
 subject to me again." 
 
 "But you have not told me that one 
 thing," he said masterfully. "My dear 
 child, why, when that one word will send 
 me away, why don't you say it, if you 
 really want me to go ? " 
 
 The tears came into her eyes and her 
 lips began to quiver, she wrenched one of 
 her hands free from his and began to grope
 
 ONE WORD I 135 
 
 blindly for the scrap of lace and cambric, 
 which she called her handkerchief. 
 
 " No," he said, taking the hand prisoner 
 again, " no, you are not going to hide 
 yourself behind a handkerchief ; if you will 
 say that one word, I will go away now, I 
 will never approach the subject again, I 
 will never remind you of it in any way. 
 But I tell you honestly that I will not go 
 away for anything else. Now, come, it is 
 quite easy to say if you really want to say 
 it. Just four words." 
 
 She made no resistance, she in no wise 
 attempted to struggle for freedom, but the 
 tears overflowed her eyes and she bent her 
 head until it almost touched his breast. 
 
 " Come," he said, with infinite tenderness 
 and patience, " when are you going to say 
 it?" 
 
 " I can't say it — you know I can't," she 
 cried passionately and with deep reproach, 
 " I would if I could, because I believe it
 
 136 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 would be kinder to you. I believe, if I 
 could only force myself to do it, that it 
 would be less wicked to lie to you, than to 
 tell you the truth. But I can't tell you a 
 lie — I can't tell you I don't love you. I do 
 love you — and — you — know — it." 
 
 It seemed to the Bishop that there was 
 no need of any further argument ; the 
 woman he loved, loved him, and that was 
 enough. It was no use to say anything 
 more about it. What indeed, was there to 
 say? 
 
 As for Cecil, her confession seemed to 
 have lifted a great load of difficulties off 
 her heart. The storm of doubt and re- 
 luctance had passed, and she suffered 
 herself to be soothed and made much of, 
 as if she were a child that had suffered 
 some hurt. After the long hours of doubt 
 and distress through which she had passed, 
 it was eminently comfortable to her to be 
 taken possession of as he, with a strong
 
 ONE WORD! 137 
 
 man's instinct of protecting the woman he 
 loves, even from natural fatigue and 
 anxiety, took possession of her. 
 
 He drew her on to the wide and roomy 
 couch and settled her comfortably among 
 the silken cushions. And there they sat 
 and talked, and talked, and talked — or, at 
 least, I should more truly say there they 
 sat and he talked, and talked, and talked — 
 until the fire had burnt low in the grate 
 and the dusk of the wintry afternoon had 
 deepened into darkness. 
 
 " I want to know," said the Bishop 
 presently, " what you have been doing all 
 day. I have a sort of instinct that you 
 have had nothing to eat." 
 
 " I haven't," she admitted. 
 
 " Ah, I thought as much. You are still 
 very pale, although you are looking better 
 than you did when I came. What there 
 can be about me," he added, drawing her 
 near to him, " to have taken away your
 
 133 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 appetite and kept you awake all night and 
 otherwise made you thoroughly miserable 
 and uncomfortable and ill, I cannot 
 imagine. Now, if I may ring the bell, we 
 will get the excellent Matthew to bring some 
 tea, and to mend that fire, and generally to 
 minister to us. May I ring it ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course, you may," she answered. 
 " Eing it twice ; that will mean that he is 
 to bring tea." 
 
 "I suppose your father won't be back 
 for ever so long ? " he said, as he rose and 
 touched the bell twice. 
 
 " Oh, I think he may be very late to- 
 night. It depends of course upon which 
 way they run from Burts' Hollow, and, of 
 course, if he goes in the other direction, he 
 may be ever so late." 
 
 " I may stay and see him, of course ? " 
 
 "Why, yes." 
 
 "But tell me — when he gets in from 
 hunting, is he tired usually — will he feel
 
 ONE WORD ! 139 
 
 inclined to break my head for approaching 
 the subject ? " 
 
 " I don't think so," she said smiling. 
 " Father is very reasonable." 
 
 " Which is more than his daughter is 
 sometimes," said the Bishop slyly. 
 
 "Oh, his daughter has many faults and 
 many failings, you will find them all out, 
 by and by," she returned. "His daughter 
 pities you with all her heart." 
 
 " I am quite willing to take the chance 
 of needing her pity," said the Bishop 
 promptly. 
 
 Then Matthew brought the tea and a 
 couple of silver lamps, and, with a re- 
 proachful air, mended the fire and tidied 
 up the hearth. 
 
 " Oh, Matthew," said Miss Constable, " I 
 think you had better lay another cover for 
 dinner to-night. You will wait to see my 
 father, however late he is ? " she added, 
 turning to the Bishop,
 
 140 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Yes, I would rather see him to-night, if 
 possible." 
 
 " You are not dining out — I mean, if he 
 is very late, you will stay and dine ? " 
 
 " If you will excuse my dress," he 
 replied. 
 
 '• Oh, yes, I will excuse you. Then, 
 Matthew, lay another cover and take care 
 of the coachman — you understand." 
 
 " Perfectly, ma'am." 
 
 His tone was indeed so comprehensive, 
 that the Bishop laughed outright when the 
 door closed behind him. 
 
 " I should think that fellow did under- 
 stand," he said, standing up and looking 
 very big and important over the little tea- 
 table. " Now, my dearest, you take sugar 
 and you like your cream put in first ; how 
 much of it ? " 
 
 " You're not going to make the tea ! " 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 " Why not ? I passed a very good
 
 ONE WOED! 141 
 
 night, I ate a very good breakfast and I 
 ate a very fair lunch, and I was pretty sure 
 what would happen this afternoon. Now 
 you, on the contrary, have worn yourself 
 to fiddle strings, and you look like a ghost 
 more or less, and you've had nothing to 
 eat, and no sleep, and therefore you deserve 
 to be waited on. To-night I am going to 
 wait upon and attend to you. Sugar ? " 
 
 " But you look so ridiculous," cried Cecil. 
 
 " Perhaps I do — I wish you would give 
 me the information about the sugar " 
 
 " No, I don't take sugar," said Cecil. 
 
 " Ah, well, I do — I do ; and plenty of it. 
 Cream — how much of it ? " 
 
 "Oh, a fair amount. Well, now, that 
 really is nice. Do you think you will 
 always be so obliging, as to pour out my 
 tea and wait hand and foot upon me ? " 
 
 " I think so," he answered. " I am big 
 enough, and strong enough, and hard 
 enough, to work like a galley slave — which,
 
 142 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 by the way, I don't do — and, in my opinion, 
 men ought to wait upon their wives — it's 
 the right sort of thing to do. In this 
 country, there's a great deal too much of 
 ' the white slave who wears a wedding 
 ring. 
 
 " But you may get tired sometimes," said 
 Cecil. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and when I am very tired, if 
 it will please you, you shall wait upon me. 
 But when it pleases you to look like a 
 ghost, then it will be my pleasure to wait 
 upon you." 
 
 He certainly waited upon her then most 
 assiduously. And, presently, when the 
 discreet Matthew had reappeared and had 
 taken away the tea-tray and the little tea- 
 table, the roses began to bloom out again 
 upon her milk-white cheeks, and the dark 
 shadows under her eyes seemed to have 
 been chased away by the sudden blaze of 
 love's sunshine.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 
 
 After dark night cometh the joyful morrow ; 
 So follow joys upon the track of sorrow. 
 
 — Chaucer. 
 
 " Ask, and it shall he given to you." 
 
 — Luke. 
 
 It was close upon seven o'clock before Sir 
 Edward Constable reached home. He was 
 very muddy and very tired, and in that 
 pleasant frame of mind which is generally 
 brought about by a real good day's sport. 
 As soon as he entered the house, he enquired 
 of Matthew where Miss Constable was. As 
 a matter of fact, she usually came to meet 
 him and her not doing so made him some- 
 what fearful, lest her morning's headache 
 should have deepened into a serious illness.
 
 144 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 "Miss Constable is in the boudoir, Sir 
 Edward," the discreet Matthew replied, 
 with an apologetic cough ; then added, 
 like an after thought, " and the Bishop 
 is with her." 
 
 "The Bishop, Oh— Oh— then I'll just 
 look in before I go upstairs." 
 
 He tramped across the hall and down the 
 passage to Cecil's sanctum. 
 
 " I heard you were here, Bishop ; how 
 d'ye do?" he said, with his cheeriest 
 welcome. " I thought I would come in on 
 my way to get rid of this mud. Well, 
 Cecil, my dear," putting his arm round his 
 daughter and looking at her affectionately, 
 " how's the headache ? " 
 
 " It's all gone thank you, dear Dad," she 
 answered. " Did you have a good run ? " 
 
 " Oh, splendid — never better — splendid." 
 
 " The Bishop is going to stay to dinner," 
 Cecil announced, looking from one to the 
 other.
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 145 
 
 " Is he ? Ah, that's good news. You'll 
 never stay too often for me, you know, 
 Bishop." 
 
 "Well the fact is, Sir Edward, I wanted 
 to have a talk to you, and as Miss Con- 
 stable was good enough to ask me to 
 stay " 
 
 " And take pot-luck," put in Cecil with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Yes, and take pot-luck — I ventured to 
 run the risk of your being too tired to be 
 troubled with me." 
 
 " I ? Oh, not at all. I am not one of 
 those brutes who are unapproachable for 
 the rest of the day, whenever they are out 
 of the saddle. If hunting had that effect 
 upon me, I should give it up. On the 
 contrary, I'm never so amiable as when I've 
 had a good day's run — eh, Cecil ? " 
 
 "Well," said Cecil, "I think you are 
 
 generally amiable enough, whether you've 
 
 had a good day's run or not." 
 
 vol. I. 10
 
 146 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " There now, you see the character my 
 daughter gives me. Fine thing when your 
 daughter gives you a good character — eh, 
 Bishop ? " 
 
 " A very fine thing," said the Bishop 
 smiling. 
 
 "Well, I suppose we're dining at half- 
 past seven as usual, my child ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, half-past seven as usual." 
 
 " Then you will be going to dress ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I am going to dress now," 
 she replied. 
 
 " Very good. Then, Bishop, you'll come 
 up to my room, won't you ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," replied the Bishop. 
 
 The two men went up the great staircase 
 together. The Bishop had never been on 
 the upper storey before. He found that the 
 arrangement there was very much the same 
 as in most country houses. A wide stair- 
 case, branching off on either side, a broad 
 gallery with a railing, running round the
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 147 
 
 entire hall and several corridors leading to 
 the many bedrooms. Sir Edward led the 
 way down one of these corridors and 
 opened a door on the right. 
 
 " This way," he said. 
 
 The Bishop found himself in a large and 
 handsome room with a large bed covered 
 with many- coloured embroideries, a cheer- 
 ful fire burning in the grate, and a couple 
 of easy chairs drawn near to it. Between 
 the windows was a smart dressing-table, 
 set out with every requisite for a man's 
 toilet. 
 
 " Now, Bishop," said Sir Edward, " make 
 yourself at home and I'll get these muddy 
 clothes off and have my tub within ten 
 minutes." 
 
 He really was not longer than ten 
 
 minutes, but when the Bishop had washed 
 
 his hands and had brushed his fair hair into 
 
 a smooth sweep across his forehead, he had 
 
 time to look round the room and take note 
 
 10*
 
 148 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 of the pictures which adorned the cheerful 
 walls. There was a large looking-glass 
 with an overmantel over the mantel-shelf, 
 whose principal adornment seemed to be 
 many photographs of the only child of the 
 house. There was one miniature in a gold 
 frame, unmistakably a portrait of her 
 mother ; but all the rest were of Cecil. 
 Cecil as a little chubby baby, with very 
 little to show in the way of wardrobe ; 
 Cecil as a tot about two, in a white lace 
 pinafore ; Cecil with a kitten ; Cecil with 
 a couple of dogs ; Cecil in a donkey-cart ; 
 Cecil on a pony ; Cecil in a fancy dress ; 
 and Cecil in a court gown, with the 
 usual misty finish of feathers and veil, 
 which made the Bishop look at it with 
 interest and picture her in his mind as a 
 bride. 
 
 He was still standing looking at the 
 photographs, when Sir Edward, looking 
 very spruce, not to say parboiled, in his
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 149 
 
 trousers and clean white shirt, came in 
 fastening his braces. 
 
 " Ah, you're looking at my gallery, 
 Bishop," he said, in genial tones. 
 
 " Yes, you have a good many por- 
 traits of the same subject," the Bishop 
 replied. 
 
 M Well, you see, one's only child is one's 
 only child, and my girl's all I have got in 
 the world — that I care about. By the bye, 
 Bishop, will you have a cigarette before 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't object to one," the Bishop 
 admitted. 
 
 "Ko, I thought not — you're a sensible 
 man," handing him a silver cigarette box. 
 "You'll find matches in that little pail 
 affair on the mantel-shelf. You wanted to 
 see me on business ? " he remarked, as he 
 held out his wrist for his servant to fasten 
 his buttons. 
 
 " Well, I wanted to see you," said the
 
 150 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 Bishop — " yes, I suppose it is on business 
 but I'm not in a hurry about that ; by and 
 by will do very well." 
 
 "Oh, I see — all right. By the bye, 
 Badger, you may as well go down now, I 
 shall not want anything else." 
 
 He buttoned his collar as he spoke, and 
 began to arrange his tie into its usual neat 
 bow. It was only a black tie such as he 
 wore usually, but the Bishop had not worn 
 collars for so long that he began to discuss 
 the most serious matter of his life at that 
 moment. 
 
 " Upon my soul," said Sir Edward, after 
 a moment's intense silence, " I don't wonder 
 that men take to those things that hitch on 
 behind ; I think I shall come to it sooner 
 or later." 
 
 The Bishop laughed, "I don't see why 
 you shouldn't," he said. " A bow made 
 by a professional and sewed up tight, must 
 be just as good as a bow made by your-
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 151 
 
 self and fastened with a pin that pricks 
 your fingers." 
 
 " Yes, there's something in that " — then 
 a pause and a sigh of relief — " There ! 
 It's done at last. Now, I'll have a 
 cigarette." He stood on the wide hearth- 
 rug while he lighted it. " Would you 
 rather your business would keep or is it 
 short enough to tell me now ? " he asked, 
 after he had drawn a whiff or two from the 
 little cigarette. 
 
 " Oh, it's short enough," said the Bishop, 
 leaning back in his chair and surveying Sir 
 Edward with steady eyes. " I want some- 
 thing of course." 
 
 "Oh, of course," said Sir Edward, 
 " naturally. Is it the West front- 
 no, that's the Dean's business. It is 
 hospitals or institutes — I don't think I 
 take much interest in institutes. Perhaps 
 it's " 
 
 " No, it isn't any of those things," said
 
 152 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 the Bishop quietly. " As a matter of fact, 
 I want Cecil." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " I want Cecil." 
 
 Sir Edward stared at him. 
 
 " You want Cecil," incredulously, " my 
 daughter — my girl ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the Bishop, " there is nothing 
 very wonderful about my wanting her, is 
 there ? " 
 
 " Well, no, I don't know that there is, 
 but you surprised me, that's all." 
 
 "Perhaps you're astonished that Cecil 
 wants me," said the Bishop, his eyes 
 beginning to twinkle. 
 
 " Oh, no, I'm not surprised at all. But 
 — then there was something in it last 
 night?" 
 
 " There was a good deal in it," said 
 the Bishop, looking at the ends of his 
 fingers. 
 
 "Why, she told me this morning
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 153 
 
 positively and apparently decidedly that 
 there was no truth in the rumour." 
 
 " Well, you see, she hadn't said ' yes ' 
 this morning." 
 
 " And she has this afternoon ? " 
 
 "Well," said the Bishop in a tone of 
 quiet triumph, " yes, Sir Edward, she has 
 said ' yes ' this afternoon. I — of course, I 
 am very anxious for your consent," getting 
 up and standing with one elbow on the 
 edge of the mantel-shelf. " I don't think 
 I need go into any details of my position 
 or my means, I am a fairly rich man, you 
 know, and " 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing," said Sir Edward, 
 " that's nothing. Cecil would have plenty 
 apart from that. Your feelings are the 
 greatest consideration — the greatest con- 
 sideration of all — excepting hers." 
 
 " I think you may rest satisfied on both 
 those points," said the Bishop deliberately. 
 " For myself I may as well tell you frankly
 
 154 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 that I have been in love with Cecil ever 
 since the first time I set eyes upon her, and 
 I don't think that there is any doubt of 
 Cecil's feelings for me. Of course, I am 
 older than she is — I am turned forty-two 
 and she is only five-and-twenty." 
 
 " But if she doesn't mind that, I can't 
 raise any objection," said Sir Edward 
 sensibly enough. " Of course, you know, 
 Bishop, it's no use my pretending I like 
 losing my daughter, because I don't — but 
 she's young and she's exceedingly good- 
 looking, and she is as good as she looks. 
 Never was a girl of a sweeter character 
 than mine, though I say it who shouldn't 
 perhaps. And, of course, I've known all 
 along that this would come sooner or later, 
 though I confess I had not hoped it would 
 be you. You see, she hasn't been brought 
 up much amongst parsons and I never 
 thought of her marrying one ; but if she's 
 happy, I am more than content. And I'm
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 155 
 
 glad it's you, Bishop, I respect you and I 
 like you — I think you're a fine fellow, I'm 
 proud to have you for my son-in-law and I 
 shall be glad to have my girl so near me 
 and — and I wish you joy, old fellow," 
 suddenly putting out his hand and grasp- 
 ing the Bishop's heartily, " I wish you joy, 
 I couldn't have given my consent with 
 more pleasure. Hang it all, I know you'll 
 make her a good husband, and I know 
 she'll make you a good wife — a good 
 daughter makes a good wife — and I'm very 
 pleased and I'm very proud and — I'm very 
 hungry — let me get into my coat and let's 
 go down to dinner, I'm starving — I'm 
 ravenous." 
 
 But the Bishop held Sir Edward's hand 
 hard for a moment. 
 
 "Thank you, Sir," he said. " I have no 
 words in which to express my gratitude for 
 your kindness." 
 
 And then Sir Edward hemmed and
 
 156 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 hawed a little and fussed into his coat and 
 led the way down stairs. 
 
 They found Cecil already before them. 
 She had changed her morning frock for 
 a white one and was sitting comfortably 
 on the padded rail of the fender which 
 guarded the hall -fire, looking at the 
 pictures of an illustrated paper. 
 
 "Well, Pussy-cat," said Sir Edward, 
 putting his arm round her, " and what 
 have you got to say for yourself ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know that I have 
 anything to say for myself," she said 
 smiling. 
 
 "No ? Well, I have heard the wonder- 
 ful news, and, of course, I sent your Bishop 
 packing." 
 
 " Oh, did you ? " lifting her radiant eyes 
 to his. " I don't think so, Daddy — I don't 
 think it looks like it." 
 
 " Well, it doesn't, my dear. In short, I 
 reversed the usual order of things and gave
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 157 
 
 him my blessing instead of his blessing 
 me ; and we'll drink your health presently 
 in a bottle of the best Clicquot that there 
 is in the cellar." 
 
 He bent down and kissed her and Cecil 
 put her arm round his neck and whispered, 
 " Dear Daddy," with something like a sob 
 in her throat. But it was not a sob of 
 grief in any sense, and when, five minutes 
 later, Matthew informed them that dinner 
 was served, it was a very gay and happy 
 trio, that sat down to the table to partake 
 of it. 
 
 "Matthew," said Sir Edward when the 
 fish had been handed, " bring up a bottle of 
 that best Clicquot." 
 
 " The 18—, Sir Edward ? " said Matthew 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes, a bottle of that — we've got to 
 drink a health to-night." 
 
 The comprehensive Matthew went out 
 and told his particular chum the cook that
 
 158 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP 
 
 " Something is up between our young Miss 
 and the Bishop." 
 
 "Never — you don't say so," said the 
 cook incredulously. 
 
 " Well, the Governor's ordered a bottle of 
 the 18 — and we haven't got above five or 
 six dozen of it left. I don't think he'd 
 order it up for nothing, and I don't think 
 they'd ask the Bishop to stop like this with- 
 out any invite — and besides they look like 
 it." 
 
 " Lor, you don't say so ! " exclaimed the 
 cook, with every sign of astonishment. 
 
 " Well, you'll see," said Matthew know- 
 ing 1 )- 
 
 Sure enough the next time that Matthew 
 
 came into the great kitchen he brought 
 with him the assurance that his suspicions 
 were true. 
 
 " It's as I said, Mrs. Pincher," he 
 declared triumphantly, " it's a case. As 
 soon as I'd filled the glasses, Sir Edward
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 15i) 
 
 looked at Miss Constable and then at the 
 Bishop and says 'e ' My best wishes for 
 your 'appiness,' and the Bishop 'e said 
 ' Thank you.' And then 'e lifted his glass 
 and looked across at Miss Constable and 'e 
 said, 'My homage to you.' And Miss 
 Constable she just went red and then white 
 and looked as if she was going to cry, and 
 then she laughed and then she said ' Thank 
 you, dear Daddy,' and then she looked 
 across at 'im and she said nothing but she 
 looked — Oh my," said Matthew, " I have 
 never seen our young Miss look like that 
 afore." 
 
 " You don't say so — well, I never," said 
 the cook amid a chorus of like ejaculations 
 from half-a-dozen maids standing by. 
 
 " And then Sir Edward 'e says, 
 ' Matthew,' says he, ' let the servants have 
 champagne for their supper to-night, and 
 they'll oblige me by drinking Miss Con- 
 stable's 'ealth and the Bishop's, and we're
 
 160 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 going to have a wedding, Matthew, and I 
 shall be glad if they'll add their good 
 wishes to mine.' And then I bowed and I 
 says, ' Might I make so bold as to offer mine 
 first ? ' And Miss Constable she puts out 
 'er 'and and she says, 'Thank you, 
 Matthew, thank you.' And the Bishop 'e 
 got on to his feet and 'e made me a bow, as 
 if I'd been a lord, and 'e says, 'Matthew, 
 I'm much obliged to you.' And, damn him, 
 'e's a swell," said Matthew, suddenly 
 getting enthusiastic, " no snivelling parson 
 about him, he spoke to me just as if I'd . 
 been a dook." 
 
 "There now," said the cook with a 
 suspicious little sniffle, raising her apron to 
 her eyes, " that's the way with real gentle- 
 folk. I'm sure, poor young things, I wish 
 them all the joy in life." 
 
 " Well, I don't think you can exactly 
 call the Bishop a ' young thing,' " said the 
 head housemaid.
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 161 
 
 " Lor, they're all young things when 
 they're just entering matrimony,*' said the 
 cook wiping the other eye, "I've been 
 through it. I'm sure when my poor 
 'usband, what's been dead and gone these 
 twenty years — but there, if I once get to 
 talking about my poor 'usband, my choco- 
 late souffle will be done to a bit of leather 
 — I wishes 'em joy, Matthew, that's all I've 
 got to say — I wishes 'em joy." 
 
 If the truth be told, the almost in- 
 voluntary and wholly spontaneous courtesy 
 of the Bishop to Matthew, who had been 
 some fifty years boy and man at Eaburn, 
 proved almost too much for Cecil, and 
 went very near to breaking her down 
 altogether. It would be difficult to express 
 the gush of wild love, which flooded into 
 her heart as she perceived the act of 
 courtesy from the man to whom she had 
 just given herself, towards one who though 
 
 highly valued by her father and herself, 
 vol. i. 11
 
 162 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 was yet by many decrees their social 
 inferior. She looked across the table with 
 an indescribable expression of ineffable 
 love and tenderness and she half stretched 
 out her hand, as if she needed the 
 sympathy of touch ; then drew it back and 
 smiled with the tears very near to her eyes. 
 
 Nothing was lost upon the Bishop. He 
 was a man who missed few opportunties, a 
 man with eyes in his mind as well as in his 
 head. He knew what the look meant and 
 the little nutter of her hand, and he looked 
 across at her with a smile, and bent his 
 head slightly in acknowledgment of her 
 wordless wish. 
 
 Sir Edward, on the contrary, who was 
 within reach of the Bishop did not keep 
 back his thoughts. As soon as Matthew 
 had hurried out of the room he put out his 
 left hand and said, " Thank you for that, 
 Bishop, thank you." 
 
 So. the joyous meal passed over, and
 
 MY HOMAGE TO YOU. 163 
 
 presently Cecil left them and went off to 
 the boudoir by herself. 
 
 A minute or two later Sir Edward looked 
 up at the Bishop. 
 
 " You know you needn't stand on cere- 
 mony with me, Bishop," he said kindly. 
 " I am pretty tired, and I shall have forty 
 winks in the big chair there, before I move. 
 If you want to go, don't mind me." 
 
 "Sir Edward," said the Bishop, getting 
 up as eagerly as a schoolboy, " there's only 
 one way in which I can thank you for all 
 your goodness to me, and that is the way 
 that I know you will like best, by trying 
 to make Cecil happy." 
 
 11
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A STEAIGHT QUESTION. 
 
 The child-like faith, that asks not sight, 
 Believes, because it loves, aright. 
 
 — Keble. 
 
 " But foolish and unlearned questions avoid, know- 
 ing that they do engender strifes." 
 
 — Timothy. 
 
 The engagement did not create much stir 
 in Blankhampton. For one thing rumours 
 had been very freely circulated during the 
 day following the Hospital Ball, to the 
 effect that the Bishop had certainly pro- 
 posed to Miss Constable of Eaburn during 
 the evening. One faction said that she 
 had refused him, while another declared 
 that she had accepted him, so that by the
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 165 
 
 time the engagement was really announced, 
 the pros and cons of it as a possibility had 
 been very freely discussed and the alliance 
 looked at from every possible standpoint. 
 
 But I think that nobody was sorry when 
 it was actually made known as an accom- 
 plished fact. Everybody liked the Bishop, 
 and everybody liked the Constables, while 
 those who did not know them felt that the 
 standing of the newly-betrothed pair was 
 very suitable one to the other. It is true 
 that the sentimental Maria, who had been 
 among those who attended the private view 
 of the newly-furnished Palace, gave a little 
 sigh for the memory of a dream that had 
 been very pleasant, very harmless, and 
 very unreal. It was hard that every young 
 woman of marriageable age had not been 
 born a Miss Constable of Eaburn, for, 
 although the sentimental Maria was beyond 
 the actual meridian of life, at the same 
 time she still regarded herself as a young
 
 16G THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 person of marriageable age and generally 
 called herself a girl. 
 
 When Maria heard the news, she gave a 
 little gasp and suffered a few pangs, as if 
 the Bishop — to whom she had never 
 spoken — had indeed actually belonged to 
 her, and as if the rich Miss Constable of 
 Eaburn had actually done her a grievous 
 wrong. Poor Maria, it did not last. Her 
 harmless little day-dream faded away, and 
 left her with a kind of feeling that she had 
 a right to take more interest in the Bishop's 
 engagement and approaching marriage than 
 any one else. There are many Marias in 
 this world — unappropriated blessings who 
 would make good and devoted wives but 
 who never have the opportunity of proving 
 of what stuff they are made. Poor Maria ! 
 
 A few days after the first evening the 
 Bishop and Sir Edward had a long talk 
 together of a strictly business kind. You 
 see with a man so rich and a bride so well-
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 167 
 
 dowered, there were naturally a good many 
 arrangements to make, which do not enter 
 into the calculations of the ordinary girl, 
 who takes with her to her new home little 
 more than her bridal trousseau and her 
 wedding presents. It was then about the 
 middle of February, and the Bishop was 
 naturally not anxious to have a long engage- 
 ment ; the wedding, therefore, was fixed to 
 take place during the week after Easter, 
 which that year fell rather late. Had it 
 not been for Lent intervening, I think that 
 he would have begged hard for the shortest 
 engagement possible for them to have. As 
 it was, however, the season made it abso- 
 lutely impossible for him to be married until 
 Easter had come and gone. 
 
 Now the Bishop was not a very High 
 Churchman but he was by no means a Low 
 one, so that when Cecil told him that her 
 father wished to give a large dinner- 
 party by way of announcing their engage-
 
 168 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 ment, lie looked at her with concerned 
 eyes. 
 
 " Dearest, I don't see how I can come." 
 
 " Why not ? " she asked. " We will make 
 our date to suit your arrangements." 
 
 " But it is Lent," he replied. 
 
 The girl's face fell. 
 
 "I don't quite see, Archie," she said 
 (she had long ago taken to calling him 
 Archie), " I don't quite see what Lent has 
 to do with your going to a dinner-party." 
 
 " But," he answered, " I have never gone 
 out to entertainments during Lent in my 
 life." 
 
 " But surely this is a separate occasion," 
 she urged. 
 
 " Well, that is so, but I really can't — at 
 least, I don't see how I could — break my 
 rule. If there is any good in keeping 
 Lent at all, there must be more reason 
 now than ever for not breaking my regular 
 habit."
 
 A STEAIGHT QUESTION. 169 
 
 " But you want to come don't you ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, I would like to come, of course I 
 would like to come ; but that is the more 
 reason why I should not do so." 
 
 " But you are dining here to-night ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 " I know it, my dearest, I know it — but 
 that is not like a dinner-party." 
 
 " You enjoy yourself to-night, as much as 
 you would do if there were forty people 
 here, do you not ? " 
 
 " Quite as much." 
 
 " Then where is the difference ? " 
 
 " I do not know," he said uneasily. " If 
 you put it in that way, I shall have to give 
 up coming altogether." 
 
 "I don't think," she said thoughtfully, 
 " that you ought to have engaged yourself 
 to me just before Lent if you meant Lent 
 to interfere with proper attention to me, and 
 it is a proper attention to me that you
 
 170 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 should meet my friends and my father's 
 friends as my future husband. If it were 
 not Lent it would be a perfectly natural 
 thing for my father to give a dinner-party 
 in order to formally announce our engage- 
 ment, and I don't think it is at all right to 
 slight me because of the season of the 
 year." 
 
 " But, my darling," he exclaimed, " you 
 keep Lent in some way yourself, surely ? " 
 
 " Never," she answered, " never. I 
 believe in being good all the year round. 
 If it is wrong to eat your dinner in com- 
 pany in Lent it is wrong to eat your dinner 
 any day. I think good people ought to 
 carry a certain amount of Lent with them 
 always. I may be wrong — I don't say that 
 I am right — but I cannot see that you 
 would do any harm by going to a dinner- 
 party, because it happens to be Lent — no I 
 cannot. Why," she urged, " you would like 
 to have been married earlier, if it had not
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 171 
 
 been for Lent. "Why, what difference does 
 it — can it make ?" 
 
 " It makes all the difference," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "If you were bidden to perform the 
 ceremony at a royal wedding, you would 
 do it whether it was in Lent or not ? " 
 " I daresay I should." 
 " Of course, you would. They have their 
 weddings in Lent. If it is wrong to marry 
 in Lent or to take any pleasure in Lent, 
 why do you great dignitaries of the Church 
 encourage princes to do the very things 
 you regard as wicked for yourselves to 
 do?" 
 
 "My dear child," he said, drawing her 
 near to him, " I don't think that we need 
 split upon that rock. After all, there is no 
 essential virtue in the keeping of Lent — I 
 believe it is a good thing for everybody to 
 do, because the rush of life is so great and 
 the pleasure of the world so entrancing — to
 
 172 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 all of us — that it must be, nay it is a good 
 thing to pull ourselves up short sometimes, 
 and taking a rest from these worldly enjoy- 
 ments, search ourselves and make sure 
 whether we are going upwards or down- 
 wards. It is good to have such periods 
 now and again during the year, and surely 
 no season can be so fitting as that which 
 immediately precedes Good Friday and 
 Easter." 
 
 "But," said Cecil, looking at him with 
 her lovely eyes, " you are not going to give 
 up loving me because it is Lent ? " 
 
 "Why, no," he answered. 
 
 " You don't mean that you are going to 
 give up certain times, when you would 
 naturally come to see me, by way of morti- 
 fying yourself." 
 
 "Not at all," he replied. "I have 
 never told you that I believe in self- 
 mortification as a proper way of spending 
 Lent."
 
 A STKAIGHT QUESTION. 173 
 
 ■* Then why give up a dinner-party ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Why ? Because it is my custom — it is 
 my habit. I would prefer not to take part 
 in any social gaieties during this time, that 
 is all. I don't think it would be wicked to 
 do as you wish." 
 
 " Then don't yout hink that the cir- 
 cumstance of our having only just be- 
 come engaged and the fact that we are 
 going to be married so soon, would make it 
 admissible for you to break your rule in this 
 one instance ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I think it would be quite 
 admissible, and if you seriously ask me to 
 do it, I will come ; but I hope," looking 
 gravely and earnestly at her, " I hope, with 
 all my heart and soul, that you will not ask 
 me to do it." 
 
 " No," she said, with a sudden change of 
 tone, " I wont ask you. I will never ask 
 you to do what you believe to be against
 
 174 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 your best interests. But," with a burst 
 of contrition, " already, you see that it is as 
 I told you — I am not fit to be your wife — 
 I am not half good enough for you. But I 
 will never ask you to go against what you 
 believe to be right, I never will." 
 
 I think, if the Bishop had become 
 engaged to Miss Constable at any other 
 time of the year, that the course of their 
 true love would have run smoothly to the 
 final consummation and I should probably 
 have had no further story to relate to you. 
 They would, it is more than likely, have 
 been married after an engagement of only a 
 month or six weeks, and every available 
 moment of the Bishop's spare time would 
 have been filled in with congratulatory 
 parties, and such time as he had not to 
 spare, would have been filled in by the 
 bride-elect, with all manner of shopping and 
 suchlike personal arrangements. 
 
 As it happened, however, to have been
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 175 
 
 brought about just before Lent, there was 
 no possible question — the bridegroom being 
 a Bishop — of the marriage taking place 
 until Easter was well turned, and therefore 
 their engagement was an exceedingly trying 
 time to both of them. 
 
 For one thing, although the Bishop was 
 desperately in love with his betrothed, 
 there were many duties attached to his office 
 which could not be ignored, and which he 
 had not the smallest wish to ignore. For 
 instance, for months previous to his engage- 
 ment he had been booked for various sets 
 of sermons and, as a matter-of-fact, had 
 very few unoccupied evenings to put at 
 her disposal. When he had an evening to 
 call his own, he religiously dined at 
 llaburn. He refused the many invitations 
 which were sent to him by way of specially 
 marking the great event, and as he gener- 
 ally went over to Eaburn on the days when 
 he was not preaching at night, he passed a
 
 176 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 good part of the nights doing the work 
 which, at an ordinary time, he would have 
 done during the day. 
 
 It is astonishing how rumour spreads. 
 When the first flush of excitement at the 
 engagement had passed off, the people in 
 the county said to each other that Miss 
 Constable was marrying for position. And 
 there was some ground for such a rumour, 
 for the Bishop was radiant, and Cecil her- 
 self looked wretched and, as the dull 
 heavy Lenten days passed over, the cloud 
 seemed in no way to be lifted from her 
 eyes. 
 
 Her life at that time, was a strange dual 
 kind of existence. When the Bishop was 
 at Eaburn, she was filled with the wildest 
 spirits, which, when she was out of his 
 presence, seemed to go down to zero, and 
 indeed, even lower than those frozen 
 depths. 
 
 " Did you ever see a girl look so
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 177 
 
 wretched as Cecil Constable ? " said Lady 
 Lucifer one day, at an afternoon party in 
 Elankhampton, to Lady Vivian. " I am 
 sure there is something wrong there." 
 
 " She looks very ill," said Lady Vivian 
 guardedly. Not for a moment, would she 
 admit that there could be anything wrong 
 about the engagement itself. " But don't 
 you think that girls nearly always do look 
 ill at these times ? I am sure her position 
 must be most trying, particularly with a 
 man of the Bishop's eminence — you see, 
 poor girl, the eyes of the whole county 
 are upon her." 
 
 " Yes, that is so, but at the same time, 
 what need Cecil mind if the eyes of the 
 whole world are upon her ? She has always 
 been used to being a person of impor- 
 tance," returned Lady Lucifer. " I am 
 certain that is not the secret of her wan 
 looks." 
 
 Now, the Lady of Ingleby was not a 
 vol. i. 12
 
 178 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 brilliant woman, not by any means. She 
 seldom, except on the subject of a possible 
 marriage, thought out any fresh ideas for 
 herself ; but once implant an idea in her 
 mind, be it ever so slight a suggestion, and 
 she was ready to follow it up, like a beagle 
 on the trail of a red-herring. 
 
 She took the first opportunity of mildly 
 and delicately questioning Cecil on the 
 subject of her approaching marriage ; 
 indeed she made it her special business to 
 drive over to Eaburn and was lucky enough 
 to find Miss Constable at home. 
 
 " I don't think you're looking very well, 
 Cecil," she remarked in her blandest 
 manner, when she had enquired after Sir 
 Edward's health — Sir Edward was hunting 
 as usual. 
 
 " Oh, don't you think so ? " said Cecil, 
 " I feel all right, thanks. You know it has 
 been a damp winter ; a little frost and snow 
 would do me more good than anything else."
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 179 
 
 "It has been a trying winter, that's 
 true," said Lady Vivian in reply, " and, of 
 course, it is often very trying to be en- 
 gaged." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know about that," said 
 Cecil laughing, though she changed colour 
 a little. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was something a little 
 forced about the laugh and Lady Vivian, 
 little observant as she was, noticed it. 
 
 " You are very happy in this marriage, 
 Cecil ? " she remarked. 
 
 " Oh, very," the girl replied. 
 
 But the tone somehow, did not satisfy 
 Lady Vivian, and she pursued the subject 
 still further. 
 
 " A most lovable man," she remarked. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Vivian," Cecil cried, " he is 
 the best man I have ever known in my 
 life." 
 
 " Yes, dear, but I don't know that even 
 that is quite everything, is it ? I mean — 
 
 12*
 
 180 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 well, it is rather difficult to explain what I 
 do mean — but, of course, when you're think- 
 ing of marriage, you may be thoroughly 
 impressed with a man's goodness and all 
 that, and yet feel that something else is 
 wanting." 
 
 " No," said Cecil, " nothing else is 
 wanting. The Bishop is as nearly perfect 
 as a man can be. If I were not afraid 
 that you would laugh at me, I would say 
 that he is quite perfect." 
 
 " I shall not laugh at you," said Lady 
 Vivian with dignity. 
 
 "Xo, dear Lady Vivian, I know you 
 won't — I didn't mean to imply that you 
 would. I know exactly what is in your 
 mind," smiling at her and holding out a 
 slender white hand towards her, " I know 
 so well just what people are saying. I am 
 not looking very well — I don't know 
 that I am very well — and the Bishop 
 is preaching here, there, and everywhere
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 181 
 
 — and he doesn't go out to dinner in Lent 
 — and people put two and two together, 
 and they think that I am not happy in my 
 engagement and in the prospect of my 
 marriage and they think perhaps that I am 
 marrying him because he is the Bishop of 
 Blankhampton. Oh, yes, I have seen it in 
 people's looks, I know so well what they are 
 all saying — they think that I am not really 
 and genuinely in love with him. Well, 
 dear Lady Vivian, you've always been good 
 to me, and you always have a tender place 
 in your heart for people who love each 
 other, haven't you? Then you may tell 
 everybody — everybody, who is interested in 
 knowing — that I am madly, wildly, passion- 
 ately in love with my Bishop. If I look ill 
 or I do not look happy, that has nothing to 
 do with him. I am not very well, and I 
 am not sleeping, and I am tremendously 
 impressed with the responsibility that I 
 have taken upon myself — but, so far as he
 
 182 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 is concerned, I have only one feeling, 
 which is that I am not half good enough 
 for him." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, Cecil," Lady Vivian 
 exclaimed, " don't say that, my dear. After 
 all, he is the best judge of that. If he 
 thinks that you are good enough for him, 
 that, surely, is enough — don't get having 
 ideas of that kind — I am sure the Bishop 
 is the least bigotted man that it would be 
 possible to find any anywhere." 
 
 " You don't quite understand," said Cecil, 
 putting out her hand again. " I did not 
 say that he thought me not good enough — 
 why, no — but that I sometimes feel so." 
 
 " Then you ought not to feel so, my dear, 
 you are good enough for anybody," taking 
 her hand and patting it. " Oh, and this is 
 your ring," she went on, in a different tone, 
 " I haven't seen it before, dear — how very 
 charming." 
 
 " Well, they are both his rings," said
 
 A STKAIGHT QUESTION. 183 
 
 Cecil, letting her hand lie passively in the 
 other woman's, " but one he gave me for 
 himself — the diamonds — and the other he 
 gave me to please a fancy of mine. " I 
 always thought," she added, " that I should 
 prefer an opal ring to any other ; but the 
 Bishop wished to give me diamonds, so he 
 compromised matters by giving me opals 
 afterwards." 
 
 " But, my dear, are you not afraid ? 
 They are very unlucky stones." 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe in that," said Cecil, 
 hastily. 
 
 " Well, but you were not born in 
 October ? " 
 
 " No, I was not." 
 
 " Then you should not wear opals ; 
 nothing could be more unlucky. I would 
 give that ring back to him if I were you, 
 I would not wear it." 
 
 " Oh no," said Cecil, " I don't believe in 
 that. You see the diamond is my engage-
 
 184 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 ment-ring proper, the other was only an 
 after- thought." 
 
 Lady Vivian, however, had something 
 else to say and she did not mean to go 
 away without saying it. She patted the 
 girl's hand and smoothed it gently once or 
 twice, between her own plump well-gloved 
 ringers, and then delicately broached the 
 subject of her intention. 
 
 " The Bishop is preaching a good deal 
 just now," she said casually and in a tone 
 of extreme indifference. 
 
 " Yes, he is," Cecil replied. " You see 
 he had made all his engagements for Lent 
 before our engagement came off." 
 
 " I see — and of course he could not 
 break them. By the bye, you know that 
 he has refused our dinner on the 21st? " 
 
 The shadow of a cloud came into Cecil's 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, the fact is he doesn't like going 
 out to dinner in Lent," she answered.
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 185 
 
 " But surely that is very bigoted," said 
 Lady Vivian, a little vexedly ; for she had 
 set her heart upon his being at this par- 
 ticular entertainment. 
 
 " Xo, I don't think it is bigoted ; only 
 he has never gone out during Lent and he 
 doesn't wish to begin it." 
 
 " But that will be a great change for you, 
 dear." 
 
 " Well, yes, that is so. But of course," 
 putting her head up and speaking very 
 bravely, " we none of us take up a 
 quite different life and expect to have 
 everything just our own way of thinking, 
 and although I have not been used to 
 keeping Lent in that way, at the same time 
 it's not much of a thing to do for one's 
 husband, is it ? " 
 
 " True, true ; you are sure, I suppose, 
 that the Bishop has no strong leaning 
 towards ritualism ? " 
 
 Cecil laughed outright.
 
 186 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, not the very least 
 in the world. He doesn't think it 
 wicked to dine out in Lent, but he has 
 never done it and he doesn't care to begin 
 it. He would do it if I asked him, but he 
 doesn't want to do it and, therefore, I don't 
 want to ask him." 
 
 " Very right, dear, very right. I 
 am sure you will make him a perfect 
 wife." 
 
 " I don't know," said Cecil shortly. 
 
 She sat for a long time staring into the 
 fire, after Lady Vivian had swept away 
 with a few more pleasant words and a 
 vague kindly expression of good-will for 
 the future. She was not at all sure that 
 she would make Archibald Netherby of 
 Netherby a good wife — at least she was 
 very sure that she would make a very 
 imperfect one for the Bishop of Blank- 
 hampton. She was still sitting there in a 
 little chair on the great white bear-skin,
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 187 
 
 when the door opened and the Bishop 
 came in. 
 
 " Oh, is that you ? " she cried, gladly, 
 " I thought you were going to somewhere 
 the other side of Barmington." 
 
 " Not to-night," he answered, " I have 
 just come from there." 
 
 "Oh, I thought you were going to- 
 night. Then you'll stay to dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes, dearest, if I may." 
 
 " If you may — what nonsense — of course 
 you may. Will you have anything now ? 
 Lady Vivian has been here, and she has 
 just gone." 
 
 " I'll have a cup of tea if it's going," 
 said the Bishop cheerily. 
 
 " Well, it is going, and has been 
 going so long that it must be some- 
 thing like ink now — you shall have some 
 fresh." 
 
 She put her hand on the bell as she 
 spoke and the Bishop sat himself down in
 
 188 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 the big chair on the other side of the 
 hearth to the roomy old sofa. 
 
 " Matthew, some tea," said Miss Con- 
 stable, " and the Bishop will stay to dinner 
 to-night." 
 
 She had lost all her wan looks since his 
 entrance, and she sat down again on the 
 little chair and put her hand into his with 
 a sigh of ineffable contentment. 
 
 " Lady Vivian has been here," she said. 
 " Somebody has dropped a pebble into the 
 serene pool which she calls her mind. She 
 was quite in trouble when she came in." 
 
 " In trouble — about what ? " he asked, 
 holding her hand between his two. 
 
 " About me. She thinks I look ill, 
 and unhappy, and she seems doubtful 
 whether we are suited to each other, 
 after all." 
 
 " And you told her ? " 
 
 " Oh, never mind what I told her — or 
 stay, I will tell you what I told her. I told
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 189 
 
 her what I have so often told you, that I am 
 not half good enough for you." 
 
 " My dear, you should not — you ought 
 not to tell people that sort of thing — it is 
 wicked," he said, holding her hands in his 
 and looking down into her soft eyes. 
 " You have no right to depreciate my 
 property." 
 
 " I am not your property yet," she said 
 quickly. 
 
 " No, no, but you are my prospective 
 property, and it is more wicked to damage 
 it now, than it would be to damage it when 
 I am perfectly sure of you." 
 
 Presently Matthew came back with fresh 
 tea and hot toast, and Cecil insisted upon 
 waiting upon the Bishop, although he 
 declared that he was not in the least 
 tired. 
 
 "No, but I like to wait on you and I 
 want to wait on you, and I will wait on 
 you," she cried, " so sit still and try to
 
 190 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 imagine — well, that you've been married 
 four or five years," with a roguish laugh. 
 
 " You think I shall expect to be waited 
 on, when I've been married four or five 
 years ? " he asked. 
 
 "I think that it's not at all improbable." 
 
 She certainly waited upon him admirably 
 and then she sat down again on the little 
 chair and asked him one or two questions 
 about the place to which he had been that 
 afternoon. 
 
 "Was it a big service ? " she enquired. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the Church was crammed." 
 
 " Pretty Church ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you had lunch there ? " 
 
 " I had." 
 
 " Nice lunch ? " 
 
 " Oh, pretty fair." 
 
 " And how did your sermon go ? " 
 
 " I think all right," he said, in a matter 
 of fact tone. " But you know, dearest, I
 
 A STRAIGHT QUESTION. 191 
 
 never feel quite the same when you are not 
 there. Somehow, when you are in Church, 
 I feel as if I was better able to get hold of 
 my congregation. Still, it was a very 
 interesting subject to-day and I think the 
 people liked it. At all events, they paid 
 very close attention to me." 
 
 " And what was your subject ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, you see, it was the restoration of 
 a very old Church and I took the entire 
 history of the Church — of that particular 
 Church — and the events which had 
 happened around it, during the last five 
 hundred years." 
 
 " I wish I had gone," she said, " yes, I 
 wish I had gone — it would have interested 
 me." 
 
 She was silent then resting her elbow 
 on her knee and her chin on her 
 hand. 
 
 He watched her curiouslv for a little
 
 192 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 time then said, " Dearest, what are you 
 thinking of ? " 
 
 " Thinking ? Oh, I was thinking about 
 the thirty-nine Articles," she answered, 
 without hesitation. 
 
 " About the thirty-nine Articles ? " he 
 repeated incredulously, " why were you 
 thinking about them ? " 
 
 •' Well, I read them over last night," she 
 said, " I never read them before. Tell me, 
 Archie, and tell me truly — I mean, don't 
 explanify matters till I can't understand 
 what you mean — but tell me, yes or no, 
 whether you actually believe in the thirty- 
 nine Articles or not ? "
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 
 
 The sunniest things cast sternest shade, 
 
 And there is even a happiness 
 
 That makes the heart afraid. 
 
 — Hood. 
 
 Which are a shadow of things to come. 
 
 — Colossians. 
 
 Foe a moment the Bishop looked at his 
 pretty sweetheart, as if he could not believe 
 the evidence of his own ears. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, " do you 
 realise what you are saying ? " 
 
 " I think so," she said gravely, " yes, I 
 think so." 
 
 " But, my dear, you might as well ask 
 
 me if I believe in you, if I believe in my 
 
 own personality, if I believe in the existence 
 
 of what I see now before me." 
 
 vol. i. 13
 
 194 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 " Then you do believe in them ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " I don't quite see the c of course,' " Miss 
 Constable said boldly and yet with a certain 
 air of diffidence. 
 
 " But my whole position asserts my 
 belief in them," he said very gravely. 
 " What made you ask me such a 
 question ? " 
 
 " Well, as I told you, I never read them 
 until last night. I asked my father this 
 morning if he had ever read them? He 
 said ' No, never,' that it was not his business 
 to do so, that if I wanted any enlightenment 
 on the subject I had better apply to you." 
 
 " Your father is perfectly right," said the 
 Bishop, " it is much better for the laity 
 not to dive too closely into the actual 
 formalities and technicalities of religion, 
 because those who have not made what I 
 may call the technique of religion, the 
 study of their whole heart and of their best
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 195 
 
 energies, are not as capable of taking a 
 calm and just view of the whole, as those 
 who have devoted their entire lives to it. 
 I have always thought," the Bishop went 
 on, " that one of the most wise rules of the 
 Roman Catholic Church is that her children 
 should not consider themselves at liberty to 
 interpret the Scriptures for themselves. 
 There is nothing so fatally easy for even 
 the feeble doubter or the professed 
 iconoclast, as to be able to take one single 
 sentence and judge the whole scheme of 
 religion therefrom. I believe," he added, 
 " that probably more poor souls have split 
 upon the rock of that one sentence about 
 King David than perhaps any other in the 
 whole Bible. ' David was a man after 
 God's own heart.' They say — looking at 
 the character of David from the standpoint 
 of this nineteenth century, with its refine- 
 ments, its quick working leaven of 
 
 Christianity, its high education, its lofty 
 
 13*
 
 196 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 aims and aspirations, its sense of honour 
 and its appreciation of beauty — ' If David 
 was a man after God's own heart, I have 
 no desire to be the same.' They don't 
 consider for a moment the circumstances of 
 David's life, the customs of the country in 
 which he lived, the extraordinary changes 
 which could transfer him from the position 
 of a lowly shepherd-boy to be the King of 
 a powerful country. Still less do they 
 consider that the term ' a man after God's 
 own heart,' meant, not that God approved 
 of everything that David did on earth, but 
 that He had simply chosen him to be His 
 instrument with which to do certain work. 
 Even less do they remember that David was 
 most emphatically a man with a conscience, 
 and that for every ill deed he committed he 
 suffered far more than most men. So," he 
 went on, " may be argued in many other in- 
 stances the folly of those who have not made 
 the Bible their study, and who yet judge
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 197 
 
 the entire scheme of religion from a single 
 sentence of it. It is infinitely wiser and 
 more reasonable — and above all things 
 religion should be reasonable — to accept 
 with simple faith, the broad teaching of 
 those who have carefully thought out the 
 entire subject. Take the thirty-nine 
 Articles — to you, reading them for the 
 first time, I can quite understand that they 
 are conflicting and contradictory ; but a 
 large number of the most earnest-minded, 
 clear-headed and deep-thinking men, who 
 have lived in this country for hundreds of 
 years, have decided that they cannot 
 improve upon these Articles, that they 
 embody every point which is necessary, 
 either for salvation or for the simple leading 
 of a religious life." 
 
 " Yes, but," said Cecil, " don't you en- 
 courage every man and woman to think for 
 themselves ? " 
 
 " To a certain extent — yes. In all
 
 198 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 matters or questions of right or wrong, we 
 must all of us think and judge for our- 
 selves. But the fact that you, for instance, 
 wish to think for yourself, on a purely 
 doctrinal matter, ought not to prevent you 
 from letting another mind, which has made 
 the subject (about which you have only 
 just begun to think) its especial study, 
 throw all possible light upon it. Of course, 
 there are several Articles concerning cer- 
 tain mysteries which, so to speak, classify 
 them but which cannot in any sense 
 attempt to explain them. I know that to 
 one who suddenly tries both to classify and 
 to explain them, the task must be a very 
 difficult one. But to all such enquirers 
 after a definite standpoint, we Churchmen, 
 we experts, can only ask you to have 
 sufficient faith to accept these tenets as 
 mysteries and without explanation." 
 
 " But your authority ? " said Cecil. 
 
 " In what instance ? " asked the Bishop.
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 199 
 
 It was characteristic of this man that he 
 was in no wise annoyed or shocked at this 
 new attitude in the mind of the woman he 
 loved. I think that, so far, his enormous 
 influence on all those with whom he had 
 been brought in contact, had consisted 
 mainly in the fact of his extreme earnest- 
 ness, in his willingness to be practically 
 religious, in his evident desire not to throw 
 dust in the eyes of any seekers after truth, in 
 his simple everyday what one might almost 
 call "up to date" language, applied to those 
 old truths, or shall I more truly say those 
 old statements of truth, which have been 
 handed down to us from biblical times. 
 
 Now so many of the clergy seem never 
 prepared to discuss certain questions apper- 
 taining to the beliefs of the Church, in 
 ordinary every-day language. If you ask 
 them a question which is distinctly 
 troubling your mind, and you ask it 
 desiring to have a plain and straightforward
 
 200 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 answer, in ninety-nine cases out of a 
 hundred, they will reply to you by a 
 quotation, a quotation which is perfectly 
 familiar to you and which conveys no more 
 to your mind, when coming from the 
 mouth of one of the cloth, than it con- 
 veyed to you when you read it last with 
 your own eyes. If you press them further, 
 they will tell you to come and hear them 
 on such a day and they will then give 
 you from twenty to forty or fifty minutes' 
 discourse, more or less wrapped up in what 
 is generally considered to be suitable 
 language, but which conveys less than 
 nothing to your groping mind. You 
 seldom gain any light, real light, from a 
 sermon. When their arises a man who 
 like Savonarola preaches something which 
 makes those who hear him think, or which 
 gives some ray of light to a soul unwillingly 
 enveloped in darkness, that preacher be- 
 comes at once overwhelmed with hearers.
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 201 
 
 Yet the ordinary sermon or homily is in a 
 measure useless, for it is unanswerable, I 
 mean it is physically unanswerable. And 
 it is so easy to tell a story from one side 
 only, so easy and so pre-eminently un- 
 satisfactor}% to the mind which stands on 
 the other side, which knows only the other 
 side, and has neither the ability nor the 
 learning to amalgamate the two, w T hich has 
 no opportunity of threshing out the subject 
 with an intelligent thinker who will use 
 language as simple as that in which we con- 
 duct the ordinary everyday business of life. 
 
 " But your authority ? " said Miss 
 Constable. 
 
 He looked up and put out his hand to 
 her. 
 
 " The best of all authority," he said 
 gently, " the Word of God." 
 
 " Yes, naturally," she replied, " but I 
 would like to know what you think of this 
 Article ? "
 
 202 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 She got up and fetched a prayer-book 
 from a drawer in a bureau. 
 
 " Now this one," she said. " ' Works 
 done before the grace of Christ and the 
 Inspiration of His Spirit, are not pleasant 
 to God, forasmuch as they spring not of 
 faith in Jesus Christ, neither do they make 
 men meet to receive grace, or (as the 
 School - authors say) deserve grace of 
 congruity ; yea, rather, for that they are 
 not done as God hath willed and com- 
 manded them to be done, we doubt not 
 but that they have the nature of sin.' 
 Now, do you mean to tell me that God 
 does not love good for its own sake and 
 that good cannot exist without a certain 
 belief in an accepted creed ? If so, in that 
 case, what would become of the millions of 
 Chinamen, who have no opportunity of 
 even knowing anything of Christianity ? " 
 
 " My dearest," he said, mildly, " it stands 
 to common-sense that no man will be
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 203 
 
 judged of God, without everything for 
 and against him being taken into con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " But," she persisted, " there are many 
 in what we call Christian England, who 
 have not the opportunity of being believers, 
 as some are believers. For instance, you 
 might think that it is impossible that I, 
 who am a well-educated and, to a certain 
 extent, an accomplished woman, living in a 
 good sphere of life, should not know very 
 much about religion. It is quite true that 
 I have gone to Church regularly, ever since 
 I was old enough to go at all, that I have 
 listened Sunday after Sunday to our old 
 Eector's sermons, that I have joined in the 
 services, and that I have been baptized, and 
 confirmed, and have taken the Sacrament ; 
 but, until lately, I have never thought, until 
 quite lately I have never questioned any- 
 thing, I simply accepted it, and, if you 
 asked me off-hand what I believed in, I
 
 204 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 should not have been able to tell you. For 
 the matter of that, I don't know now, 
 indeed I feel much more like knowing 
 what I don't believe in. But do you mean 
 to tell me — I mean would any authority in 
 the Church tell me — that I, who am by no 
 means fixed in my beliefs, who am by no 
 means assured of salvation, am no better 
 and more acceptable in the sight of God, 
 than a man or woman who may have 
 committed every form of violent sin but 
 who, in his last hours, professes and 
 perhaps really feels a genuine belief in 
 Christ ? Is not my white life more 
 acceptable than the newly whitewashed 
 one ? " 
 
 " ' The first shall be last,' " murmured the 
 Bishop. 
 
 " No, no quotations," she exclaimed, 
 putting up her hand, "I can quote little 
 bits of scripture for myself, I want every- 
 day language. But I want to know this,
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 205 
 
 do you believe that a man who has 
 committed a dozen vile murders, who has, 
 without even the excuse of physical 
 necessity, robbed from the widow and the 
 orphan, who has gone about the world 
 doing evil, who has betrayed those who 
 trusted him, who has stirred up strife 
 between master and servant, who has 
 broken all the laws of morality but who 
 in his last hours, repents of his sins, do you 
 believe that he is in as good a position in 
 the eyes of God as one who has lived what 
 we may fairly call a white life ? If so, 
 what inducement is there for anyone to be 
 good at all ? " 
 
 " So far as this world is concerned," said 
 the Bishop, " those who live good and 
 blameless lives from whatever cause, have 
 always the reward and satisfaction of being 
 nobler and better and happier than if they 
 had followed evil courses." 
 
 " But," said she quickly, " I am not
 
 206 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 talking about this world, I am talking 
 about the next one." 
 
 " But don't you think," he said gently, 
 " that it would be best and safest to leave 
 that question to take care of itself? " 
 
 " No," she answered. " If these Articles 
 of Eeligion left that question to take care 
 of itself, I would say these Articles of 
 Eeligion were honest. But they do not 
 leave it to take care of itself. The 
 thirteenth Article lays down, clearly and 
 authoritatively, that good works done 
 before the grace of Christ are sinful. Are 
 they then less valuable in God's eyes, than 
 the failings of those who have received 
 salvation and the grace of God ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said the Bishop. " That 
 Article is not intended to be read in the 
 way in which you read it. Of course, the 
 good works of a Chinaman or of a heathen 
 are as acceptable to God as the good works 
 of a professed Christian."
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! H07 
 
 "But you don't say so." 
 
 " Because the Articles of Religion are 
 
 not intended to be read by those who have 
 not thoroughly studied the subject." 
 
 " Then why are they given to us ? " she 
 asked. " Why are they put into the 
 Prayer-book ? Why are they read when 
 a man is inducted into a living ? My father 
 says that the only time he ever heard the 
 Thirty-nine Articles read was when Mr. 
 Seaforth read himself into the Eectory of 
 Eaburn. But there they are in every 
 Prayer-book and there could be no law T to 
 compel the possessors of Prayer-books not 
 to read them. Why, then, are they not 
 framed in language which even a child 
 could understand ? Why do you have 
 these stumbling blocks set in the path of 
 those who are only too anxious to believe 
 what is right and just? I may be wrong," 
 she went on, " but I cannot reconcile these 
 two assertions with each other. The
 
 20S THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 declaration that works done before the 
 grace of Christ are not pleasing to God, 
 because they do not spring from faith in 
 Jesus and therefore have the nature of sin, 
 in short that they are wicked ; and the 
 assertion in the Sixteenth Article that not 
 every deadly sin willingly committed — 
 willingly committed — after Baptism, is sin 
 against the Holy Ghost and unpardonable. 
 Why," she cried, " it amounts to this : ' If 
 you do not believe in Christ, if you have 
 not the grace of God, your goodness is 
 wicked ; and if you have the grace of God, 
 your willing sin is pardonable.' It isn't 
 reason — it is not common-sense. And it 
 seems to me absolutely impossible that 
 you, whom I know to be good, whom I 
 know to be generous, forbearing, kind, and 
 full of practical common-sense, can believe, 
 truly and really believe, statements so 
 conflicting as these." 
 
 " My dearest," said the Bishop, quietly
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 209 
 
 and soothingly, " you seem to forget that 
 those Articles were not framed for the use 
 and guidance of a community of perfect 
 men and women ! On the contrary, those 
 who drew them up, well knew the weak- 
 ness and failings to which human hearts 
 are liable, the temptations to which they 
 are most prone. Those Articles are framed 
 so as to make the way as little difficult and 
 discouraging to those who wish to live 
 right and do well, as is possible. The 
 religion of our Church has never been a 
 hard and merciless one — but if you believe 
 in Christ's redemption of us at all, you 
 most believe that faith and belief in Him 
 are absolutely necessary to salvation, 
 necessary, that is, to all those who have 
 had the opportunity of knowing the story 
 of the Gospel. As for the Article on sins 
 willingly committed after baptism — my 
 dear child, you must know that human 
 
 nature is terribly weak — for instance, to 
 vol. i. 14
 
 210 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 use a metaphor as simple as you could 
 wish for, take the case of a drunkard who 
 wishes to give up drink — he may believe, 
 may know that it is social mental and 
 moral ruin to him to indulge in drink — 
 probably nobody in the world knows it 
 quite so well as he does ! Yet there may 
 be times — and generally are in a drunkard's 
 life, even long after the sin, as a habit, has 
 been put away and trodden under foot — 
 when he may deliberately, in cold blood, 
 willingly (as the Article puts it) indulge 
 himself in a fit of steady hard drinking. 
 Yet would you say therefore, that all hope 
 of that man's future is gone, that when he 
 comes back to his senses again and with 
 them comes a horrible realization of the 
 fearful slide he had made backwards, that 
 he is a worse character than the man who 
 is steadily and deliberately drinking himself 
 into his grave, with no idea even that he is 
 on the wrong road ? Why no, a thousand
 
 A PLAIN ANSWER! 211 
 
 times, no. Give me any day the man who 
 has still enough grace to be bitterly 
 ashamed of his sin, before the man, who 
 glories in his wickedness and would rather 
 not walk ever so short a distance on the 
 right path. The one may fail in keeping 
 his path over and over again — he may be 
 weak, he may be vacillating, uncertain, 
 infirm of purpose — but in his heart he 
 would prefer to be always sober and to 
 live a decent respectable life — he is to be 
 pitied, but he is never, so long as he is 
 alive, necessarily lost." 
 
 14*
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 
 
 We live by hope 
 And by desire ; we see by the glad light, 
 And breathe the sweet air of futurity ; 
 And so we live or else we have no life. 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
 My kindness shall not depart from thee. 
 
 — Isaiah. 
 
 For a little time the doubts which had 
 troubled Cecil Constable's mind seemed to 
 sleep, and the Bishop believed that his 
 conversation with her that cold wintry 
 afternoon had dispelled them. It was not 
 so, in reality, however. To tell the truth, 
 the girl's mind was torn a thousand ways. 
 People round about Blankhampton said that 
 she looked ill, and many firmly believed that
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 213 
 
 she was marrying not for love but for 
 position, and that she was simply pining 
 away in consequence thereof. But nobody 
 guessed or even suspected the tumult of 
 feeling which, during that quiet Lenten 
 time, was literally raging in the girl's 
 heart. She was not happy, that is true ; 
 but, as every day went over, she became 
 more and more in love, passionately and 
 unreservedly in love, with the Bishop. It 
 was not to be wondered at, for if he had 
 endeared himself to all sorts and conditions 
 of men, who regarded him with no small 
 degree of awe, owing to the dignity of his 
 position and the no less dignity of his 
 manner, although he was very kindly 
 withal, he naturally did not fail to please a 
 woman of his own rank of life, with whom 
 he was on terms of the most perfect 
 equality. 
 
 But as her love grew, so did her doubts 
 thrive apace. Up to the time of her
 
 214 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 engagement to the Bishop — or I should say- 
 up to the time of her realisation of her true 
 feeling for the Bishop — religion was not a 
 question that had troubled her in a very 
 great degree. She had had certain doubts, 
 as most thinking people have, but they had 
 been of a very fleeting character. She had 
 gone to church regularly, but as a form 
 that must be gone through, almost without 
 question ; she had followed and joined in 
 the Church services (which are the least 
 puzzling part of the Church's forms) as 
 many other girls do, without asking what 
 every r individual sentence meant. From 
 time to time, she had found herself brought 
 face to face with some startling question, 
 which came upon her with a kind of shock, 
 with a certain sense of wickedness, a sense 
 of impiety that her mind should question 
 these things, which she had been brought 
 up to regard as sacred and as infallible ; 
 and like any other thinking person, this
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 215 
 
 habit had grown upon her rather than the 
 reverse. 
 
 From her earliest childhood she had been 
 accustomed to hear her father, Sunday- 
 after Sunday, confess himself to be a 
 miserable sinner, but the words had 
 produced no effect upon her whatever. 
 She had never regarded her father in the 
 light of a sinner, on the contrary, she had 
 been taught to look upon him as the very 
 salt of the earth. She had heard in Church 
 that, in the sight of God, all men are equal, 
 and that the first shall be last and the last 
 shall be first in the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 But these words had • conveyed no im- 
 pression to her young mind. Had anyone 
 declared to her that her father was no 
 better than the humblest of mankind Miss 
 Constable would have laughed outright at 
 the idea that her father, the Squire of 
 Raburn, the head of one of the oldest 
 families in England, whose lands had
 
 216 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 passed in an unbroken line from father to 
 son, since the time of Henry the Third, 
 should only be the equal of if not actually 
 ranking after Thomas Smithers, the old 
 man who minded cows in the village — why 
 it was preposterous. But nobody ever did 
 offer the Squire's daughter this piece of 
 valuable information, least of all the 
 spiritual guide to the parish of Eaburn, 
 and so Cecil Constable had duly and truly 
 called herself a miserable sinner and had 
 accepted the doctrine of the equality of all 
 men, without in the least asking herself 
 what such words really meant. 
 
 So it was only from time to time, that 
 awkward and to her seemimilv un- 
 answerable questions came upon her with 
 appalling vividness. Why did God do this ? 
 Did God ever do that? Where is the 
 authority for this statement ? In what part 
 of Christ's teaching shall we find the justi- 
 fication for that ? And at such times she
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 217 
 
 had been vaguely uneasy — vaguely 
 anxious. But it was not until her whole 
 heart and life came to be bound up with 
 that of one of the highest dignitaries of the 
 Church, that the terrible importance of 
 certain questions was forced home to her 
 inmost soul. 
 
 Her life at this time was a strange 
 mixture of intense happiness and equally 
 intense misery. Whenever the Bishop was 
 with her, she was wildly, almost deliriously 
 happy ; when he went out of her presence, 
 the black cloud of uncertainty and, alas, 
 of doubts which were no longer doubts, 
 doubts which had come to be more terrible 
 than mere doubt, seemed to settle down 
 upon her like a funeral pall, like the 
 funeral pall of her dearest earthly hopes 
 and desires. 
 
 " If I could only make sure — if I knew 
 — if there were anybody that I could 
 ask," she kept saying to herself, over and
 
 218 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 over again. Then came the answer with 
 dreadful conviction, "You can never 
 know, you can never be sure — there is 
 nobody that you can ask — nobody that can 
 speak with higher authority than he is able 
 to do." But he, the man she loved, was 
 no better able to satisfy her aching soul 
 than any other and more indifferent coun- 
 sellor. 
 
 No wonder that the girl got thin and 
 looked so ill that she was the open 
 comment of all her large acquaintance. 
 She had the appearance of one breaking 
 down from over-work, and little marvel 
 that it was so. She had many duties, and 
 she certainly neglected none of them. The 
 Bishop spent a good deal of time with her, 
 and during those hours that she was free, 
 she read assiduously in a praiseworthy but 
 fruitless attempt to gain some satisfaction 
 for her soul. The library at Eaburn was a 
 very valuable one, containing some of the
 
 AX ACHING SOUL. 219 
 
 rarest theological works in existence. Cecil 
 read them all, often sitting up half the 
 night, poring over some one or other of the 
 old Fathers, seeking for some ray of light 
 which would lighten her darkness ; for 
 some finger-post, which would guide her 
 into the fair haven of child-like and 
 absolute belief which she was so des- 
 perately anxious to find ; for some strand 
 of hope which would take her out of this 
 dreadful trackless plain of unbelief, which 
 would release her from this new and 
 appallingly - fascinating frame of mind 
 which needed practical, common - sense 
 assurance of the reality of things that were 
 not, in the ordinary acceptance of the 
 word, realities at all. And the result of all 
 this anxious and very promiscuous reading 
 was, that every day and every hour, with 
 every book she opened, with every line she 
 read, Cecil Constable drifted farther and 
 farther away from the faith which her
 
 2£0 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 fathers had followed implicitly because 
 most of them had not taken the trouble to 
 do anything else. 
 
 Her first definite step was to put off her 
 marriage. 
 
 "I want," she said one day, when the 
 Bishop had gone over to Eaburn, " I want 
 to ask you something." 
 
 " Yes ? " he said enquiringly. 
 
 " Well, I know," she said hesitatingly, 
 " that it is very old-fashioned to want a 
 honeymoon. People go away for a week 
 now and think that it is more than 
 sufficient ; and you proposed to take a 
 fortnight when we were married." 
 
 " Well," he said, " I couldn't take more 
 because you see all the confirmations are 
 fixtures, and I am rather stretching a point 
 as it is." 
 
 " Archie," she said, a little doubtfully, 
 " I don't want you to stretch a point for 
 me in any direction, I would rather wait
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 221 
 
 to be married until the confirmations are 
 
 over." 
 
 "But that won't be until the end of 
 July," he exclaimed blankl} T . 
 
 " I know. I would rather wait until the 
 end of Jury," she blurted out. 
 
 " But Cecil — dearest — what does it mean 
 — that you are not willing to be married — 
 that you want time to think it out ? Not 
 — oh, it might mean a dozen things — you 
 are not changing, you couldn't be chang- 
 ing ; I wouldn't believe it of you." 
 
 "No, I'm not changing," she answered, 
 " I'm not any less in love with you than I 
 was a month ago ; it is not that. But I 
 don't feel fit to be married — at least I don't 
 feel fit to marry you — and I would rather 
 wait until the end of July and then go 
 away for two months right off, than I 
 would be married feeling as I do now. It 
 is not in any way a question of my love for 
 you, you know that you have my whole
 
 222 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 heart ; but I should feel happier if I had 
 more time to think, I should feel so much 
 happier if I had a more assured belief than 
 I have now." 
 
 " My dear," he said earnestly, " why will 
 you not have sufficient belief in me, to 
 leave the care of that to the future ? If I 
 am willing to marry a wife, whom I believe 
 to be an absolutely good woman, taking 
 no heed to doubts which come into the 
 minds of most men and women at some 
 time or other, surely you need not have 
 any scruple on the subject. Believe me, 
 dearest, that as you become more settled 
 in your life, there is every probability that 
 these doubts will disappear one by one, and 
 they are more likely to disappear under the 
 influence of one whose faith is implicit, 
 than while you allow yourself to worry 
 about them in your present position. If I 
 am willing to take that risk, I don't think 
 that you need hesitate in the least."
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 223 
 
 11 But," she said, " supposing that we are 
 married when we first intended, and 
 supposing that instead of my doubts fading 
 away and being set at rest, they became 
 confirmed and that I found it impossible, 
 as I am afraid I should do, to accept what 
 is the leading motive of your whole life — 
 where shall we be then ? " 
 
 " Exactly where we are now," answered 
 the Bishop. 
 
 " Yes, but now you have every hope 
 that I shall not feel as I do now, and if 
 I definitely make up nry mind that I 
 cannot accept what I cannot believe, 
 would you remain the same to me then ? 
 No, you could not. And how could I, if 
 I do not believe in your creed, in the creed 
 which has after a fashion been my own 
 up to now, how could I attend a single 
 service of the Church? How could I, as 
 your wife, avoid doing so ? People would 
 say, and they would say rightly, ' This man
 
 224 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 is a man of great influence, but he cannot 
 influence his own wife sufficiently to make 
 her come to Church ; how then can he 
 expect to influence others for good ? ' It 
 would be your ruin and I should be your 
 ruin ; I should know that I was your ruin. 
 How could you imagine that your love for 
 me would last in such a case ? " 
 
 " I could not imagine my love for you 
 not lasting," he answered steadily. 
 
 " What, if I went all against the aim and 
 effort of your life ? " 
 
 " But I don't think you would go against 
 the aim and effort of my life," he replied. 
 " If you had doubts — or I should more 
 truly say, if you had definite beliefs in 
 another direction — it would not be abso- 
 lutely necessary for you to give outward 
 expression to them." 
 
 " Then I should be dishonest," she said 
 quickly. 
 
 "I don't think so. Though mind, I
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 225 
 
 don't believe for a moment that you would 
 have those doubts really and truly con- 
 firmed. You would try not to have them 
 — you would naturally and instinctively 
 try to believe what I believe, you would 
 naturally try to accept what I accept. 
 And you are certainly more likely, remain- 
 ing as you are, to have your doubts con- 
 firmed, than if we were married as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 " I think perhaps," said Cecil, " that if I 
 could spend a couple of months with you 
 abroad, quite away from old associations, 
 I should be more likely to come back and 
 take up my life here as your wife — than if 
 I went with but a few days' interval, from 
 one home to the other. The change would 
 be so sudden, so much would be expected 
 of me, I should never be able to live up 
 to it. No, believe me, Archie, unless you 
 can get two months' leave-of-absence — I 
 
 don't know what you call it in the Church 
 vol. i. 15
 
 226 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 — from Easter, it will be far better to wait 
 until you can have it." 
 
 " I don't see," he said, in a tone of deep 
 disappointment, " how I could make so 
 long an absence from my people, when I 
 have definitely promised to hold the 
 majority of the confirmations myself, it 
 would be breaking faith with my whole 
 diocese and, even for you, dearest, I do 
 not feel willing to do that." 
 
 " Then," she said, almost eagerly, " will 
 you agree with me to put off our marriage 
 until the end of July ? Then, unless I feel 
 very much more convinced than I am now 
 of my — doubts, I will raise no obstacle to 
 that which I desire beyond everything on 
 this earth." 
 
 " You are quite sure," he said, holding 
 her close against his breast and looking 
 eagerly down into her troubled eyes, " you 
 are quite sure that you have no feeling in 
 your heart of doubt of me, that you have
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 227 
 
 no feeling of doubt of your affection for 
 me, of your love for me ? You are quite 
 sure that it is a doctrinal doubt which is 
 troubling you, and nothing nearer to me 
 than that." 
 
 " How could anything be nearer to you 
 than doctrinal doubt ? " she asked . 
 
 " Many many things," he replied, without 
 hesitation. " I am not one of those men who 
 believe that their own little following are 
 secure of Heaven and that all those who 
 differ from them in the details of Christi- 
 anity, shall be damned for everlasting. I put 
 nobody outside the pale of Heaven. How 
 could anybody, who believed in the infinite 
 love of God and the endless mercy of the 
 Saviour who died for us, truly in his heart 
 make any real distinction between one kind 
 of Christianity and another ? My dear, we 
 are all trying to win the same end, we are all 
 pressing on the same road, the differences of 
 doctrine are mere forms for the guidance of
 
 228 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 those who are not strong enough to depend 
 merely upon the broad lines of Christ's own 
 teaching. We may be Jews or Gentiles, 
 we may go to Church or we may go to 
 Chapel, no, I will go farther afield than 
 that, and say we may be followers of 
 Moslem or we may be worshippers of 
 Buddha, but it does not really matter 
 which, so long as we honestly try to do the 
 right thing by the religion which we 
 profess, and which we believe in. There 
 may be some who belong to the extreme 
 High or to the ultra-Low Church, who 
 would lead you to believe differently, but if 
 you pin such men down to a definite state- 
 ment of faith, I don't think that you would 
 find any who would say in cold blood 
 that they honestly and truly believed that 
 any one of a different religion to himself, 
 is totally cut off from the God who made 
 him." 
 
 He had naturally meant his words to be
 
 AX ACHING SOUL. 229 
 
 a comfort to this precious soul, so eagerly 
 and so earnestly seeking after truth. But 
 for once the Bishop had made a mistake, 
 his very charity and his liberality towards 
 all sorts and professions of religion but 
 served to intensify the despair in Cecil's 
 mind. 
 
 She almost wailed as his words fell upon 
 her ears. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " oh, I wish you had 
 not said it — oh, you have made me 
 wretched — you have made me miserable. 
 I have been trying to school myself all 
 these weeks into thinking, into believing 
 that you absolutely accept as a solemn 
 truth, all that you declare and affirm when 
 you testify to these terrible Articles of 
 Eeligion. Now you have undone all that I 
 have been trying to do. You make a 
 distinct profession, you have put your seal 
 to all these terrible declarations, and yet 
 your own heart is wider, broader, more
 
 230 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 liberal, more charitable, than the religion 
 that } t ou profess openly, the religion that 
 you teach to others, to those who have not 
 the same power of discrimination as what 
 you call an expert in religion must have. 
 You tell me that I must believe those 
 Thirty-nine Articles ; then I must believe 
 that a dear little innocent babe of a week 
 old shall, if by some accident or other it 
 has not been baptised, merit God's wrath 
 for ever." 
 
 " I never told you so," he put in. 
 
 "No, but these articles tell me so. 
 There is no doubt about it — there is no 
 getting over it ; why, you will not even 
 read the burial service for the comfort of 
 the living, over a child that according to 
 the Church's theory, has, by no fault of 
 its own, been let to slip into eternal 
 damnation. Oh, you couldn't believe it — 
 nobody could believe it — why then do you 
 teach it ? Why do you tell me that I must
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 231 
 
 believe it ? Why do you tell me that I 
 must believe these Articles of Edition in 
 their entirety ? " 
 
 " But I don't tell you so," he exclaimed . 
 
 " You tell me so in Church. Do you 
 tell me one thing in Church and do you 
 tell me another thing in private life ? Is 
 that all your religion is worth ? Oh, 
 Archie, if you knew how wretched I am — 
 if you knew how anxious I am to believe 
 everything as you would have me believe 
 it, you would pity me. Xow I understand 
 what a poor woman whose child died last 
 year in the next village felt like, when she 
 cried out that they had buried her baby 
 like a dog. And yet you ask me to 
 believe, to definitely accept a religion, 
 which could wound a bleeding heart like 
 that. You ask me to pin my faith for 
 eternity upon a religion which can 
 deliberately place the issues not of life or 
 death, but of eternal salvation or damna-
 
 232 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 tion, in the hands of ignorant peasant 
 people who have not got sense enough to 
 vote for the man they wish to support at 
 an election. It is all very well to leave 
 the arranging of Parliament in the hands 
 of these people, but the Church goes 
 further — it gives to the hopelessly ignorant 
 or wicked the power of deciding whether 
 their unconscious and wholly innocent 
 babes shall inherit Heaven or Hell. Oh, 
 everything you say, everything I read, 
 everything I think, only confirms in my 
 mind the wickedness and the dishonesty of 
 the terrible things that the Church sends 
 broad-cast upon the world, in the guise of 
 God's holy truth. I never believed these 
 things, for I never thought about them, 
 and now that I do think I could not 
 insult my God by believing that He, who 
 is so good, so holy, so generous, and so 
 pitiful, could treat that little babe as His 
 ministers here did. Surely that child was
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 233 
 
 as much God's child in the hour of its 
 innocent birth as it was in the hour of its 
 equally innocent death. And yet, you tell 
 me that every human soul born into the 
 world is born wicked. Oh, I ould not 
 believe in such a religion, I won't believe it, 
 nothing could make me believe it. Surely, 
 the Burial Service is for the living, not 
 for the dead ? Surely, the trouble of the 
 mother who loses her little child, is just as 
 great if the child dies without baptism, as 
 if it has been baptised ? Surely, she has 
 the same hope of resurrection and after life 
 for that child ? And surely, if she believes 
 in a Redeemer at all, she believes that He 
 will redeem her baby as willingly and as 
 efficaciously as if its white soul had lived 
 long enough to be stained with conscious 
 sin? Surely, a baby which has never 
 known, which never can have known a 
 single conscious thought, must be as much 
 our sister, our brother, as the murderer 
 vol. i. 16
 
 234 THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 who perishes on the scaffold ? And yet 
 you, who are so good, so generous, so 
 pitiful for the wickedness of those less 
 strong than yourself, yet you teach this 
 diabolical doctrine, and you ask me to 
 marry you and profess those very things 
 which fill my whole nature with the 
 utmost loathing." 
 
 The Bishop got up and walked restlessly 
 about the room for some minutes. 
 
 " Dearest," he said, coming back to her, 
 " in your present frame of mind, it is 
 perfectly useless for me to say anything. 
 1 shall do both myself and my cause less 
 harm if I do not argue with you just now, 
 than if I attempt to refute everything that 
 you have said. From your standpoint, 
 you are perfectly right in wishing to 
 put off our marriage. You must know," 
 he went on, " the intense disappointment 
 that it is to me — I feel as if my whole 
 life had been torn up by the roots. How-
 
 AN ACHING SOUL. 235 
 
 ever, we will put it off until the end of 
 July, and it need not be necessary for 
 anybody to know the exact reason for our 
 doing so." 
 
 END OF VOL. I
 
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