.'

'I am sincerely glad to hear it,' said Dr Pendle, and heaved a sigh of
relief which made Graham wag his head and put in a word of advice.

'You must take a trip yourself, my lord,' he said decisively; 'nothing
like change for mental worry. Go to Bath, or Putney, or Jericho, bishop;
travel is your anodyne.'

'I cannot leave Beorminster just now, Graham. When I can I shall take
your advice.'

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the door. There he
paused and looked back at the unhappy face of the bishop. A thought
struck him and he returned.

'Pendle,' he said gently, 'I am your oldest friend and one who honours
and respects you above all men. Why not tell me your trouble and let me
help you? I shall keep your secret, whatever it may be.'

'I have no fears on that score, Graham. If I could trust anyone I should
trust you; but I cannot tell you what is in my mind. No useful result
would come of such candour, for only the One above can help me out of my
difficulties.'

'Is it money worries, bishop?'

'No, my worldly affairs are most prosperous.'

'It is not this murder that is troubling you, I suppose?'

The bishop became as pale as the paper on the desk before him, and
convulsively clutched the arms of his chair. 'The--the murder!' he
stammered, 'the murder, Graham. Why should that trouble me?'

'Cargrim told me that you were greatly upset that such a thing should
have occurred in your diocese.'

'I am annoyed about it,' replied Pendle, in a low voice, 'but it is not
the untimely death of that unhappy man which worries me.'

'Then I give it up,' said the doctor, with another shrug.

'Graham!'

'Yes, what is it?'

'Do you think that there is any chance of the murderer of this man being
discovered?'

'If the case had been handled by a London detective while the clues were
fresh I daresay there might have been a chance,' replied the doctor.
'But that mutton-headed Tinkler has made such a muddle of the affair
that I am certain the murderer will never be captured.'

'Has anything new been discovered since the inquest?'

'Nothing. So far as I know, Tinkler is satisfied and the matter is at an
end. Whosoever killed Jentham has only his own conscience to fear.'

'And God!' said the bishop, softly.

'I always understood that what you Churchmen call conscience was the
still small voice of the Deity,' replied Graham, drily; 'there is no use
in being tautological, bishop. Well, good-day,