s withered brown face. He recalled Pendle's sudden illness
after Jentham had paid that fatal visit; his refusal to confess the real
cause of his attack; his admission that he had a secret which he did not
dare to reveal even to his oldest friend, and his strange act in sending
away his wife and daughter to Nauheim. All these things gave colour to
Gabriel's supposition that Jentham was Krant returned from the dead; but
after all it was a supposition merely, and quite unsupported by fact.

'There is no proof of it,' said Graham, hoarsely; 'no proof.'

'Ask my father for the proof,' murmured Gabriel. 'I dare not!'

The doctor could understand that speech very well, and now saw the
reason why Gabriel had chosen to speak to him rather than to the bishop.
It might be true, after all, this frightful fact, he thought, and as in
a flash he saw ruin, disaster, shame, terror following in the train of
its becoming known. This, then, was the bishop's secret, and Graham in
his quick way decided that at all costs it must be preserved, if only
for the sake of Mrs Pendle and her children. The first step towards
attaining this end was to see the bishop and hear confirmation or denial
from his own lips. Once Graham knew all the facts he fancied that he
might in some way--at present he knew not how--help his wretched friend.
With characteristic promptitude he decided on the spot how to act.

'Gabriel,' he said, bending over the unhappy young man, 'I shall see
your father about this at once. I cannot, I dare not believe it to be
true, unless with his own lips he confirms the identity of Krant with
Jentham. You wait here until I return, and sleep if you can.'

'Sleep!' groaned Gabriel. 'Oh, God! shall I ever sleep again?'

'My friend,' said the little doctor, solemnly, 'you have no right to
doubt your father's honour until you hear what he has to say. Jentham
may not be Krant as you suspect. It may be a chance likeness--a--'

Gabriel shook his head. 'You can't argue away what I know to be true,'
he muttered, looking at the floor with dry, wild eyes. 'See my father
and tell him what I have told you. He will not be able to deny his shame
and the disgrace of his children.'

'That we shall see,' said Graham, with a cheerfulness he was far from
feeling. 'I shall see him at once. Gabriel, my boy, hope for the best!'

Again the curate shook his head, and with a groan flung himself down on
the couch with his face to the wall. Seeing that word