what he
could do for him.

'You can inform the bishop that I wish to see him, if you please,' said
Graham, with a perfectly expressionless face.

'His lordship is at present taking a short rest,' replied Cargrim,
blandly, 'but anything I can do--'

'You can do nothing, Mr Cargrim. I wish for a private interview with Dr
Pendle.'

'Your business must be important.'

'It is,' retorted Graham, abruptly; 'so important that I must see the
bishop at once.'

'Oh, certainly, doctor. I am sorry to see that you do not look well.'

'Thank you; I am as well as can be expected.'

'Really! considering what, Dr Graham?'

'Considering the way I am kept waiting here, Mr Cargrim,' after which
pointed speech there was nothing left for the defeated chaplain but to
retreat as gracefully as he could. Yet Cargrim might have known, from
past experience, that a duel of words with sharp-tongued Dr Graham could
only end in his discomfiture. But in spite of all his cunning he usually
burnt his fingers at a twice-touched flame.

Extremely curious to know the reason of Graham's unexpected visit and
haggard looks, Cargrim, having informed the bishop that the doctor was
waiting for him, attempted to make a third in the interview by gliding
in behind his superior. Graham, however, was too sharp for him, and
after a few words with the bishop, intimated to the chaplain that his
presence was not necessary. So Cargrim, like the Peri at the Gates of
Paradise, was forced to lurk as near the library door as he dared, and
he strained his ears in vain to overhear what the pair were talking
about. Had he known that the revelation of Bishop Pendle's secret formed
the gist of the interview, he would have been even more enraged than he
was. But, for the time being, Fate was against the wily chaplain, and,
in the end, he was compelled to betake himself to a solitary and sulky
walk, during which his reflections concerning Graham and Baltic were the
reverse of amiable. As a defeated sneak, Mr Cargrim was not a credit to
his cloth.

Dr Pendle had the bewildered air of a man suddenly roused from sleep,
and was inclined to be peevish with Graham for calling at so untoward a
time. Yet it was five o'clock in the afternoon, which was scarcely a
suitable hour for slumber, as the doctor bluntly remarked.

'I was not asleep,' said the bishop, settling himself at his
writing-table. 'I simply lay down for half-an-hour or so.'

'Worn out with worry, I suppose?'