am! I must do what is right at all hazards.'

'Fiat justitia ruat coelum!' muttered the doctor, 'there is a morsel
of dictionary Latin for you. The heavens above your family will
certainly fall if you speak out.'

The bishop winced and whitened. 'It is a heavy burden, Graham, a heavy,
heavy burden, but God will give me strength to bear it. He will save me
according to His mercy.'

The little doctor looked meditatively at his boots. He wished to tell
Pendle that the chaplain suspected him of the murder, and that Baltic,
the missionary, had been brought to Beorminster to prove such
suspicions, but at the present moment he did not see how he could
conveniently introduce the information. Moreover, the bishop seemed to
be so utterly unconscious that anyone could accuse him of the crime,
that Graham shrank from being the busybody to enlighten him. Yet it was
necessary that he should be informed, if only that he might be placed on
his guard against the machinations of Cargrim. Of course, the doctor
never for one moment thought of his respected friend as the author of a
deed of violence, and quite believed his account of the meeting with
Jentham. The bishop's simple way of relating the episode would have
convinced any liberal-minded man of his innocence and rectitude. His
accents, and looks, and candour, all carried conviction.

Finally Graham hit upon a method of leading up to the subject of
Cargrim's treachery, by referring to the old gipsy and her
fortune-telling at Mrs Pansey's garden-party. 'What does Mother Jael
know of your secret?' he asked with some hesitation.

'Nothing!' replied the bishop, promptly; 'it is impossible that she can
know anything, unless'--here he paused--'unless she is aware of who
killed Jentham, and has seen the certificate and letters!'

'Do you think she knows who murdered the man?'

'I--cannot--say. At that garden-party I went into the tent to humour
some ladies who wished me to have my fortune told.'

'I saw you go in, bishop; and you came out looking disturbed.'

'No wonder, Graham; for Mother Jael, under the pretence of reading my
hand, hinted at my secret. I fancied, from what she said, that she knew
what it was; and I accused her of having gained the information from
Jentham's assassin. However, she would not speak plainly, but warned me
of coming trouble, and talked about blood and the grave, until I really
believe she fancied I had killed the man. I could make nothing of her,
so