'

'Amy!' The bishop sat down on the couch beside his wife, and took her
hand in his warm, encouraging clasp. 'You shall know all, my dearest;
and may God strengthen you to bear the knowledge.'

'George! I--I am calm; I am strong; tell me what you mean.'

The bishop clasped her in his arms, held her head to his breast, and in
low, rapid tones related all that had taken place since the night of the
reception. He did not spare himself in the recital; he concealed
nothing, he added nothing, but calmly, coldly, mercilessly told of
Krant's return, of Krant's blackmail, of Krant's terrible end. Thence he
passed on to talk of Cargrim's suspicions, of Baltic's arrival, of
Mosk's arrest, and of the latter's promise to keep the secret of which
he had so wickedly become possessed. Having told the past, he discussed
the present, and made arrangements for the future. 'Only Gabriel and
myself and Graham know the truth now, dearest,' he concluded, 'for this
unhappy man Mosk may be already accounted as one dead. Next week you and
I must take a journey to some distant parish in the west of England, and
there become man and wife for the second time. Gabriel will keep silent;
George and Lucy need never know the truth; and so, my dearest, all
things--at least to the public eye--shall be as they were. You need not
grieve, Amy, or accuse yourself unjustly. If we have sinned, we have
sinned innocently, and the burden of evil cannot be laid on you or me.
Stephen Krant is to blame; and he has paid for his wickedness with his
life. So far as we may--so far as we are able--we must right the wrong.
God has afflicted us, my dearest; but God has also protected us;
therefore let us thank Him with humble hearts for His many mercies. He
will strengthen us to bear the burden; through Him we shall do
valiantly. "For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will give
grace and glory; no good thing will He withhold from them that walk
uprightly."'

How wonderful are women! For weeks Bishop Pendle had been dreading this
interview with his delicate, nervous, sensitive wife. He had expected
tears, sighs, loud sorrow, bursts of hysterical weeping, the wringing of
hands, and all the undisciplined grief of the feminine nature. But the
unexpected occurred, as it invariably does with the sex in question. To
the bishop's unconcealed amazement, Mrs Pendle neither wept nor
fainted; she controlled her emotion with a power of will which he had
never credited her