d. I wished to forget that man and the unhappy life he led me. I
did forget him in your love and in the happiness of our children. It was
the sight of that student with the scarred face that made me think of
him. Why, oh, why did I speak about him to Lucy and Gabriel? Why? Why?'

'You were thoughtless, my dear.'

'I was mad, George, mad; I should have held my tongue, but I didn't. And
my poor boy knows the truth. You should have denied it.'

'I could not deny it.'

'Ah! you have not a mother's heart. I would have denied, and lied, and
swore its falsity on the Bible sooner than that one of my darlings
should have known of it.'

'Amy! Amy! you are out of your mind to speak like this. I deny what is
true? I, a priest?--a--'

'You are a man before everything--a man and a father.'

'And a servant of the Most High,' rebuked the bishop, sternly.

'Well, you look on it in a different light to what I do. You suffered; I
should not have suffered. I don't suffer now; I am not going back thirty
years to make my heart ache.' She paused and clenched her hands. 'Are
you sure that he is dead?' she asked harshly.

'Quite sure; dead and buried. There can be no doubt about it this time!'

'Is it necessary that we should marry again?'

'Absolutely necessary,' said the bishop, decisively.

'Then the sooner we get it over the better,' replied Mrs Pendle,
petulantly. 'Here'--she wrenched the wedding ring off her finger--'take
this! I have no right to wear it. Neither maid, wife, nor widow, what
should I do with a ring?' and she began to laugh.

'Stop that, Amy!' cried the bishop, sharply, for he saw that, after all,
she was becoming hysterical. 'Put the ring again on your finger, until
such time as I can replace it by another. You are Krant's widow, and as
his widow I shall marry you next week.'

As a drop of cold water let fall into boiling coffee causes the bubbling
to subside, so did these few stern words cool down Mrs Pendle's
excitement. She overcame her emotion; she replaced the ring on her
finger, and again resumed her seat by the bishop. 'My poor dear George,'
said she, smoothing his white hair, 'you are not angry with me?'

'Not angry, Amy; but I am rather vexed that you should speak so
bitterly.'

'Well, darling, I won't speak bitterly again. Stephen is dead, so do not
let us think about him any more. Next week we shall marry again, and all
our troubles will be at an end.'

'They will, please God,' said the bisho