till have to
be reckoned with--the temper under disappointment as well as wrath; for
Jenny built upon this interview.

Margaret was punctual at Alison's--she came spanking up in the carriage
with the big gray horses the moment after I had reached the door--and we
went together into the sparely furnished room where he lived and did his
work. He was no bookman--his walls looked bare; his very chairs meant
labor rather than rest. And he was no student--"My convictions from God,
my orders from the Bishop, my time to the ministry," he had once said to
me--adding then, with the touch of humor that so often softened his
rigorous zeal--"I sometimes think one's Bishop is the final trial of
faith, Austin." Our Bishop was a moderate man, highly diplomatic, given
to quoting St. Paul as an example of adaptability. "All things to all
men if by chance--" So far as the chance lay there, his lordship never
missed it.

But to see Alison with Margaret obliterated any criticism left possible
by his affectionate nature and (may I add?) his ingenuous consciousness
of possessing absolute and exclusive truth. He had so tender a reverence
for her youth and receptivity--and with it such a high gentlemanly
purpose that she should not think that he held her either too young for
courtesy or too receptive for intellectual respect. He had great
manners, born of a loving heart. Why, after all, should he worry about
reading books? Guesses about appearances--that's books--from novels up
to philosophy. But how pleasant is the guessing!

She became to him at once a delighted disciple. Here was no such
discrepancy of heart and head as divided him from Jenny--no appeal to
another standard--no obstinate defense against his attacks behind the
ramparts of her nature. Margaret's nature was his to mold--small blame
to him if the thought crossed his mind that it would be to the good if
she were set in a high place--if such a light burned under no bushel of
obscurity!

Fillingford was announced. Alison gave me a quick glance, as though to
say "Now for it!"--and the grave stern man stood on the threshold of the
room. I had not seen him without his hat for a long while; he had grown
gray: his figure, too, was more set; he was indisputably, even
emphatically, middle-aged. His face was more lined and looked careworn.
His eyes fell first on me, and there was hesitation in his manner.
Alison went quickly to him and greeted him.

"We've been having a little tea-par