nce during the evening of that feeling of uneasiness, as those
words of the girl, "_If Ella Linton were wicked, you would be held
responsible for it in the sight of God_," buzzed in his ears.

"Would she have me become an ordinary clergyman of the Church of
England?" he cried indignantly, as he switched on the light in his
bedroom shortly before midnight--for the rushlight in the cell of the
modern man of God is supplied at a strength of so many volts. "Would
she have me become the model country parson, preaching to the squire and
other yokels on Sunday, and chatting about their souls to wheezy Granfer
this, and Gammer that?" He had read the works of Mr. Thomas Hardy. "Does
she suppose that I was made for such a life as that? Poor Phyllis! When
will she awake from this dream of hers?"

Did he fancy that he loved her still? or was the pain that he felt, when
he reflected that he had lost her, the result of his wounded vanity--the
result of his feeling that people would say he had not had sufficient
skill, with all his cleverness, to retain the love of the girl who had
promised to be his wife?

Before going to bed he had written replies to the two letters. The
bishop had suggested an early hour for their interview--he had named
eleven o'clock as convenient to himself, if it would also suit Mr.
Holland. Two o'clock was the hour suggested by Mr. Linton, if that hour
would not interfere with the other engagements of Mr. Holland; so he had
written agreements to the suggestions of both his correspondents.

At eleven o'clock exactly he drove through the gates of the Palace
of the bishop, and with no faltering hand pulled the bell. (So, he
reflected for an instant,--only an instant,--Luther had gone, somewhere
or other, he forgot at the moment what was the exact locality; but the
occasion had been a momentous one in the history of the Church.)

He was cordially greeted by the bishop, who said:

"How do you do, Holland? I took it for granted that you were an early
riser--that's why I ventured to name eleven."

"No hour could suit me better to-day," said George, accepting the
seat--he perceived at once that it was a genuine Chippendale chair
upholstered in old red morocco--to which his lordship made a motion
with his hand. He did not, however, seat himself until the bishop had
occupied, which he did very comfortably, the corresponding chair at the
side of the study desk.

"I was anxious to have a chat with you about that b