as others see
us. There is in these days an increasing adverse criticism of us in many
men's minds, to which your sister's mild rebukes are as nothing. We have
drawn it upon ourselves, not so much by our conduct, which I believe to
be uniformly above reproach, or by any lack of zeal, as by our ignorance
of our calling; by our inability to "convert life into truth," the
capital secret of our profession, as I was once told as a divinity
student. I for one believe that the Church will regain her prestige and
her hold on the heart of the nation, but if she does, it will be mainly
due to a new element in the minds of the clergy, a stronger realization,
not of our responsibilities--we have that--but of the education, the
personal search for truth, the knowledge of human nature, which are
necessary to enable us to meet them.' He went on a long time about that.
I think he grows very wordy. But I did not argue with him. I let him say
what he liked. I knew that I must be obedient to my Bishop, just as I
should expect my clergy to be to me, if I ever am a Bishop myself. Not
that I expect I ever shall be"--Mr. Gresley was overtired--"but it
seemed to me as he talked about the book, that all the time, though he
put me down to the highest motives--he did me that justice--he was
trying to make me own I had done wrong."

"You didn't say so?" said the little wife, hotly.

"My dear, need you ask? But I did say at last that I had consulted with
Archdeacon Thursby on the matter, and he had strongly advised me to do
as I did. The Bishop seemed thunderstruck. And then--it really seemed
providential--who should come in but Archdeacon Thursby himself. The
Bishop went straight up to him, and said, 'You come at a fortunate
moment, for I am greatly distressed at the burning of Miss Gresley's
book, and Gresley tells me that you advised it.' And would you believe
it," said Mr. Gresley, in a strangled voice, "the Archdeacon actually
denied it then and there. He said he did not know Hester had written a
book, and had never been consulted on the subject."

The tears forced themselves out of Mr. Gresley's eyes. He was exhausted
and overwrought. He sobbed against his wife's shoulder.

"Wicked liar!" whispered Mrs. Gresley, into his parting. "Wicked,
wicked man! Oh, James, I never thought the Archdeacon could have behaved
like that!"

"Nor I," gasped Mr. Gresley, "but he did. I suppose he did not want to
offend the Bishop. And when I expostulated w