ime yet for premature plans. Not that
I am not planning day and night. This letter is simply to offer. I just
want to offer. Here I am and all my worldly goods. Take me, I pray you.
And not only pray you. Take me, I demand of you, in the name of God our
king. I have a right to be used. And you have no right to refuse me. You
have to go on with your message, and it is your duty to take me--just as
you are obliged to step on any steppingstone that lies on your way to
do God service.... And so I am waiting. I shall be waiting--on thorns.
I know you will take your time and think. But do not take too much time.
Think of me waiting.

"Your servant, your most humble helper in God (your God),

"AGATHA SUNDERBUND."

And then scrawled along the margin of the last sheet:

"If, when you know--a telegram. Even if you cannot say so much as
'Agreed,' still such a word as 'Favourable.' I just hang over the Void
until I hear.

"AGATHA S."

A letter demanding enormous deliberation. She argued closely in spite of
her italics. It had never dawned upon the bishop before how light is
the servitude of the disciple in comparison with the servitude of the
master. In many ways this proposal repelled and troubled him, in many
ways it attracted him. And the argument of his clear obligation to
accept her co-operation gripped him; it was a good argument.

And besides it worked in very conveniently with certain other
difficulties that perplexed him.

(4)

The bishop became aware that Eleanor was returning to him across the
sands. She had made an end to her paddling, she had put on her shoes and
stockings and become once more the grave and responsible young woman
who had been taking care of him since his flight from Princhester. He
replaced the two letters in his pocket, and sat ready to smile as she
drew near; he admired her open brow, the toss of her hair, and the poise
of her head upon her neck. It was good to note that her hard reading at
Cambridge hadn't bent her shoulders in the least....

"Well, old Dad!" she said as she drew near. "You've got back a colour."

"I've got back everything. It's time I returned to Princhester."

"Not in this weather. Not for a day or so." She flung herself at his
feet. "Consider your overworked little daughter. Oh,how good this is!"

"No," said the bishop in a grave tone that made her look up into his
face. "I must go hack."

He met her clear gaze. "What do you think of all this business,