This was not as things should be. He struggled to recover a proper
attitude. But he remained enormously dissatisfied....

The church was no Levite to pass by on the other side away from the
struggles and wrongs of the social conflict. It had no right when the
children asked for the bread of life to offer them Gothic stone....

He began to make interminable weak plans for fulfilling his duty to his
diocese and his daughter.

What could he do to revivify his clergy? He wished he had more personal
magnetism, he wished he had a darker and a larger presence. He wished he
had not been saddled with Whippham's rather futile son as his chaplain.
He wished he had a dean instead of being his own dean. With an
unsympathetic rector. He wished he had it in him to make some resounding
appeal. He might of course preach a series of thumping addresses and
sermons, rather on the lines of "Fors Clavigera," to masters and men,
in the Cathedral. Only it was so difficult to get either masters or men
into the Cathedral.

Well, if the people will not come to the bishop the bishop must go out
to the people. Should he go outside the Cathedral--to the place where
the trains met?

Interweaving with such thoughts the problem of Eleanor rose again into
his consciousness.

Weren't there books she ought to read? Weren't there books she ought to
be made to read? And books--and friends--that ought to be imperatively
forbidden? Imperatively!

But how to define the forbidden?

He began to compose an address on Modern Literature (so-called).

It became acrimonious.

Before dawn the birds began to sing.

His mind had seemed to be a little tranquillized, there had been a
distinct feeling of subsidence sleepwards, when first one and then
another little creature roused itself and the bishop to greet the
gathering daylight.

It became a little clamour, a misty sea of sound in which individuality
appeared and disappeared. For a time a distant cuckoo was very
perceptible, like a landmark looming up over a fog, like the cuckoo in
the Pastoral Symphony.

The bishop tried not to heed these sounds, but they were by their very
nature insistent sounds. He lay disregarding them acutely.

Presently he pulled the coverlet over his ears.

A little later he sat up in bed.

Again in a slight detail he marked his strange and novel detachment from
the world of his upbringing. His hallucination of disillusionment had
spread from himself and his church and h