n logic in dealing with the Bible so superior! On
the contrary, I am all for your Ranter. He is your logical Protestant.
Historically, you Anglican parsons are where you are and what you
are, because English-men, as a whole, like attempting the
contradictory--like, above all, to eat their cake and have it. The
nation has made you and maintains you for its own purposes. But that is
another matter.'

Robert smoked on a moment in silence. Then he flushed and laid down his
pipe.

'We are all fools in your eyes, I know! _A la bonne heure!_ I have
been to the University, and talk what he is pleased to call
"philosophy"--therefore Mr. Colson denies me faith. You have always, in
your heart of hearts, denied me knowledge. But I cling to both in spite
of you.'

There was a ray of defiance, of emotion, in his look. Langham met it in
silence.

'I deny you nothing,' he said at last, slowly. 'On the contrary, I
believe you to be the possessor of all that is best worth having in life
and mind.'

His irritation had all died away. His tone was one of indescribable
depression, and his great black eyes were fixed on Robert with a
melancholy which startled his companion by a subtle transition Elsmere
felt himself touched with a pang of profound pity for the man who an
instant before had seemed to pose as his scornful superior. He stretched
out his hand, and laid it on his friend's shoulder.

Rose spent the afternoon in helping Catherine with various parochial
occupations. In the course of them Catherine asked many questions about
Long Whindale. Her thoughts clung to the hills, to the gray farmhouses,
the rough men and women inside them. But Rose gave her small
satisfaction.

'Poor old Jim Backhouse!' said Catherine, sighing; Agnes tells me he is
quite bedridden now.'

'Well, and a good thing for John, don't you think--' said Rose briskly,
covering a parish library book the while in a way which made Catherine's
fingers itch to take it from her--'and for us? It's some use having a
carrier now.'

Catherine made no reply. She thought of the 'noodle', fading out of life
in the room where Mary Backhouse died; she actually saw the white hair,
the blurred eyes, the palsied hands, the poor emaciated limbs stretched
along the settle. Her heart rose, but she said nothing.

'And has Mrs. Thornburgh been enjoying her summer?'

'Oh! I suppose so,' said Rose, her tone indicating a quite measureless
indifference. 'She had another young O