window-seat. 'In the first place, my
dear fellow, I can't congratulate you on your appearance. I never saw a
man look in worse condition--to be up and about.'

'That's nothing!' said Robert almost impatiently. 'I want a holiday, I
believe. Grey!' and he looked nervously out over garden and apple trees,
'I have come very selfishly, to ask your advice; to throw a trouble upon
you, to claim all your friendship can give me.'

He stopped. Mr. Grey was silent--his expression changing instantly--the
bright eyes profoundly, anxiously attentive.

'I have just come to the conclusion,' said Robert, after a moment,
with quick abruptness, 'that I ought, now--at this moment--to leave the
Church, and give up my living, for reasons which I shall describe to
you. But before I act on the conclusion, I wanted the light of your mind
upon it, seeing that--that--other persons than myself are concerned.'

'Give up your living!' echoed Mr. Grey in a low voice of astonishment.
He sat looking at the face and figure of the man before him with a
half-frowning expression. How often Robert had seen some rash exuberant
youth quelled by that momentary frown! Essentially conservative as was
the inmost nature of the man, for all his radicalism, there were few
things for which Henry Grey felt more instinctive, distaste than for
unsteadiness of will and purpose, however glorified by fine names.
Robert knew it, and, strangely enough, felt for a moment in the presence
of the heretical tutor as a culprit before a judge.

'It is, of course, a matter of opinions,' he said, with an effort.
'Do you remember, before I took Orders, asking whether I had ever had
difficulties, and I told you that I had probably never gone deep
enough. It was profoundly true, though I didn't really mean it. But this
year--No, no, I have not been merely vain and hasty! I may be a shallow
creature, but it has been natural growth, not wantonness.'

And at last his eyes met Mr. Grey's firmly, almost with solemnity. It
was as if in the last few moments he had been instinctively testing the
quality of his own conduct and motives, by the touchstone of the rare
personality beside him, and they had stood the trial. There was such
pain, such sincerity, above all such freedom from littleness of soul
implied in words and look, that Mr. Grey quickly held out his hand.
Robert grasped it, and felt that the way was clear before him.

'Will you give me an account of it?' said Mr. Grey, and his