different greeting
from that which he had granted Lord Maythorne.

"My dear young friend, welcome for your _mother's_ sake, always welcome,
and for your own. How could you doubt it? Why stand on ceremony? But we
are in some distress," he said, with a sly twinkle in his eye; "we have
lost a young lady: she vanished into thin air as we left the cathedral.
Perhaps some knight-errant has carried her off. Ah! I see you know
something about her. Well, sit down; and, Barker," to one of the
servants, "Miss Falconer's place next Mr. Arundel's."

The Bishop dearly loved a little love affair, and he fancied he descried
one in "the air."

It was a great trial of Joyce's self-possession when the door of the
dining-room was opened for her by a servant, and she had to pass to her
place at the long dining-table. The Bishop's son came to the rescue,
making room for her by standing up and showing her the vacant place.

"I am sorry I was late," she said.

"It is a lovely day," was the rejoinder. "I do not wonder that you took
a turn after service."

"Yes," said Mrs. Law, kindly. "I saw your cousin in the cathedral, and I
thought it probable that you would walk home with her."

"No," Joyce said, in a low voice, "I did not go home with Charlotte."

One person at least appreciated the honesty of this confession, and
Gilbert told himself that it was a part of Joyce's crystal transparency
of character, that she would not even allow an assertion about herself
to pass if it were not absolutely true.

When Joyce was sitting after dinner, with Mrs. Law and several ladies,
in the long gallery, the Bishop's son brought her a message.

"My father would like to see you in his study for a few minutes. Will
you kindly follow me?"

Joyce obeyed, but her heart beat fast, and she dreaded what the Bishop
might have to say to her. Something about Melville; some bad news of the
little Middies: her thoughts flew in all directions.

The Bishop had already seated himself in his crimson leather chair, and,
when Mr. Law closed the door, she found herself alone with his lordship.

"My dear young lady," he said, in his slow, sonorous tones, "as I know
you are, alas! fatherless, will you allow me to stand, for the moment,
in the place of a father? A young gentleman, the son of an old friend,
has told me to-day that he seeks the honour of paying his addresses to
you. He went to Fair Acres last night and received your mother's
sanction, tempered, no doub