t was a
son condemning his father to disgrace. But I hoped to save him."

"And you did not?"

"No, that was harder yet. I thought I had--until I went to Sihasset
and saw her in the church. Poor creature! She must have followed him."

"But, my dear Lord Bishop, she is so young and he--"

"Yes, I know. But facts are facts. What could I do? Look here, Mr.
Griffin. Whatever there is in this that excuses him I ought to know.
And he ought to know the cause of my actions in his regard. I shall
have to tell him and then-- If there _is_ an explanation, how can I
forgive myself? But he cannot be blind. Soon all Sihasset will notice
and talk. I shall have to remove him again, and then . . . . My God!
I cannot think that my saint could ever merit such an end. Do you know
what it means to be an unfrocked priest?"

"Yes." Mark had no other answer. His distress was too deep. His mind
was working fast, however.

"Do you think, Mr. Griffin, that you could tell him--point out the
danger of his position--without hurting him? He is very sensitive.
Don't tell him all you know--only intimate gently that there may be
some misunderstanding of this kind. He surely will guess the rest.
You may save him if you can do this and--if you will do it."

It was on Mark's tongue to refuse, but he happened to glance at the
Bishop's face. The tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Don't mind my weakness, Mr. Griffin. It is a weakness in me thus to
take a stranger into my confidence in such a matter. But I feel that
you alone have his confidence. You can't realize what this thing has
cost me, in peace. He was the last I should have suspected. I must
save him. Help me do it. The Church is supposed to be hard-hearted,
but she is forgiving--too forgiving sometimes. My duty is to be stern,
and a judge; but I cannot judge him with sternness. I would give my
life to think that this was all a bad dream. Don't you see that he is
the man I always thought would be my own bishop? How can I go to
him--and hurt him?"

If Mark Griffin had had any misgivings about the character of the
Bishop, they had vanished. He saw no bishop beside him, but only a man
who in his heart of hearts had for years treasured a friendship and, in
spite of everything, could not pluck it out. Now he had opened that
heart to an utter stranger, trusting him as if snatching at every
chance to save his sacred ideals, shrinking from inflicting pain
himsel