ort you and your mother over to Germany.'

Lucy became a rosy red with pleasure. 'Do you really think Harry will
like to come?' she asked in a fluttering voice.

'He is no true lover if he doesn't,' replied her father, with a wan
smile. 'Now, run away, my love, I am busy. To-morrow we shall settle the
question of your going.'

When to-morrow came, Cargrim, all on fire with curiosity, tried his
hardest to stay in the library when Dr Graham came; but as the bishop
wished his interview to be private, he intimated the fact pretty plainly
to his obsequious chaplain. In fact, he spoke so sharply that Cargrim
felt distinctly aggrieved; and but for the trained control he kept of
his temper, might have said something to show Dr Pendle the suspicions
he entertained. However, the time was not yet ripe for him to place all
his cards on the table, for he had not yet conceived a plausible case
against the bishop. He was on the point of pronouncing the name 'Amaru'
to see if it would startle Dr Pendle, but remembering his former
failures when he had introduced the name of 'Jentham' to the bishop's
notice, he was wise enough to hold his tongue. It would not do to arouse
Dr Pendle's suspicions until he could accuse him plainly of murdering
the man, and could produce evidence to substantiate his accusation. The
evidence Cargrim wished to obtain was that of the cheque butt and the
pistol, but as yet he did not see his way how to become possessed of
either. Pending doing so, he hid himself in the grass like the snake he
was, ready to strike his unsuspecting benefactor when he could do so
with safety and effect.

In accordance with his resolution on this point, Mr Cargrim was meek and
truckling while he was with the bishop, and when Dr Graham was announced
he sidled out of the library with a bland smile. Dr Graham gave him a
curt nod in response to his gracious greeting, and closed the door
himself before he advanced to meet the bishop. Nay, more, so violent was
his dislike to good Mr Cargrim, that he made a few remarks about that
apostle before coming to the object of his visit.

'If you were a student of Lavater, bishop,' said he, rubbing his hands,
'you would not tolerate that Jesuitical Rodin near you for one moment.'

'Jesuitical Rodin, doctor! I do not understand.'

'Ah, that comes of not reading French novels, my lord!'

'I do not approve of the moral tone of French fiction,' said the bishop,
stiffly.

'Few of our English P