y. His face was white, his eyes were anxious, and it was only by
sheer force of will that he could excuse himself to his hostess in his
ordinary voice.

'I am afraid the sun has been too much for me, Mrs Pansey,' he said in
his usual sauve tones, 'and the close atmosphere of that tent is rather
trying. I regret being obliged to leave so charming a scene, but I feel
sure you will excuse me.'

'Certainly, bishop,' said Mrs Pansey, graciously enough, 'but won't you
have a glass of sherry or--'

'Nothing, thank you; nothing. Good-bye, Mrs Pansey; your _fete_ has been
most successful. Ah, Gabriel,' catching sight of his youngest son, 'will
you be so good as to come with me?'

'Are you ill, sir?' asked George, with solicitude.

'No, no! a little out of sorts, perhaps. The sun, merely the sun;' and
waving his hand in a hurried manner, Dr Pendle withdrew as quickly as
his dignity permitted, leaning on Gabriel's arm. The curate's face was
as colourless as that of his father, and he seemed equally as nervous in
manner. Captain Pendle returned to Mab in a state of bewilderment, for
which there was surely sufficient cause.

'I never saw the bishop so put out before,' said he with a puzzled look.
'Old Mother Jael must have prophesied blue ruin and murder.'

Murder! The ominous word struck on the ears of Cargrim, who was passing
at the moment, and he smiled cruelly as he heard the half-joking tone in
which it was spoken. Captain George Pendle little thought that the
chaplain took his jesting speech in earnest, and was more convinced
than ever that the bishop had killed Jentham, and had just been warned
by Mother Jael that she knew the truth. This then, as Cargrim
considered, was her reason for haunting the bishop in his incomings and
outgoings.

Of course it was impossible that the bishop's agitation could have
escaped the attention of the assembled guests, and many remarks were
made as to its probable cause. His sudden illness at his own reception
was recalled, and, taken in conjunction with this seizure, it was
observed that Dr Pendle was working too hard, that his constitution was
breaking up and that he sadly needed a rest. The opinion on this last
point was unanimous.

'For I will say,' remarked Mrs Pansey, who was an adept at damning with
faint praise, 'that the bishop works as hard as his capacity of brain
will let him.'

'And that is a great deal,' said Dr Graham, tartly. 'Bishop Pendle is
one of the cleverest me