Mrs Pansey to
further discussion of the question, and had the satisfaction of seeing
that such discussion visibly disconcerted the curate.

And Dr Pendle? In all innocence he left the reception-rooms to speak
with his untoward visitor in the library; but although he knew it not,
he was entering upon a dark and tortuous path, the end of which he was
not destined to see for many a long day. Dr Graham's premonition was
likely to prove true, for in the serene sky under which the bishop had
moved for so long, a tempest was gathering fast. He should have taken
the doctor's advice and have sacrificed his ring like Polycrates, but,
as in the case of that old pagan, the gods might have tossed back the
gift and pursued their relentless aims. The bishop had no thoughts like
these. As yet he had no skeleton, but the man in the library was about
to open a cupboard and let out its grisly tenant to haunt prosperous
Bishop Pendle. To him, as to all men, evil had come at the appointed
hour.

CHAPTER III

THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS

'I fear,' said Cargrim, with a gentle sigh, 'I fear you are right about
that public-house, Mrs Pansey.'

The chaplain made this remark to renew the discussion, and if possible
bring Gabriel into verbal conflict with the lady. He had a great idea of
managing people by getting them under his thumb, and so far quite
deserved Mrs Pansey's epithet of a Jesuit. Of late--as Cargrim knew by a
steady use of his pale blue eyes--the curate had been visiting The Derby
Winner, ostensibly on parochial business connected with the ill-health
of Mrs Mosk, the landlord's wife. But there was a handsome daughter of
the invalid who acted as barmaid, and Gabriel was a young and
inflammable man; so, putting this and that together, the chaplain
thought he discovered the germs of a scandal. Hence his interest in Mrs
Pansey's proposed reforms.

'Right!' echoed the archidiaconal widow, loudly, 'of course I am right.
The Derby Winner is a nest of hawks. William Mosk would have disgraced
heathen Rome in its worst days; as for his daughter--well!' Mrs Pansey
threw a world of horror into the ejaculation.

'Miss Mosk is a well-conducted young lady,' said Gabriel, growing red
and injudicious.

'Lady!' bellowed Mrs Pansey, shaking her fan; 'and since when have
brazen, painted barmaids become ladies, Mr Pendle?'

'She is most attentive to her sick mother,' protested the curate,
wincing.

'No doubt, sir. I presume even Jezebe