an pacing restlessly to and fro. Her
thoughts were busy with Mosk, with his victim, with Baltic; she wondered
if Jentham had been in possession of certain papers, if these had been
stolen by Mosk, if they were now in the pocket of Baltic. This last idea
made her blood turn cold and her heart drum a loud tattoo. She covered
her face with her hands; she sat down, she rose up, and in a nervous
fever of apprehension leaned against the wall. Then, after the manner of
those over-wrought, she began to talk aloud.

'I must tell someone; I must have advice,' she muttered, clenching her
hands. 'It is of no use seeing Mr Baltic; he is a stranger; he may
refuse to help me. Dr Graham? No! he is too cynical. The bishop?' She
paused and struck her hands lightly together. 'The bishop! I shall see
him and tell him all. For his son's sake, he will help my poor darling.'

Having made up her mind to this course, Miss Whichello put on her
old-fashioned silk cloak and poke bonnet. Then she fished a bundle of
papers, yellow with age, out of a tin box, and slipped them into her
capacious pocket. Biting her lips and rubbing her cheeks to bring back
the colour, she glided downstairs, stole past the drawing-room door like
a guilty creature, and in another minute was in the square. Here she
took a passing fly, and ordered the man to drive her to the palace as
speedily as possible.

'I trust I am acting for the best,' murmured the little old lady, with a
sigh. 'I think I am; for if Bishop Pendle cannot help me, no one else
can. After thirty years, oh God! my poor, poor darling!'

In the Greek drama, when the affairs of the _dramatis personae_ became so
entangled by circumstance, or fate, or sheer folly as to be beyond their
capability of reducing them to order, those involved in such disorder
were accustomed to summon a deity to accomplish what was impossible for
mortals to achieve. Then stepped the god out of a machine to redress the
wrong and reward the right, to separate the sheep from the goats and to
deliver a moral speech to the audience, commanding them to note how
impossible it was for man to dispense with the guidance and judgment and
powerful aid of the Olympian Hierarchy. Miss Whichello's mission was
something similar; and although both she and Bishop Pendle were ignorant
that she represented the 'goddess out of a machine' who was to settle
all things in a way conducive to the happiness of all persons, yet such
was the case. Impelled