r you to recover from it. This visitor brought you
bad news, I suppose?'

'No!' said the bishop, wincing, 'he did not.'

'Well! well! keep your own secrets. I can do no more, so I'll say
good-night,' and he held out his hand.

Dr Pendle took it and retained it within his own for a moment. 'Your
allusion to the ring of Polycrates, Graham!'

'What of it?'

'I should throw my ring into the sea also. That is all.'

'Ha! ha! You'll have to travel a considerable distance to reach the sea,
bishop. Good-night; good-night,' and Graham, smiling in his dry way,
took himself out of the room. As he glanced back at the door he saw that
the bishop was again staring dully at the reading lamp. Graham shook his
head at the sight, and closed the door.

'It is mind, not matter,' he thought, as he put on hat and coat in the
hall; 'the cupboard's open and the skeleton is out. My premonition was
true--true. AEsculapius forgive me that I should be so superstitious. The
bishop has had a shock. What is it? what is it? That visitor brought bad
news! Hum! Hum! Better to throw physic to the dogs in his case. Mind
diseased: secret trouble: my punishment is greater than I can bear. Put
this and that together; there is something serious the matter. Well!
well! I'm no Paul Pry.'

'Is his lordship better?' said the soft voice of Cargrim at his elbow.

Graham wheeled round. 'Much better; good-night,' he replied curtly, and
was off in a moment.

Michael Cargrim, the chaplain, was a dangerous man. He was thin and
pale, with light blue eyes and sleek fair hair; and as weak physically
as he was strong mentally. In his neat clerical garb, with a slight
stoop and meek smile, he looked a harmless, commonplace young curate of
the tabby cat kind. No one could be more tactful and ingratiating than
Mr Cargrim, and he was greatly admired by the old ladies and young girls
of Beorminster; but the men, one and all--even his clerical
brethren--disliked and distrusted him, although there was no apparent
reason for their doing so. Perhaps his too deferential manners and
pronounced effeminacy, which made him shun manly sports, had something
to do with his masculine unpopularity; but, from the bishop downward, he
was certainly no favourite, and in every male breast he constantly
inspired a desire to kick him. The clergy of the diocese maintained
towards him a kind of 'Dr Fell' attitude, and none of them had more to
do with him than they could help. With all the