etimes not; when
He sends them, it is well to take them gratefully, thus--but if He
gives them not, and the voice within says, 'Then will I take them,' we
must fly from temptation. Do you understand that, little one?" The
child stood considering a moment, and then shyly gave the flowers
back. "Ay, that is right," said Herbert, "but you may take them
now--God gives them to you!" and he stooped and kissed the child on
the forehead.

A few days after the old physician came again to see Herbert,
evidently troubled. He told Herbert that he had consulted his friend,
who could make nothing of the case. "He said--" he added, and then
stopped short. "Nay, I will tell you," he went on, "for in such a
matter we may not hesitate. He said that it was a delusion of the
mind, not of the eye--and that it was more a case for a priest than
for a doctor." "He is right," said Herbert. "I had even thought of
that--and I will do what I ought to have done before. I will take my
story to my lord the Bishop and I will ask his advice; he is my
friend, and he has been a true father to my spirit--and he is a good
and holy man as well."

So Herbert wrote to the Bishop, and the Bishop appointed a day to see
him. The cathedral city was but a few miles from Parbridge, and
Herbert went thither by boat because he was not strong enough to walk.
The river ran through a flat country, with distant hills on a far
horizon; the clear flowing of the water, the cool weedy bowers and
gravelled spaces seen beneath, and the green and glistening rushes
that stood up so fresh and strong out of the ripple pleased Herbert's
tired mind; he tried much to think what he would say to the Bishop;
but he could frame no arguments and thought it best to leave it, and
to say what God might put in his mouth to say.

He found the Bishop writing in a little panelled room that gave on a
garden. He was in his purple cassock; he rose at Herbert's entrance,
and greeted him very kindly. The Bishop's face was smooth and
fresh-coloured and lit with a pleasant light of benevolence. He was an
active man, and loved little businesses, which he did with all his
might. He, like all that knew Herbert, loved him and found pleasure in
his company. So Herbert took what courage he might--though he saw
somewhat that he was both grieved and surprised to see--and told his
story, though his heart was heavy, and he thought somehow that the
Bishop would not understand him. While he spoke the Bishop's