ocialist publishing houses, his meagre
royalties ceased, and he was hard-put to make a living; for he had to
make a living in addition to all his other labor. He did a great deal
of translating for the magazines on scientific and philosophic subjects;
and, coming home late at night, worn out from the strain of the
campaign, he would plunge into his translating and toil on well into the
morning hours. And in addition to everything, there was his studying.
To the day of his death he kept up his studies, and he studied
prodigiously.

And yet he found time in which to love me and make me happy. But this
was accomplished only through my merging my life completely into his. I
learned shorthand and typewriting, and became his secretary. He insisted
that I succeeded in cutting his work in half; and so it was that I
schooled myself to understand his work. Our interests became mutual, and
we worked together and played together.

And then there were our sweet stolen moments in the midst of our
work--just a word, or caress, or flash of love-light; and our moments
were sweeter for being stolen. For we lived on the heights, where the
air was keen and sparkling, where the toil was for humanity, and where
sordidness and selfishness never entered. We loved love, and our love
was never smirched by anything less than the best. And this out of all
remains: I did not fail. I gave him rest--he who worked so hard for
others, my dear, tired-eyed mortalist.

CHAPTER XII

THE BISHOP

It was after my marriage that I chanced upon Bishop Morehouse. But I
must give the events in their proper sequence. After his outbreak at the
I. P. H. Convention, the Bishop, being a gentle soul, had yielded to
the friendly pressure brought to bear upon him, and had gone away on a
vacation. But he returned more fixed than ever in his determination
to preach the message of the Church. To the consternation of his
congregation, his first sermon was quite similar to the address he
had given before the Convention. Again he said, and at length and with
distressing detail, that the Church had wandered away from the Master's
teaching, and that Mammon had been instated in the place of Christ.

And the result was, willy-nilly, that he was led away to a private
sanitarium for mental disease, while in the newspapers appeared
pathetic accounts of his mental breakdown and of the saintliness of
his character. He was held a prisoner in the sanitarium. I called
repeate