reached a magnitude which no single individual could deal with.
Whereupon he wisely dismissed the matter from his mind. Not having
gone to sleep till late he was considerably annoyed when his China-boy
arrived at six with his early tea. This sense of irritation still
clung to him when an hour later he sat down on the verandah facing the
harbour and began his breakfast. Even after ten years in the Tropics,
the Bishop still continued to enjoy bacon and eggs with unabated
relish, and these did something, this morning, to mitigate his ill
humour. A fresh papaya, with a dozen seeds left in as flavouring, also
helped. Finally the boy came in and laid letters by his plate. Home
letters, bearing the familiar postmarks, so dear to dwellers in
outlying parts of the world. A small Malay kriss, with a handle of
ivory and silver and a blade of five waves served as letter opener.
The Bishop slit each envelope carefully, and laid the pile back on the
table, to be read slowly, with full enjoyment. One by one he went
through them, smiling a little, or frowning, as it happened. The mail
from Home was early this week--evidently it had come in last evening,
although he had not seen the steamer in the roads. All the better--all
the more of a surprise.

He stopped suddenly, anxiously, and an open letter in his hand
trembled violently. He finished it hurriedly, went through it a second
time, and again once more before he could acknowledge its meaning.

"MY DEAR BROTHER" [it began, with a formality about the opening
that boded trouble], "I write to you in great distress, but
sure that you will respond to the great demand I am about to
make upon you, upon all the kindness which you have shown us
for these many years. Herbert, your namesake, is in deep
trouble--disgrace, I might better say. Never mind the details.
They are sufficiently serious, sufficiently humiliating. We
have managed to cover it up, to conceal what we can, but for
the present at least, or until this blows over, it is
impossible for him to remain at home. It has all come about so
suddenly, so unexpectedly, that there has been no time to write
to you to obtain your consent. But he must leave home at once,
and there is no one to whom we can send him except yourself. In
his present position, feeling the deep dishonour that he has
brought upon himself, upon all of us in fact, we do not dare to
send h