nce of weariness, all his imaginings as to how weary, in body
and spirit, a man could be, yet continue to breathe and think.

With some, extreme fatigue leads to restlessness of body. Not so with
the Bishop. The more tired he was, the more perfectly still he sat;
his knees crossed, his elbows on the arms of his chair, the fingers of
both hands pressed lightly together, his head resting against the high
back of the chair, his gaze fixed upon the view across the river.

As he looked with unseeing eyes upon the wide stretch of meadow, the
distant woods and the soft outline of the Malvern hills, he was
thinking how good it would be never again to leave this quiet room;
never to move from this chair; never again to see a human being; never
to have to smile when he was heart-sick, or to bow when he felt
ungracious!

Those who knew the Bishop best, often spoke together of his wondrous
vitality and energy, their favourite remark being: that he was never
tired. They might with more truth have said that they had never known
him to appear tired.

It had long been a rule in the Bishop's private code, that weariness,
either of body or spirit, must not be shewn to others. The more tired
he was, the more ready grew his smile, the more alert his movements,
the more gracious his response to any call upon his sympathy or
interest.

He never sighed in company, as did Father Peter when, having supped too
well off jolly of salmon, roast venison, and raisin pie, he was fain to
let indigestion pass muster for melancholy.

He never yawned in Council, either gracefully behind his hand, as did
the lean Spanish Cardinal; or openly and unashamed, as did the round
and rosy Abbot of Evesham, displaying to the fascinated gaze of the
brethren in stalls opposite, a cavernous throat, a red and healthy
tongue, and a particularly fine set of teeth.

Moreover the Bishop would as soon have thought of carrying a garment
from the body of a plague-stricken patient into the midst of a family
of healthy children, as of entering an assemblage with a jaded
countenance or a languorous manner.

Therefore: "He is never weary," said his friends.

"He knoweth not the meaning of fatigue," agreed his acquaintances.

"There is no merit in labour which is not in anywise a burden, but,
rather, a delight," pronounced those who envied his powers.

"He is possessed," sneered his enemies, "by a most energetic demon!
Were that demon exorcised, the Bishop would c