'Stop, sir!' cried the bishop, imperiously, 'don't dare to couple my son's name with that of--of--of a barmaid. I cannot--I will not--I dare not believe it!'

'Nevertheless, it is true!'

'Impossible! incredible! the boy must be mad!'

'He is in love, which is much the same thing,' said Cargrim, with more boldness than he usually displayed before Dr Pendle; 'but to a.s.sure yourself of its truth, let me suggest that your lordship should question Mr Gabriel yourself. I believe he is in the palace.'

'Thank you, Mr Cargrim,' said the bishop, recovering from his first surprise. 'I thank you for the information, but I am afraid you have been misled. My son would never choose a wife out of a bar.'

'It is to be hoped he will see the folly of doing so, my lord,' replied the chaplain, backing towards the door, 'and now I shall take my leave, a.s.suring your lordship that I should never have spoken of Mr Gabriel's engagement had I not believed that you were informed on the point.'

The bishop made no reply, but sank into a chair, looking the picture of misery. After a glance at him, Cargrim left the room, rubbing his hands.

'I think I have given you a very good Roland for your Oliver, my lord!'

he murmured.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BISHOP a.s.sERTS HIMSELF

On being left alone, the bishop sat motionless in his chair for some considerable time. The information conveyed by Cargrim struck at his pride, but in his heart he knew well that he had as little right to be proud as to resent the blow. Casting a look over the past, he saw that Dr Graham had been right in his reference to the Ring of Polycrates, for although he was outwardly still prosperous and high-placed, shame had come upon him, and evil was about to befall. From the moment of Jentham's secret visit a blight had fallen on his fortunes, a curse had come upon his house, and in a thousand hidden ways he had been tortured, although for no fault of his own. There was his secret which he did not dare even to think of; there was the enforced absence of his wife and daughter, whom he had been compelled to send away; there was the hidden enmity of Cargrim, which he did not know how to baffle; and now there was the shame of Gabriel's engagement to a barmaid; of George's choice of a wife, who, if rumour could be believed, was the daughter of a scoundrel. With these ills heaped upon his head, the bishop did not know how he could ever raise it again.

Still, all these woes were locked up in his own breast, and to the world he was yet the popular, prosperous Bishop of Beorminster. This impression and position he was resolved to maintain at all costs, therefore, to put an end to his last trouble, he concluded to speak seriously to his sons on the subject of unequal marriages. A pressure of the electric b.u.t.ton summoned the servant, who was instructed to request Captain Pendle and Mr Gabriel to see their father at once in the library. It would seem as though they almost expected the message, for in a few minutes they were both in the room; George, with his usual jaunty, confident air, but Gabriel with an anxious look. Yet neither of the young men guessed why the bishop had sent for them; least of all George, who never dreamed for a moment that his father would oppose his engagement with Mab Arden.

'Sit down, both of you,' said Dr Pendle, in grave tones, 'I have something serious to say,' and the bishop took up an imposing position on the hearthrug. The two sons looked at one another.

'There is no bad news from Nauheim, I hope, sir?' said George, quite ignorant of the meaning of this exordium.

'No. Lucy's last letter about your mother was very cheerful indeed. I wish to speak seriously to both of you. As you are the elder, George, I shall begin with you; Gabriel, I shall reason with later.'

'Reason with me,' wondered the curate. 'Have I been doing anything which requires me to be reasoned with?' and he gave a half smile, never thinking how soon his jest would be turned into bitter earnest.

'I think a word in season will do you no harm,' answered his father, austerely, 'but I shall address myself to George first.'

'I am all attention, sir,' said the captain, rather weary of this solemnity. 'What have I done?'

'You have concealed from me the fact of your engagement to Miss Arden.'

'Oh!' cried George, smiling, 'so Miss Which.e.l.lo has been speaking!'

'Yes, she spoke to me to-day, and told me that you had formally engaged yourself to her niece without my knowledge or sanction. May I inquire your reason for so singular a course?'

'Is it singular, sir?' asked George, in a half-joking tone. 'I always understood that it was first necessary to obtain the lady's consent before making the matter public. I asked Mab to be my wife when I last visited Beorminster, and I intended to tell you of it this time, but I find that Miss Which.e.l.lo has saved me the trouble. However, now that you know the truth, sir,' said Captain Pendle, with his sunny smile, 'may I ask for your approval and blessing?'

'You may ask,' said the bishop, coldly, 'but you shall have neither.'

'Father!' The answer was so unexpected that George jumped up from his chair with a cry of surprise, and even Gabriel, who was in the secret of his brother's love for Mab, looked astonished and pained.

'I do not approve of the engagement,' went on the bishop, imperturbably.

'You--do--not--approve--of--Mab!' said Captain Pendle, slowly, and his face became pale with anger.

'I said nothing about the lady,' corrected the bishop, haughtily; 'you will be pleased, sir, to take my words as I speak them. I do not approve of the engagement.'

'On what grounds?' asked George, quietly enough.

'I know nothing about Miss Arden's parents.'

'She is the daughter of Miss Which.e.l.lo's sister.'

'I am aware of that, but what about her father?'

'Her father!' repeated George, rather perplexed. 'I never inquired about her father; I do not know anything about him.'

'Indeed!' said the bishop, 'it is just as well that you do not.'

Captain Pendle looked disturbed. 'Is there anything wrong with him?' he asked nervously. 'I thought he was dead and buried ages ago.'

'I believe he is dead; but from all accounts he was a scoundrel.'

'From whose account, bishop?'

'Mrs Pansey's for one.'

'Father!' cried Gabriel, 'surely you know that Mrs Pansey's gossip is most unreliable.'

'Not in this instance,' replied the bishop, promptly. 'Mrs Pansey told me some twenty-six years ago, when Miss Which.e.l.lo brought her niece to this city, that the child's father was little better than a gaol-bird.'

'Did she know him?' asked George, sharply.

'That I cannot say, but she a.s.sured me that she spoke the truth. I paid no attention to her talk, nor did I question Miss Which.e.l.lo on the subject. In those days it had no interest for me, but now that I find my son desires to marry the girl, I must refuse my consent until I learn all about her birth and parentage.'

'Miss Which.e.l.lo will tell us about that!' said George, hopefully.

'Let us trust that Miss Which.e.l.lo dare tell us.'

'Dare, sir!' cried Captain Pendle, gnawing his moustache.

'I used the word advisedly, George. If what Mrs Pansey a.s.serts is true, Miss Which.e.l.lo will feel a natural reluctance to confess the truth about Miss Arden's father.'

'Admitting as much,' urged Gabriel, seeing that George kept silent, 'surely you will not visit the sins of the father on the innocent child?'

'It is scriptural law, my son.'

'It is not the law of Christ,' replied the curate.