Wells David Dwight
His Lordship's Leopard: A Truthful Narration of Some Impossible Facts

CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH THE BISHOP EATS JAM TART, AND MISS MATILDA HUMBLE-PIE

"Now," remarked the Bishop to Miss Arminster, as Marchmont quitted the cabin after this last astounding remark, "Now I'm certain he's mad."

"Oh, no," replied the lady, "it's merely journalistic enterprise. I don't blame him for being disappointed. It must be hard to find that we're not conspirators, after all."

"But why should he wish to make us so?"

"You dear stupid old Joe!" she exclaimed. "You haven't the remotest inkling of what American journalism means. It's sensation first, last, and altogether. Think of a bishop, and an English bishop at that, posing as an agent of the Spanish secret service, and eloping with an actress on somebody else's yacht. Why, I can shut my eyes and see the headlines. They're almost certain to print them in red ink. There's fame for you!"

"But why should he wish to print it if it's not the truth?"

"Truth! My dear Bishop, who said anything about truth? We were speaking of news, and – journalistic enterprise."

At this moment the door again burst open, and Marchmont flung into the cabin.

"There!" he said, with a tone of triumph, "we've sighted an American steamer down channel, and have hoisted the Spanish flag. We're pursuing her, and very presently we shall be captured, and you'll be surrendered."

"I suppose," began the Bishop, "that, to a man so devoid of moral consciousness as you appear to be, no arguments of mine – "

"Don't waste your breath," broke in Miss Arminster. "They wouldn't."

"Why, I'm sorry to cause you any inconvenience," said the journalist amiably, "but you see, my paper's simply panting for sensation, and when they hear about this little racket they'll sell extras till they can't see straight."

"And what, may I ask, will happen when the truth comes out?" demanded his Lordship severely.

"Oh, the war'll probably be over by the time you reach New York, and you'll cease to be interesting," replied Marchmont. "Besides, we'll have had our scoop, and most likely, when the Daily Leader finds there's no case against you they'll give you a return ticket. The management's generally pretty liberal."

"Well, I must say," spluttered the Bishop, "that of all the brazen – unconscionable – !"

"Why did you raise the Spanish flag?" interrupted Miss Arminster.

"That was my idea," said the journalist, "and I'm rather proud of it. You see, we could hardly reverse the Union Jack as a sign of distress, and then go full speed ahead, but I don't think an American ship would resist taking a Spanish prize; and as soon as they get within firing range we'll run up a flag of truce. By the way," he continued, becoming quite courteous, now that he felt he had them in his power, "why do you remain in this stuffy cabin? I shall be very glad to have you up on deck, provided you'll give me your parole."

"What, not to escape?" asked Violet. "Did you think we were going to jump overboard and swim ashore?"

"No. I mean that you should give your parole not to be anything but Spaniards."

"I am afraid we couldn't manage that," she replied. "The Bishop doesn't look nearly ferocious enough."

"I absolutely refuse to become a party to this deception!" said his Lordship.

"Oh, I don't ask you to do that," returned Marchmont, "only to promise that you'll not try and enlist the sympathies of the crew in your behalf."

"I shall not promise anything," said the Bishop, "nor shall I allow this lady to do so. I'm a man of peace, but if ever I get hold of you on dry land I'll horsewhip you, if it costs me my see; and if you don't leave this cabin at once I'll treat you as you treated your friend. You are a thorough blackguard, and not fit to associate with gentlemen!"

The journalist started to say something, but, remembering that his accuser was muscular, thought better of it, shrugged his shoulders, and went out silently, locking the door behind him.

"There!" said his Lordship, "I can breathe more freely now."

Miss Arminster made no reply, for the excellent reason that her head was out of a port-hole, and she could not hear clearly what was said. Presently she pulled it in again, crying, as she did so:

"Oh, do look! This is great sport! The American ship is running away from us!"

Such was indeed the case. The vessel they were overhauling was a small tramp steamer, which had evidently found courage, through the general incapacity of the Spanish navy and the fancied security of neutral waters, to flaunt the Stars and Stripes. It was therefore most disconcerting to find herself suddenly pursued in the English Channel by a craft which had every appearance of being a Spanish gunboat. No sooner had she caught a glimpse of the red and yellow flag of her enemy than she crowded on to her yards every stitch of canvass she possessed, in the hope of obtaining some advantage from the light breeze that was blowing, while the black clouds of smoke which belched from her single funnel showed that her engines were being driven to their utmost capacity. She having a long lead and the combined assistance of wind and steam, the distance between the pursuer and the pursued decreased slowly, and it soon became evident that it was to be a stern chase, which is proverbially a long chase. The yacht, therefore, turned about in search of some fresh enemy to whom she might surrender, and in this fortune favored her, for down the Channel came a great liner, whose name, albeit she flew temporarily the flag of another nation, proclaimed her to be an American ship, with an American captain and crew.

Those on board the "Homing Pigeon" now adopted different tactics, and an inverted British ensign replaced the banner of the Dons.

As the yacht stood directly in the path of the oncoming ocean greyhound, and flew signals of distress which she could not disregard, the great ship was forced to heave to. Marchmont hastened to convey the news to his prisoners in the cabin, saying that he considered them very fortunate, as they had every prospect of a speedy and pleasant voyage, and cautioning them at the same time, as he led the way up the cabin stairs, that resistance was futile, and that any remarks of theirs to the crew would only be so much waste of breath. To all of which neither deigned to answer a word, realising that in their present precarious position silence was not only the most dignified but also the safest course.

As they reached the deck the great liner was almost abreast of them, and gradually came to a standstill with clouds of pent-up steam pouring from her safety-valves.

"What do you want?" bawled her chief officer through a megaphone, his voice sounding very large and clear from the great height above them.

"We've two prisoners of war, Spanish spies, and we wish to hand them over!" shouted the mate in return.

"This isn't an American ship," came the reply.

"Yes, it is," howled Marchmont; "we know better! You belong to the 'Pink Star' line."

The chief officer conferred with the captain.

"It's Mason and Slidell the other way round," he said. "I wouldn't touch 'em with a ten-foot pole. Besides – " and here he seized the megaphone from his subordinate and yelled through it:

"You infernal idiots! don't you know the war with Spain is over? We've declared a truce!"

"I don't believe it,", cried Marchmont, shaking his fist at the great steamship in a paroxysm of disappointed rage. "It's only an excuse to shirk your duty! We've brought them out to you, and you've got to take them! I'll report you to the government! I'll – !"

The sharp ring of the engine-room bell from the liner's bridge was the only reply vouchsafed him, and a moment later the big ship forged ahead, her captain very red in the face and swearing like a trooper: for the most precious thing on board a racer of that class is time, and the "Homing Pigeon" had been wasting it.

The Bishop, noting the sheepish faces of the mate and his two fellow conspirators, and the lowering glances of the crew, turned to Miss Arminster, saying:

"We'd better return to the cabin, my dear. I think there's going to be trouble."

The little actress followed his Lordship's gaze, and descended without a word of protest. She thought so, too.

They had hardly entered the saloon, when there came a respectful knock at the door, and an elderly seaman entered, ducking his head.

"Well, my good man," said his Lordship, "what can I do for you?"

"Meanin' no disrespect, sir, be you really the Bishop of Blanford?"

"Certainly I am," that gentleman replied. "You see my dress, and," as a happy thought struck him, "here's one of my cards to prove my identity." And he handed the sailor a bit of pasteboard with his title engraved thereon.

"And the lady?" asked the seaman.

"The lady is no more connected with this absurd charge than I am," pursued the Bishop. "You've been grievously misled by your mate and these two strangers. But if you'll take us safe to the nearest port, I'll speak a word in your favour to your master, Lord Downton, who's an intimate friend of mine. Can you read?"

"Yes, your honour."

"Then here's a letter from his Lordship, which I fortunately have by me, requesting me to join his yacht. Read it yourself, and show it to your fellows as a proof of who I am." And he handed him the missive.

The sailor took it, ducked again, and retired silently, and there was presently a great shuffling of feet on the deck above.

"What do you think they're doing?" asked Violet.

"I trust they're coming to their senses – and if – " But his remarks were interrupted by a most terrific row overhead, shouts, blows, and curses.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop. "What can be the matter?"

"They're squaring accounts with Marchmont, Friend Othniel, and the mate, I guess," she replied, "and I hope they'll half kill them."

"Fie, fie! my dear Leopard – most unchristian. I must certainly go and – "

"No, you mustn't do anything of the sort! Stay right where you are. We're in hot enough water already." And suiting the action to the word, she pushed him back on to the divan.

"Well, really – !" remarked the Bishop, and collapsed amiably.

Presently the sounds of commotion ceased, and gave way to laughter, but laughter with a certain grim note in it that boded ill for those laughed at. After a little, there came another knock at the cabin door, and this time quite a deputation entered the saloon, the sailor who had first visited them being the spokesman.

"Having disposed of those gents as you suggested – " he began.

"No, no!" the Bishop hastened to disclaim, "I suggested nothing."

"Well," said the seaman, "we've fixed 'em, anyway. And now we're heading for the nearest port, which the same's Weymouth, and we hopes you'll overlook what's gone before, and come on deck and take command of this yacht."

"I will certainly come on deck," replied the Bishop. "But as to assuming command of the ship, I hardly feel qualified. Is there not some one among you – ?"

"I'm bo'sn, please your honour," volunteered the speaker.

"Ah," said the Bishop blandly, "then I appoint you." And as the men fell back, he escorted Miss Arminster upstairs.

As they appeared on deck, a striking scene met their eyes. Three wretched figures were triced up to the mainmast. They had only such remnants of clothes remaining on their persons as decency demanded, and they had all evidently made a recent acquaintance with the ship's tar-barrel and slush-bucket.

As his Lordship and Miss Arminster appeared, the crew approached, expecting a speech.

"I hardly know what to say," began the Bishop to Violet.

"Let me speak to them, will you?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. "I understand human nature pretty well. I have to, in my profession."

His Lordship nodded assent, and a moment later she had sprung on to the cabin hatch, a most entrancing little figure, and instantly commanded the attention and admiration of her audience.

"Mates!" she cried, in her clear ringing voice, "mates, I want a word with you."

"Speak up, and welcome!" called some one in the crowd, while the boatswain, nudging a comrade in the ribs, remarked under his breath:

"My eye, but she's a stunner!"

Silence having been obtained, she continued:

"I've only this to say. We've all been made fools of. Those gentlemen tied up to the mast made fools of you, and you've certainly made fools of them."

A loud laugh greeted this sally.

"And," she resumed, "if it ever gets out that his Lordship the Bishop of Blanford and myself were carried off as Spanish spies, we'll never hear the last of it. Now let's all keep silence for the sake of the others. Put us ashore at Weymouth, and we'll say to Lord Downton that it was our wish to be landed there. He won't know about the occurrences of this day, unless some of you tell him. You might leave the journalist and the tramp at Weymouth, too. I guess they'll have had enough of the sea to last them for some time. And oh, by the way, I suppose Mr. Marchmont intended to pay you for this. Perhaps you'll see that the division is properly carried out."

"Ay, ay!" came from twenty throats, followed by a rousing cheer.

And so it happened that they reached terra firma about six in the afternoon. But Weymouth, while it is geographically not far distant from Blanford, is miles away by the railroad and its connections, and they did not reach the palace till nearly midnight.

Everything was dark and still, and as they stood shivering in the porch, the Bishop remarked, producing his latch-key:

"Do you know I – I'm really afraid to open the door."

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and they entered softly.

"Is there anything I can get for the Leopard, before she retires?" he asked apologetically, as they crossed the stone-paved floor of the palace by the aid of a single bedroom candle, which only served to accentuate the surrounding darkness.

"No, thank you, I'm all right," she faltered, putting her foot on the first step of the stairs. And then, without the slightest warning, she burst into tears.

His Lordship, completely bewildered at this unexpected turn of affairs, patted her on the head, saying: "Dear, dear!" much as he would have done to obstreperous babies suspicious of baptism. But the fair Violet wept on.

"What is it?" said the Bishop. "What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything," she replied between her sobs, "but I – I'm so dreadfully hungry."

"Dear me!" exclaimed his Lordship, "I forgot all about dinner."

It was quite true that, in his anxiety to catch trains and make a series of bewildering connections, the question of food had entirely escaped his memory, and, now he came to think of it, he was ravenously hungry himself.

"I'm so sorry," he said helplessly. "We must see what we can find."

It was years since he had dared to investigate his own pantries; but under the spur of Miss Arminster's necessities he achieved prodigies of valour, even breaking into that holy of holies, his sister's jam-closet. The little actress aided and abetted him, creating havoc among jars of sardines, olives, and caviare. And then, while they were in the midst of their midnight orgy, a figure appeared before them – a figure clad in an indescribable dressing-gown and carrying a bedroom candle.

"Josephus," said the apparition, "is that you?"

"Yes, my dear," replied the Bishop, with his mouth full of jam tart, "it is."

"I wonder you've the face to enter the house!" said his sister.

"His own house! That's good," commented Miss Arminster from the midst of sardines.

"I admit that the circumstances are unusual," remarked the Bishop, cutting himself another large slice of the pastry, "but the train service is most irregular, and, as you can see, it was necessary to bring the Leopard home to-night, and so – "

"Josephus!" broke in his sister, "there are no leopards in this country, and I can see that to the other sins you have undoubtedly committed you have added the vice of – "

But she got no further, for the Bishop, casting a glance at each of the two women, decided that now or never was salvation at hand, and said brusquely:

"Matilda, go to bed at once!"

It was the first time he had ever spoken to her in tones of authority, and his sister, not believing her ears, returned to the charge.

"And as for that shameless minx – " she continued; but his Lordship again interrupted, remarking severely:

"Matilda, go to bed instantly!"

But the spinster was not yet defeated.

"Josephus!" she began, in her most approved style.

"Go to bed!" repeated the Bishop sharply.

For one moment she wavered. Then, realising that under the present conditions resistance was worse than useless, she turned slowly upon her heel, and marched upstairs with the air of a martyr going to the stake.

"You were right," said his Lordship moodily, as he disposed of the last piece of pie-crust.

"Right about what?" asked Violet.

"Mud-baths," returned the Bishop.

CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH MISS ARMINSTER PROPOSES TO MARRY AGAIN

Cecil and Miss Matilda breakfasted alone the next morning. This was not by intention, but by fate. Violet and the Bishop, for obvious reasons, kept their respective rooms. Mrs. Mackintosh had felt it her duty to breakfast with, and comfort, her friend in distress, likewise to receive an early account of the doings of the day before; while Smith and Spotts, hearing that the fugitives had returned, took an early breakfast and adjourned to the neighboring golf-links. Cecil, however, who slept well, came down at the usual hour, quite unconscious of what was impending, and calmly walked into the trap.

After the ancient butler had passed the tea and toast, and then withdrawn, as was his wont, leaving them to carve out their own salvation, Miss Matilda lost no time in opening up the contest. She had been at swords' points with her nephew ever since the evening before, as a result of his stoutly maintaining his father's innocence, and the manner in which she reported her midnight meeting would have made even Marchmont envious.

"And now of course he'll have to marry her," she wound up her recital.

"Good heavens! I hope not!" ejaculated Cecil.

"I'm glad," remarked his aunt stiffly, "that we've at least one point of agreement."

"Oh, we are quite agreed on that," he returned. "It would never do at all; in fact it's quite impossible."

"You know, then?" she demanded.

"Know what?" he asked cautiously.

"That she's been married dozens of times already."

"I don't think I can subscribe to more than half a dozen. But Miss Arminster certainly does seem to have a fondness for that sort of thing."

"And in the face of such scandalous proceedings do you consider her a fit person to marry your poor misguided father?"

"I've told you I don't approve," he said, and added: "How did you come to know about Miss Arminster's marriages?"

"Mr. Marchmont told me."

"Confound him!"

"Cecil! Mr. Marchmont's a gentleman."

"He's a mischief-maker of the first water."

"Do not let us waste time in discussing his character. The important question is, what are we to do about your father's marriage?"

"Stop it."

"But how?" she asked. "Shall I speak?"

"No, no; leave it to me," he said. "I'll undertake to settle the matter. If you saw the Bishop, you'd only irritate him."

"He told me to go to bed, last night, after that woman had insulted me."

"Insulted you? I thought you told me she'd nothing to say for herself."

"Her presence was an insult, and one of us leaves this house to-day," replied his aunt, and swept out of the room.

Cecil gulped down his tea, and, ringing the bell, sent an urgent message to Miss Arminster, requesting a meeting in his aunt's boudoir, which, considering the purpose of the interview, he was sure Miss Matilda would not object to put at her disposal.

Violet received him in about twenty minutes, apologising for her charming tea-gown, on the ground of being somewhat seedy.

"Our supper last night was rather extraordinary, you know," she said.

"I've only heard one version," he replied.

"Miss Matilda's?" she asked, laughing.

He nodded.

"I fancy it was lurid enough," she went on; "but your good father's out of leading-strings this time, and no mistake."

"Tell me all about it," he said. "I'm most anxious to know."

"Of course you are," she returned. "So here goes."

Banborough enjoyed the recital immensely, and laughed immoderately at certain passages.

"So the governor knows all about our adventures?" he said, when she had finished. "Did he seem much upset?"

"Only about not recognising you when you blacked his eye under the bar."

"What a good old chap he is! Just think of his coming all that way to hunt me up! I wish he could have some fun out of life."

"We must try and help him to do so," she said.

"Yes," he replied, suddenly recollecting the object of his mission. "It's just that that I've come about. You see he's awfully conscientious, and when he's thought things over a bit, helped by my aunt's amiable suggestions, he'll come to the conclusion that he ought to marry you, you know – and so – well, he'll try to do it," he ended lamely, hoping she would see the point without further elucidation on his part.

She was quick to take him up.

"And you don't think that's just the best way for him to have a good time? Sour grapes – eh, my son?"

"No, no; only he's certain to propose to you."

"Supposing he has done so?"

"Well – did you accept him?"

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't quite see how you could – under the circumstances."

"Oh, he'd only had two bottles of champagne," she said, purposely misunderstanding him from pure joy of seeing him flounder.

"I didn't mean that," he went on. "But, anyway, his conscience will reassert itself, and he'll probably propose again this morning – ponderously."

"And you're afraid I might accept?"

"I'm sure you'd make a most charming step-mamma," he replied, "only – "

"Only what?"

"Only the – the others might object, mightn't they?"

"The others?"

"All the men you've married," he blurted out, "if you will have it."

"I see," she said meditatively. "And you don't want to run the 'dear Bishop' in for another scandal."

"Of course, if you choose to put it that way – "

"It's the way you'd put it if you only had the pluck," she retorted.

"Are you awfully angry with me?" he asked, looking at her.

"Not a bit," she replied. "From your point of view it's quite justifiable, I suppose, and I'm only considering the best way out of the dilemma."

"Are there several?"

"There's only one that I care to choose."

"And that is?"

"I shall marry again."

"Good heavens! not – !"

"Not your father, no; some one else."

"But surely – !"

"You see," she continued calmly, ignoring his interruption, "if I marry some one at once your father can't have any feeling of – shall we say responsibility? And it'll not be necessary for me to go into what Miss Matilda would call 'my shameful past.'"

"But I really couldn't allow – "

"Oh, I'm not going to marry you either, so you needn't be alarmed. Can't you make some suggestions to help me out?"

"I am afraid you must excuse me," he said, fast becoming scandalised at her matter-of-fact way of approaching the subject.

"Well, of course," she went on thoughtfully, "there are all your father's chaplains, but they're young, and prone to take things seriously. No, I don't think they'd do. And there's the butler. No, he wouldn't answer, either."

"Perhaps Miss Matilda would lend you Professor Smith."

"No," she said, "I don't think I'd have the heart to deprive her of him. On the whole, I think I'll marry Mr. Spotts. He's nice – and handy."

"But mightn't he have something to say?" began Banborough.

"Probably," admitted Violet; "but he generally does what he's told, and as he isn't married to any one else, I dare say he'll prove amenable when he understands the position. I'll try and see him this morning, and," as a brilliant idea struck her, "your father shall perform the ceremony. I never was married by a Bishop before. Won't it be jolly!"

"You surely can't seriously intend – " began Cecil.

"Yes, I do. Now don't be stupid, but run along and let me finish my toilet." And she ran out of the room.

Banborough walked away in a maze. He had thought to straighten matters out, and he had only got them into a far worse tangle. That Miss Arminster had no conscientious scruples about adding another husband to her quota was bad enough, but that his innocent, unsuspecting father should be allowed to disgrace his cloth by solemnising such a marriage was really more than he could stand. In his righteous wrath he determined that the Bishop should know the whole truth, soothing his conscience by the thought that if he did not tell him, Miss Matilda would.

In the hall of the palace, however, he ran across Spotts, laden with the implements of golf, and all unconscious of his impending fate.

"Look here, old man," said Cecil, "I want to have five minutes' chat with you."

"I am quite at your service," replied his friend. "In fact I was just coming to look you up myself. Now that the war's over, I must really be thinking of going away, as I've imposed long enough already on your hospitality."

"Oh, it isn't about that I want to see you," said Banborough. "It's about your getting married."

"My getting married?" queried Spotts.

"Yes. It seems there's a lady who has matrimonial designs on you. I thought it was only the part of a friend to warn you in due season."

"If it's your aunt," returned the actor, "I'm very much obliged. I think I could manage to get packed up and leave by the afternoon train."

"No, no; it isn't so bad as that," said his host. "Or, rather, it's worse. Miss Arminster has you under consideration."

"As a husband?"

"Yes. I think she means to marry you to-morrow or next day, and have my father perform the ceremony."

"Oh, I see. And you've some feeling about it."

"Well, yes," admitted Cecil, "I'm afraid I have."

"I suppose you'd like to take my place?"

"No, it isn't that either. Yon don't seem to see the point. Miss Arminster wants to marry you."

"Well, isn't that a question between Miss Arminster and myself?"

"Naturally. But then she's married pretty frequently, hasn't she? Of course, if all her husbands are dead – "

"Oh, no," said Spotts. "I don't think she's ever lost a husband."

"But you surely can't contemplate – " began Cecil.

"Well, you see," contended the actor, "this is the first time she's ever asked me to marry her, and one can't be so ungallant as to refuse a lady."

"And you'll really add yourself to her list?"

Spotts shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear fellow," he said, "I don't want to appear rude, but this interference in my prospective matrimonial affairs seems to me ill-timed. Miss Arminster hasn't as yet proposed to me, and if she does, I'll probably consent to oblige her. Anyway, it's doing you a favour, as I suppose your father would wish to marry her if I didn't." And turning on his heel, he walked away.

As he ascended the stairs, he met Violet coming down. They were standing on the broad landing, and for the moment were quite alone and out of earshot.

"I say!" burst out the actor. "Do you know I have just been warned against you by your friend Banborough. A joke's a joke, but this is going too far."

"I know, Alvy," she said, "I know, and I'm awfully sorry. But it's almost over."

"I hope it is," he replied. "I have held an equivocal position for months, and it isn't pleasant. Why, I've practically seen nothing of you."

"It hasn't been pleasant for me either, old man. But, to speak frankly, you know as well as I do that it's been largely a sentimental interest which has caused Cecil to get us all out of this scrape. However, if he doesn't tell his father to-day – and I tried hard enough to force him to do so this morning – I shall."

"Good! Then his Lordship's Leopard will be free," said Spotts. And pressing her hand, he proceeded on his way upstairs.

In the face of his two interviews, Cecil felt he had no option but to refer the whole matter to the Bishop, whom he found in his study. He received a somewhat grim reception from the old gentleman, to whom a sleepless night had afforded ample opportunity for reflecting on the vagaries of his son, to which he, not altogether unjustly, attributed his adventures of the preceding day.

After formal salutations had been exchanged, the younger man, feeling that a disagreeable business was the better over, lost no time in coming to the point.

"I don't know that there's anything to be said about the past, father," he began.

"I should think there was a great deal to be said," returned his Lordship brusquely. "But this is perhaps not the best time to say it. I've been told a very astonishing story by Miss Arminster."

"About the Black Maria and – the Spanish plot?"

"About your wretched novel, sir!"

"Ah, yes. Well, I corroborate it all, word for word. Miss Arminster told me about it this morning."

"You've seen her, then?"

"Yes. We had a chat concerning a number of things. But, as you suggest, we might reserve the discussion of our joint American experiences till another occasion, so I won't mention them beyond apologising to you for having blacked your eye under the bar; though of course I could hardly have supposed that your ecclesiastical duties would have placed you in just that position."

"Say, rather, the search for an unregenerate son," suggested the Bishop, with a twinkle in his eye which showed him to be in better humour.

"Well, anyway, you gave as good as you got," said Cecil. "My ribs were sore for a week afterwards."

"Ah," replied his Lordship. "I thought I must have landed you one. I haven't quite forgotten the athletics of my college days."

"Then we're quits," returned Cecil. "But it was more than good of you to come out there and look for me. A father who could do all that deserves a somewhat better son than I've been in the past; and in the future – "

"Don't say it, Cecil. I know it." And the Bishop gripped his hand in a way that caused the mental and moral atmosphere to clear instantly.

"And now," said his son, "I want to talk about Miss Arminster."

"It's the subject nearest my heart," replied his father.

"I asked her to marry me at Montreal," Cecil remarked simply.