“’Tis no ill cure to set two sad folks to talk with each other,” he said, a faint smile playing about his lips. “I am breaking my heart over the direful strife betwixt Christian men, and you are breaking your heart over a difference of opinion with the maiden you love. We must both remember the apostle’s words, ‘Love never faileth.’ It seems to us to have wholly failed now, and for the night of this life it may seem so, but the day will dawn. For you, if God will, it may perchance, after all, dawn here on this earth, though scarce for me.” He crossed the room to a beautifully carved cabinet, and opening one of the inner compartments, took out a miniature of Hilary. “This,” he said, showing it to Gabriel, “was painted for me the autumn you first went to London, and I always intended that at my death it should be yours. I think you were right when that day in the cloisters you said to me that the Harfords do not change, and in these troubled times I shall like to know that you already have it in your keeping, for I have a feeling that we shall not again meet in this world.” Gabriel, with tears in his eyes, could only falteringly speak his thanks. “Nay,” said the Bishop, cheerfully. “’Tis a pleasure to me to think it will be some slight comfort to you, my son. And,” he added, with a quiet laugh, “you were the first to make a presentation to me of good Bishop Swinfield’s head, knowing my special feeling for the past dignitaries of our Church. ’Tis but meet that I should acknowledge your courtesy by the gift of my granddaughter’s head--a wilful maid, yet methinks one that will some day ripen into a right noble woman. Believe me, my son, she is worth waiting for.” “I will wait a lifetime, if need be,” said Gabriel, looking at the sweet face in the miniature--the Hilary that had been before the war. And then, remembering past times, he made an enquiry as to the treatise on the Epistle to the Colossians. The old Bishop shook his head, sadly. “The war hath been the ruin of all books,” he said, ruefully. “They tell me people will read naught nowadays but the war pamphlets which are poured forth in shoals from the press. Or else they read the news books, which, so far as I can learn, vie with each other in lying, and are crammed with envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness. From the curse of such weapons of the evil one, good Lord deliver us!” The words came with all the more force because spoken by one so habitually gentle, and Gabriel, watching the folded hands and the white head bent in this heartfelt ejaculation, felt more than ever drawn to the Bishop. Never once had Bishop Coke repulsed him by the illogical arguments about the divine right of the King to govern wrongfully, which were hurled at the heads of the Parliamentarians by most Royalists. He kept altogether on a higher plane where meeting was quite possible, and Gabriel was glad enough to kneel for the old man’s blessing when they parted.