"You have come just at the wrong time," she said, with a faint laugh in which the Bishop detected the tears that were not shed. "I am so tired that I can't feel as glad as I know that I am to see you." The Bishop looking at the girl, was shocked at the change in her. That she was not only tired, but seriously ill, he saw at a glance. "You have been working too hard," he said quietly. "What have you been doing?" "Oh don't let's talk of it. I want to forget it all now you have come. You will stay to lunch of course, but I can only offer you pot luck." "No, I can't stay to lunch," he said rising, "but I am going to tell that nice little maid of yours to bring you some beef tea or milk. You need it." "Beef tea!" exclaimed Rachel laughing. "Why, only invalids can go in for such luxuries and I certainly am not one." "I am not quite so sure of that. Anyhow you need something at this moment and you must let me go and see what there is to have, while you sit still." "Oh you mustn't pity me," cried Rachel. "I can go on quite well if no-one notices me; but sympathy just weakens me. You really mustn't be too kind." Rachel had risen looking distressed. Then she dropped into her chair again and covered her face with her hands. "I wish you hadn't come," she sobbed. "No, you don't. You are very pleased to see your father's greatest friend. You mustn't talk nonsense," said the Bishop with a smile. "Don't you suppose I understand? You needn't mind me finding this out. You must let me try and help you, and get you something. Polly will help me." [Illustration: THE BISHOP STOOD IN THE TINY KITCHEN FACING THE DIMINUTIVE POLLY.] Rachel sat still while the Bishop made his way into the kitchen. She was so played out that she had not even the energy to wonder what he would find there. She just lay still with a restful sense of being looked after. The Bishop stood in the tiny kitchen facing the diminutive Polly. "Your mistress isn't feeling well," he said, "and I want to know what there is in the house that she would fancy. She must have something. Have you any soup or bovril?" Polly overwhelmed with the importance of the occasion turned red. That she had never seen bovril or knew what it was the Bishop discovered before she had answered, "That there ain't no such stuff anywheres in the house, Sir. We don't eat bovril and there ain't no soup," she added. The Bishop smiled. "Well, what are you going to have for dinner?" he asked. "Master, he is to have a chop," said Polly, "and Mistress she say she'll have some bread and cheese to-day." "And what are you going to have?" Polly flushed crimson and hung her head. "Mistress, she say that I'm to have the leg of the chicken that Mrs. Stone brought us two days ago. There's just one leg left and the Mistress won't take it herself. It ain't right that I should be eating chicken while she eats cheese."