"You are no diplomatist, Fay, thank God. I see very well, my darling, that you know more than you will say. It is plain to me that in the goodness of your soul you are trying to shield Michael--_for the second time_." He kissed her on the forehead and rose to go. "Stop!" said Fay, almost inarticulately. "It isn't the second time. I didn't shield him last time. I let him slide. But I will now ... I want to tell you ... I must tell you ... Michael has been here, he came when you were away in London. And he has begged me,--Oh, Wentworth, he has implored me to--tell you everything." Wentworth became very red. His face hardened. "_He_ has begged you to tell me! He has gone behind my back and tried to depute you to do it, to plead his cause for him. He has not even the courage to come to me himself. No, Fay, I am going. It is no use imploring me to stay. I'm not going to listen to you making excuses for him. I don't blame you, but you ought not to have agreed to do it. Whatever I ought to know I must hear from Michael himself. I shall go over and see him to-morrow morning. Even you, dearest, must not come between--Michael and me." CHAPTER XXXV Aimer quelqu'un, c'est à la fois lui ôter le droit, et lui donner la puissance de nous faire souffrir. The following morning the Bishop and Michael were sitting in the library at Lostford Palace. The Bishop was reading a letter, while Michael watched him, sunk in an arm-chair. Presently the Bishop thrust out his under lip, and gave back the letter to Michael. "Wentworth has dipped his pen in gall instead of in his inkpot," he said. "For real quality and strength give me the venom of a virtuous person. The ordinary sinner can't compete with him. Evil doers are out of the running in this world as well as in the next. I often tell them so. That is why I took orders. What do you suppose Wentworth suspects when he says Alington has suggested a discreditable reason for your being in the di Collo Alto villa that night, and that he is not going to allow you to skulk behind a woman any longer? He will be here directly to extort what he is pleased to call 'the truth.' What are you going to say?" "I don't know," said Michael. "That is the worst of me. I never know." The Bishop frowned and rubbed his chin. "I see one thing," continued Michael, "and that is that it's all important that he should not break with Fay." "That will be his first step--if he knows the truth." "I am afraid it will, and yet--that's the pity of it, she will last longer than I shall, and he does like her--a little--which is a great deal for him. You don't believe it, but he really does. And he'll want her more than ever--when I'm gone." The Bishop looked keenly at his godson. Michael had never before alluded to his precarious hold on life. It was obvious that he was only considering it now in its bearings on Wentworth's future.