He nodded, and she thought that the ascetic lines of his face became a shade less grim as he proceeded. “I will not disguise from you the fact that as a secretary I have not yet found your equal, but that was not my reason for sending you that message. Now, Miss Thorold, kindly pay attention to what I am going to say, for time is short. I am due to conduct the service in the Cathedral in less than half-an-hour. I have a question to ask you primarily to which I must have a simple and unequivocal answer. When I discharged you some three months ago from my employment, I believed that an intrigue of an unworthy nature existed between my nephew and yourself. I ask you now—and you will answer me as before God—has there ever been any justification for that belief either before or since?” He spoke with great solemnity and emphasis. His eyes—those fanatical deep-set eyes—were fixed upon her with an intensity that seemed to burn her. “You will answer me,” he said again, “as before God.” And Frances answered him with the simplicity of one to whom shame was unknown. “There has never been the smallest justification.” Something of tension went out of the Bishop’s attitude, but he kept his eyes upon her with a scrutiny that never varied. “That being the case,” he said, “on the assumption that you have nothing to hide, I am going to ask you to give me a brief—really a brief account, Miss Thorold, of all that has occurred between the date of your dismissal and the present time.” He spoke with the precision of one accustomed to instant obedience, but Frances stiffened at the request. “I am sorry,” she said. “But I am not prepared to do anything of the kind.” He lifted his thin brows. “You think my demand unreasonable?” “Not only that. I think it impertinent,” Frances said, and still she spoke with that simplicity which comes from the heart. “In—deed!” said the Bishop. There would have followed a difficult pause, but very quietly she filled it. “You see, there are some parts of one’s life so sacred, that no man or woman on earth has any right to trespass there. In fact, I personally could not admit you even if I wished to do so. If I gave you the key, you would not know how to use it.” “You amaze me!” said the Bishop. He got up and began jerkily to pace the room, much as his nephew had done on the night that she had sat in judgment upon him. “Are you aware,” he said after a moment, “that many men and women also have come to me with their confessions and have eased their souls thereby of many burdens?” She watched him with her clear eyes as he moved, and in her look was something faintly quizzical. “Yes,” she said, “I can believe that many people find relief in throwing their burdens upon someone else. With me, it is not so. I prefer to bear my own.” He stopped and confronted her. “You presume to treat this subject with levity!” he said.