"I have no doubt you think yourself justified in taking the line you clearly do take in this matter. I can hardly imagine that you really believe the story you say you got from Judith Sabin--which you took to Flaxman--and have, I suppose, discussed with Dawes. I am convinced--forgive me if I speak plainly--that you cannot and do not believe anything so preposterous--or at any rate you would not believe it in other circumstances. As it is, you take it up as a weapon. You think, no doubt, that everything is fair in controversy as in war. Of course the thing has been done again and again. If you cannot defeat a man in fair fight, the next best thing is to blacken his character. We see that everywhere--in politics--in the church--in private life. This story _may_ serve you; I don't think it will ultimately, but it may serve you for a time. All I can say is, I would rather be the man to suffer from it than the man to gain from it!" Barron took up his hat. "I cannot be surprised that you receive me in this manner," he said, with all the steadiness he could muster. "But as you cannot deal with this very serious report in the ordinary way, either by process of law, or by frank explanation to your friends--" "My 'friends'!" interjected Meynell. "--Let me urge you at least to explain matters to your diocesan. You cannot distrust either the Bishop's discretion, or his good will. If he were satisfied, we no doubt should be the same." Meynell shook his head. "Not if I know anything of the _odium theologicum!_ Besides, the Miss Nairns of this world pay small attention to bishops. By the way--I forgot to ask--you can tell me nothing on the subject of the writer of the anonymous letters?--you have not identified him?" "Not in the least. We are all at sea." "You don't happen to have one about you?" Barron hesitated and fumbled, and at last produced from his breast-pocket the letter to Dawes, which he had again borrowed from its owner that morning. Meynell put it into a drawer of his writing-table without looking at it. The two men moved toward the door. "As to any appeal to you on behalf of a delicate and helpless lady--" said Meynell, betraying emotion for the first time--"that I suppose is useless. But when one remembers her deeds of kindness in this village, her quiet and irreproachable life amongst us all these years, one would have thought that any one bearing the Christian name would have come to me as the Rector of this village on one errand only--to consult how best to protect her from the spread of a cruel and preposterous story! You--I gather--propose to make use of it in the interests of your own Church party." Barron straightened himself, resenting at once what seemed to him the intrusion of the pastoral note.