Yet, even as he spoke, for the first time, a sudden misgiving, like the pinch of an insect, brushed Barron's consciousness. He had not, as a matter of fact, examined the Dawes letter very carefully, having been, as he now clearly remembered, in a state of considerable mental excitement during the whole time it was in his possession and thinking much more of the effect of the first crop of letters on the situation, than of the details of the Dawes letter itself. But he did remember, now that the Bishop pressed him, that when he first looked at the letter he had been conscious of a momentary sense of likeness to a handwriting he knew; to Maurice's handwriting, in fact. But he had repelled the suggestion as absurd in the first instance, and after a momentary start, he angrily repelled it now. The Bishop emerged from a brown study. "It is a most mysterious thing! Have you been able to verify the postmarks?" "So far as I know, all the letters were posted at Markborough." "No doubt by some accomplice," said the Bishop. He paused and sighed. Then he looked searchingly, though still hesitatingly, at his companion. "Mr. Barron, I trust you will allow me--as your Bishop--one little reminder. As Christians, we must be slow to believe evil." Barron flushed again. "I have been slow to believe it, my lord. But in all things I have put the Church's interest first." Something in the Bishop suddenly and sharply drew away from the man beside him. He held himself with a cold dignity. "For myself, personally--I tell you frankly--I cannot bring myself to believe a word of this story, so far as it concerns Meynell. I believe there is a terrible mistake at the bottom of it, and I prefer to trust twenty years of noble living rather than the tale of a poor distraught creature like Judith Sabin. At the same time, of course, I recognize that you have a right to your opinions, as I have to mine. But, my dear sir"--and here the Bishop rose abruptly--"let me urge upon you one thing. Keep an open mind--not only for all that tells against Meynell, but all that tells for him! Don't--you will allow me this friendly word--don't land yourself in a great, perhaps a life-long self-reproach!" There was a note of sternness in the speaker's voice; but the small parchment face and the eyes of china-blue shone, as though kindled from within by the pure and generous spirit of the man. "My lord, I have said my say." Barron had also risen, and stood towering over the Bishop. "I leave it now in the hands of God." The Bishop winced again, and was holding out a limp hand for good-bye, when Barron said suddenly: "Perhaps you will allow me one question, my lord? Has Meynell been to see you? Has he written to you even? I may say that I urged him to do so." The Bishop was taken aback and saw no way out. "I have had no direct communication with him," he said, reluctantly; "no doubt because of our already strained relations."