He kissed his daughter absently and departed, settling all his home business before he left the house in his usual peremptory manner, leaving behind him indeed in the minds of his butler and head gardener, who had business with him, a number of small but smarting wraths, which would ultimately have to be smoothed away by Theresa. But when Theresa explored the open envelope he had given her for her brother, she found in it a cheque for L50, and a letter which seemed to Maurice's sister--unselfish and tender as she was--deplorably lacking in the scolding it ought to have contained. If only her father had ever shown the same affection for Stephen! Meanwhile as Barron journeyed to Markborough, under the shadow of the great Cathedral, quite another voice than his was in possession of the episcopal ear. Precisely at eleven o'clock Richard Meynell appeared on the doorstep of the Palace, and was at once admitted to the Bishop's study. As he entered the large book-lined room his name was announced in a tone which did not catch the Bishop's attention, and Meynell, as he hesitatingly advanced, became the spectator of a scene not intended for his eyes. On the Bishop's knee sat a little girl of seven or eight. She was crying bitterly, and the Bishop had his arms round her and was comforting her. [Illustration: "Meynell, as he hesitatingly advanced, became the spectator of a scene not intended for his eyes"] "There _was_ bogies, grandfather!--there _was!_--and Nannie said I told lies--and I didn't tell lies." "Darling, there aren't bogies anywhere--but I'm sure you didn't tell lies. What did you think they were like?" "Grandfather, they was all black--and they jumped--and wiggled--and spitted--o-o-oh!" And the child went off in another wail, at which moment the Bishop perceived Meynell. His delicate cheek flushed, but he held up his hand, in smiling entreaty; and Meynell disappeared behind a revolving bookcase. The Bishop hastily returned to the charge, endeavouring to persuade his little granddaughter that the "bogie" had really been "cook's black cat," generally condemned to the kitchen and blackbeetles, but occasionally let loose to roam the upper floors in search of nobler game. The child dried her eyes, and listened, gravely weighing his remarks. Her face gradually cleared, and when at the end he said slyly, "And even if there were bogies, little girls shouldn't throw hairbrushes at their Nannies!" she nodded a judicial head, adding plaintively: "But then Nannies mustn't talk _all_ the time, grandfather! Little girls must talk a itty itty bit. If Nannies not let them, little girls _must_ frow somefing at Nannies." The Bishop laughed--a low, soft sound, from which Meynell in the distance caught the infection of mirth. A few murmured words--no doubt a scolding--and then: "Are you good, Barbara?" "Ye-s," said the child, slowly--"not very." "Good enough to say you're sorry to Nannie?" The child smiled into his face.