“Why, what is it, Jenkins?” asked Arthur, kindly, when Jenkins was beginning to recover himself. “Thank you, sir; I don’t know what it could have been. Just as I was looking at you, a mist seemed to come before my eyes, and I felt giddy. I suppose it was a sort of faintness that came over me. I had been thinking that I felt weary. Thank you very much, sir.” “Take my arm, Jenkins,” said Arthur, as he picked up the parchments, and took possession of them. “I’ll see you home.” “Oh no, sir, indeed,” protested simple-hearted Jenkins; “I’d not think of such a thing. I should feel quite ashamed, sir, at the thought of your being seen arm-in-arm with me in the street. I can go quite well alone; I can, indeed, sir.” Arthur burst out laughing. “I wish you wouldn’t be such an old duffer, Jenkins--as the college boys have it! Do you suppose I should let you go home by yourself? Come along.” Drawing Jenkins’s arm within his own, Arthur turned with him. Jenkins really did not like it. Sensitive to a degree was he: and, to his humble mind, it seemed that Arthur was out of place, walking familiarly with him. “You must have been doing something to tire yourself,” said Arthur as they went along. “It has been a pretty busy day, sir, now Mr. Galloway’s away. I did not go home to dinner, for one thing.” “And Mr. Roland Yorke absent for another, I suppose?” “Only this afternoon, sir. His uncle, Lord Carrick, has arrived. Oh, sir!” broke off Jenkins, stopping in a panic, “here’s his lordship the bishop coming along! Whatever shall you do?” “Do!” returned Arthur, scarcely understanding him. “What should I do?” “To think that he should see you thus with the like of me!” It amused Arthur exceedingly. Poor, lowly-minded Jenkins! The bishop appeared to divine the state of the case, for he stopped when he came up. Possibly he was struck by the wan hue which overspread Jenkins’s face. “You look ill, Jenkins,” he said, nodding to Arthur Channing. “Keep your hat on, Jenkins--keep your hat on.” “Thank you, my lord,” replied Jenkins, disregarding the injunction touching his hat. “A sort of faintness came over me just now under the elm trees, and this gentleman insisted upon walking home with me, in spite of my protestations to--” Jenkins was stopped by a fit of coughing--a long, violent fit, sounding hollow as the grave. The bishop watched him till it was over. Arthur watched him. “I think you should take better care of yourself, Jenkins,” remarked his lordship. “Is any physician attending you?” “Oh, my lord, I am not ill enough yet for that. My wife made me go to Mr. Hurst the other day, my lord, and he gave me a bottle of something. But he said it was not medicine that I wanted.” “I should advise you to go to a physician, Jenkins. A stitch in time saves nine, you know,” the bishop added, in his free good humour.