Consequently, when Mrs. Baker, four days after the funeral, ushered in the archdeacon, and the young rector, turning at his writing-table, read his fate in the old gentleman’s eyes, the news came upon him with crushing weight. Yet he did not give way. He rose and welcomed his visitor with a brave face. “So the bearer of the bow-string has come at last!” he said lightly, as the two met on the hearth-rug. The archdeacon held his hand a few seconds longer than was necessary. “Yes,” he said, “I am afraid that is about what I am. I am sorry to bring you such news, Lindo—more sorry than I can tell you.” And, having got so far, he dropped his hat and picked it up again in a great hurry, and for a moment did not look at his companion. “After all,” the rector said manfully, “it is the only news I had a right to expect.” “There is something in that,” the archdeacon admitted, sitting down. “That is so, perhaps. All the same,” he went on, looking about him unhappily, and rubbing his head in ill-concealed irritation, “if I had known how the earl would take it, I should not have advised you to make any concessions. No, I should not. But, there, he is an odd man—odder than I thought.” “He accepts my offer to resign, of course?” “Yes.” “And that is all?” the rector said, a little huskiness in his tone. “That is all,” the archdeacon replied, rubbing his head again. It was plain that he had hard work to keep his vexation within bounds. “Well, I must not complain because he has taken me at my word,” the rector said, recovering himself a little. “Well, I hoped the bishop might have had a word to say to it,” the archdeacon grumbled. “But he had not, and I could not get to see his wife. He spoke very highly of your conduct, but he did not see his way clear, he said, to interfering.” “I scarcely see how he could,” Lindo answered slowly. “Well, I do not know. Bonamy’s representation in the church-wardens’ names was very strong—very strong indeed, coming from them, you know.” Lindo reddened. “There is an odd man for you, if you like,” he said impulsively. He was glad, perhaps, to change the subject. “He has scarcely said a civil word to me since I came. He even began an action against me. Yet when this happened he turned round and in his way fought for me.” “Well, that is Bonamy all over!” the archdeacon answered, almost with enthusiasm. “He is rough and crabbed, but he has the instincts of a gentleman, which are the greater credit to him, since he is a self-made man. I think I can tell you something about him, though, which you do not know.” “Indeed?” said Lindo mechanically. “Yes. It has to do with your letter, too. I had it from Lord Dynmore. In the first flush of his anger, it seems, he went to Bonamy and directed him to take the necessary steps to eject you. He is not the earl’s solicitor, and he must have seen an excellent opportunity of getting hold of the Dynmore business through this. He could not but see it. Nevertheless, he declined.”