The bishop became aware that Eleanor was returning to him across the sands. She had made an end to her paddling, she had put on her shoes and stockings and become once more the grave and responsible young woman who had been taking care of him since his flight from Princhester. He replaced the two letters in his pocket, and sat ready to smile as she drew near; he admired her open brow, the toss of her hair, and the poise of her head upon her neck. It was good to note that her hard reading at Cambridge hadn't bent her shoulders in the least.... “Well, old Dad!” she said as she drew near. “You've got back a colour.” “I've got back everything. It's time I returned to Princhester.” “Not in this weather. Not for a day or so.” She flung herself at his feet. “Consider your overworked little daughter. Oh,how good this is!” “No,” said the bishop in a grave tone that made her look up into his face. “I must go hack.” He met her clear gaze. “What do you think of all this business, Eleanor?” he asked abruptly. “Do you think I had a sort of fit in the cathedral?” He winced as he asked the question. “Daddy,” she said, after a little pause; “the things you said and did that afternoon were the noblest you ever did in your life. I wish I had been there. It must have been splendid to be there. I've not told you before--I've been dying to.... I'd promised not to say a word--not to remind you. I promised the doctor. But now you ask me, now you are well again, I can tell you. Kitty Kingdom has told me all about it, how it felt. It was like light and order coming into a hopeless dark muddle. What you said was like what we have all been trying to think--I mean all of us young people. Suddenly it was all clear.” She stopped short. She was breathless with the excitement of her confession. Her father too remained silent for a little while. He was reminded of his weakness; he was, he perceived, still a little hysterical. He felt that he might weep at her youthful enthusiasm if he did not restrain himself. “I'm glad,” he said, and patted her shoulder. “I'm glad, Norah.” She looked away from him out across the lank brown sands and water pools to the sea. “It was what we have all been feeling our way towards, the absolute simplification of religion, the absolute simplification of politics and social duty; just God, just God the King.” “But should I have said that--in the cathedral?” She felt no scruples. “You had to,” she said. “But now think what it means,” he said. “I must leave the church.” “As a man strips off his coat for a fight.” “That doesn't dismay you?” She shook her head, and smiled confidently to sea and sky. “I'm glad if you're with me,” he said. “Sometimes--I think--I'm not a very self-reliant man.” “You'll have all the world with you,” she was convinced, “in a little time.” “Perhaps rather a longer time than you think, Norah. In the meantime--” She turned to him once more.