"I have thought so much of you," he said, earnestly. "I am now come, as I said I should, to present my petition. Is there any hope?" Joyce turned away her head, and did not answer. When they reached the palace, a footman threw open the door: "Dinner is served," he said, in a voice which was intended to be a mild reproof. "Can I see his lordship?" Gilbert asked; while Joyce ran upstairs to her room on the upper floor. "His lordship is just sitting down to dinner, sir. What name----" Gilbert took out a card and handed it to the man, leaving him in the hall till he knew the Bishop's will. Presently he reappeared. "I am requested to beg you, sir, to go into the dining-room at once: this way." The Bishop rose, and gave Gilbert Arundel a very different greeting from that which he had granted Lord Maythorne. "My dear young friend, welcome for your _mother's_ sake, always welcome, and for your own. How could you doubt it? Why stand on ceremony? But we are in some distress," he said, with a sly twinkle in his eye; "we have lost a young lady: she vanished into thin air as we left the cathedral. Perhaps some knight-errant has carried her off. Ah! I see you know something about her. Well, sit down; and, Barker," to one of the servants, "Miss Falconer's place next Mr. Arundel's." The Bishop dearly loved a little love affair, and he fancied he descried one in "the air." It was a great trial of Joyce's self-possession when the door of the dining-room was opened for her by a servant, and she had to pass to her place at the long dining-table. The Bishop's son came to the rescue, making room for her by standing up and showing her the vacant place. "I am sorry I was late," she said. "It is a lovely day," was the rejoinder. "I do not wonder that you took a turn after service." "Yes," said Mrs. Law, kindly. "I saw your cousin in the cathedral, and I thought it probable that you would walk home with her." "No," Joyce said, in a low voice, "I did not go home with Charlotte." One person at least appreciated the honesty of this confession, and Gilbert told himself that it was a part of Joyce's crystal transparency of character, that she would not even allow an assertion about herself to pass if it were not absolutely true. When Joyce was sitting after dinner, with Mrs. Law and several ladies, in the long gallery, the Bishop's son brought her a message. "My father would like to see you in his study for a few minutes. Will you kindly follow me?" Joyce obeyed, but her heart beat fast, and she dreaded what the Bishop might have to say to her. Something about Melville; some bad news of the little Middies: her thoughts flew in all directions. The Bishop had already seated himself in his crimson leather chair, and, when Mr. Law closed the door, she found herself alone with his lordship.