The servant showed him into the library. A glance proved that Everard no longer inhabited it. No trace of the dilettante was visible in its homely comfort. Presently the door opened, and the Rector, a kindly grey-bearded man, entered the room. Joyce made his apology for intrusion. “I came down expecting to find Canon Chisely. I am a distant relation of his, not long come from abroad.” “I fear you have come on a vain errand,” said the Rector with a smile. “He took over his diocese in New Zealand some months ago.” “His diocese?” repeated Joyce. “Dear me, have n’t you heard? Canon Chisely accepted the bishopric of Taroofa at the beginning of the year.” “How very extraordinary!” said Joyce, nonplussed. But the other took his remark literally. “Yes, it is singular. Most people think he has thrown himself away. A very able man, you know--quite young. He might have had an English bishopric if he had waited.” “And Mrs. Chisely?” asked Joyce, interrogatively. The Rector raised a deprecative hand. “That’s where the whole trouble came in, apparently. It weighed on his mind--a very proud man. He took the first chance that offered.” “Pardon my questioning you,” said Joyce, “but I am quite in the dark as to what you are referring to. The last letter, two years back, that I received from Mrs. Chisely was dated from here. She was happily married and all that. I am an old friend of hers. What has happened?” “I can only repeat the gossip, Mr. Chisely. It seems that just about then some misfortune arose--a first husband of Mrs. Chisely’s, supposed dead, turned up, and so there was a separation.” “And where is Mrs. Chisely now?” “That’s more than I can say. A lady--a great friend of mine--also I believe a connexion of your own--” “Mrs. Winstanley?” “The same. I see you know her. She may be able to inform you. I believe she has said authoritatively that the late Mrs. Chisely went back to her former husband.” “That I can’t believe,” said Joyce, indignantly. “I can only give you what I hear,” said the Rector, placidly. “I know Bishop Chisely went to Paris, where they were supposed to be, before starting for New Zealand. But Mrs. Winstanley will tell you.” “I think I know enough,” said Joyce, hurriedly, and rising from his chair. “I am greatly indebted to you for your kindness, Mr. Abdy.” “Can I offer you some lunch? It will be on the table in a moment.” Joyce declined, pleaded a train. He would have liked to sit with this kind gossipy old man, but he could not accept such hospitality under false pretences. Perhaps it was well that he acted thus, for later in the afternoon the Rector described his visitor to Mrs. Winstanley. She listened for some time, and at last broke out:-- “Why, my dear Mr. Abdy, it could have been no one else than the convict cousin! He must have come to get money out of Everard.”