“Agatha Sunderbund.”

And then scrawled along the margin of the last sheet: 

“If, when you know—­a telegram.  Even if you cannot say so much as ‘Agreed,’ still such a word as ‘Favourable.’  I just hang over the Void until I hear.

“Agatha S.”

A letter demanding enormous deliberation.  She argued closely in spite of her italics.  It had never dawned upon the bishop before how light is the servitude of the disciple in comparison with the servitude of the master.  In many ways this proposal repelled and troubled him, in many ways it attracted him.  And the argument of his clear obligation to accept her co-operation gripped him; it was a good argument.

And besides it worked in very conveniently with certain other difficulties that perplexed him.

(4)

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.