He awoke in a mood of great depression out of a dream of wandering interminably in an endless building of innumerable pillars, pillars so vast and high that the ceiling was lost in darkness.  By the scale of these pillars he felt himself scarcely larger than an ant.  He was always alone in these wanderings, and always missing something that passed along distant passages, something desirable, something in the nature of a procession or of a ceremony, something of which he was in futile pursuit, of which he heard faint echoes, something luminous of which he seemed at times to see the last fading reflection, across vast halls and wildernesses of shining pavement and through Cyclopaean archways.  At last there was neither sound nor gleam, but the utmost solitude, and a darkness and silence and the uttermost profundity of sorrow....

It was bright day.  Dunk had just come into the room with his tea, and the tumbler of Dr. Dale’s tonic stood untouched upon the night-table.  The bishop sat up in bed.  He had missed his opportunity.  To-day was a busy day, he knew.

“No,” he said, as Dunk hesitated whether to remove or leave the tumbler.  “Leave that.”

Dunk found room for it upon the tea-tray, and vanished softly with the bishop’s evening clothes.

The bishop remained motionless facing the day.  There stood the draught of decision that he had lacked the decision even to touch.

From his bed he could just read the larger items that figured upon the engagement tablet which it was Whippham’s business to fill over-night and place upon his table.  He had two confirmation services, first the big one in the cathedral and then a second one in the evening at Pringle, various committees and an interview with Chasters.  He had not yet finished his addresses for these confirmation services....

The task seemed mountainous—­overwhelming.

With a gesture of desperation he seized the tumblerful of tonic and drank it off at a gulp.

(4)

For some moments nothing seemed to happen.

Then he began to feel stronger and less wretched, and then came a throbbing and tingling of artery and nerve.

He had a sense of adventure, a pleasant fear in the thing that he had done.  He got out of bed, leaving his cup of tea untasted, and began to dress.  He had the sensation of relief a prisoner may feel who suddenly tries his cell door and finds it open upon sunshine, the outside world and freedom.

He went on dressing although he was certain that in a few minutes the world of delusion about him would dissolve, and that he would find himself again in the great freedom of the place of God.