The bishop knew something of man, and he knew something of the Church, he even knew something of the Bible; and when he came to the chapter in “Revised Versions” that dealt with the episode of Ruth and Boaz, he flung the book into a corner of his bedroom, exclaiming, “Puppy!”

And then there came before his eyes a vision of a field of yellow corn, ripe for the harvest.  The golden sunlight gleamed upon the golden grain through which the half-naked brown-skinned men walked with their sickles.  The half-naked brown-skinned women followed the binders, gleaning the ears, and among the women was the one who had said, “Entreat me not to leave thee.”  He had read that old pastoral when he was a child at the knee of his mother.  It was surely the loveliest pastoral of the East, and its charm would be in no wise impaired because a man who failed to appreciate the beauty of its simplicity, had almost called Ruth by the worst name that can be applied to a woman.

The bishop did not mind what George Holland called Abraham, or Isaac, or Jacob, or Samson, but Ruth—­to say that Ruth——­

The bishop said “Puppy!” once again. (He had trained himself only to think the adjectives which laymen find appropriate to use in such a case as was under his consideration.)

But he made up his mind to take no action whatever against the Rev. George Holland on account of the book.  If the Rev. George Holland fancied that he was to be persecuted into popularity, the Rev. George Holland was greatly mistaken, and the bishop had a shrewd idea that the rector of St. Chad’s was greatly mistaken.

(It may be mentioned that he came to this determination when he had read the book through, and found it was so cleverly written that it included no heretical phrase in all its pages.)

But so soon as Phyllis Ayrton had read the first review of the book that fell into her hands, she felt inexpressibly shocked.  Great Heavens!  Was it possible that she was actually at that moment engaged to marry the man who had written such a book—­a book that held up Delilah to admiration, and that abased Ruth? (It was singular how everyone settled upon Ruth in this connection.)

She did not pause to analyze her feelings—­to try and find out if she was really so fond of Ruth as to make Ruth’s insult her own; but without a moment’s delay, without a word of consultation with her father, she sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to George Holland, asking him to release her from her promise to marry him; and adding that if he should decline to do so it would make no difference to her; she would consider the engagement between them at an end all the same.

She felt, when that letter was posted, as if a great weight were lifted from her mind—­from her heart.  Then a copy of “Revised Versions” arrived for her from the author, and with the ink still wet upon the pen with which she had written that letter to him, she caught up the book and covered it with kisses.