"
Mr. Gresley began to experience something of what Fraeulein had been
enduring all night.
"She would certainly not go from my house to a Dissenter's," he said,
stiffly. "You might have saved yourself the trouble of calling there,
Fraeulein."
"She like Mr. and Mrs. Valsh. She gives them her book."
Fraeulein's voice drowned the muffled rumbling of a carriage and a ring
at the bell, the handle of which, uninjured amid the chaos, kept watch
above the remains of the late porch.
The Bishop stood a moment in the little hall, while the maid went into
the dining-room to tell the Gresleys of his arrival. His eyes rested on
the pile of letters on the table, on the dead flowers beside them. They
had been so beautiful yesterday when he gave them to Hester. Hester
herself had been so pretty yesterday.
The maid came back and asked him to "step" into the dining-room.
Mr. and Mrs. Gresley had risen from their chairs. Their eyes were fixed
anxiously upon him. Fraeulein gave a little shriek and rushed at him.
"She is viz you?" she gasped, shaking him by the arm.
"She is with me," said the Bishop, looking only at Fraeulein, and taking
her shaking hands in his.
"Thank God," said Mr. Gresley, and Mrs. Gresley sat down and began to
cry.
Some of the sternness melted out of the Bishop's face as he looked at
the young couple.
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