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he flock of Christ; he must always have in view the 'little ones' whom he dare not offend. Take time for thought, my dear Meynell--and time, above all, for prayer--and then let me hear from you. You will realize how much and how anxiously I think of you.
"Yours always sincerely in Christ,
"F. MARCOBURG."
"Good man--true bishop!" said the Rector to himself, as he again put down the letter; but even as he spoke the softness in his face passed into resolution. He sank once more into reverie.
The stillness, however, was soon broken up. A step was heard outside, and the dogs sprang up in excitement. Amid a pandemonium of noise, the Rector put his head out of window.
"Is that you, Barron? Come in, old fellow; come in!"
A slender figure in a long coat passed the window, the front door opened, and a young man entered the study. He was dressed in orthodox clerical garb, and carried a couple of books under his arm.
"I came to return these," he said, placing them beside the Rector; "and also--can you give me twenty minutes?"
"Forty, if you want them. Sit down."
The newcomer turned out various French and German books from a dilapidated armchair, and obeyed. He was a fresh-coloured, handsome youth, some fifteen years younger than Meynell, the typical public-school boy in appearance. But his expression was scarcely less harassed than the Rector's.
"I expect you have heard from my father," he said abruptly.
"I found a letter waiting for me," said Meynell, holding up the note he had taken from the hall-table on coming in. But he pursued the subject no further.
The young man fidgeted a moment.
"All one can say is"--he broke out at last--"that if it had not been my father, it would have been some one else--the Archdeacon probably. The fight was bound to come."
"Of course it was!" The Rector sprang to his feet, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his back to the fire, faced his visitor. "That's what we're all driving at. Don't