to become too genuine. It has been more convenient to leave an element of unsoundness at the heart of an institution which, if sincere, might be dangerously powerful. The wisest and best of its bishops have found their influence impaired, their position made equivocal, by the element of unreality which adheres to them. A feeling approaching to contempt has blended with the reverence attaching to their position, and has prevented them from carrying the weight in the councils of the nation which has been commanded by men of no greater intrinsic eminence in other professions.'

"Yet another faulty relative!

"Pretensions which many of them would have gladly abandoned have connected their office with a smile. The nature of it has for the most part filled the Sees with men of second-rate abilities. The latest and most singular theory about them is that of the modern English Neo-Catholic, who disregards his bishop's advice, and despises his censures; but looks on him nevertheless as some high-bred, worn-out animal, useless in himself, but infinitely valuable for some mysterious purpose of spiritual propagation.

999

Brother Copas laid the volume face-downward on his knee a trivial action in itself; but he had a conscience about books, and would never have done this to a book he entirely respected.

"Has it struck you, Mr. Simeon," he asked, "that

Froude is so diabolically effective just because in every fibre of him he is at one with the thing he attacks?"

"He had been a convert of the Tractarians in his young days, I have heard," said Mr. Simeon.

"Yes, it accounts for much in him. Yet I was not thinking of that—which was an experience only, though significant. The man's whole cast of mind is priestly despite himself. He has all the priesthood's alleged tricks: you can never be sure that he is not faking evidence or garbling a quotation. My dear Mr. Simeon, truly it behoves us to love our enemies, since in this world they are often the nearest we have to us."

CHAPTER VI

GAUDY DAY

In the sunshine, on a lower step of the stone stairway that leads up and through the shadow of vaulted porch to the Hundred Men's Hall, or refectory, Brother Biscoe stood with a hand-bell and rang to dinner. Brother Biscoe was a charming old man to look upon; very frail and venerable, with a somewhat weak face; and as senior pensioner of the Hospital he enjoyed the privilege of ringing to dinner on Gaudy Days-twenty-seven strokes, distinct and separately counted-one for each brother on the two foundations.

The Brethren, however, loitered in groups before their doorways, along the west side of the quadrangle, awaiting a signal from the porter's lodge. Brother Manby, there, had promised to warn them as soon as the Master emerged from his lodging with the other Trustees and a few distinguished guests-including the Bishop of Merchester, Visitor of St. Hospital-on their way to dine. The procession would take at least three minutes coming through the outer court-ample time for the Brethren to scramble up

the stairway, take their places, and assume the right air of reverent expectancy.

As a rule-Brother Copas, standing on the gravel below Brother Biscoe and counting the strokes for him, begged him to note it-they were none so dilatory. But gossip held them. His shrewd glance travelled from group to group, and between the strokes of the bell he counted the women-folk.

"They are all at their doors," he murmured. "For a look at the dear Bishop, think you?"

"They are watching to see what Warboise will do," quavered Brother Biscoe. "Oh, I know!"

...

"The women don't seem to be taking much truck with Warboise or his Petition. See him over there, with Plant and Ibbetson only. . . . And Ibbetson's only there because his wife has more appetising fish to fry. But she's keeping an eye on him-watch her! Poor woman, for once she's discovering Rumour to be almost too full of tongues."

"I wonder you 're not over there too, lending Warboise support," suggested Brother Biscoe. "Royle told me last night that you had joined the Protestant swim."

"But I am here, you see," Brother Copas answered sweetly; "and just for the pleasure of doing you a small service."

Even this did not disarm the old man, whose temper was malignant.

"Well, I wish you joy of your crew. A secret

drinker like Plant, for instance! And your friend Bonaday, in his second childhood

"Bonaday will have nothing to do with us."

"Ah?" Brother Biscoe shot him a sidelong glance. "He's more pleasantly occupied, perhaps?-if it's true what they tell me."

"It never is," said Brother Copas imperturbably; "though I haven't a notion to what you refer." "But surely you 've heard?"

"Nothing: and if it concerns Bonaday, you'd best hold your tongue just now; for here he is."

Brother Bonaday in fact, with Nurse Branscome and Corona, at that moment emerged from the doorway of his lodgings, not ten paces distant from the steps of the Hundred Men's Hall. The three paused, just outside the Nurse and Corona to await the procession of Visitors, due now at any moment. Brother Bonaday stood and blinked in the strong sunlight: but the child, catching sight of Brother Copas as he left Brother Biscoe and hurried towards her, ran to meet him with a friendly nod.

"I've come out to watch the procession," she announced. "That 's all we women are allowed; while you-Branny says there's to be ducks and green peas! Did you know that?"

"Surely you must have observed my elation?"

Brother Copas stood and smiled at her, leaning on his staff.