But his duty in regard to the souls of the people---- Oh! it was the merest sophistry to assume that such responsibility on the part of a clergyman is susceptible of being particularized. It should, he felt, be touched upon, if at all, in a very general way. Did that young woman expect that he should preach a sermon to suit the special case of every individual soul intrusted (according to her absurd theory) to his keeping?
The idea was preposterous; it could not be seriously considered for a moment. She had allowed herself to be carried away by her affection for her friend to make accusations against him, in which even she herself would not persist in her quieter moments.
He found it quite easy to prove that Phyllis had been in the wrong and that he was in the right; but this fact did not prevent an intermittent recurrence during the evening of that feeling of uneasiness, as those words of the girl, "/If Ella Linton were wicked, you would be held responsible for it in the sight of God/," buzzed in his ears.
"Would she have me become an ordinary clergyman of the Church of England?" he cried indignantly, as he switched on the light in his bedroom shortly before midnight--for the rushlight in the cell of the modern man of God is supplied at a strength of so many volts. "Would she have me become the model country parson, preaching to the squire and other yokels on Sunday, and chatting about their souls to wheezy Granfer this, and Gammer that?" He had read the works of Mr. Thomas Hardy. "Does she suppose that I was made for such a life as that? Poor Phyllis! When will she awake from this dream of hers?"
Did he fancy that he loved her still? or was the pain that he felt, when he reflected that he had lost her, the result of his wounded vanity--the result of his feeling that people would say he had not had sufficient skill, with all his cleverness, to retain the love of the girl who had promised to be his wife?
Before going to bed he had written replies to the two letters. The bishop had suggested an early hour for their interview--he had named eleven o'clock as convenient to himself, if it would also suit Mr. Holland. Two o'clock was the hour suggested by Mr. Linton, if that hour would not interfere with the other engagements of Mr. Holland; so he had written agreements to the suggestions of both his correspondents.
At eleven o'clock exactly he drove through the gates of the Palace of the bishop, and with no faltering hand pulled the bell. (So, he reflected for an instant,--only an instant,--Luther had gone, somewhere or other, he forgot at the moment what was the exact locality; but the occasion had been a momentous one in the history of the Church.)
He was cordially greeted by the bishop, who said:
"How do you do, Holland? I took it for granted that you were an early riser--that's why I ventured to name eleven."
"No hour could suit me better to-day," said George, accepting the seat --he perceived at once that it was a genuine Chippendale chair upholstered in old red morocco--to which his lordship made a motion with his hand. He did not, however, seat himself until the bishop had occupied, which he did very comfortably, the corresponding chair at the side of the study desk.
"I was anxious to have a chat with you about that book, and that article of yours in the /Zeit Geist/, Holland," said the bishop. "I wish you had written neither."
"/Litera scripta manet/," said George, with a smile.
One may quote Latin in conversation with a bishop without being thought a prig. In a letter to the /Times/ and in conversation with a bishop are the only two occasions in these unclassical days when one may safely quote Latin or Greek.
"That's the worst of it," said the prelate, with a shake of his head that was Early Norman. "Yes, you see a book isn't like a sermon.
People don't remember a man's sermons against him nowadays; they do his books, however."
"I am quite ready to accept the conditions of modern life, my lord," said George.
"I was anxious to give you my opinion as early as possible," resumed the bishop, "and that is, that what you have just published--the book and the /Zeit Geist/ article--reflect--yes, in no inconsiderable measure--what I have long thought."
"I am flattered, indeed, my lord."
"You need not be, Holland. I believe that there are a large number of thinking men in the Church who are trying to solve the problem with which you have so daringly grappled--the problem of how to induce intellectual men and women to attend the services of the church. I'm afraid that there is a great deal of truth in what you say about the Church herself bearing responsibility for the existence of this problem."
"There is no setting aside that fact, my lord."
"Alas! that short-sighted policy has been the Church's greatest enemy from the earliest period. You remember what St. Augustine says? Ah, never mind just now. About your book--that's the matter before us just now. I must say that I don't consider the present time the most suitable for the issue of that book, or that article in the /Zeit Geist/. You meant them to be startling. Well, they are startling.
