"I must tell you, Miss Thompson, that Horatio Merle and I are friends of long standing, and naturally, when he came to my bedroom this afternoon with a tray of tea and toast—exquisitely served, I must say—I was somewhat surprised and—er—after a little talk, I became acquainted with the unusual and—er—interesting position that Mr. Merle has chosen to occupy in this household."
As the prelate went on his manner became more and more serious until now, turning to the astonished and abashed Horatio, he addressed him with all the impressiveness of his sonorous voice and his full episcopal dignity.
"Mr. Merle, you probably do not realize how deeply I was affected by what you told me this afternoon. I wish to shake hands with you, sir, and say, both as your bishop and as a fellow man, that I respect you and honor you for the fine simplicity and manliness you have shown here at Ipping House in accepting, I may say in seeking, a rather—er—humiliating position. I doubt, sir, if there is another clergyman in my diocese who would be capable of such an act of Christian self-effacement."
"I—I thank your lordship," murmured Horatio, retreating awkwardly toward the door.
"Wait! I haven't finished. Mr. Merle, you have builded better than you knew. It happens that my old friend, Dr. Dibble, the rector of St. Timothy's in Ippingford, has become so infirm that we are about to retire him on a pension. The living is in my hands and it is my intention, sir, in fact, it is my absolute decision, to offer it to you."
Horatio was so overcome by this extraordinary good news that for some moments he could not speak a word. Was it possible? He, a poor curate, who had made a failure of everything, suddenly lifted to this splendid height? He, the rector of St. Timothy's? He, Horatio Merle?
"Oh, your lordship!" he stammered.
"There is a fine old rectory with five or six acres of land and the prettiest rose garden in Kent. I am sure you and your wife will be happy there."
"Your lordship, I—I thank your lordship. I—I would add——"
Horatio stood quite still, holding a few strands of his side whiskers between an agitated thumb and forefinger. He opened and closed his mouth several times and then, in a tumult of suppressed feeling, he hurried from the room.