"What! To prevent you from making the one reparation in your power? To have you boycotted right and left? To trump up a criminal charge? To force you, a clergyman, to remain in your own parish, labouring like a convict by the year together? To trample the cloth underfoot in the eyes of all the world?"
"Oh," groaned Carlton, "it was I who did that! I alone am to blame for that—I alone!"
He leant his elbows on the chimney-piece, his face in his hands; for stand he must if he was only to hear harsh words—that night of all nights! Carlton was unprepared for such severity at this stage; and infinitely hurt; for at his worst, when he deserved no sympathy at all, the bishop had shown much more. But behind his back the blazing eyes were quenched, and the long mouth relaxed.
"No, no," a softer voice said; "you have done just the opposite—just the opposite. You have been hard enough upon yourself; but the world was harder on you—once."
There was kindness in the rasping voice, but no enthusiasm. None other had made so little of the mere physical feat of this man; and to him the tone was unmistakable.
"I know what you mean," said Carlton, turning round, his own eye alight. "You think the world is going to the other extreme!"
"It generally does," replied the bishop. "I do not mean to be unkind."
"You are not, my lord—unless you think I haven't seen this for myself!"
The bishop nodded gravely to himself.
"You would see the danger. I am sure of that. You must want to hear the last of what you have done; superhuman and heroic in itself—I am the first to admit it—it is nevertheless the last chapter of a book which you must want to close once and for all. The last chapter recalls the first. Close the book; put it behind you; start afresh."