For some time the chaplain, in spite of all his watchfulness, failed to come upon anything tangible likely to explain what was in the bishop's mind. He walked about restlessly, he brooded continuously, and instead of devoting himself to his work in his usual regular way, occupied himself for long hours in scribbling figures on his blotting-paper, and muttering at times in anxious tones. Cargrim examined the blotting-paper, and strained his ears to gather the sense of the mutterings, but in neither case could he gain any clue to the bishop's actual trouble. At length—it was on the morning of the second day after the reception—Dr Pendle abruptly announced that he was going up to London that very afternoon, and would go alone. The emphasis he laid on this last statement still further roused Cargrim's curiosity.
'Shall I not accompany your lordship?' he asked, as the bishop restlessly paced the library.
'No, Mr Cargrim, why should you?' said the bishop, abruptly and testily.
'Your lordship seems ill, and I thought—'
'There is no need for you to think, sir. I am not well, and my visit to London is in connection with my health.'
'Or with your secret!' thought the chaplain, deferentially bowing.
'I have every confidence in Dr Graham,' continued Pendle, 'but it is my intention to consult a specialist. I need not go into details, Mr Cargrim, as they will not interest you.'
'Oh, your lordship, your health is my constant thought.'
'Your anxiety is commendable, but needless,' responded the bishop, dryly. 'I am due at Southberry this Sunday, I believe.'
'There is a confirmation at St Mark's, your lordship.'