I was wondering if that were true of all courage when the bishop came in.
“I am afraid you have had bad news,” he said, looking at me with concern as he took his place at the breakfast table; “nothing wrong with your brother, I hope?”
“I had not meant to tell you until after breakfast,” I answered, sighing; “no, Edmund is all right still, as far as I know.”
“Tell me the worst, then. No news should spoil a man’s appetite when he has had a morning swim. In fact that is the time of all others to face anything that threatens.”
I read Van Ermengen’s letter to him. When I had finished he read and re-read it to himself as he finished a hearty breakfast.
“I do not regard this as bad news at all,” he said at last, “but may I have a final cup of coffee outside? It is too lovely a morning to waste indoors.”
We went out through the French window to a seat by the lime tree, which was already humming like an æolian harp with the wings of insects.
Bates followed with the coffee and cigars, but the bishop would not smoke.
“One can smoke all the year,” he said, “but an atmosphere of wallflowers can only be enjoyed on such a day as this.”
I thought of the strange contrast between my Sussex garden with its peace and tempered sunshine, and the fierce glare with which the same sun was even now smiting the streets of Alexandria. It seemed scarcely credible that a threat from evil men out there could penetrate even into my secluded vicarage. But there was the letter, and as I watched the bishop studying it again it occurred to me that the fighting spirit in him was glad at the prospect of taking part in a struggle against the manœuvres of the wicked.