“And in that respect you were in very different case from those priests who, having lost faith in certain vital points in the principles of our religion and the doctrines of our Church, have, nevertheless, insisted on remaining with us and preaching heterodoxy from the shelter of our pulpits. That, in my judgment, is not only ungrateful and dishonest, but borders very close upon downright treason. You, on the other hand, in all your aspirations and ambitions, have been faithful to the precepts of our religion and the tenets of our Church. For that I commend you and rejoice in you.”
“You are very good to me, Bishop.”
“Let me add that I have no doubt of the wisdom and expediency of your course in resigning your office as rector of Christ Church. Now then; what are your plans?”
“I have none. I have thought nothing out except that I must go away. My wife is ill. The burden of these things has been too great for her to bear. I do not know how soon she can be moved. But when I told her, last night, that we would go elsewhere, the news seemed to give her new life. I believe that in some other and distant environment she will find her lost health and her old happiness.”
“I pray that it may be so. But you must not leave the ministry of the Church, Farrar. We need such men as you. You are still young, but you have learned wisdom by sad and bitter experience. You were never better prepared to preach Christ’s religion than you are now. And some day you will come into your own.”
The rector turned his eyes to the window and looked out across the lawn to the Gothic pinnacles of the church on which the glory of the setting sun still lay. It was apparent that he was in deep thought, and for a moment he did not reply. Then he looked back at the prelate.
“Bishop,” he said, “I think it is your faith in me that has saved me. For days I have seen nothing before me but the blackness of the pit. I come here, and you, whom I have perhaps wronged most deeply, are most ready to forgive me and help me. In my own city I have yielded because I have been bludgeoned into it; but you, by your magnanimity—you bring me—to my knees—in true repentance.”
He laid his arms on the table and bowed his head on his arms. There was no longer any doubt that he was not only broken, but also repentant.
The bishop rose from his chair, crossed over to the penitent priest and laid his arm once more affectionately about his shoulders.