"She like Mr. and Mrs. Valsh. She gives them her book."
Fräulein's voice drowned the muffled rumbling of a carriage and a ring at the bell, the handle of which, uninjured amid the chaos, kept watch above the remains of the late porch.
The Bishop stood a moment in the little hall, while the maid went into the dining-room to tell the Gresleys of his arrival. His eyes rested on the pile of letters on the table, on the dead flowers beside them. They had been so beautiful yesterday when he gave them to Hester. Hester herself had been so pretty yesterday.
The maid came back and asked him to "step" into the dining-room.
Mr. and Mrs. Gresley had risen from their chairs. Their eyes were fixed anxiously upon him. Fräulein gave a little shriek and rushed at him.
"She is viz you?" she gasped, shaking him by the arm.
"She is with me," said the Bishop, looking only at Fräulein, and taking her shaking hands in his.
"Thank God," said Mr. Gresley, and Mrs. Gresley sat down and began to cry.
Some of the sternness melted out of the Bishop's face as he looked at the young couple.
"I came as soon as I could," he said. "I started soon after seven, but the roads are heavy."