"You forget. The trial is only a few weeks off. Meynell will certainly be deprived."
"No doubt. But then there is the Privy Council Appeal. And even when he is deprived, Meynell does not mean to leave the village. He has made all his arrangements to stay and defy the judgment. We must prove to him, even if we have to do it with what looks like harshness, that until he clears himself of this business this diocese at least will have none of him!"
"Why, the great majority of the people adore him!" cried the Bishop. "And
meanwhile I understand the other poor things are already driven away.
They tell me the Fox-Wiltons' house is to let, and Miss Puttenham gone to
Paris indefinitely."
Barron slightly shrugged his shoulders. "We are all very sorry for them, my lord. It is indeed a sad business. But we must remember at the same time that all these persons have been in a conspiracy together to impose a falsehood on their neighbours; and that for many years we have been admitting Miss Puttenham to our house and our friendship—to the companionship of our daughters—in complete ignorance of her character."
"Oh, poor thing! poor thing!" said the Bishop hastily. "The thought of her haunts me. She must know what is going on—or a great deal of it—though indeed I hope she doesn't—I hope with all my heart she doesn't! Well, now, Mr. Barron—you have written me long letters—and I trust that you will allow me a little close inquiry into some of these matters."
"The closer the better, my lord."
"You have not as yet come to any opinion whatever as to the authorship of these letters?"
Barron looked troubled.
"I am entirely at a loss," he said, emphatically. "Once or twice I have thought myself on the track. There is that man East, whose license Meynell opposed—"
"One of the 'aggrieved parishioners'," said the Bishop, raising his hands and eyebrows.