“I came straight here all the way,” she said, “to tell you, Bishop, that I couldn’t stay in the convent any longer. I am going home. I could not stay there.”
“I am very glad to see you, Ruth,” said the Bishop easily, “and if you’ll just turn around, I think you’ll see some one who is even more pleased.”
Her startled cry of surprise and pleasure at sight of Jeffrey was abundant proof to the Bishop that the coming of these two to his door was indeed a coincidence.
“Now,” said the Bishop quickly, “you will both sit down and listen. It concerns both of you deeply. A man is coming here in a moment, General Chandler. You have both heard of him. 59 He is the political power of this part of the State. He can, if he will, tell us just how serious your situation is up there, Jeffrey. Say nothing. Just listen.”
Ruth looked from one to the other with surprise and perhaps a little resentment. For hours she had been bracing her courage for this ordeal of meeting the Bishop, and here she was merely told to sit down and listen to something, she did not know what.
The Bishop rose as General Oliver Chandler was ushered into the room and the two veterans saluted each other with the stiffest of military precision.
“These are two young friends of mine from the hills, General,” said the Bishop, as he seated his old friend. “They both own farms in the Beaver Run country. They have come to me to find out what the U. & M. Railroad wants with options on all that country. Can you, will you tell them?”
The General plucked for a moment at the empty left sleeve of his coat.
“No, Bishop,” he said finally, “I cannot give out what I know of that matter. The interests behind it are too large for me. I would not dare. I do not often have to say that.”
“No,” said the Bishop slowly, “I never heard you say that before.”