calling them his "sheep" and his "little children."

But all this was so different.
Neither party resembled sheep or little children in the least

degree. .
The labour leader became impatient with the ritualistic

controversy; he set his tea-cup aside out of danger and leant
across the corner of the table to the bishop and spoke in a

sawing undertone. "You see," he said, "the church does not talk
our language. I doubt if it understands our language. I doubt if

we understand clearly where we are ourselves. These things have
to be fought out and hammered out. It's a big dusty dirty noisy

job. It may be a bloody job before it's through. You can't
suddenly call a halt in the middle of the scrap and have a sort

of millennium just because you want it....
"Of course if the church had a plan," he said, "if it had a

proposal to make, if it had anything more than a few pious
palliatives to suggest, that might be different. But has it?"

The bishop had a bankrupt feeling. On the spur of the moment he
could say no more than: "It offers its mediation."

(7)
Full as he was with the preoccupation of these things and so a

little slow and inattentive in his movements, the bishop had his
usual luck at Pringle Junction and just missed the 7.27 for

Princhester. He might perhaps have got it by running through the
subway and pushing past people, but bishops must not run through

subways and push past people. His mind swore at the mischance,
even if his lips refrained.

He was hungry and, tired; he would not get to the palace now
until long after nine; dinner would be over and Lady Ella would

naturally suppose he had dined early with the Rev. Morrice Deans.
Very probably there would be nothing ready for him at all.

He tried to think he was exercising self-control, but indeed
all his sub-conscious self was busy in a manner that would not

have disgraced Tertullian with the eternalwelfare of those city
fathers whose obstinacy had fixed the palace at Princhester. He

walked up and down the platform, gripping his hands very tightly
behind him, and maintaining a serene upcast countenance by a

steadfast effort. It seemed a small matter to him that the
placards of the local evening papers should proclaim "Lloyd

George's Reconciliation Meeting at Wombash Broken up by
Suffragettes." For a year now he had observed a strict rule

against buying the products of the local press, and he saw no
reason for varying this protective regulation.

His mind was full of angry helplessness.
Was he to blame, was the church to blame, for its powerlessness

in these social disputes? Could an abler man with a readier
eloquence have done more?

He envied the cleverness of Cardinal Manning. Manning would
have got right into the front of this affair. He would have

accumulated credit for his church and himself....
But would he have done much?...

The bishop wandered along the platform to its end, and stood
contemplating the convergent ways that gather together beyond the

station and plunge into the hillside and the wilderness of
sidings and trucks, signal-boxes, huts, coal-pits, electric

standards, goods sheds, turntables, and engine-houses, that ends
in a bluish bricked-up cliff against the hill. A train rushed

with a roar and clatter into the throat of the great tunnel and
was immediately silenced; its rear lights twinkled and vanished,

and then out of that huge black throat came wisps of white steam
and curled slowly upward like lazy snakes until they caught the

slanting sunshine. For the first time the day betrayed a softness
and touched this scene of black energy to gold. All late

afternoons are beautiful, whatever the day has been--if only
there is a gleam of sun. And now a kind of mechanical greatness

took the place of mere black disorder in the bishop's perception
of his see. It was harsh, it was vast and strong, it was no lamb

he had to rule but a dragon. Would it ever be given to him to
overcome his dragon, to lead it home, and bless it?

He stood at the very end of the platform, with his gaitered
legs wide apart and his hands folded behind him, staring beyond

all visible things.
Should he do something very bold and striking? Should he invite

both men and masters to the cathedral, and preach tremendous
sermons to them upon these living issues?

Short sermons, of course.
But stating the church's attitude with a new and convincing

vigour.
He had a vision of the great aisle strangely full and alive and

astir. The organ notes still echoed in the fretted vaulting, as
the preacher made his way from the chancel to the pulpit. The

congregation was tense with expectation, and for some reason his
mind dwelt for a long time upon the figure of the preacher

ascending the steps of the pulpit. Outside the day was dark and
stormy, so that the stained-glass windows looked absolutely dead.

For a little while the preacher prayed. Then in the attentive
silence the tenor of the preacher would begin, a thin jet of

sound, a ray of light in the darkness, speaking to all these men
as they had never been spoken to before....

Surely so one might call a halt to all these harsh conflicts.
So one might lay hands afresh upon these stubborn minds, one

might win them round to look at Christ the Master and Servant....
That, he thought, would be a good phrase: "Christ the Master

and Servant."....
"Members of one Body," that should be his text.... At last it

was finished. The big congregation, which had kept so still,
sighed and stirred. The task of reconciliation was as good as

done. "And now to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy
Ghost...."

Outside the day had become suddenly bright, the threatening
storm had drifted away, and great shafts of coloured light from

the pictured windows were smiting like arrows amidst his
hearers....

This idea of a great sermon upon capital and labour did so
powerfully grip the bishop's imagination that he came near to

losing the 8.27 train also.
He discovered it when it was already in the station. He had to

walk down the platform very quickly. He did not run, but his
gaiters, he felt, twinkled more than a bishop's should.

(8)
Directly he met his wife he realized that he had to hear

something important and unpleasant.
She stood waiting for him in the inner hall, looking very grave

and still. The light fell upon her pale face and her dark hair
and her long white silken dress, making her seem more delicate

and unworldly than usual and making the bishop feel grimy and
sordid.

"I must have a wash," he said, though before he had thought of
nothing but food. "I have had nothing to eat since tea-time--

and that was mostly talk."
Lady Ella considered. "There are cold things.... You shall have

a tray in the study. Not in the dining-room. Eleanor is there. I
want to tell you something. But go upstairs first and wash your

poor tired face."
"Nothing serious, I hope?" he asked, struck by an unusual

quality in her voice.
"I will tell you," she evaded, and after a moment of mutual

scrutiny he went past her upstairs.