My dear Mrs Pendle, if you only saw those people in the supper-room!—simply digging their graves with their teeth. I pity the majority of them to-morrow morning.’
‘Have you had supper, Miss Whichello?’ asked Gabriel.
‘Oh, yes! a biscuit and a glass of weak whisky and water; quite enough, too. Mab here has been drinking champagne recklessly.’
‘Only half a glass, aunt; don’t take away my character!’
‘My dear, if you take half a glass, you may as well finish the bottle for the harm it does you. Champagne is poison; much or little, it is rank poison.’
‘Come away, Miss Arden, and let us poison ourselves,’ suggested the curate.
‘It wouldn’t do you any harm, Mrs Pendle,’ cried the little old lady. ‘You are too pale, and champagne, in your case, would pick you up. Iron and slight stimulants are whatyou need. I am afraid you are not careful what you eat.’
‘I am not a dietitian, Miss Whichello.’
‘I am, my dear ma’am; and look at me—sixty-two, and as brisk as a bee. I don’t know the meaning of the word illness. In a good hour be it spoken,’ added Miss Whichello, thinking she was tempting the gods. ‘By the way, what is this about his lordship being ill?’
‘The bishop ill!’ faltered Mrs Pendle, half rising. ‘He was perfectly well when I saw him last. Oh, dear me, what is this?’
‘He’s ill now, in the library, at all events.’
‘Wait, mother,’ said Gabriel, hastily. ‘I will see my father. Don’t rise; don’t worry yourself; pray be calm.’
Gabriel walked quickly to the library, rather astonished to hear that his father was indisposed, for the bishop had never had a day’s illness in his life. He saw by the demeanour of the guests that the indisposition of their host was known, for already an uneasy feeling prevailed, and several people were departing. The door of the library was closed and locked. Cargrim was standing sentinel beside it, evidently irate at being excluded.
‘You can’t go in, Pendle,’ said the chaplain, quickly. ‘Dr Graham is with his lordship.’
‘Is this sudden illness serious?’
‘I don’t know. His lordship refuses to see anyone but the doctor. He won’t even admit me,’ said Cargrim, in an injured tone.
‘What has caused it?’ asked Gabriel, in dismay.
‘I don’t know!’ replied Cargrim, a second time. ‘His lordship saw some stranger who departed ten minutes ago. Then he sent for Dr Graham! I presume this stranger is responsible for the bishop’s illness.’

CHAPTER IV. THE CURIOSITY OF MR CARGRIM


Like that famous banquet, when Macbeth entertained unawares the ghost of gracious Duncan, the bishop’s reception broke up in the most admired disorder. It was not Dr Pendle’s wish that the entertainment should be cut short on his account, but the rumour—magnified greatly—of his sudden illness so dispirited his guests that they made haste to depart; and within an hour the palace was emptied of all save its usual inhabitants. Dr Graham in attendance on the bishop was the only stranger who remained, for Lucy sent away even Sir Harry, although he begged hard to stay in the hope of making himself useful. And the most unpleasant part of the whole incident was, that no one seemed to know the reason of Bishop Pendle’s unexpected indisposition.
‘He was quite well when I saw him last,’ repeated poor Mrs Pendle over and over again. ‘And I never knew him to be ill before. What does it all mean?’
‘Perhaps papa’s visitor brought him bad news,’ suggested Lucy, who was hovering round her mother with smelling-salts and a fan.
Mrs Pendle shook her head in much distress. ‘Your father has no secrets from me,’ she said decisively, ‘and, from all I know, it is impossible that any news can have upset him so much.’
‘Dr Graham may be able to explain,’ said Gabriel.
‘I don’t want Dr Graham’s explanation,’ whimpered Mrs Pendle, tearfully. ‘I dislike of all things to hear from a stranger what should be told to myself.