Part 22 (1/2)

Still my head was turned quite round, looking at the carriage after it had pa.s.sed, till it was out of sight; but I knew who the party was, and for the time I was satisfied, as I determined to find out his address, and call upon him. I narrated to Timothy what had occurred, and referring to the Red Book, I looked out the bishop's town address; and the next day, after breakfast, having arranged my toilet with the utmost precision, I made an excuse to the major, and set off to Portland Place.

PART TWO, CHAPTER THREE.

A CHAPTER OF MISTAKES--NO BENEFIT OF CLERGY--I ATTACK A BISHOP, AND AM BEATEN OFF--THE MAJOR HEDGES UPON THE FILLY STAKES.

My hand trembled as I knocked at the door. It was opened. I sent in my card, requesting the honour of an audience with his lords.h.i.+p. After waiting a few minutes in an ante-room, I was ushered in. ”My lord,”

said I, in a flurried manner, ”will you allow me to have a few minutes'

conversation with you alone.”

”This gentleman is my secretary, sir, but if you wish it, certainly; for although he is my confidant, I have no right to insist that he shall be yours. Mr Temple, will you oblige me by going up stairs for a little while.”

The secretary quitted the room, the bishop pointed to a chair, and I sat down. I looked him earnestly in the face--the nose was exact, and I imagined that even in the other features I could distinguish a resemblance. I was satisfied that I had at last gained the object of my search. ”I believe, sir,” observed I, ”that you will acknowledge, that in the heat and impetuosity of youth, we often rush into hasty and improvident connections.”

I paused, with my eyes fixed upon his. ”Very true, my young sir; and when we do we are ashamed, and repent of them afterwards,” replied the bishop, rather astonished.

”I grant that, sir,” replied I; ”but at the same time, we must feel that we must abide by the results, however unpleasant.”

”When we do wrong, Mr Newland,” replied the bishop, first looking at my card, and then upon me, ”we find that we are not only to be punished in the next world, but suffer for it also in this. I trust you have no reason for such suffering?”

”Unfortunately, the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and, in that view, I may say that I have suffered.”

”My dear sir,” replied the bishop, ”I trust you will excuse me, when I say, that my time is rather valuable; if you have anything of importance to communicate--anything upon which you would ask my advice--for a.s.sistance you do not appear to require, do me the favour to proceed at once to the point.”

”I will, sir, be as concise as the matter will admit of. Allow me, then, to ask you a few questions, and I trust to your honour, and the dignity of your profession, for a candid answer. Did you not marry a young woman early in life? and were you not very much pressed in your circ.u.mstances?”

The bishop stared. ”Really, Mr Newland, it is a strange question, and I cannot imagine to what it may lead, but still I will answer it. I did marry early in life, and I was, at that time, not in very affluent circ.u.mstances.”

”You had a child by that marriage--your eldest born--a boy!”

”That is also true, Mr Newland,” replied the bishop, gravely.

”How long is it since you have seen him?”

”It is many years,” replied the bishop, putting his handkerchief up to his eyes.

”Answer me, now, sir;--did you not desert him?”

”No, no!” replied the bishop. ”It is strange that you should appear to know so much about the matter, Mr Newland, as you could have hardly been born. I was poor then--very poor; but although I could ill afford it, he had fifty pounds from me.”

”But, sir,” replied I, much agitated; ”why have you not reclaimed him?”

”I would have reclaimed him, Mr Newland--but what could I do--he was not to be reclaimed; and now--he is lost for ever.”

”Surely, sir, in your present affluence, you must wish to see him again?”

”He died, and I trust he has gone to heaven,” replied the bishop, covering up his face.

”No, sir,” replied I, throwing myself on my knees before him, ”he did not die, here he is at your feet, to ask your blessing.”

The bishop sprang from his chair. ”What does this mean, sir?” said he, with astonishment. ”You my son?”