Of the Bishop’s Quandary
lord.” And with that I swept the purse and the rings at a motion into his apron.
The Bishop stirred and regarded me with mild surprise. Then, smiling and shrugging his heavy shoulders, he replaced the rings slowly upon his hands. “This, I take it, is not repentance?” he asked, thoughtfully.
“Nay,” said I jauntily. “Take it for what you will. Call it a whim, conceive it a doting fancy for a tough old cock, or imagine me a penitent ripe for the altar. It matters not so you carry off your jewels in safety.”
“You are mistaken, Ryder,” says the old gentleman, shaking his head. “Were it a whim, I should expect a sharp change. Should it be a pious penitence, I should have no option save to pursue the gracious miracle—with sound religious advice and the ordinances of the Church. And if it came of a sudden appreciation of, as you say”—he paused—“myself and my poor merits”—he paused again and, having settled his rings, took a pinch of snuff—“I should have a mind to ask your company at dinner.”
13
