with portraits of many bishops who have held the see.
Archbishop Laud looks down with a somewhat grim face, like a man who had set himself to endure hardness, and never flinch from the line he had marked out for himself. Saintly Ken, too, is there, and keen, thin-lipped Wolsey, who had not learned when he sat for that picture the bitter lesson which his old age brought him, not to put his trust in princes, or in any child of man.
The war-like bishop, too, with the hole in his cheek, had, a very unwarlike expression.
"A jolly old fellow!" Mr. Arundel remarked; "not like a man who cared to handle a musket or bayonet."
"No; appearances are deceitful at times," the bishop said. "The stairs up which we came, open into my study, from that little ante-chamber; and I confess I should take flight by them and get into the chapel if by chance the Palace is besieged."
"Not much fear of that," Melville said, "in these days."
"These days are not as quiet as they may look, young sir. It strikes me, before you are grey-headed, there will be a desperate struggle between law and anarchy – between the king and the people. The horizon is dark enough. There are graver matters pressing than gewgaws and finery and personal indulgence. We are too much given in Wells to look upon it as the world, and refuse to believe in the near approach of the storm of which there are signs already, and not far from us. But, young gentlemen, I have an appointment, and must not delay if I wish to be punctual. I shall hope to see you again, Mr. Arundel. How long will you be in our neighbourhood?"
"For a few days, my lord."
"Well, well. I shall come out to Fair Acres with my son, and pay my respects to your excellent parents, Mr. Falconer, of whom I have heard much during my short residence in Wells."
The young men felt that the time for departure had come, and taking leave of the bishop, they passed under the old gateway, and were again on the square of green turf which separated it from the cloister door.
A row of noble elms skirted the moat, and Melville proposed that they should take a turn under them. The moat was full, and the stately swans came sailing towards the sloping bank, where two girls were standing. Quaint figures now we should think they were, with the short, plain skirts of their frocks bordered with a narrow frill, thin white stockings, which sandalled shoes displayed to advantage, and little tippets crossed over their shoulders surmounted by large gipsy hats or bonnets. But nothing could destroy the symmetry of the arm and hand, which was stretched out towards the swans with a bit of bread. And Mr. Arundel exclaimed:
"There are the two girls we saw in the cathedral Falconer; one is your sister."
Before Melville could rejoin, Joyce had turned, and now came forward to her brother with heightened colour, saying:
"I think my father will be ready to go home now, Melville, and we had better go back to the Swan."
Charlotte all this time had been posing before her grand cousin and his friend, hoping to attract his attention.
"Introduce me, Falconer," Mr. Arundel said, standing with a native grace which characterised him, with his hat in his hand.
"My sister," said Melville, carelessly, "and my cousin, Miss Benson;" and he was passing on to continue his walk towards the Bishop's Fields; but Mr. Arundel did not follow him.
"Your sister says we shall be wanted at the Swan Inn, and must not linger by the live swans."
"Oh, no; we are going to Fair Acres quite independently of my father. I have ordered our carriage; you ought to come to the end of the Moat, there is a fine view of Dulcot."
But Mr. Arundel showed no intention of following his friend. "Nay," he said, "let me see the swans have the last bit of bun. See, they are coming for it. Do you always bring them buns?"
"Not always; but I had a convenient halfpenny left from the change at Willmott's, so I went to buy a stale bun at the little shop in Saddler Street."
"Happy swans to be so remembered!" Mr. Arundel said, as he watched the last wedge of the stale bun gobbled up by the master of the brood, while his wife gave him a savage peck with her black bill.
"It is a pity they are so greedy; it spoils their beauty," Joyce said. Then, with sudden recollection, she said, "Oh! Charlotte, I have forgotten to take Piers' sparrow-hawk to Mr. Plume's. I must go at once to Aunt Letitia's and fetch it. I left it in the basket there."
"Can I go and fetch the sparrow-hawk, Miss Falconer?" Mr. Arundel began.
"Come, Arundel," Melville interrupted, "you and I can stroll round this moat; we are not returning, as I told you, with Joyce."
But Mr. Arundel deliberately turned in the direction in which Joyce was hastening; and Charlotte, much to her cousin's vexation, was left with him.
A muttered exclamation, which was not fit for ears polite to hear, escaped Melville's lips, and Charlotte's soft speeches were lost on him.
"It is so nice to see you here, Cousin Melville. Won't you come and pay auntie a visit?"
Melville had particularly desired to escape a visit to the Vicar's Close, but he began to fear it was inevitable.
"Do tell me about college," Charlotte began. "I am dying to hear, because I have a special interest in college now." This was said with a smile and glance which were meant to make an impression. "And do you wear one of those sweet hoods with snow-white fur round it, Cousin Melville? They do look so pretty!"
"Well – no," drawled Melville, evasively; "I have not taken my B.A. yet."
"Mr. Bamfylde, the new minor Canon at the cathedral, wears one; and it is so charming!"
"Humph!" Melville rejoined.
What were all the minor canons in the world to him that he should care whether they wore fur-lined or silk-lined hoods at their backs?
They had reached the turnstile now leading into the Cathedral Green.
"I say," he began, "I think I must bid you good-bye here, Charlotte. I will call on Aunt Letitia another day, for I must look after the carriage. I am afraid there should be some mistake. I want a pair of greys to post with, and I should not wonder if they tried to pass off two old bays, with their bones just through their skins."
And the next minute the fine gentleman was sauntering off in the opposite direction to poor Charlotte, who went away disconsolate.
Meantime Mr. Arundel and Joyce had walked quickly to the Vicar's Close, and Joyce, having captured her basket with the dead bird, was surprised to find Mr. Arundel waiting for her at the little gate.
"Mr. Plume's shop is in New Street," she said. "It is scarcely to be called a shop, but there are a few stuffed birds in the window. We must go up the steps by the chapel into the North Liberty."
Mr. Arundel was struck with the business-like fashion in which Joyce conducted her interview with Mr. Plume.
He was a little dried-up-looking man, whose front parlour had that peculiar scent which is characteristic of rooms where stuffed animals are kept.
Mr. Plume did not confine himself to birds. A large fox, with gleaming teeth and glassy eyes, stared at the customers from a shelf in a recess by the fire-place. A badger was on another; and owls of all sizes and colours were standing, with one foot tucked up, and a certain stony stare in their great
