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Page 1
1907
Published, May, 1907
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A MAN WHO WAS WITH HIS
WHOLE HEART A PRIEST AND WITH HIS WHOLE STRENGTH A SOLDIER OF THE
CHURCH MILITANT.
JACOB SHAW SHIPMAN
CONTENTS
_I. The Bishop's Silence_
_II. The Witnesses_
_III. The Diamond Brooches_
_IV. Crowned with Glory and Honor_
_V. A Messenger_
_VI. The Aide-de-Camp_
_VII. Through the Ivory Gate_
_VIII. The Wife of the Governor_
_IX. The Little Revenge_
ILLUSTRATIONS
_"I took her in my arms and held her"_
_"Many waters shall not wash out love", said Eleanor_
_He stared into the smoldering fire_
_"Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge behind_
_"I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone"_
_"I reckon I shall have to ask you to not pick any more of those
roses," a voice said_
_"You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying_
_I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands_
THE BISHOP'S SILENCE
The Bishop was walking across the fields to afternoon service. It was a
hot July day, and he walked slowly--for there was plenty of time--with
his eyes fixed on the far-off, shimmering sea. That minstrel of heat,
the locust, hidden somewhere in the shade of burning herbage, pulled a
long, clear, vibrating bow across his violin, and the sound fell lazily
on the still air--the only sound on earth except a soft crackle under
the Bishop's feet. Suddenly the erect, iron-gray head plunged madly
forward, and then, with a frantic effort and a parabola or two,
recovered itself, while from the tall grass by the side of the path
gurgled up a high, soft, ecstatic squeal. The Bishop, his face flushed
with the stumble and the heat and a touch of indignation besides,
straightened himself with dignity and felt for his hat, while his eyes
followed a wriggling cord that lay on the ground, up to a small brown
fist. A burnished head, gleaming in the sunshine like the gilded ball
on a church steeple, rose suddenly out of the waves of dry grass, and a
pink-ginghamed figure, radiant with joy and good-will, confronted him.
The Bishop's temper, roughly waked up by the unwilling and unepiscopal
war-dance just executed, fell back into its chains.
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