Westgate placed a chair for her and endeavored to quiet her.
"I don't think the bishop will make a decision of any kind to-night," he assured her. "He may not care at any time to exercise his power to decree a direct dismissal. But why have you changed your mind in the matter?"
"I haven't changed my mind about his sermons and his ridiculous ideas and all that, but I hate to see him disgraced, and I'm so sorry for poor, dear Mrs. Farrar. I went to call on her to-day. You should have seen her, Philip. She's a mere wreck. It was distressing the way she wept."
"I know. I'm as sorry as you are for Mrs. Farrar."
"It's pitiful! I tried to get her to come with me to see the bishop, but she wouldn't. She says she wants to go; she says it's torture to her to stay in this city; but she doesn't want her husband disgraced. Poor woman! She hardly knows what she wants. She's beside herself."
"I'm very sorry for Mrs. Farrar," repeated Westgate. "It's one of the sad results of a man's misdeeds that the innocent members of his family are often the greater sufferers."
"So I want you," went on Mrs. Tracy, "to plead with the bishop. He'll listen to you. I talked with him but he wouldn't give me any satisfaction. He said he couldn't promise anything. I tried to get Ruth to talk with him; he's very fond of Ruth; but she wouldn't. I couldn't reason with her. She says there's a great principle involved. She says that if he's wrong he's tremendously wrong, and he ought to go; and if he's right, as she believes he is, he is everlastingly right, and he ought to be vindicated, and honored and loved."
"Did she say he ought to be loved?"
"Something like that. I don't exactly remember. The whole thing is so perfectly dreadful!"
"Mrs. Tracy, I believe that Ruth's salvation depends
