ing, over their heads; and not three hundred paces ahead of them in the path, a fox was slowly slinking along, stopping every yard or two to look at these two grave persons who did not seem to notice it.
"Mr Hansted," said the bishop suddenly without looking up,—"have you ever, in your student life—or possibly before—been specially attracted by any particular spiritual movement, either within the academic world or outside it?"
"I?… No," said Emanuel slowly, looking up in surprise. "No, I can't say that I have. I have always lived a very solitary life, especially as a student. I have never, so to speak, taken any part in the regular student life."
"But among your comrades you must have friends who have influenced you.… You have been a member of religious, literary or political clubs have you not?"
"No, and I have never had a real friend. I have been almost entirely thrown upon my own society and books since I have been grown up—I have never had anything to do with politics."
"Indeed," said the bishop shortly, and cleared his throat—there was a slightly disappointed tone in his voice.
"But however has it come about, then," he added, stopping and looking up at Emanuel. "How in the world have you arrived at your—if I may say so—somewhat extreme views?
