much of your own importance, find yourself suddenly reduced to a nonentity? Such was Eleanor’s feeling now.

“They shall not put forward this plea on my behalf,” continued the warden. “Whatever may be the truth of the matter, that at any rate is not true; and the man who wrote that article is right in saying that such a plea is revolting to an honest mind. I will go up to London, my dear, and see these lawyers myself, and if no better excuse can be made for me than that, I and the hospital will part.”

“But the archdeacon, papa?”

“I can’t help it, my dear; there are some things which a man cannot bear,—I cannot bear that”—and he put his hand upon the newspaper.

“But will the archdeacon go with you?”

To tell the truth, Mr. Harding had made up his mind to steal a march upon the archdeacon. He was aware that he could take no steps without informing his dread son-in-law, but he had resolved that he would send out a note to Plumstead Episcopi detailing his plans, but that the messenger should not leave Barchester till he himself had started for London; so that he might be a day before the doctor, who, he had no doubt, would follow him. In that day, if he had luck, he might arrange it all; he might explain to Sir Abraham that he, as warden, would have nothing further to do with the defence about to be set up; he might send in his official resignation to his friend the bishop, and so make public the whole transaction, that even the doctor would not be able to undo what he had done. He knew too well the doctor’s strength and his own weakness to suppose he could do this, if they both reached London together; indeed, he would never be able to get to London, if the doctor knew of his intended journey in time to prevent it.

“No, I think not,” said he; “I think I shall start before the archdeacon could be ready—I shall go early to- morrow morning.”

“That will be best, papa,” said Eleanor, showing that her father’s ruse was appreciated.

“Why, yes, my love: the fact is, I wish to do all this before the archdeacon can—can interfere. There is a great deal of truth in all he says—he argues very well, and I can’t always answer him; but there is an old saying, Nelly, ‘every one knows where his own shoe pinches!’ He’ll say that I want moral courage, and strength of character, and power of endurance, and it’s all true; but I’m sure I ought not to remain here, if I have nothing better to put forward than a quibble: so, Nelly, we shall have to leave this pretty place.”

Eleanor’s face brightened up as she assured her father how cordially she agreed with him.

“True, my love,” said he, now again quite happy and at ease in his manner. “What good to us is this place or all the money, if we are to be ill-spoken of?”

“Oh, papa, I am so glad!”

“My darling child. It did cost me a pang at first, Nelly, to think that you should lose your pretty drawing- room, and your ponies, and your garden: the garden will be the worst of all—but there is a garden at Crabtree, a very pretty garden.”

Crabtree Parva was the name of the small living which Mr. Harding had held as a minor canon, and which still belonged to him. It was only worth some eighty pounds a year, and a small house and glebe, all of which were now handed over to Mr. Harding’s curate; but it was to Crabtree glebe that Mr. Harding thought of retiring. This parish must not be mistaken for that other living, Crabtree Canonicorum, as it is called. Crabtree Canonicorum is a very nice thing; there are only two hundred parishioners; there are four hundred acres of glebe; and the great and small tithes, which both go to the rector, are worth four hundred pounds a year more. Crabtree Canonicorum is in the gift of the dean and chapter, and is at