on and walk round the close. If we are to discuss sidereal questions, we shall do so much better under the towers of the cathedral, than stuck in this narrow window.

Mrs Bold made no objection, and a party was made to walk out. Charlotte Stanhope well knew the rule as to three being no company, and she had therefore to induce her sister to allow Mr Slope to accompany them.

‘Come, Mr Slope,’ she said; ‘I’m sure you’ll join us. We shall be in again in quarter of an hour, Madeline.’

Madeline read in her eye all that she had to say, knew her object, and as she had to depend on her sister for so many of her amusements, she felt that she must yield. It was hard to be left alone while others of her own age walked out to feel the soft influence of the bright night, but it would be harder still without the sort of sanction which Charlotte gave to all her flirtations and intrigues. Charlotte’s eye told her that she must give up just at present for the good of the family, and so Madeline obeyed.

But Charlotte’s eyes said nothing of the sort to Mr Slope. He had no objection at all to the tête–á–tête with the signora, which the departure of the other three would allow him, and gently whispered to her, ‘I shall not leave you alone.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said she; ‘go—pray go, pray go, for my sake. Do not think that I am so selfish. It is understood that nobody is kept within for me. You will understand this too when you know me better. Pray join them, Mr Slope, but when you come in speak to me for five minutes before you leave us.’

Mr Slope understood that he was to go, and he therefore joined the party in the hall. He would have had no objection at all to this arrangement, if he could have secured Mrs Bold’s arm; but this was of course out of the question. Indeed, his fate was very soon settled, for no sooner had he reached the hall–door, than Miss Stanhope put her hand within his arm, and Bertie walked off with Eleanor just as naturally as though she were already his own property.

And so they sauntered forth: first they walked round the close, according to their avowed intent; then they went under the old arched gateway below St Cuthbert’s little church, and then they turned behind the grounds of the bishop’s palace, and so on till they came to the bridge just at the edge of the town, from which passers–by can look down into the gardens of Hiram’s hospital; and her Charlotte and Mr Slope, who were in advance, stopped till the other two came up to them. Mr Slope knew that the gable–ends and old brick chimneys which stood up so prettily in the moonlight, were those of Mr Harding’s late abode, and would not have stopped on such a spot, in such company, if he could have avoided it; but Miss Stanhope would not take the hint which he tried to give.

‘This is a very pretty place, Mrs Bold,’ said Charlotte; ‘by far the prettiest place near Barchester. I wonder your father gave it up.’

It was a very pretty place, and now by the deceitful light of the moon looked twice larger, twice prettier, twice more antiquely picturesque than it would have done in truth–telling daylight. Who does not know the air of complex multiplicity and the mysterious interesting grace which the moon always lends to old gabled buildings half surrounded, as was the hospital, by fine trees! As seen from the bridge on the night of which we are speaking, Mr Harding’s late abode did look very lovely; and though Eleanor did not grieve at her father’s having left it, she felt at the moment an intense wish that he might be allowed to return.

‘He is going to return to it immediately, is he not?’ asked Bertie.

Eleanor made no immediate reply. Much such a question passed unanswered, without the notice of the questioner; but such was not now the case. They all remained silent as though expecting her to reply, and after a moment or two, Charlotte said, ‘I believe it is settled that Mr Harding returns to the hospital, is it not?’