‘Who on earth can it be?’ said the archdeacon to his wife. He then quietly got up and stood with the drawing–room door open in his hand. ‘Why, it is your father!’

It was indeed Mr Harding, and Mr Harding alone. He had come by himself in a post–chaise with a couple of horses from Barchester, arriving almost after dark, and evidently full of news. His visits had usually been made in the quietest manner; he had rarely presumed to come without notice, and had always been driven up in a modest old green fly, with one horse, that hardly made itself heard as it crawled up to the hall door.

‘Good gracious, Warden, is it you?’ said the archdeacon, forgetting in his surprise the events of the last few years. ‘But come in; nothing is the matter, I hope?’

‘We are very glad you are come, papa,’ said his daughter. ‘I’ll go and get your room ready at once.’

‘I an’t warden, archdeacon,’ said Mr Harding. ‘Mr Quiverful is warden.’

Oh, I know, I know,’ said the archdeacon, petulantly. ‘I forgot all about it at the moment. Is anything the matter?’

‘Don’t go at the moment, Susan,’ said Mr Harding; ‘I have something to tell you.’

‘The dinner bell will ring in five minutes,’ said she.

‘Will it?’ said Mr Harding. ‘Then, perhaps I had better wait.’ he was big with news which he had come to tell, but which he knew could not be told without much discussion. He had hurried away to Plumstead as fast as two horses could bring him, and now, finding himself there, he was willing to accept the reprieve which dinner would give him.

‘If you have anything of moment to tell us, said the archdeacon, ‘pray let us hear it at once. Has Eleanor gone off?’

‘No, she has not,’ said Mr Harding, with a look of great disclosure.

‘Has Slope been made dean?’

‘No, he has not; but—’

‘But what?’ said the archdeacon, who was becoming very impatient.

‘They have—’

‘They have what?’ said the archdeacon.

‘They have offered it to me,’ said Mr Harding, with a modesty which almost prevented his speaking.

‘Good heavens!’ said the archdeacon, and sank back exhausted in an easy–chair.

‘My dear, dear, father,’ said Mrs Grantly, and threw her arms around his neck.

‘So I thought I had better come out and consult with you at once,’ said Mr Harding.

‘Consult!’ shouted the archdeacon. ‘But, my dear Harding, I congratulate you with my whole heart—with my whole heart. I do indeed. I never heard anything in my life that gave me so much pleasure;’ and he got hold of both his father–in–law’s hands, and shook them as though he were going to shake them off, and walked round and round the room, twirling a copy of the Jupiter over his head, to show his extreme exultation.