were going well with the archdeacon, and he could afford to be charitable to Mrs Quiverful. He looked forth from his gig smilingly on all the world, and forgave every one in Barchester their sins, excepting only Mrs Proudie and Mr Slope. Had he seen the bishop, he would have felt inclined to pat even him kindly on the head.

He determined to go home by St Ewold’s. This would take him some three miles out of his way; but he felt that he could not leave Plumstead comfortably without saying one word of good fellowship to Mr Arabin. When he reached the parsonage the vicar was still out; but, from what he had heard, he did not doubt but that he would meet him on the road between their two houses. He was right in this, for about halfway home, at a narrow turn, he came upon Mr Arabin, who was on horseback.

‘Well, well, well, well,’ said the archdeacon loudly, joyously, and with supreme good humour; ‘well, well, well, well; so, after all, we have no further cause to fear Mr Slope.’

‘I hear from Mrs Grantly that they have offered the deanery to Mr Harding,’ said the other.

‘Mr Slope has lost more than the deanery, I find,’ and then the archdeacon laughed jocosely. ‘Come, come, Arabin, you have kept your secret well enough. I know all about it now.’

‘I have had no secret, archdeacon,’said the other with a quiet smile. ‘None at all—not for a day. It was only yesterday that I knew my own good fortune, and to–day I went over to Plumstead to ask your approval. From what Mrs Grantly has said to me, I am led to hope that I shall have it.’

‘With all my heart, with all my heart,’ said the archdeacon cordially, holding his friend by the hand. ‘It’s just as I would have it. She is an excellent young woman; she will not come to you empty–handed; and I think she will make you a good wife. If she does her duty by you as her sister does by me, you’ll be a happy man; that’s all I can say.’ And as he finished speaking, a tear might have been observed in each of the doctor’s eyes.’

Mr Arabin warmly returned the archdeacon’s grasp, but he said little. His heart was too full for speaking, and he could not express the gratitude which he felt. Dr Grantly understood him as well as though he had spoken for an hour.

‘And mind, Arabin,’ said he, ‘no one but myself shall tie the knot. We’ll get Eleanor out to Plumstead, and it shall come off there. I’ll make Susan stir herself, and we’ll do it in style. I must be off to London to–morrow on special business. Harding goes with me. But I’ll be back before your bride has got her wedding–dress ready.’ And so they parted.

On his journey home the archdeacon occupied his mind with preparations for the marriage festivities. He made a great resolve that he would atone to Eleanor for all the injury he had done her by the munificence of his future treatment. He would show her what was the difference in his eyes between a Slope and an Arabin. On one other thing also he decided with a firm mind: if the affair of the dean should not be settled in Mr Arabin’s favour, nothing should prevent him putting a new front and bow–window to the dining–room at St Ewold’s parsonage.

‘So we’re sold after all, Sue,’ said he to his wife, accosting her with a kiss as soon as he entered his house. He did not call his wife Sue above twice or thrice in a year, and these occasions were great high days.

‘Eleanor has had more sense then we gave her credit for,’ said Mrs Grantly.

And there was great content in Plumstead rectory that evening; and Mrs Grantly promised her husband that she would now open her heart, and take Mr Arabin into it. Hitherto she had declined to do so.