'But, Mr Harding, I must express what I feel, lest you

should think there is personal enmity in what I'm going to do.'
'Personal enmity! Going to do! Why, you're not going

to cut my throat, nor put me into the Ecclesiastical Court!'
Bold tried to laugh, but he couldn't. He was quite in

earnest, and determined in his course, and couldn't make a
joke of it. He walked on awhile in silence before he recommenced

his attack, during which Mr Harding, who had still the bow
in his hand, played rapidly on an imaginaryvioloncello. 'I

fear there is reason to think that John Hiram's will is not
carried out to the letter, Mr Harding,' said the young man at

last; 'and I have been asked to see into it.'
'Very well, I've no objection on earth; and now we need

not say another word about it.'
'Only one word more, Mr Harding. Chadwick has referred

me to Cox and Cummins, and I think it my duty to apply to
them for some statement about the hospital. In what I do I

may appear to be interfering with you, and I hope you will
forgive me for doing so.'

'Mr Bold,' said the other, stopping, and speaking with some
solemnity, 'if you act justly, say nothing in this matter but the

truth, and use no unfair weapons in carrying out your purposes,
I shall have nothing to forgive. I presume you think

I am not entitled to the income I receive from the hospital,
and that others are entitled to it. Whatever some may do, I

shall never attribute to you base motives because you hold an
opinion opposed to my own and adverse to my interests: pray

do what you consider to be your duty; I can give you no
assistance, neither will I offer you any obstacle. Let me,

however, suggest to you, that you can in no wise forward your
views nor I mine, by any discussion between us. Here comes

Eleanor and the ponies, and we'll go in to tea.'
Bold, however, felt that he could not sit down at ease with

Mr Harding and his daughter after what had passed, and
therefore excused himself with much awkwardapology; and

merely raising his hat and bowing as he passed Eleanor and the
pony chair, left her in disappointed amazement at his departure.

Mr Harding's demeanour certainly impressed Bold with a
full conviction that the warden felt that he stood on strong

grounds, and almost made him think that he was about to
interfere without due warrant in the private affairs of a just

and honourable man; but Mr Harding himself was anything
but satisfied with his own view of the case.

In the first place, he wished for Eleanor's sake to think well
of Bold and to like him, and yet he could not but feel disgusted

at the arrogance of his conduct. What right had he to say
that John Hiram's will was not fairly carried out? But then

the question would arise within his heart,--Was that will fairly
acted on? Did John Hiram mean that the warden of his

hospital should receive considerably more out of the legacy
than all the twelve old men together for whose behoof the

hospital was built? Could it be possible that John Bold was
right, and that the reverendwarden of the hospital had been

for the last ten years and more the unjust recipient of an income
legally and equitably belonging to others? What if it should

be proved before the light of day that he, whose life had been
so happy, so quiet, so respected, had absorbed #800 to which

he had no title, and which he could never repay? I do not
say that he feared that such was really the case; but the first

shade of doubt now fell across his mind, and from this evening,
for many a long, long day, our good, kind lovingwarden was

neither happy nor at ease.
Thoughts of this kind, these first moments of much misery,

oppressed Mr Harding as he sat sipping his tea, absent and
ill at ease. Poor Eleanor felt that all was not right, but her

ideas as to the cause of the evening's discomfort did not go
beyond her lover, and his sudden and uncivil departure. She

thought there must have been some quarrel between Bold and
her father, and she was half angry with both, though she did

not attempt to explain to herself why she was so.
Mr Harding thought long and deeply over these things, both

before he went to bed and after it, as he lay awake, questioning
within himself the validity of his claim to the income which he

enjoyed. It seemed clear at any rate that, however unfortunate
he might be at having been placed in such a position, no one

could say that he ought either to have refused the appointment
first, or to have rejected the income afterwards. All the

world--meaning the ecclesiastical world as confined to the
English church--knew that the wardenship of the Barchester

Hospital was a snug sinecure, but no one had ever been
blamed for accepting it. To how much blame, however,

would he have been open had he rejected it! How mad would
he have been thought had he declared, when the situation was

vacant and offered to him, that he had scruples as to receiving
#800 a year from John Hiram's property, and that he had

rather some stranger should possess it! How would Dr
Grantly have shaken his wise head, and have consulted with

his friends in the close as to some decentretreat for the coming
insanity of the poor minor canon! If he was right in accepting

the place, it was clear to him also that he would be wrong in
rejecting any part of the income attached to it. The patronage

was a valuable appanage of the bishopric; and surely it would
not be his duty to lessen the value of that preferment which

had been bestowed on himself; surely he was bound to stand
by his order.

But somehow these arguments, though they seemed logical,
were not satisfactory. Was John Hiram's will fairly carried

out? that was the true question: and if not, was it not his
especial duty to see that this was done--his especial duty,

whateverinjury it might do to his order--however ill such
duty might be received by his patron and his friends? At the

idea of his friends, his mind turned unhappily to his son-in-law.
He knew well how strongly he would be supported by Dr Grantly,

if he could bring himself to put his case into the archdeacon's
hands and to allow him to fight the battle; but he knew also that

he would find no sympathy there for his doubts, no friendly
feeling, no inward comfort. Dr Grantly would be ready enough to

take up his cudgel against all comers on behalf of the church
militant, but he would do so on the distasteful ground of the

church's infallibility. Such a contest would give no comfort to
Mr Harding's doubts. He was not so anxious to prove himself

right, as to be so.
I have said before that Dr Grantly was the working man of

the diocese, and that his father the bishop was somewhat
inclined to an idle life. So it was; but the bishop, though he

had never been an active man, was one whose qualities had
rendered him dear to all who knew him. He was the very

opposite to his son; he was a bland and a kind old man, opposed
by every feeling to authoritative demonstrations and episcopal

ostentation. It was perhaps well for him, in his situation,
that his son had early in life been able to do that which

he could not well do when he was younger, and which he could
not have done at all now that he was over seventy. The

bishop knew how to entertain the clergy of his diocese, to
talk easy small-talk with the rectors' wives, and put curates at

their ease; but it required the strong hand of the archdeacon
to deal with such as were refractory either in their doctrines or

their lives.
The bishop and Mr Harding loved each other warmly.