'Yes, yes,' said the archdeacon, impatient of poetry at such

a time. 'Well, two paid servants, we'll say; one to look after
the men, and the other to look after the money. You and

Chadwick are these two servants, and whether either of you be
paid too much, or too little, more or less in fact than the

founder willed, it's as clear as daylight that no one can fall foul
of either of you for receiving an allotted stipend.'

'That does seem clear,' said the bishop, who had winced
visibly at the words servants and stipend, which, however,

appeared to have caused no uneasiness to the archdeacon.
'Quite clear,' said he, 'and very satisfactory. In point of

fact, it being necessary to select such servants for the use of the
hospital, the pay to be given to them must depend on the rate

of pay for such services, according to their market value at the
period in question; and those who manage the hospital must

be the only judges of this.'
'And who does manage the hospital?' asked the warden.

'Oh, let them find that out; that's another question: the
action is brought against you and Chadwick; that's your

defence, and a perfect and full defence it is. Now that I think
very satisfactory.'

'Well,' said the bishop, looking inquiringly up into his friend's
face, who sat silent awhile, and apparently not so well satisfied.

'And conclusive,' continued the archdeacon; 'if they press
it to a jury, which they won't do, no twelve men in England

will take five minutes to decide against them.'
'But according to that' said Mr Harding, 'I might as well

have sixteen hundred a year as eight, if the managers choose to
allot it to me; and as I am one of the managers, if not the chief

manager, myself, that can hardly be a just arrangement.'
'Oh, well; all that's nothing to the question. The question

is, whether this intruding fellow, and a lot of cheating attorneys
and pestilent dissenters, are to interfere with an arrangement

which everyone knows is essentially" target="_blank" title="ad.本质上，基本上">essentially just and serviceable to the
church. Pray don't let us be splitting hairs, and that amongst

ourselves, or there'll never be an end of the cause or the cost.'
Mr Harding again sat silent for a while, during which the

bishop once and again pressed his arm, and looked in his face
to see if he could catch a gleam of a contented and eased mind;

but there was no such gleam, and the poor warden continued
playing sad dirges on invisible stringed instruments in all

manner of positions; he was ruminating in his mind on this
opinion of Sir Abraham, looking to it wearily and earnestly

for satisfaction, but finding none. At last he said, 'Did you
see the opinion, archdeacon?'

The archdeacon said he had not--that was to say, he -had-
that was, he had not seen the opinion itself; he had seen what

had been called a copy, but he could not say whether of a
whole or part; nor could he say that what he had seen were

the ipsissima verba of the great man himself; but what he had
seen contained exactly the decision which he had announced,

and which he again declared to be to his mind extremely
satisfactory.

'I should like to see the opinion,' said the warden; 'that is,
a copy of it.'

'Well, I suppose you can if you make a point of it; but I
don't see the use myself; of course it is essential that the

purport of it should not be known, and it is therefore unadvisable
to multiply copies.'

'Why should it not be known?' asked the warden.
'What a question for a man to ask!' said the archdeacon,

throwing up his hands in token of his surprise; 'but it is like
you--a child is not more innocent than you are in matters of

business. Can't you see that if we tell them that no action will
lie against you, but that one may possibly lie against some

other person or persons, that we shall be putting weapons into
their hands, and be teaching them how to cut our own throats?'

The warden again sat silent, and the bishop again looked at
him wistfully: 'The only thing we have now to do,' continued

the archdeacon, 'is to remain quiet, hold our peace, and let
them play their own game as they please.'

'We are not to make known then,' said the warden, 'that
we have consulted the attorney-general, and that we are

advised by him that the founder's will is fully and fairly
carried out.'

'God bless my soul!' said the archdeacon, 'how odd it is
that you will not see that all we are to do is to do nothing:

why should we say anything about the founder's will? We are
in possession; and we know that they are not in a position to

put us out; surely that is enough for the present.'
Mr Harding rose from his seat and paced thoughtfully up

and down the library, the bishop the while watching him painfully
at every turn, and the archdeacon continuing to pour forth

his convictions that the affair was in a state to satisfy any
prudent mind.

'And The Jupiter?' said the warden, stopping suddenly.
'Oh! The Jupiter,' answered the other. 'The Jupiter can

break no bones. You must bear with that; there is much, of
course, which it is our bounden duty to bear; it cannot be all

roses for us here,' and the archdeacon looked exceedingly
moral; 'besides, the matter is too trivial, of too little general

interest to be mentioned again in The Jupiter, unless we stir up
the subject.' And the archdeacon again looked exceedingly

knowing and worldly wise.
The warden continued his walk; the hard and stinging

words of that newspaper article, each one of which had thrust
a thorn as it were into his inmost soul, were fresh in his

memory; he had read it more than once, word by word, and
what was worse, he fancied it was as well known to everyone

as to himself. Was he to be looked on as the unjust griping
priest he had been there described? Was he to be pointed at

as the consumer of the bread of the poor, and to be allowed no
means of refuting such charges, of clearing his begrimed name,

of standinginnocent in the world, as hitherto he had stood?
Was he to bear all this, to receive as usual his now hated

income, and be known as one of those greedy priests who by
their rapacity have brought disgrace on their church? And

why? Why should he bear all this? Why should he die, for he
felt that he could not live, under such a weight of obloquy?

As he paced up and down the room he resolved in his misery
and enthusiasm that he could with pleasure, if he were allowed,

give up his place, abandon his pleasant home, leave the hospital,
and live poorly, happily, and with an unsullied name, on the

small remainder of his means.
He was a man somewhat shy of speaking of himself, even

before those who knew him best, and whom he loved the most;
but at last it burst forth from him, and with a somewhat jerking

eloquence he declared that he could not, would not, bear this
misery any longer.

'If it can be proved,' said he at last, 'that I have a just and
honest right to this, as God well knows I always deemed I had;

if this salary or stipend be really my due, I am not less anxious
than another to retain it. I have the well-being of my child

to look to. I am too old to miss without some pain the comforts
to which I have been used; and I am, as others are, anxious