going to abandon this lawsuit?'--and he paused for a reply.

'Yes, Dr Grantly, I am.'
'Having exposed a gentleman who was one of your father's

warmest friends to all the ignominy and insolence which the
press could heap upon his name, having somewhat ostentatiously

declared that it was your duty as a man of high public
virtue to protect those poor old fools whom you have humbugged

there at the hospital, you now find that the game costs
more than it's worth, and so you make up your mind to have

done with it. A prudentresolution, Mr Bold; but it is a pity
you should have been so long coming to it. Has it struck you

that we may not now choose to give over? that we may find it
necessary to punish the injury you have done to us? Are you

aware, sir, that we have gone to enormous expense to resist
this iniquitous attempt of yours?'

Bold's face was now furiously red, and he nearly crushed his
hat between his hands; but he said nothing.

'We have found it necessary to employ the best advice that
money could procure. Are you aware, sir, what may be the

probable cost of securing the services of the attorney-general?'
'Not in the least, Dr Grantly.'

'I dare say not, sir. When you recklessly put this affair into
the hands of your friend Mr Finney, whose six-and-eightpences

and thirteen-and-fourpences may, probably, not amount to a
large sum, you were indifferent as to the cost and suffering

which such a proceeding might entail on others; but are you
aware, sir, that these crushing costs must now come out of your

own pocket?'
'Any demand of such a nature which Mr Harding's lawyer

may have to make will doubtless be made to my lawyer.'
'"Mr Harding's lawyer and my lawyer!" Did you come

here merely to refer me to the lawyers? Upon my word I
think the honour of your visit might have been spared! And

now, sir, I'll tell you what my opinion is--my opinion is, that
we shall not allow you to withdraw this matter from the courts.'

'You can do as you please, Dr Grantly; good-morning.'
'Hear me out, sir,' said the archdeacon; 'I have here in my

hands the last opinion given in this matter by Sir Abraham
Haphazard. I dare say you have already heard of this--I

dare say it has had something to do with your visit here today.'
'I know nothing whatever of Sir Abraham Haphazard or

his opinion.'
'Be that as it may, here it is; he declares most explicitly that

under no phasis of the affair whatever have you a leg to stand
upon; that Mr Harding is as safe in his hospital as I am here

in my rectory; that a more futile attempt to destroy a man
was never made, than this which you have made to ruin Mr

Harding. Here,' and he slapped the paper on the table, 'I
have this opinion from the very first lawyer in the land; and

under these circumstances you expect me to make you a low
bow for your kind offer to release Mr Harding from the toils

of your net! Sir, your net is not strong enough to hold him;
sir, your net has fallen to pieces, and you knew that well

enough before I told you--and now, sir, I'll wish you good-
morning, for I'm busy.'

Bold was now choking with passion. He had let the archdeacon
run on because he knew not with what words to

interrupt him; but now that he had been so defied and insulted,
he could not leave the room without some reply.

'Dr Grantly,' he commenced.
'I have nothing further to say or to hear,' said the archdeacon.

'I'll do myself the honour to order your horse.' And he rang
the bell.

'I came here, Dr Grantly, with the warmest, kindest feelings--'
'Oh, of course you did; nobody doubts it.'

'With the kindest feelings--and they have been most grossly
outraged by your treatment.'

'Of course they have--I have not chosen to see my father-in-law
ruined; what an outrage that has been to your feelings!'

'The time will come, Dr Grantly, when you will understand
why I called upon you today.'

'No doubt, no doubt. Is Mr Bold's horse there? That's
right; open the front door. Good-morning, Mr Bold'; and

the doctor stalked into his own drawing-room, closing the door
behind him, and making it quite impossible that John Bold

should speak another word.
As he got on his horse, which he was fain to do feeling like a dog

turned out of a kitchen, he was again greeted by little Sammy.
'Good-bye, Mr Bold; I hope we may have the pleasure of

seeing you again before long; I am sure papa will always be
glad to see you.'

That was certainly the bitterest moment in John Bold's life.
Not even the remembrance of his successful love could comfort

him; nay, when he thought of Eleanor he felt that it was that
very love which had brought him to such a pass. That he

should have been so insulted, and be unable to reply! That he
should have given up so much to the request of a girl, and then

have had his motives so misunderstood! That he should have
made so gross a mistake as this visit of his to the archdeacon's!

He bit the top of his whip, till he penetrated the horn of which
it was made: he struck the poor animal in his anger, and then

was doubly angry with himself at his futilepassion. He had
been so completely checkmated, so palpably overcome! and

what was he to do? He could not continue his action after
pledging himself to abandon it; nor was there any revenge in

that--it was the very step to which his enemy had endeavoured
to goad him!

He threw the reins to the servant who came to take his horse,
and rushed upstairs into his drawing-room, where his sister

Mary was sitting.
'If there be a devil,' said he, 'a real devil here on earth, it is

Dr Grantly.' He vouchsafed her no further intelligence, but
again seizing his hat, he rushed out, and took his departure for

London without another word to anyone.
CHAPTER XIII

The Warden's Decision
The meeting between Eleanor and her father was not so

stormy as that described in the last chapter, but it was
hardly more successful. On her return from Bold's house she

found her father in a strange state. He was not sorrowful and
silent as he had been on that memorable day when his son-in-law

lectured him as to all that he owed to his order; nor was
he in his usual quiet mood. When Eleanor reached the hospital,

he was walking to and fro upon the lawn, and she soon saw
that he was much excited.

'I am going to London, my dear,' he said as soon as he
saw her.

'London,papa!'
'Yes, my dear, to London; I will have this matter settled

some way; there are some things, Eleanor, which I cannot bear.'
'Oh, papa, what is it?' said she, leading him by the arm

into the house. 'I had such good news for you, and now you
make me fear I am too late. And then, before he could let

her know what had caused this sudden resolve, or could point
to the fatal paper which lay on the table, she told him that the