Der Praefekt

finished it, she almost feared to look up at her father.
     
    “Well, my dear,” said he, “what do you think of that;—is it worth
    while to be a warden at that price?”
     
    “Oh, papa;—dear papa!”
     
    “Mr Bold can’t un-write that, my dear;—Mr Bold can’t say that that
    sha’n’t be read by every clergyman at Oxford; nay, by every gentleman
    in the land;” and then he walked up and down the room, while Eleanor
    in mute despair followed him with her eyes.  “And I’ll tell you what,
    my dear,” he continued, speaking now very calmly, and in a forced
    manner very unlike himself; “Mr Bold can’t dispute the truth of every
    word in that article you have just read—nor can I.”  Eleanor stared
    at him, as though she scarcely understood the words he was speaking.
    “Nor can I, Eleanor: that’s the worst of all, or would be so if
    there were no remedy.  I have thought much of all this since we were
    together last night;” and he came and sat beside her, and put his arm
    round her waist as he had done then.  “I have thought much of what the
    archdeacon has said, and of what this paper says; and I do believe I
    have no right to be here.”
     
    “No right to be warden of the hospital, papa?”
     
    “No right to be warden with eight hundred a year; no right to be
    warden with such a house as this; no right to spend in luxury money
    that was intended for charity.  Mr Bold may do as he pleases about his
    suit, but I hope he will not abandon it for my sake.”
     
    Poor Eleanor! this was hard upon her.  Was it for this she had made
    her great resolve!  For this that she had laid aside her quiet
    demeanour, and taken upon her the rants of a tragedy heroine! Ein
    may work and not for thanks, but yet feel hurt at not receiving them;
    and so it was with Eleanor: one may be disinterested in one’s good
    actions, and yet feel discontented that they are not recognised.
    Charity may be given with the left hand so privily that the right hand
    does not know it, and yet the left hand may regret to feel that it has
    no immediate reward.  Eleanor had had no wish to burden her father
    with a weight of obligation, and yet she had looked forward to much
    delight from the knowledge that she had freed him from his sorrows:
    now such hopes were entirely over: all that she had done was of no
    avail; she had humbled herself to Bold in vain; the evil was utterly
    beyond her power to cure!
     
    She had thought also how gently she would whisper to her father all
    that her lover had said to her about herself, and how impossible she
    had found it to reject him: and then she had anticipated her father’s
    kindly kiss and close embrace as he gave his sanction to her love.
    Ach! she could say nothing of this now. In speaking of Mr Bold, her
    father put him aside as one whose thoughts and sayings and acts could
    be of no moment.  Gentle reader, did you ever feel yourself snubbed?
    Did you ever, when thinking much of your own importance, find yourself
    suddenly reduced to a nonentity?  Such was Eleanor’s feeling now.
     
    “They shall not put forward this plea on my behalf,” continued the
    warden.  “Whatever may be the truth of the matter, that at any rate is
    not true; and the man who wrote that article is right in saying that
    such a plea is revolting to an honest mind.  I will go up to London,
    my dear, and see these lawyers myself, and if no better excuse can be
    made for me than that, I and the hospital will part.”
     
    “But the archdeacon, papa?”
     
    “I can’t help it, my dear; there are some things which a man cannot
    bear:—I cannot bear that;” and he put his hand upon the newspaper.
     
    “But will the archdeacon go with you?”
     
    To tell the truth, Mr Harding had made up his mind to steal a march
    upon the archdeacon.  He was aware that he could take no steps without
    informing his dread son-in-law, but he had resolved that he would send
    out a note to Plumstead Episcopi detailing his plans, but that the
    messenger should not leave Barchester till he himself had started
    for London; so that he might be a day before the doctor, who, he had
    no doubt, would follow him.  In that day, if he had luck, he might
    arrange it all; he might explain to Sir Abraham that he, as warden,
    would have nothing further to do with the defence about to be set up;
    he might send in his official resignation to his friend the bishop,
    and so make public the whole transaction, that even the doctor