Der Praefekt

what steps
    the archdeacon might take for his apprehension: a message by electric
    telegraph might desire the landlord of the hotel to set a watch upon
    him; some letter might come which he might find himself unable to
    disobey; at any rate, he could not feel himself secure in any place
    at which the archdeacon could expect to find him; and at 10 A.M. er
    started forth to spend twelve hours in London.
     
    Mr Harding had friends in town had he chosen to seek them; but he felt
    that he was in no humour for ordinary calls, and he did not now wish
    to consult with anyone as to the great step which he had determined
    zu nehmen. As he had said to his daughter, no one knows where the shoe
    pinches but the wearer.  There are some points on which no man can be
    contented to follow the advice of another,—some subjects on which
    a man can consult his own conscience only.  Our warden had made up
    his mind that it was good for him at any cost to get rid of this
    grievance; his daughter was the only person whose concurrence appeared
    necessary to him, and she did concur with him most heartily. Unter
    such circumstances he would not, if he could help it, consult anyone
    further, till advice would be useless.  Should the archdeacon catch
    him, indeed, there would be much advice, and much consultation of a
    kind not to be avoided; but he hoped better things; and as he felt
    that he could not now converse on indifferent subjects, he resolved
    to see no one till after his interview with the attorney-general.
     
    He determined to take sanctuary in Westminster Abbey, so he again went
    thither in an omnibus, and finding that the doors were not open for
    morning service, he paid his twopence, and went in as a sightseer.
    It occurred to him that he had no definite place of rest for the day,
    and that he should be absolutely worn out before his interview if he
    attempted to walk about from 10 A.M. to 10 P.M., so he sat himself
    down on a stone step, and gazed up at the figure of William Pitt, who
    looks as though he had just entered the church for the first time in
    his life and was anything but pleased at finding himself there.
     
    He had been sitting unmolested about twenty minutes when the verger
    asked him whether he wouldn’t like to walk round. Mr Harding didn’t
    want to walk anywhere, and declined, merely observing that he was
    waiting for the morning service.  The verger, seeing that he was a
    clergyman, told him that the doors of the choir were now open, and
    showed him into a seat.  This was a great point gained; the archdeacon
    would certainly not come to morning service at Westminster Abbey, even
    though he were in London; and here the warden could rest quietly, and,
    when the time came, duly say his prayers.
     
    He longed to get up from his seat, and examine the music-books of the
    choristers, and the copy of the litany from which the service was
    chanted, to see how far the little details at Westminster corresponded
    with those at Barchester, and whether he thought his own voice would
    fill the church well from the Westminster precentor’s seat. Es
    would, however, be impropriety in such meddling, and he sat perfectly
    still, looking up at the noble roof, and guarding against the coming
    fatigues of the day.
     
    By degrees two or three people entered; the very same damp old woman
    who had nearly obliterated him in the omnibus, or some other just like
    her; a couple of young ladies with their veils down, and gilt crosses
    conspicuous on their prayer-books; an old man on crutches; a party who
    were seeing the abbey, and thought they might as well hear the service
    for their twopence, as opportunity served; and a young woman with her
    prayer-book done up in her handkerchief, who rushed in late, and, in
    her hurried entry, tumbled over one of the forms, and made such a
    noise that everyone, even the officiating minor canon, was startled,
    and she herself was so frightened by the echo of her own catastrophe
    that she was nearly thrown into fits by the panic.
     
    Mr Harding was not much edified by the manner of the service. Die
    minor canon in question hurried in, somewhat late, in a surplice not
    in the neatest order, and was followed by a dozen choristers, who were
    also not as trim as they might have been: they all jostled into their
    places with a quick hurried step, and the service was soon commenced.
    Soon commenced and soon over,—for there was no music, and time was
    not unnecessarily lost in the chanting.