with her of course, leaving _The Jupiter_
and Mr Finney to complete the case between them. Sometimes as he woke
in the morning fevered and impatient, he would blow out his brains and
have done with all his cares;--but this idea was generally consequent
on an imprudent supper enjoyed in company with Tom Towers.

How beautiful Eleanor appeared to him as she slowly walked into the
room! Not for nothing had all those little cares been taken. Though
her sister, the archdeacon's wife, had spoken slightingly of her
charms, Eleanor was very beautiful when seen aright. Hers was not of
those impassive faces, which have the beauty of a marble bust; finely
chiselled features, perfect in every line, true to the rules of
symmetry, as lovely to a stranger as to a friend, unvarying unless in
sickness, or as age affects them. She had no startling brilliancy of
beauty, no pearly whiteness, no radiant carnation. She had not the
majestic contour that rivets attention, demands instant wonder, and
then disappoints by the coldness of its charms. You might pass
Eleanor Harding in the street without notice, but you could hardly
pass an evening with her and not lose your heart.

She had never appeared more lovely to her lover than she now did. Her
face was animated though it was serious, and her full dark lustrous
eyes shone with anxious energy; her hand trembled as she took his, and
she could hardly pronounce his name, when she addressed him. Bold
wished with all his heart that the Australian scheme was in the act of
realisation, and that he and Eleanor were away together, never to hear
further of the lawsuit.

He began to talk, asked after her health,--said something about London
being very stupid, and more about Barchester being very pleasant;
declared the weather to be very hot, and then inquired after Mr
Harding.

"My father is not very well," said Eleanor.

John Bold was very sorry,--so sorry: he hoped it was nothing serious,
and put on the unmeaningly solemn face which people usually use on
such occasions.

"I especially want to speak to you about my father, Mr Bold; indeed, I
am now here on purpose to do so. Papa is very unhappy, very unhappy
indeed, about this affair of the hospital: you would pity him, Mr
Bold, if you could see how wretched it has made him."

"Oh, Miss Harding!"

"Indeed you would;--anyone would pity him; but a friend, an old friend
as you are,--indeed you would. He is an altered man; his cheerfuln