h sin!

Mr Harding returned to his parlour, meditating with a sick heart
on what he had seen, and Bunce with him. We will not describe the
parting of these two good men, for good men they were. It was in
vain that the late warden endeavoured to comfort the heart of the old
bedesman; poor old Bunce felt that his days of comfort were gone. The
hospital had to him been a happy home, but it could be so no longer.
He had had honour there, and friendship; he had recognised his master,
and been recognised; all his wants, both of soul and body, had been
supplied, and he had been a happy man. He wept grievously as he
parted from his friend, and the tears of an old man are bitter.
"It is all over for me in this world," said he, as he gave the last
squeeze to Mr Harding's hand; "I have now to forgive those who have
injured me;--and to die."

And so the old man went out, and then Mr Harding gave way to his grief
and he too wept aloud.

Chapter XXI

CONCLUSION

Our tale is now done, and it only remains to us to collect the
scattered threads of our little story, and to tie them into a seemly
knot. This will not be a work of labour, either to the author or
to his readers; we have not to deal with many personages, or with
stirring events, and were it not for the custom of the thing, we might
leave it to the imagination of all concerned to conceive how affairs
at Barchester arranged themselves.

On the morning after the day last alluded to, Mr Harding, at an early
hour, walked out of the hospital, with his daughter under his arm, and
sat down quietly to breakfast at his lodgings over the chemist's shop.
There was no parade about his departure; no one, not even Bunce, was
there to witness it; had he walked to the apothecary's thus early to
get a piece of court plaster, or a box of lozenges, he could not have
done it with less appearance of an important movement. There was a
tear in Eleanor's eye as she passed through the big gateway and over
the bridge; but Mr Harding walked with an elastic step, and entered
his new abode with a pleasant face.

"Now, my dear," said he, "you have everything ready, and you can
make tea here just as nicely as in the parlour at the hospital." So
Eleanor took off her bonnet and made the tea. After this manner did
the late Warden of Barchester Hospital accomplish his flitting, and
change his residence.

It was not long before the archdeacon brought his father to discuss
the subject of