ng comfort was the
blow which this marriage would give to Mr. Slope. He had now certainly
lost his wife; rumour was beginning to whisper that he might possibly
lose his position in the palace; and if Mr. Harding would only be
true, the great danger of all would be surmounted. In such case it
might be expected that Mr. Slope would own himself vanquished, and take
himself altogether away from Barchester. And so the archdeacon would
again be able to breathe pure air.

"Well, well," said he. "Good heavens! Good heavens!" and the tone of
the fifth exclamation made Mr. Harding fully aware that content was
reigning in the archdeacon's bosom.

And then slowly, gradually, and craftily Mr. Harding propounded his
own new scheme. Why should not Mr. Arabin be the new dean?

Slowly, gradually, and thoughtfully Dr. Grantly fell into his
father-in-law's views. Much as he liked Mr. Arabin, sincere as was his
admiration for that gentleman's ecclesiastical abilities, he would not
have sanctioned a measure which would rob his father-in-law of his
fairly earned promotion, were it at all practicable to induce his
father-in-law to accept the promotion which he had earned. But the
archdeacon had, on a former occasion, received proof of the obstinacy
with which Mr. Harding could adhere to his own views in opposition to
the advice of all his friends. He knew tolerably well that nothing
would induce the meek, mild man before him to take the high place
offered to him, if he thought it wrong to do so. Knowing this, he
also said to himself more than once: "Why should not Mr. Arabin be
Dean of Barchester?" It was at last arranged between them that they
would together start to London by the earliest train on the following
morning, making a little detour to Oxford on their journey. Dr.
Gwynne's counsels, they imagined, might perhaps be of assistance to
them.

These matters settled, the archdeacon hurried off, that he might
return to Plumstead and prepare for his journey. The day was extremely
fine, and he came into the city in an open gig. As he was driving up
the High Street he encountered Mr. Slope at a crossing. Had he not
pulled up rather sharply, he would have run over him. The two had
never spoken to each other since they had met on a memorable occasion
in the bishop's study. They did not speak now, but they looked each
other full in the face, and Mr. Slope's countenance was as impudent,
as triumphant, as defiant as ever. Had Dr. Grantly not