to lose
perhaps everything for the pretence of a foolish sentiment.

But how was he to act while his father-in-law stood there holding his
hand? How, without appearing unfeeling, was he to forget his father
in the bishop--to overlook what he had lost, and think only of what he
might possibly gain?

"No, I suppose not," said he, at last, in answer to Mr. Harding. "We
have all expected it so long."

Mr. Harding took him by the arm and led him from the room. "We will
see him again to-morrow morning," said he; "we had better leave the
room now to the women." And so they went downstairs.

It was already evening and nearly dark. It was most important that
the prime minister should know that night that the diocese was
vacant. Everything might depend on it; and so, in answer to Mr.
Harding's further consolation, the archdeacon suggested that a
telegraph message should be immediately sent off to London. Mr.
Harding, who had really been somewhat surprised to find Dr. Grantly,
as he thought, so much affected, was rather taken aback, but he
made no objection. He knew that the archdeacon had some hope of
succeeding to his father's place, though he by no means knew how
highly raised that hope had been.

"Yes," said Dr. Grantly, collecting himself and shaking off his
weakness, "we must send a message at once; we don't know what might
be the consequence of delay. Will you do it?'

"I! Oh, yes; certainly. I'll do anything, only I don't know exactly
what it is you want."

Dr. Grantly sat down before a writing-table and, taking pen and ink,
wrote on a slip of paper as follows:--

By Electric Telegraph.
For the Earl of ----, Downing Street, or elsewhere.
The Bishop of Barchester is dead.
Message sent by the Rev. Septimus Harding.

"There," said he. "Just take that to the telegraph office at the
railway station and give it in as it is; they'll probably make you
copy it on to one of their own slips; that's all you'll have to do;
then you'll have to pay them half a crown." And the archdeacon put
his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necessary sum.

Mr. Harding felt very much like an errand-boy, and also felt that he
was called on to perform his duties as such at rather an unseemly
time, but he said nothing, and took the slip of paper and the
proffered coin.

"But you've put my name into it, Archdeacon."

"Yes," said the other, "there should be the name of some clergyman,
you know, and what name so proper