determination not to succumb. "You think Mr. Slope is a messenger
direct from Satan. I think he is an industrious, well-meaning
clergyman. It's a pity that we differ as we do. But, as we do
differ, we had probably better not talk about it."

Here Eleanor undoubtedly put herself in the wrong. She might probably
have refused to talk to Dr. Grantly on the matter in dispute without
any impropriety, but, having consented to listen to him, she had no
business to tell him that he regarded Mr. Slope as an emissary from
the evil one; nor was she justified in praising Mr. Slope, seeing
that in her heart of hearts she did not think well of him. She was,
however, wounded in spirit, and angry, and bitter. She had been
subjected to contumely and cross-questioning and ill-usage through
the whole evening. No one, not even Mr. Arabin, not even her father,
had been kind to her. All this she attributed to the prejudice and
conceit of the archdeacon, and therefore she resolved to set no
bounds to her antagonism to him. She would neither give nor take
quarter. He had greatly presumed in daring to question her about her
correspondence, and she was determined to show that she thought so.

"Eleanor, you are forgetting yourself," said he, looking very sternly
at her. "Otherwise you would never tell me that I conceive any man
to be a messenger from Satan."

"But you do," said she. "Nothing is too bad for him. Give me that
letter, if you please;" and she stretched out her hand and took it
from him. "He has been doing his best to serve Papa, doing more than
any of Papa's friends could do; and yet, because he is the chaplain
of a bishop whom you don't like, you speak of him as though he had no
right to the usage of a gentleman."

"He has done nothing for your father."

"I believe that he has done a great deal; and, as far as I am
concerned, I am grateful to him. Nothing that you can say can prevent
my being so. I judge people by their acts, and his, as far as I can
see them, are good." She then paused for a moment. "If you have
nothing further to say, I shall be obliged by being permitted to say
good night--I am very tired."

Dr. Grantly had, as he thought, done his best to be gracious to his
sister-in-law. He had endeavoured not to be harsh to her, and had
striven to pluck the sting from his rebuke. But he did not intend
that she should leave him without hearing him.

"I have something to say, Eleanor, and I fear I must trouble you to
hea