s.

But suddenly an interruption came, not altogether unwelcome to Mr.
Slope. One of the bishop's servants came up to his master's shoulder
with a long, grave face and whispered into the bishop's ear.

"What is it, John?" said the bishop.

"The dean, my lord; he is dead."

Mr. Slope had no further desire to converse with the Master of
Lazarus, and was very soon on his road back to Barchester.

Eleanor, as we have said, having declared her intention of never
holding further communication with Mr. Slope, ran hurriedly back
towards the house. The thought, however, of what she had done grieved
her greatly, and she could not abstain from bursting into tears.
'Twas thus she played the second act in that day's melodrama.

CHAPTER XLI

Mrs. Bold Confides Her Sorrow to Her Friend Miss Stanhope

When Mrs. Bold came to the end of the walk and faced the lawn, she
began to bethink herself what she should do. Was she to wait there
till Mr. Slope caught her, or was she to go in among the crowd with
tears in her eyes and passion in her face? She might in truth have
stood there long enough without any reasonable fear of further
immediate persecution from Mr. Slope, but we are all inclined to
magnify the bugbears which frighten us. In her present state of dread
she did not know of what atrocity he might venture to be guilty. Had
anyone told her a week ago that he would have put his arm round her
waist at this party of Miss Thorne's, she would have been utterly
incredulous. Had she been informed that he would be seen on the
following Sunday walking down the High Street in a scarlet coat
and top boots, she would not have thought such a phenomenon more
improbable.

But this improbable iniquity he had committed, and now there was
nothing she could not believe of him. In the first place it was quite
manifest that he was tipsy; in the next place it was to be taken as
proved that all his religion was sheer hypocrisy; and finally the man
was utterly shameless. She therefore stood watching for the sound of
his footfall, not without some fear that he might creep out at her
suddenly from among the bushes.

As she thus stood she saw Charlotte Stanhope at a little distance
from her, walking quickly across the grass. Eleanor's handkerchief
was in her hand, and putting it to her face so as to conceal her
tears, she ran across the lawn and joined her friend.

"Oh, Charlotte," she said, almost too much out of breath to speak
very p