earched for by the Revs. Messrs. Grey and Green and found in one
corner of the tent enjoying himself thoroughly in a disquisition on
the hebdomadal board. He obeyed, however, the behests of his lady
without finishing the sentence in which he was promising to Dr.
Gwynne that his authority at Oxford should remain unimpaired, and the
episcopal horses turned their noses towards the palatial stables. Then
the Grantlys went. Before they did so, Mr. Harding managed to whisper
a word into his daughter's ear. Of course, he said, he would undeceive
the Grantlys as to that foolish rumour about Mr. Slope.

"No, no, no," said Eleanor; "pray do not--pray wait till I see you.
You will be home in a day or two, and then I will I explain to you
everything."

"I shall be home to-morrow," said he.

"I am so glad," said Eleanor. "You will come and dine with me, and
then we shall be so comfortable."

Mr. Harding promised. He did not exactly know what there was to be
explained, or why Dr. Grantly's mind should not be disabused of the
mistake into which he had fallen, but nevertheless he promised. He
owed some reparation to his daughter, and he thought that he might
best make it by obedience.

And thus the people were thinning off by degrees as Charlotte and
Eleanor walked about in quest of Bertie. Their search might have been
long had they not happened to hear his voice. He was comfortably
ensconced in the ha-ha, with his back to the sloping side, smoking a
cigar, and eagerly engaged in conversation with some youngster from
the further side of the county, whom he had never met before, who was
also smoking under Bertie's pupilage and listening with open ears to
an account given by his companion of some of the pastimes of Eastern
clime.

"Bertie, I am seeking you everywhere," said Charlotte. "Come up here
at once."

Bertie looked up out of the ha-ha and saw the two ladies before him.
As there was nothing for him but to obey, he got up and threw away
his cigar. From the first moment of his acquaintance with her he had
liked Eleanor Bold. Had he been left to his own devices, had she
been penniless, and had it then been quite out of the question that
he should marry her, he would most probably have fallen violently in
love with her. But now he could not help regarding her somewhat as
he did the marble workshops at Carrara, as he had done his easel and
palette, as he had done the lawyer's chambers in London--in fact, as
he had invariably