Thank ye, ma'am, for saying so. And so I
listened hard; but he didn't go to his music, poor gentleman; and I
think he had a quiet night. He doesn't sleep much at nights, poor
gentleman, but he's very quiet; leastwise he was last night." This
was the bulletin which Mrs. Baxter gave to Mrs. Grantly on that morning
before Mrs. Grantly saw her father.

She found him preparing himself for his visit to the cathedral. Some
year or two,--but no more,--before the date of which we are speaking,
he had still taken some small part in the service; and while he had
done so he had of course worn his surplice. Living so close to the
cathedral,--so close that he could almost walk out of the house into
the transept,--he had kept his surplice in his own room, and had gone
down in his vestment. It had been a bitter day to him when he had
first found himself constrained to abandon the white garment which
he loved. He had encountered some failure in the performance of the
slight clerical task allotted to him, and the dean had tenderly
advised him to desist. He did not utter one word of remonstrance.
"It will perhaps be better," the dean had said. "Yes,--it will be
better," Mr. Harding had replied. "Few have had accorded to them the
high privilege of serving their master in His house for so many
years,--though few more humbly, or with lower gifts." But on the
following morning, and for nearly a week afterwards, he had been
unable to face the minor canon and the vergers, and the old women
who knew him so well, in his ordinary black garments. At last he
went down with the dean, and occupied a stall close to the dean's
seat,--far away from that in which he had sat for so many years,--and
in this seat he had said his prayers ever since that day. And now his
surplices were washed and ironed and folded and put away; but there
were moments in which he would stealthily visit them, as he also
stealthily visited his friend in the black wooden case. This was very
melancholy, and the sadness of it was felt by all those who lived
with him; but he never alluded himself to any of those bereavements
which age brought upon him. Whatever might be his regrets, he kept
them ever within his own breast.

Posy was with him when Mrs. Grantly went up into his room, holding for
him his hat and stick while he was engaged in brushing a suspicion of
dust from his black gaiters. "Grandpapa, here is aunt Susan," said
Posy. The old man looked up with something,--with some