grandpa to sit up in bed," said Posy.

When the major had been there about twenty minutes he was preparing
to take his leave,--but Mr. Harding, bidding Posy to go out of the
room, told his grandson that he had a word to say to him. "I don't
like to interfere, Henry," he said, "but I am afraid that things are
not quite smooth at Plumstead."

"There is nothing wrong between me and my mother," said the major.

"God forbid that there should be; but, my dear boy, don't let there
be anything wrong between you and your father. He is a good man, and
the time will come when you will be proud of his memory."

"I am proud of him now."

"Then be gentle with him,--and submit yourself. I am an old man
now,--very fast going away from all those I love here. But I am happy
in leaving my children because they have ever been gentle to me and
kind. If I am permitted to remember them whither I am going, my
thoughts of them will all be pleasant. Should it not be much to them
that they have made by death-bed happy?"

The major could not but tell himself that Mr. Harding had been a man
easy to please, easy to satisfy, and, in that respect, very different
from his father. But of course he said nothing of this. "I will do my
best," he replied.

"Do, my boy. Honour thy father,--that thy days may be long in the
land."

[Illustration: "Honour thy Father,--that thy days
may be long in the Land."]

It seemed to the major as he drove away from Barchester that
everybody was against him; and yet he was sure that he himself was
right. He could not give up Grace Crawley; and unless he were to do
so he could not live at Cosby Lodge.

CHAPTER LIX

A Lady Presents Her Compliments to Miss L. D.

One morning while Lily Dale was staying with Mrs. Thorne in London,
there was brought up to her room, as she was dressing for dinner,
a letter which the postman had just left for her. The address was
written with a feminine hand, and Lily was at once aware that she did
not know the writing. The angles were very acute, and the lines were
very straight, and the vowels looked to be cruel and false, with
their sharp points and their open eyes. Lily at once knew that it was
the performance of a woman who had been taught to write at school,
and not at home, and she became prejudiced against the writer before
she opened the letter. When she had opened the letter and read it,
her feelings towards the writer were not of a kindly nature. It was
as