endeavoured to
do good, failing partly by ignorance and partly from the effects of
an unbridled, ambitious temper. And now, even amidst her keenest
sufferings, her ambition was by no means dead. She still longed to
rule the diocese by means of her husband, but was made to pause and
hesitate by the unwonted mood that had fallen upon him. Before this,
on more than one occasion, and on one very memorable occasion, he had
endeavoured to combat her. He had fought with her, striving to put
her down. He had failed, and given up the hope of any escape for
himself in that direction. On those occasions her courage had never
quailed for a moment. While he openly struggled to be master, she
could openly struggle to be mistress,--and could enjoy the struggle.
But nothing like this moodiness had ever come upon him before.

She had yielded to it for many days, striving to coax him by little
softnesses of which she herself had been ashamed as she practised
them. They had served her nothing, and at last she determined that
something else must be done. If only for his sake, to keep some life
in him, something else must be done. Were he to continue as he was
now, he must give up his diocese, or, at any rate, declare himself
too ill to keep the working of it in his own hands. How she hated
Mr. Crawley for all the sorrow that he had brought upon her and her
house!

And it was still the affair of Mr. Crawley which urged her on to
further action. When the bishop received Mr. Crawley's letter he said
nothing of it to her; but he handed it over to his chaplain. The
chaplain, fearing to act upon it himself, handed it to Mr. Thumble,
whom he knew to be one of the bishop's commission, and Mr. Thumble,
equally fearing responsibility in the present state of affairs at the
palace, found himself obliged to consult Mrs. Proudie. Mrs. Proudie had
no doubt as to what should be done. The man had abdicated his living,
and of course some provision must be made for the services. She would
again make an attempt upon her husband, and therefore she went into
his room holding Mr. Crawley's letter in her hand.

"My dear," she said, "here is Mr. Crawley's letter. I suppose you have
read it."

"Yes," said the bishop; "I have read it."

"And what will you do about it? Something must be done."

"I don't know," said he. He did not even look at her as he spoke. He
had not turned his eyes upon her since she had entered the room.

"But, bishop, it is a letter th