see. And yet I am very glad that it is
settled."

On the next day Lily Dale went down to the Small House of Allington,
and so she passes out of sight. I can only ask the reader to believe
that she was in earnest, and express my opinion, in this last word,
that I shall ever write respecting her, that she will live and die as
Lily Dale.

CHAPTER LXXVIII

The Arabins Return to Barchester

In these days Mr. Harding was keeping his bed at the deanery, and most
of those who saw him declared that he would never again leave it. The
archdeacon had been slow to believe so, because he had still found
his father-in-law able to talk to him;--not indeed with energy, but
then Mr. Harding had never been energetic on ordinary matters,--but
with the same soft cordial interest in things which had ever been
customary with him. He had latterly been much interested about Mr
Crawley, and would make both the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly tell him
all that they had heard, and what they thought of the case. This of
course had been before the all-important news had been received from
Mrs. Arabin. Mr. Harding was very anxious. "Firstly," as he said, "for
the welfare of the poor man, of whom I cannot bring myself to think
ill; and then for the honour of the cloth in Barchester." "We are
as liable to have black sheep here as elsewhere," the archdeacon
replied. "But, my dear, I do not think that the sheep is black; and
we never have had black sheep in Barchester." "Haven't we though?"
said the archdeacon, thinking, however, of sheep who were black with
a different kind of blackness from this which was now attributed
to Mr. Crawley,--of a blackness which was not absolute blackness
to Mr. Harding's milder eyes. The archdeacon, when he heard his
father-in-law talk after this fashion, expressed his opinion that he
might live yet for years. He was just the man to linger on, living
in bed,--as indeed he had lingered all his life out of bed. But the
doctor who attended him thought otherwise, as did also Mrs. Grantly,
and as did Mrs. Baxter, and as also did Posy. "Grandpa won't get
up any more, will he?" Posy said to Mrs. Baxter. "I hope he will,
my dear; and that very soon." "I don't think he will," said Posy,
"because he said he would never see the big fiddle again." "That
comes of being a little melancholy like, my dear," said Mrs. Baxter.

Mrs. Grantly at this time went into Barchester almost every day, and
the archdeacon, who was very often