ile? He told himself that he had feared God,--but he was not sure
that he was telling himself true even in that.

During the whole of the morning Mrs. Arabin and Mrs. Grantly were
with their father, and during the greater part of the day there was
absolute silence in the room. He seemed to sleep; and they, though
they knew that in truth that he was not sleeping, feared to disturb
him by a word. About two Mrs. Baxter brought him his dinner, and he
did rouse himself, and swallowed a spoonful of soup and half a glass
of wine. At this time Posy came to him, and stood at the bedside,
looking at him with her great wide eyes. She seemed to be aware that
life had now gone so far with her dear old friend that she must not
be allowed to sit upon his bed again. But he put his hand out to her,
and she held it, standing quite still and silent. When Mrs. Baxter
came to take away the tray, Posy's mother got up, and whispered a
word to the child. Then Posy went away, and her eyes never beheld the
old man again. That was a day which Posy never forgot,--not though
she should live to be much older than her grandfather was when she
thus left him.

"It is so sweet to have you both here," he said, when he had been
lying silent for nearly an hour after the child had gone. Then they
got up, and came and stood close to him. "There is nothing left for
me to wish, my dears;--nothing." Not long after that he expressed a
desire that the two husbands,--his two sons-in-law,--should come to
him; and Mrs. Arabin went to them, and brought them to the room. As
he took their hands he merely repeated the same words again. "There
is nothing left for me to wish, my dears;--nothing." He never spoke
again above his breath; but ever and anon his daughters, who watched
him, could see that he was praying. The two men did not stay with
him long, but returned to the gloom of the library. The gloom had
almost become the darkness of the night, and they were still sitting
there without any light, when Mrs. Baxter entered the room. "The
dear gentleman is no more," said Mrs. Baxter; and it seemed to the
archdeacon that the very moment of his father's death had repeated
itself. When Dr. Filgrave called he was told that his services could
be of no further use. "Dear, dear!" said the doctor. "We are all
dust, Mrs. Baxter; are we not?" There were people in Barchester who
pretended to know how often the doctor had repeated this little
formula during the last thirty years.