to the little choristers,--they were all there, and followed in at
the transept door, two by two. And in the transept they were joined
by another clergyman who no one had expected to see that day. The
bishop was there, looking old and worn,--almost as though he were
unconscious of what he was doing. Since his wife's death no one had
seen him out of the palace or of the palace grounds till that day.
But there he was,--and they made way for him into the procession
behind the two ladies,--and the archdeacon, when he saw it, resolved
that there should be peace in his heart, if peace might be possible.

They made their way into the cloisters where the grave had been
dug,--as many as might be allowed to follow. The place indeed was
open to all who chose to come; but they who had only slightly known
the man, refrained from pressing upon those who had a right to stand
around his coffin. But there was one other there whom the faithful
chronicler of Barchester should mention. Before any other one had
reached the spot, the sexton and the verger between them had led in
between them, among the graves beneath the cloisters, a blind man,
very old, with a wondrous stoop, but who must have owned a grand
stature before extreme old age had bent him, and they placed him
sitting on a stone in the corner of the archway. But as soon as the
shuffling of steps reached his ears, he raised himself with the
aid of his stick, and stood during the service leaning against the
pillar. The blind man was so old that he might almost have been
Mr. Harding's father. This was John Bunce, bedesman from Hiram's
Hospital,--and none perhaps there had known Mr. Harding better than he
had known him. When the earth had been thrown on to the coffin, and
the service was over, and they were about to disperse, Mrs. Arabin
went up to the old man, and taking his hand between hers whispered a
word into his ear. "Oh, Miss Eleanor!", he said. "Oh, Miss Eleanor,"
he said. "Oh, Miss Eleanor!" Within a fortnight he also was lying
within the cathedral precincts.

And so they buried Mr. Septimus Harding, formerly Warden of Hiram's
Hospital in the city of Barchester, of whom the chronicler may say
that that city never knew a sweeter gentleman or a better Christian.

CHAPTER LXXXII

The Last Scene at Hogglestock

[Illustration]

The fortnight following Mr. Harding's death was passed very quietly at
Hogglestock, for during that time no visitor made an appearance in