said, addressing her at last. The bishop
jumped out of his chair at hearing the wife of his bosom called a
woman. But he jumped rather in admiration than in anger. He had
already begun to perceive that Mr. Crawley was a man who had better be
left to take care of the souls at Hogglestock, at any rate till the
trial should come on.

"Woman!" said Mrs. Proudie, rising to her feet as though she really
intended some personal encounter.

"Madam," said Mr. Crawley, "you should not interfere in these matters.
You simply debase you husband's high office. The distaff were more
fitting for you. My lord, good morning." And before either of them
could speak again, he was out of the room, and through the hall, and
beyond the gate, and standing beneath the towers of the cathedral.
Yes, he had, he thought, in truth crushed the bishop. He had
succeeded in crumpling the bishop up within the clutch of his fist.

He started in a spirit of triumph to walk back on his road towards
Hogglestock. He did not think of the long distance before him for
the first hour of his journey. He had had his victory, and the
remembrance of that braced his nerves and gave elasticity to his
sinews, and he went stalking along the road with rapid strides,
muttering to himself from time to time as he went along some word
about Mrs. Proudie and her distaff. Mr. Thumble would not, he thought,
come to him again,--not, at any rate, till the assizes were drawing
near. And he had resolved what he would do then. When the day of his
trial was near, he would himself write to the bishop, and beg that
provision might be made for his church, in the event of the verdict
going against him. His friend, Dean Arabin, was to be home before
that time, and the idea had occurred to him of asking the dean to see
to this; but now the other would be the more independent course, and
the better. And there was a matter as to which he was not altogether
well pleased with the dean, although he was so conscious of his own
peculiarities as to know that he could hardly trust himself for a
judgment. But, at any rate, he would apply to the bishop,--to the
bishop whom he had just left prostrate in his palace,--when the time
of his trial should be close at hand.

Full of such thoughts as these he went along almost gaily, nor felt
the fatigue of the road till he had covered the first five miles out
of Barchester. It was nearly four o'clock, and the thick gloom of
the winter evening was making i