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Mrs Grantly made no answer to this, knowing very well that she could not bring herself to go beyond the gentlest persuasion with her father, and on the next morning she was at the deanery by ten o'clock. Half-past ten was the hour at which the service began. Mrs Baxter contrived to meet her before she saw her father, and begged her not to let it be known that any special tidings of Mr Harding's failing strength had been sent from the deanery to Plumstead. 'And how is my father?' asked Mrs Grantly. 'Well, then, ma'am,' said Baxter, 'in one sense he's finely. He took a morsel of early lamb to his dinner yesterday, and relished it ever so well--only he gave Miss Posy the best part of it. And then he sat with Miss Posy quite happy for an hour or so. And then he slept in his chair; and you know, ma'am, we never wake him. And after that old Skulpit toddled up from the hospital'--this was Hiram's Hospital of which establishment, in the city of Barchester, Mr Harding had once been the warden and kind master, as has been told in former chronicles of the city--'and your papa has said, ma'am, you know, that he is always to see any of the old men when they come up. And Skulpit is sly, and no better than he should be, and got money from your father, ma'am, I know. And then he had just a drop of tea, and after that I took him a glass of port wine with my own hands. And it touched me, ma'am, so it did, when he said, "Oh, Mrs Baxter, how good you are; you know well what I like."And then he went to bed. I listened hard--not from idle curiosity, ma'am, as you, who know me, will believe, but just because it's becoming to know what he's about, as there might be an accident, you know, ma'am.' 'You are very good, Mrs Baxter, very good.' 'Thank ye, ma'am, for saying so. And so I listened hard; but he didn't go to his music, poor gentleman; and I think he had a quiet night. He doesn't sleep much at nights, poor gentleman, but he's very quiet; leastwise he was last night.' This was the bulletin which Mrs Baxter gave Mrs Grantly on that morning before Mrs Grantly saw her father.

She found him preparing himself for his visit to the cathedral. Some year or two--but no more--before the date of which we are speaking, he had still taken some small part in the service; and while he had done so he had of course worn his surplice. Living so close to the cathedral--so close that he could almost walk out of the house into the transept--he had kept his surplice in his own room, and had gone down in his vestment. It had been a bitter day to him when he had first found himself constrained to abandon the white garment which he loved. He had encountered some failure in the performance of the slight clerical task allotted to him, and the dean had tenderly advised him to desist. He did not utter one word of remonstrance. 'It will perhaps be better,' the dean had said. 'Yes--it will be better,' Mr Harding had replied. 'Few have had accorded to them the high privilege of serving their Master in His house for so many years--though few more humbly, or with lower gifts.' But on the following morning, and for nearly a week afterwards, he had been unable to face the minor canon and the vergers, and the old women who knew him so well, in his ordinary black garments. At last he went down with the dean, and occupied a stall close to the dean's seat --far away from that which he had sat for so many years--and in this seat he had said his prayers ever since that day. And now his surplices were washed and ironed and folded and put away; but there were moments in which he would stealthily visit them, as he also stealthily visited his friend in the black wooden case. This was very melancholy, and the sadness of it was felt by all those who lived with him; but he never alluded himself to any of those bereavements which age had brought him.

Whatever might be his regrets, he kept them ever within his own breast.

Posy was with him when Mrs Grantly went up into his room, holding for him his hat and stick while he was engaged in brushing a suspicion of dust from his black gaiters. 'Grandpapa, here is aunt Susan,' said Posy.

The old man looked up with something--with some slightest sign of that habitual fear which was always aroused within his bosom by visitations from Plumstead. Had Mrs Arabin thoroughly understood the difference in her father's feeling toward herself and toward her sister, I think she would hardly have gone forth upon any tour while he remained with her in the deanery. It is very hard sometimes to know how intensely we are loved, and of what value our presence is to those who love us! Mrs Grantly saw the look--did not analyse it, did not quite understand it--but felt, as she had often felt before, that it was not altogether laden with welcome. But all this had nothing to do with the duty on which she had come; nor did it, in the slightest degree, militate against her own affection. 'Papa,' she said, kissing him, 'you are surprised to see me so early?'

'Well, my dear, yes;--but very glad all the same. I hope everybody is well at Plumstead?'

'Everybody, thank you, papa.'

'That is well. Posy and I are getting ready for church. Are we not, Posy?'

'Grandpapa is getting ready. Mrs Baxter won't let me go.'

'No, my dear, no--not yet, Posy. When Posy is a great girl she can go to the cathedral every day. Only then, perhaps, Posy won't want to go.'

'I thought that, perhaps, papa, you would sit with me a little while this morning, instead of going to morning prayers.'

'Certainly, my dear--certainly. Only I do not like not going;--for who can say how often I may be able to go again? There is so little time left, Susan--so very little left.'