Eleanor was again banished from her father's sorrow. Ah! her
desire now was not to find him happy, but to be allowed to share his
sorrows; not to force him to be sociable, but to persuade him to be
trustful.

She put on her bonnet as desired, and went up to Mary Bold; this was
now her daily haunt, for John Bold was up in London among lawyers and
church reformers, diving deep into other questions than that of the
wardenship of Barchester; supplying information to one member of
Parliament, and dining with another; subscribing to funds for the
abolition of clerical incomes, and seconding at that great national
meeting at the Crown and Anchor a resolution to the effect, that no
clergyman of the Church of England, be he who he might, should have
more than a thousand a year, and none less than two hundred and fifty.
His speech on this occasion was short, for fifteen had to speak, and
the room was hired for two hours only, at the expiration of which
the Quakers and Mr Cobden were to make use of it for an appeal to
the public in aid of the Emperor of Russia; but it was sharp and
effective; at least he was told so by a companion with whom he now
lived much, and on whom he greatly depended,--one Tom Towers, a very
leading genius, and supposed to have high employment on the staff of
_The Jupiter_.

So Eleanor, as was now her wont, went up to Mary Bold, and Mary
listened kindly, while the daughter spoke much of her father, and,
perhaps kinder still, found a listener in Eleanor, while she spoke
about her brother. In the meantime the warden sat alone, leaning on
the arm of his chair; he had poured out a glass of wine, but had done
so merely from habit, for he left it untouched; there he sat gazing
at the open window, and thinking, if he can be said to have thought,
of the happiness of his past life. All manner of past delights came
before his mind, which at the time he had enjoyed without considering
them; his easy days, his absence of all kind of hard work, his
pleasant shady home, those twelve old neighbours whose welfare till
now had been the source of so much pleasant care, the excellence
of his children, the friendship of the dear old bishop, the solemn
grandeur of those vaulted aisles, through which he loved to hear his
own voice pealing; and then that friend of friends, that choice ally
that had never deserted him, that eloquent companion that would
always, when asked, discourse such pleasant music, that violoncello
of