is to pay Mr. Thumble?"

"The income of the parish must be sequestrated, and he must be paid
out of that. Of course he must have the income while he does the
work."

"But, my dear, I cannot sequestrate the man's income."

"I don't believe it, bishop. If the bishop cannot sequestrate, who
can? But you are always timid in exercising the authority put into
your hands for wise purposes. Not sequestrate the income of a man
who has been proved to be a thief! You leave that to us, and we
will manage it." The "us" here named comprised Mrs. Proudie and the
bishop's managing chaplain.

Then the bishop was left alone for an hour to write the letter which
Mr. Thumble was to carry over to Mr. Crawley,--and after a while he
did write it. Before he commenced the task, however, he sat for some
moments in his arm-chair close by the fire-side, asking himself
whether it might not be possible for him to overcome his enemy in
this matter. How would it go with him suppose he were to leave the
letter unwritten, and send in a message by his chaplain to Mrs
Proudie, saying that as Mr. Crawley was out on bail, the parish might
be left for the present without episcopal interference? She could not
make him interfere. She could not force him to write the letter. So,
at least, he said to himself. But as he said it, he almost thought
that she could do these things. In the last thirty years, or more,
she had ever contrived by some power latent in her to have her will
effected. But what would happen if now, even now, he were to rebel?
That he would personally become very uncomfortable, he was well
aware, but he thought that he could bear that. The food would become
bad,--mere ashes between his teeth, the daily modicum of wine would
lose its flavour, the chimneys would all smoke, the wind would come
from the east, and the servants would not answer the bell. Little
miseries of that kind would crowd upon him. He had arrived at a time
in life in which such miseries make such men very miserable; but yet
he thought that he could endure them. And what other wretchedness
would come to him? She would scold him,--frightfully, loudly,
scornfully, and worse than all, continually. But of this he had so
much habitually, that anything added might be borne also;--if only he
could be sure that the scoldings should go on in private, that the
world of the palace should not be allowed to hear the revilings to
which he would be subjected. But to be scolded publicly w