so like him for
that. Not but what poor Mrs. Proudie is the dearest friend I have in
the world, and I'm always fighting a battle with old Lady Lufton on
her behalf. But one likes to see one's friends worsted sometimes, you
know."

"I don't quite understand what did happen at Hogglestock on the
Sunday," said the major.

"Some say he had the bishop's chaplain put under the pump. I don't
believe that; but there is no doubt that when the poor fellow tried
to get into the pulpit, they took him and carried him neck and heels
out of the church. But, tell me, Major Grantly, what is to become of
the family?"

"Heaven knows!"

"Is it not sad? And that eldest girl is so nice! They tell me
that she is perfect,--not only in beauty, but in manners and
accomplishments. Everybody says that she talks Greek just as well as
she does English, and that she understands philosophy from the top to
the bottom."

"At any rate, she is so good and so lovely that one cannot but pity
her now," said the major.

"You know her, then, Major Grantly? By-the-by, of course you do, as
you were staying with her at Framley."

"Yes, I know her."

"What is to become of her? I'm going your way. You might as well
get into the carriage, and I'll drive you home. If he is sent to
prison,--and they say he must be sent to prison,--what is to become
of them?" Then Major Grantly did get into the carriage, and, before
he got out again, he had told Mrs. Thorne the whole story of his love.

She listened to him with the closest attention; only interrupting
him now and then with little words, intended to signify her approval.
He, as he told his tale, did not look her in the face, but sat with
his eyes fixed upon her muff. "And now," he said, glancing up at her
almost for the first time as he finished his speech, "and now, Mrs
Thorne, what am I to do?"

"Marry her, of course," said she, raising her hand aloft and bringing
it down heavily upon his knee as she gave her decisive reply.

"H--sh--h," he exclaimed, looking back in dismay towards the
servants.

"Oh, they never hear anything up there. They're thinking about the
last pot of porter they had, or the next they're to get. Deary me, I
am so glad! Of course you'll marry her."

"You forget my father."

"No, I don't. What has a father to do with it? You're old enough to
please yourself without asking your father. Besides, Lord bless me,
the archdeacon isn't the man to bear malice. He'll storm and threate