Anthony Trollope: Barchester Towers

47. CHAPTER XLVII: THE DEAN ELECT (continued)

It was indeed Mr Harding, and Mr Harding alone. He had come by himself in a post-chaise with a couple of horses from Barchester, arriving almost after dark, and evidently full of news. His visits had usually been made in the quietest manner; he had rarely presumed to come without notice, and had always been driven up in a modest old green fly, with one horse, that hardly made itself heard as it crawled up to the hall door.

'Good gracious, Warden, is it you?' said the archdeacon, forgetting in his surprise the events of the last few years. 'But come in; nothing is the matter, I hope?'

'We are very glad you are come, papa,' said his daughter. 'I'll go and get your room ready at once.'

'I an't warden, archdeacon,' said Mr Harding. 'Mr Quiverful is warden.'

Oh, I know, I know,' said the archdeacon, petulantly. 'I forgot all about it at the moment. Is anything the matter?'

'Don't go at the moment, Susan,' said Mr Harding; 'I have something to tell you.'

'The dinner bell will ring in five minutes,' said she.

'Will it?' said Mr Harding. 'Then, perhaps I had better wait.' he was big with news which he had come to tell, but which he knew could not be told without much discussion. He had hurried away to Plumstead as fast as two horses could bring him, and now, finding himself there, he was willing to accept the reprieve which dinner would give him.

'If you have anything of moment to tell us, said the archdeacon, 'pray let us hear it at once. Has Eleanor gone off?'

'No, she has not,' said Mr Harding, with a look of great disclosure.

'Has Slope been made dean?'

'No, he has not; but--'