erect, indeed, as usual, but oh! how sorrowful! and on a dingy sofa behind him reclined his patient wife.
"Papa, I thought you were never coming back," said the lady; "it's twelve o'clock."
"Yes, my dear," said the warden. "The attorney-general named ten for my meeting; to be sure ten is late, but what could I do, you know? Great men will have their own way."
And he gave his daughter a kiss, and shook hands with the doctor, and again tried to look unconcerned.
"And you have absolutely been with the attorney-general?" asked the archdeacon.
Mr. Harding signified that he had.
"Good heavens, how unfortunate!" And the archdeacon raised his huge hands in the manner in which his friends are so accustomed to see him express disapprobation and astonishment. "What will Sir Abraham think of it? Did you not know that it is not customary for clients to go direct to their counsel?"
"Isn't it?" asked the warden, innocently. "Well, at any rate, I've done it now. Sir Abraham didn't seem to think it so very strange."
The archdeacon gave a sigh that would have moved a man-of-war.
"But, papa, what did you say to Sir Abraham?" asked the lady.
"I asked him, my dear, to explain John Hiram's will to me. He couldn't explain it in the only way which would have satisfied me, and so I resigned the wardenship."
"Resigned it!" said the archdeacon, in a solemn voice, sad and low, but yet sufficiently audible; a sort of whisper that Macready would have envied, and the galleries have applauded with a couple of rounds. "Resigned it! Good heavens!"
