Eleanor did glory in hers, and she felt, and had cause to feel, that it deserved to be held as glorious. She could have stood there for hours with his arm around her, had fate and Mr Thorne permitted it. Each moment she crept nearer to his bosom, and felt more and more certain that there was her home. What now to her was the archdeacon's arrogance, her sister's coldness, or her dear father's weakness? What need she care for the duplicity of such friends as Charlotte Stanhope? She had found the strong shield that should guard her from all wrongs, the trusty pilot that should henceforward guide her through the shoals and rocks. She would give up the heavy burden of her independence, and once more assume the position of a woman, and the duties of a trusting and loving wife.
And he, too, stood there fully satisfied with his place. They were both looking intently on the fire, as though they could read there their future fate, till at last Eleanor turned her face towards his. 'How sad you are,' she said, smiling; and indeed his face was, if not sad, at least serious. 'How sad you are, love!'
'Sad,' said he, looking down at her; 'no, certainly not sad.' Her sweet loving eyes were turned towards him, and she smiled softly as he answered her. The temptation was too strong even for the demure propriety of Mr Arabin, and, bending over her, he pressed his lips to hers.
Immediately after this, Mr Thorne appeared, and they were both delighted to hear that the tail of the Beelzebub colt was not materially injured.
It had been Mr Harding's intention to hurry over to Ullathorne as soon as possible after his return to Barchester, in order to secure the support of his daughter in his meditated revolt against the archdeacon as touching the deanery; but he was spared the additional journey by hearing that Mrs Bold had returned unexpectedly home. As soon as he had read her note he started off, and found her waiting for him in her own house.
How much each of them had to tell the other, and how certain each was that the story which he or she had to tell would astonish the other!
'My dear, I am so anxious to see you,' said Mr Harding, kissing his daughter.
'Oh, papa, I have so much to tell you!' said the daughter, returning his embrace.
'My dear, they have offered me the deanery!' said Mr Harding, anticipating by the suddenness of the revelation the tidings which Eleanor had to give him.
'Oh, papa,' said she, forgetting her own love and happiness in her joy at the surprising news; 'oh, papa, can it be possible? Dear, papa, how thoroughly, thoroughly happy that makes me!'
'But, my dear, I think it best to refuse it.'
'Oh, papa!'
'I am sure you will agree with me, Eleanor, when I explain it to you. You know, my dear how old I am. If I live, I--'
'But, papa, I must tell you about myself.'
'Well, my dear.'
'I do wonder how you will take it.'
'Take what?'
'If you don't rejoice at it, if it doesn't make you happy, if you don't encourage me, I shall break my heart.'
'If that be the case, Nelly, I certainly will encourage you.'
'But I fear you won't. I do so fear you won't. And yet you can't but think I am the most fortunate woman living on God's earth.'
'Are you, dearest? Then I certainly will rejoice with you. Come, Nelly, come to me, and tell me what it is.'
'I am going--'
He led her to the sofa, and seating himself beside her, with both her hands in his. 'You are going to be married, Nelly.
Is not that it?'
