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THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET.

"No care can be of any avail to me."

"There I disagree with you. You must excuse me, but I do; and so does Dr. Tempest. We think that you have been a little too much in a hurry since he communicated to you the result of our first meeting."

"As how, sir?"

"It is, perhaps, hardly worth while for us to go into the whole question; but that man, Thumble, must not come here on next Sunday."

"I cannot say, Mr. Robarts, that the Reverend Mr. Thumble has recommended himself to me strongly either by his outward symbols of manhood or by such manifestation of his inward mental gifts as I have succeeded in obtaining. But my knowledge of him has been so slight, and has been acquired in a manner so likely to bias me prejudicially against him, that I am inclined to think my opinion should go for nothing. It is, however, the fact that the bishop has nominated him to this duty; and that, as I have myself simply notified my desire to be relieved from the care of the parish, on account of certain unfitness of my own, I am the last man who should interfere with the bishop in the choice of my temporary successor."

"It was her choice, not his."

"Excuse me, Mr. Robarts, but I cannot allow that assertion to pass unquestioned. I must say that I have adequate cause for believing that he came here by his lordship's authority."

"No doubt he did. Will you just listen to me for a moment? Ever since this unfortunate affair of the cheque became known, Mrs. Proudie has been anxious to get you out of this parish. She was a violent woman, and chose to take this matter up violently. Pray hear me out before you interrupt me. There would have been no commission at all but for her."

"The commission is right and proper and just," said Mr. Crawley, who could not keep himself silent.

"Very well. Let it be so. But Mr. Thumble's coming over here is not proper or right; and you may be sure the bishop does not wish it."

"Let him send any other clergyman whom he may think more fitting," said Mr. Crawley.

"But we do not want him to send anybody."

"Somebody must be sent, Mr. Robarts."

"No, not so. Let me go over and see Thumble and Snapper,—Snapper, you know, is the domestic chaplain; and all that you need do is to go on with your services on Sunday. If necessary, I will see the