archdeacon were so much clearer, that he depended almost more upon the rector of Plumstead, who was absent, than he did upon the dean, whom he customarily saw every day.  It was not so with the daughters.  His Nelly, as he used to call her, had ever been his favourite, and the circumstances of their joint lives had ever been such, that they had never been further separated than from one street of Barchester to another—­and that only for a very short period of the married life of Mrs Arabin’s first husband.  For all that was soft and tender therefore—­which with Mr Harding was all in the world that was charming to him—­he looked to his youngest daughter; but for authority and guidance and wisdom, and for information as to what was going on in the world, he had still turned to his son-in-law the archdeacon—­as he had done for almost forty years.  For so long had the archdeacon been potent as a clergyman in the diocese, and throughout the whole duration of such potency his word had been law to Mr Harding in most of the affairs of life—­a law generally to be obeyed, and if sometimes broken, still a law.  And now, when all was so nearly over, he would become unhappy if the archdeacon’s visits were far between.  Dr Grantly, when he found that this was so, would not allow that they should be far between.

‘He puts me so much in mind of my father,’ the archdeacon said to his wife one day.

‘He is not so old as your father was when he died, by many years,’ said Mrs Grantly, ‘and I think one sees that difference.’

’Yes; and therefore I say that he may still live for years.  My father, when he took to his bed at last, was manifestly near his death.  The wonder with him was that he continued to live so long.  Do you not remember how the London doctor was put out because his prophecies were not fulfilled?’

‘I remember it well—­as if it were yesterday.’

’And in that way there is a great difference.  My father, who was physically a much stronger man, did not succumb so easily.  But the likeness is in their characters.  There is the same mild sweetness, becoming milder and sweeter as they increased in age—­a sweetness that never could believe much evil, but that could believe less, and still less, as the weakness of age came upon them.  No amount of evidence would induce your father to think that Mr Crawley stole that money.’  This was said of course before the telegram had come from Venice.

‘As far as that goes, I agree with him,’ said Mrs Grantly, who had her own reasons for choosing to believe Mr Crawley to be innocent.  ’If your son, my dear, is to marry the man’s daughter, it will be as well that you should at least be able to say that you do not believe that man to be a thief.’

‘That is neither here nor there,’ said the archdeacon.  ’A jury must decide it.’

‘No jury in Barsetshire shall decide it for me,’ said Mrs Grantly.

‘I’m sick of Mr Crawley, and I’m sorry I spoke of him,’ said the archdeacon.  ’But look at Mrs Proudie.  You’ll agree that she was not the most charming woman in the world.’