dinner, and that would be all.  Mr. Prosper, when in a fairly good humor, would see the cook every morning, and would discuss with her the propriety of either roasting or boiling the fowl, and the expediency either of the pudding or the pie.  His idiosyncrasies were well known, and the cook might always have her own way by recommending the contrary to that which she wanted,—­because it was a point of honor with Mr. Prosper not to be led by his servants.  But during these days he simply said, “Let me have dinner and do not trouble me.”  This went on for a day or two without exciting much comment at the rectory.  But when it went on beyond a day or two it was surmised that Mr. Prosper was ill.

At the end of a week he had not been seen outside the house, and then alarm began to be felt.  The rumor had got abroad that he intended to go to Italy, and it was expected that he would start, but no sign came of his intended movements; not a word more had been said to Matthew on the subject.  He had been ordered to admit no visitor into the house at all, unless it were some one from the firm of Grey & Barry.  From the moment in which he had got rid of Miss Thoroughbung he had been subject to some dread lest she should return.  Or if not she herself, she might, he thought, send Soames & Simpson, or some denizen from the brewery.  And he was conscious that not only all Buston, but all Buntingford was aware of what he had attempted to do.  Every one whom he chanced to meet would, as he thought, be talking of him, and therefore he feared to be seen by the eye of man, woman, or child.  There was a self-consciousness about him which altogether overpowered him.  That cook with whom he used to have the arguments about the boiled chicken was now an enemy, a domestic enemy, because he was sure that she talked about his projected marriage in the kitchen.  He would not see his coachman or his groom, because some tidings would have reached them about that pair of ponies.  Consequently he shut himself up altogether, and the disease became worse with him because of his seclusion.

And now from day to day, or, it may be more properly said, from hour to hour, news came across to the rectory of the poor squire’s health.  Matthew, to whom alone was given free intercourse with his master, became very gloomy.  Mr. Prosper was no doubt gloomy, and the feeling was contagious.  “I think he’s going off his head; that’s what I do think,” he said, in confidential intercourse with the cook.

That conversation resulted in Matthew’s walking across to the rectory, and asking advice from the rector; and in the rector paying a visit to the Hall.  He had again consulted with his wife, and she had recommended him to endeavor to see her brother.  “Of course, what we hear about his anger only comes from Joe, or through the servants.  If he is angry, what will it matter?”

“Not in the least to me,” said the rector; “only I would not willingly trouble him.”