Mr Thumble returned to Barchester that day, leading the broken-down cob; and a dreadful walk he had.  He was not good at walking, and before he came near Barchester had come to entertain a violent hatred for the beast that he was leading.  The leading of a horse that is tired, or in pain, or even stiff in his limbs, is not pleasant work.  The brute will not accommodate his paces to the man, and will contrive to make his head very heavy on the bridle.  And he will not walk on the part of the road which the man intends for him, but will lean against the man, and will make himself altogether disagreeable.  It may be understood, therefore, that Mr Thumble was not in a good humour when he entered the palace yard.  Nor was altogether quiet in his mind as to the injury which he had done to the animal.  ‘It was the brute’s fault,’ said Mr Thumble.  ’It comes generally of not knowing how to ride ’em,’ said the groom.  For Mr Thumble, though he often had a horse out of the episcopal stables, was not ready with his shillings to the man who waited upon him with the steed.

He had not, however, come to any satisfactory understanding respecting the broken knees when the footman from the palace told him that he was wanted.  It was in vain that Mr Thumble pleaded that he was nearly dead with fatigue, that he had walked all the way from Hogglestock and must go home to change his clothes.  John was peremptory with him, insisting that he must wait first upon Mrs Proudie and then wait upon the bishop.  Mr Thumble might perhaps have turned a deaf ear to the latter command, but the former was one which he felt himself bound to obey.  So he entered the palace, rather cross, very much soiled as to his outer man; and in this condition went up a certain small staircase which was familiar to him, to a small parlour which adjoined Mrs Proudie’s room, and there awaited the arrival of the lady.  That he should be required to wait some quarter of an hour was not surprising to him; but when half an hour was gone, and he remembered himself of his own wife at home, and of the dinner which he had not yet eaten, he ventured to ring the bell.  Mrs Proudie’s own maid, Mrs Draper by name, came to him and said that she had knocked twice at Mrs Proudie’s door and would knock again.  Two minutes after that she returned, running into the room with her arms extended, and exclaiming, ‘Oh heavens, sir; mistress is dead!’ Mr Thumble, hardly knowing what he was about, followed the woman into the bedroom, and there he found himself standing awe-struck before the corpse of her who had so lately been the presiding spirit of the palace.

The body was still resting on its legs, leaning against the end of the side of the bed, while one of the arms was close clasped round the bed-post.  The mouth was rigidly close, but the eyes were open as thought staring at him.  Nevertheless there could be no doubt from the first glance that the woman was dead.  He went up close to it, but did not dare to touch it.  There was no one there as yet but he and Mrs Draper;—­no one else knew what had happened.