work, how she had made nothing of him, how she had despised him, always manifesting her contempt plainly.  He had been even driven to rebuke her, and it had perhaps been the only personal rebuke which he had ever uttered in Barchester.  But now she was gone; and he thought of her simply as an active pious woman, who had been taken away from her word before her time.  And for the bishop, no idea ever entered Mr Harding’s mind as to the removal of a thorn.  The man had lost his life’s companion at that time of life when such a companion is most needed; and Mr Harding grieved for him with sincerity.

The news went out to Plumstead Episcopi by the postman, and happened to reach the archdeacon as he was talking to his rector at the little gate leading into the churchyard.  ‘Mrs Proudie is dead!’ he almost shouted, as the postman notified the fact to him.  ‘Impossible!’

‘It be so for zartain, yer reverence,’ said the postman, who was proud of his news.

‘Heavens!’ ejaculated the archdeacon, and then hurried in to his wife.  ‘My dear,’ he said—­and as he spoke he could hardly deliver himself of the words, so eager was he to speak them—­’who do you think is dead?  Gracious heavens!  Mrs Proudie is dead!’ Mrs Grantly dropped from her hand the teaspoonful of tea that was just going into the pot, and repeated her husband’s last words.  ‘Mrs Proudie dead?’ There was a pause, during which they looked into each other’s faces.  ’My dear, I don’t believe it,’ said Mrs Grantly.

But she did believe it very shortly.  There were no prayers at Plumstead rectory that morning.  The archdeacon immediately went out into the village, and soon obtained sufficient evidence of the truth of that which the postman had told him.  Then he rushed back to his wife.  ’It’s true,’ he said.  ’It’s quite true.  She’s dead.  There’s no doubt about that.  She’s dead.  It was last night about seven.  That was when they found her, at least, and she may have died about an hour before.  Filgrave says not more than an hour.’

‘And how did she die?’

’Heart-complaint.  She was standing up, taking hold of the bedstead, and so they found her.’  Then there was a pause, during which the archdeacon sat down to his breakfast.  ‘I wonder how he felt when he heard it?’

‘Of course he was terribly shocked.’

’I’ve no doubt he was shocked.  Any man would be shocked.  But when you come to think of it, what a relief!’

‘How can you speak of it in that way?’ said Mrs Grantly.

‘How am I to speak of it in any other way?’ said the archdeacon.  ’Of course I shouldn’t go and say it out in the street.’

‘I don’t think you ought to say it anywhere,’ said Mrs Grantly.  ’The poor man no doubt feels about his wife in the same way that anybody else would.’

’And of any other poor man has got such a wife as she was, you may be quite sure that he would be glad to get rid of her.  I don’t say that he wished her to die, or that he would have done anything to contrive her death—­’