‘Yes, you will,’ said the archdeacon.

‘We have brought good news,’ said Mrs Grantly.

’It is not good news that Nelly will be home this week?  You can’t understand what a joy it is to me.  I used to think sometimes, at night, that I should never see her again.  That she would come back in time was all I have wished for.’  He was lying on his back, and as he spoke he pressed his withered hands together above the bed-clothes.  They could not begin immediately to tell him of Mr Crawley, but as soon as his mind had turned itself away from the thoughts of his absent daughter, Mrs Grantly again reverted to the news.’

‘We have come to tell you about Mr Crawley, papa.’

‘What about him?’

‘He is quite innocent.’

’I knew it, my dear.  I always said so.  Did I not always say so, archdeacon?’

‘Indeed you did.  I’ll give you that credit.’

‘And is it all found out?’ asked Mr Harding.

‘As far as he is concerned, everything is found out,’ said Mrs Grantly.  ‘Eleanor gave him the cheque herself.’

‘Nelly gave it to him?’

’Yes, papa.  The dean meant her to give him fifty pounds.  But it seems she got to be soft of heart and made it seventy.  She had the cheque by her, and put it into the envelope with the notes.’

’Some of Stringer’s people seem to have stolen the cheque from Mr Soames,’ said the archdeacon.

‘Oh dear, I hope not.’

‘Somebody must have stolen it, papa.’

‘I had hoped not, Susan,’ said Mr Harding.  Both the archdeacon and Mrs Grantly knew that it was useless to argue with him on such a point, and so they let that go.

Then they came to discuss Mr Crawley’s present position, and Mr Harding ventured to ask a question or two as to Grace’s chance of marriage.  He did not often interfere in the family arrangements of his son-in-law and never did so when those family arrangements were concerned with high matters.  He had hardly opened his mouth in reference to the marriage of that august lady who was now the Marchioness of Hartletop.  And of the Lady Anne, the wife of the Rev Charles Grantly, who was always prodigiously civil to him, speaking to him very loud, as though he were deaf because he was old, and bringing cheap presents from London of which he did not take much heed—­of her he rarely said a word, or of her children, to either of his daughters.  But now his grandson, Henry Grantly, was going to marry a girl of whom he felt that he might speak without impropriety.  ‘I suppose it will be a match; won’t it, my dears?’

‘Not a doubt about it,’ said Mrs Grantly.  Mr Harding looked at his son-in-law, but his son-in-law said nothing.  The archdeacon did not even frown—­but only moved a little uneasily in his chair.

‘Dear, dear!  What a comfort it must be,’ said the old man.

‘I have not seen yet,’ said Mrs Grantly; ’but the archdeacon declares that she is all the graces rolled into one.’