Crosbie’s way from Guestwick lay, by railway, to Barchester, the cathedral city lying in the next county, from whence he purposed to have himself conveyed over to Courcy.  There had, in truth, been no cause for his very early departure, as he was aware that all arrivals at country houses should take place at some hour not much previous to dinner.  He had been determined to be so soon upon the road by a feeling that it would be well for him to get over those last hours.  Thus he found himself in Barchester at eleven o’clock, with nothing on his hands to do; and, having nothing else to do, he went to church.  There was a full service at the cathedral, and as the verger marshalled him up to one of the empty stalls, a little spare old man was beginning to chant the Litany.  “I did not mean to fall in for all this,” said Crosbie, to himself, as he settled himself with his arms on the cushion.  But the peculiar charm of that old man’s voice soon attracted him;—­a voice that, though tremulous, was yet strong; and he ceased to regret the saint whose honour and glory had occasioned the length of that day’s special service.

“And who is the old gentleman who chanted the Litany?” he asked the verger afterwards, as he allowed himself to be shown round the monuments of the cathedral.

“That’s our precentor, sir, Mr Harding.  You must have heard of Mr Harding.”  But Crosbie, with a full apology, confessed his ignorance.

“Well, sir; he’s pretty well known too, tho’ he is so shy like.  He’s father-in-law to our dean, sir; and father-in-law to Archdeacon Grantly also.”

“His daughters have all gone into the profession, then?”

“Why, yes; but Miss Eleanor—­for I remember her before she was married at all,—­when they lived at the hospital—­”

“At the hospital?”

“Hiram’s hospital, sir.  He was warden, you know.  You should go and see the hospital, sir, if you never was there before.  Well, Miss Eleanor,—­that was his youngest,—­she married Mr Bold as her first.  But now she’s the dean’s lady.”

“Oh; the dean’s lady, is she?”

“Yes, indeed.  And what do you think, sir?  Mr Harding might have been dean himself if he’d liked.  They did offer it to him.”

“And he refused it?”

“Indeed he did, sir.”

“Nolo decanari.  I never heard of that before.  What made him so modest?”

“Just that, sir; because he is modest.  He’s past his seventy now,—­ever so much; but he’s just as modest as a young girl.  A deal more modest than some of them.  To see him and his granddaughter together!”

“And who is his granddaughter?”

“Why Lady Dumbello, as will be the Marchioness of Hartletop.”

“I know Lady Dumbello,” said Crosbie; not meaning, however, to boast to the verger of his noble acquaintance.

“Oh, do you, sir?” said the man, unconsciously touching his hat at this sign of greatness in the stranger; though in truth he had no love for her ladyship.  “Perhaps you’re going to be one of the party at Courcy Castle.”