and the dignitary of the church sank back horrified into a horse-hair arm chair.
"At least I told Sir Abraham that I would resign; and of course I must now do so."
"Not at all," said the archdeacon, catching a ray of hope. "Nothing that you say in such a way to your own counsel can be in any way binding on you; of course you were there to ask his advice. I'm sure, Sir Abraham did not advise any such step."
Mr. Harding could not say that he had.
"I am sure he disadvised you from it," continued the reverend cross-examiner.
Mr. Harding could not deny this.
"I'm sure Sir Abraham must have advised you to consult your friends."
To this proposition also Mr. Harding was obliged to assent.
"Then your threat of resignation amounts to nothing, and we are just where we were before."
Mr. Harding was now standing on the rug, moving uneasily from one foot to the other. He made no distinct answer to the archdeacon's last proposition, for his mind was chiefly engaged on thinking how he could escape to bed. That his resignation was a thing finally fixed on, a fact all but completed, was not in his mind a matter of any doubt; he knew his own weakness; he knew how prone he was to be led; but he was not weak enough to give way now, to go back from the position to which his conscience had driven him, after having purposely come to London to declare his determination: he did not in the least doubt his resolution, but he greatly doubted his power of defending it against his son-in-law.
"You must be very tired, Susan," said he: "wouldn't you like to go to bed?"
