“You have made them sinful,” he replied.
“I will not hear that from you. I will not indeed. I have endeavoured to do my duty by you, and I do not deserve it. I am endeavouring to do my duty now, and you must know that it would ill become me to remain quiescent while you are in such a state. The world around you is observing you, and knows that you are not doing your work. All I want of you is that you should arouse yourself, and go to your work.”
“I could do my work very well,” he said, “if you were not here.”
“I suppose, then, you wish that I were dead?” said Mrs. Proudie. To this he made no reply, nor did he stir himself. How could flesh and blood bear this—female flesh and blood—Mrs. Proudie’s flesh and blood? Now, at last, her temper once more got the better of her judgment, probably much to her immediate satisfaction, and she spoke out. “I’ll tell you what it is, my lord; if you are imbecile, I must be active. It is very sad that I should have to assume your authority—”
“I will not allow you to assume my authority.”
“I must do so, or must else obtain a medical certificate as to your incapacity, and beg that some neighbouring bishop may administer the diocese. Things shall not go on as they are now. I, at any rate, will do my duty. I shall tell Mr. Thumble that he must go over to Hogglestock, and arrange for the duties of the parish.”
“I desire that you will do no such thing,” said the bishop, now again looking up at her.
“You may be sure that I shall,” said Mrs. Proudie, and then she left the room.
He did not even yet suppose that she would go about this work at once. The condition of his mind was in truth bad, and was becoming worse, probably, from day to day; but still he did make his calculations about things, and now reflected that it would be sufficient if he spoke to his chaplain tomorrow about Mr. Crawley’s letter. Since the terrible scene that Dr. Tempest had witnessed, he had never been able to make up his mind as to what great step he would take, but he had made up his mind that some great step was necessary. There were moments in which he thought that he would resign his bishopric. For such resignation, without acknowledged incompetence on the score of infirmity, the precedents were very few; but even if there were no precedents, it would be better to do that than to remain where he was. Of course there would be disgrace. But then it would be disgrace from which he could hide himself. Now there was equal disgrace; and he could not hide himself. And then such a measure as that would bring punishment where punishment was due. It would bring his wife to the ground—her who had brought him to the ground. The suffering should not be all his own. When she found that her income, and her palace, and her position were all gone, then perhaps she might repent the evil that she had done him. Now, when he was left alone, his mind went back to this, and he did not think of taking immediate measures—measures on that very day—to prevent the action of Mr. Thumble.
But Mrs. Proudie did take immediate steps. Mr. Thumble was at this moment in the palace waiting for instructions. It was he who had brought Mr. Crawley’s letter to Mrs. Proudie, and she now returned to him with that letter in her hand. The reader will know what was the result. Mr. Thumble was sent off to Hogglestock at once on the bishop’s old cob, and—as will be remembered—fell into trouble on the road. Late in the afternoon he entered the palace yard, having led the cob by the bridle the whole way home from Hogglestock.
Some hour or two before Mr. Thumble’s return Mrs. Proudie returned to her husband, thinking it better to let him know what she had done. She resolved to be very firm with him, but at the same time she determined not to use harsh language if it could be avoided. “My dear,” she said, “I have arranged with Mr. Thumble.” She found him on this occasion sitting at his desk with papers before him, with a pen in his hand; and she could see at a glance that nothing had been written on the paper. What would she have thought had she known that when he placed the sheet before him he was proposing to consult the archbishop as to the propriety of his resignation! He had not, however, progressed so far as to write even the date of his letter.
“You have done what?” said he, throwing down the pen.
“I have arranged with Mr. Thumble as to going out to Hogglestock,” said she firmly. “Indeed he has gone already.” Then the bishop jumped up from his seat, and rang the bell with violence. “What are you going to do?” said Mrs. Proudie.
“I am going to depart from here,” said he. “I will not stay here to be the mark of scorn for all men’s fingers. I will resign the diocese.”
“You cannot do that,” said his wife.
“I can try, at any rate,” said he. Then the servant entered.
