And then, above all, he remembered the pleasant gleam of inward satisfaction which always spread itself over the old bishop's face whenever his friend entered his room.
A tear came into each eye as he reflected that all this was gone.
What use would the hospital be to him now?
He was alone in the world, and getting old; he would soon, very soon have to go and leave it all, as his dear old friend had gone; go, and leave the hospital, and his accustomed place in the cathedral, and his haunts and pleasures, to younger and perhaps wiser men.

That chanting of his! Perhaps, in truth, the time for it was gone by.

He felt as though the world were sinking from his feet; as though this, this was the time for him to turn with confidence to those hopes which he had preached with confidence to others.

"What," said he to himself, "can a man's religion be worth if it does not support him against the natural melancholy of declining years ?" And as he looked out through his dimmed eyes into the bright parterres of the bishop's garden, he felt that he had the support which he wanted.
Nevertheless, he did not like to be thus kept waiting.

If Mr.Slope did not really wish to see him at half-past nine o'clock, why force him to come away from his lodgings with his breakfast in his throat?
To tell the truth, it was policy on the part of Mr.Slope.