The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MR. CRAWLEY IS TAKEN TO SILVERBRIDGE.

  It had become necessary on the Monday morning that Mrs. Crawleyshould obtain from her husband an undertaking that he would presenthimself before the magistrates at Silverbridge on the Thursday. Shehad been made to understand that the magistrates were sinning againstthe strict rule of the law in not issuing a warrant at once for Mr.Crawley's apprehension and that they were so sinning at the instanceof Mr. Walker,--at whose instance they would have committed almostany sin practicable by a board of English magistrates, so great wastheir faith in him; and she knew that she was bound to answer herengagement. She had also another task to perform--that, namely,of persuading him to employ an attorney for his defence; and shewas prepared with the name of an attorney, one Mr. Mason, also ofSilverbridge, who had been recommended to her by Mr. Walker. But whenshe came to the performance of these two tasks on the Monday morning,she found that she was unable to accomplish either of them. Mr.Crawley first declared that he would have nothing to do with anyattorney. As to that he seemed to have made up his mind beforehand,and she saw at once that she had no hope of shaking him. But when shefound that he was equally obstinate in the other matter, and that hedeclared that he would not go before the magistrates unless he weremade to do so,--unless the policemen came and fetched him, then shealmost sank beneath the burden of her troubles, and for a while wasdisposed to let things go as they would. How could she strive to beara load that was so manifestly too heavy for her shoulders?

  On the Sunday the poor man had exerted himself to get through hisSunday duties, and he had succeeded. He had succeeded so well thathis wife had thought that things might yet come right with him, thathe would remember, before it was too late, the true history of thatunhappy bit of paper, and that he was rising above that half madnesswhich for months past had afflicted him. On the Sunday evening, whenhe was tired with his work, she thought it best to say nothing to himabout the magistrates and the business of Thursday. But on the Mondaymorning she commenced her task, feeling that she owed it to Mr.Walker to lose no more time. He was very decided in his manners andmade her understand that he would employ no lawyer on his own behalf."Why should I want a lawyer? I have done nothing wrong," he said.Then she tried to make him understand that many who may have donenothing wrong require a lawyer's aid. "And who is to pay him?" heasked. To this she replied, unfortunately, that there would be noneed of thinking of that at once. "And I am to get further intodebt!" he said. "I am to put myself right before the world byincurring debts which I know I can never pay? When it has been aquestion of food for the children I have been weak, but I will not beweak in such a matter as this. I will have no lawyer." She did notregard this denial on his part as very material, though she wouldfain have followed Mr. Walker's advice had she been able; but when,later in the day, he declared that the police should fetch him, thenher spirit gave way. Early in the morning he had seemed to assent tothe expediency of going into Silverbridge on the Thursday, and it wasnot till after he had worked himself into a rage about the proposedattorney, that he utterly refused to make the journey. During thewhole day, however, his state was such as almost to break his wife'sheart. He would do nothing. He would not go to the school, nor evenstir beyond the house-door. He would not open a book. He would noteat, nor would he even sit at table or say the accustomed gracewhen the scanty mid-day meal was placed upon the table. "Nothing isblessed to me," he said, when his wife pressed him to say the wordsfor their child's sake. "Shall I say that I thank God when my heartis thankless? Shall I serve my child by a lie?" Then for hours hesat in the same position, in the old arm-chair, hanging over thefire speechless, sleepless, thinking ever, as she well knew, of theinjustice of the world. She hardly dared to speak to him, so greatwas the bitterness of his words when he was goaded to reply. At last,late in the evening, feeling that it would be her duty to send in toMr. Walker early on the following morning, she laid her hand gentlyon his shoulder and asked him for his promise. "I may tell Mr. Walkerthat you will be there on Thursday?"

  "No," he said, shouting at her. "No. I will have no such messagesent." She started back, trembling. Not that she was accustomed totremble at his ways, or to show that she feared him in his paroxysms,but that his voice had been louder than she had before known it. "Iwill hold no intercourse with them at Silverbridge in this matter. Doyou hear me, Mary?"

  "I hear you, Josiah; but I must keep my word to Mr. Walker. Ipromised that I would send to him."

  "Tell him, then, that I will not stir a foot out of this house onThursday, of my own accord. On Thursday I shall be here; and here Iwill remain all day,--unless they take me hence by force."

  "But, Josiah--"

  "Will you obey me, or I shall walk into Silverbridge myself and tellthe man that I will not come to him." Then he arose from his chairand stretched forth his hand to his hat as though he were going forthimmediately, on his way to Silverbridge. The night was now pitchdark, and the rain was falling, and abroad he would encounter all theseverity of the pitiless winter. Still it might have been better thathe should have gone. The exercise and the fresh air, even the wet andthe mud, would have served to bring back his mind to reason. But hiswife thought of the misery of the journey, of his scanty clothing, ofhis worn boots, of the need there was to preserve the raiment whichhe wore; and she remembered that he was fasting,--that he had eatennothing since the morning, and that he was not fit to be alone. Shestopped him, therefore, before he could reach the door.

  "Your bidding shall be done," she said,--"of course."

  "Tell them, then, that they must seek me here if they want me."

  "But, Josiah, think of the parish,--of the people who respectyou,--for their sakes let it not be said that you were taken away bypolicemen."

  "Was St. Paul not bound in prison? Did he think of what the peoplemight see?"

  "If it were necessary, I would encourage you to bear it without amurmur."

  "It is necessary, whether you murmur, or do not murmur. Murmur,indeed! Why does not your voice ascend to heaven with one loud wailagainst the cruelty of man?" Then he went forth from the room into anempty chamber on the other side of the passage; and his wife, whenshe followed him there after a few minutes, found him on his knees,with his forehead against the floor, and with his hands clutching atthe scanty hairs of his head. Often before had she seen him so, onthe same spot, half grovelling, half prostrate in prayer, revilingin his agony all things around him,--nay, nearly all things abovehim,--and yet striving to reconcile himself to his Creator by thehumiliation of confession.

  It might be better with him now, if only he could bring himself tosome softness of heart. Softly she closed the door, and placing thecandle on the mantel-shelf, softly she knelt beside him, and softlytouched his hand with hers. He did not stir nor utter a word, butseemed to clutch at his thin locks more violently than before. Thenshe kneeling there, aloud, but with low voice, with her thin handsclasped, uttered a prayer in which she asked her God to remove fromher husband the bitterness of that hour. He listened till she hadfinished, and then he rose slowly to his feet. "It is in vain," saidhe. "It is all in vain. It is all in vain." Then he returned back tothe parlour, and seating himself again in the arm-chair, remainedthere without speaking till past midnight. At last, when she told himthat she herself was very cold, and reminded him that for the lasthour there had been no fire, still speechless, he went up with her totheir bed.

  Early on the following morning she contrived to let him know that shewas about to send a neighbour's son over with a note to Mr. Walker,fearing to urge him further to change his mind; but hoping that hemight express his purpose of doing so when he heard that the letterwas to be sent; but he took no notice whatever of her words. At thismoment he was reading Greek with his daughter, or rather rebuking herbecause she could not be induced to read Greek.

  "Oh, papa," the poor girl said, "don't scold me now. I am so unhappybecause of all this."

  "And am not I unhappy?" he said, as he closed the bo
ok. "My God,what have I done against thee, that my lines should be cast in suchterrible places?"

  The letter was sent to Mr. Walker. "He knows himself to be innocent,"said the poor wife, writing what best excuse she knew how to make,"and thinks that he should take no step himself in such a matter. Hewill not employ a lawyer, and he says that he should prefer that heshould be sent for, if the law requires his presence at Silverbridgeon Thursday." All this she wrote, as though she felt that she oughtto employ a high tone in defending her husband's purpose; but shebroke down altogether in the few words of the postscript. "Indeed,indeed I have done what I could!" Mr. Walker understood it all, boththe high tone and the subsequent fall.

  On the Thursday morning, at about ten o'clock, a fly stopped at thegate of the Hogglestock Parsonage, and out of it there came twomen. One was dressed in ordinary black clothes, and seemed from hisbearing to be a respectable man of the middle class of life. Hewas, however, the superintendent of police for the Silverbridgedistrict. The other man was a policeman, pure and simple, with thehelmet-looking hat which has lately become common, and all theordinary half-military and wholly disagreeable outward adjuncts ofthe profession. "Wilkins," said the superintendent, "likely enough Ishall want you, for they tell me the gent is uncommon strange. But ifI don't call you when I come out, just open the door like a servant,and mount up on the box when we're in. And don't speak nor saynothing." Then the senior policeman entered the house.

  He found Mrs. Crawley sitting in the parlour with her bonnet andshawl on, and Mr. Crawley in the arm-chair, leaning over the fire."I suppose we had better go with you," said Mrs. Crawley directly thedoor was opened; for of course she had seen the arrival of the flyfrom the window.

  "The gentleman had better come with us if he'll be so kind," saidThompson. "I've brought a close carriage for him."

  "But I may go with him?" said the wife, with frightened voice. "I mayaccompany my husband. He is not well, sir, and wants assistance."

  Thompson thought about it for a moment before he spoke. There wasroom in the fly for only two, or if for three, still he knew hisplace better than to thrust himself inside together with his prisonerand his prisoner's wife. He had been specially asked by Mr. Walkerto be very civil. Only one could sit on the box with the driver, andif the request was conceded the poor policeman must walk back. Thewalk, however, would not kill the policeman. "All right, ma'am," saidThompson--"that is, if the gentleman will just pass his word not toget out till I ask him."

  "He will not! He will not!" said Mrs. Crawley.

  "I will pass my word for nothing," said Mr. Crawley.

  Upon hearing this, Thompson assumed a very long face, and shook hishead as he turned his eyes first towards the husband and then towardsthe wife, and shrugged his shoulders, and compressing his lips, blewout his breath, as though in this way he might blow off some of themingled sorrow and indignation with which the gentleman's wordsafflicted him.

  Mrs. Crawley rose and came close to him. "You may take my word forit, he will not stir. You may indeed. He thinks it incumbent on himnot to give any undertaking himself, because he feels himself to beso harshly used."

  "I don't know about harshness," said Thompson, brindling up. "A closecarriage brought, and--"

  "I will walk. If I am made to go, I will walk," shouted Mr. Crawley.

  "I did not allude to you,--or to Mr. Walker," said the poor wife."I know you have been most kind. I meant the harshness of thecircumstances. Of course he is innocent, and you must feel for him."

  "Yes, I feel for him, and for you too, ma'am."

  "That is all I meant. He knows his own innocence, and therefore he isunwilling to give way in anything."

  "Of course he knows hisself, that's certain. But he'd better come inthe carriage, if only because of the dirt and slush."

  "He will go in the carriage; and I will go with him. There will beroom there for you, sir."

  Thompson looked up at the rain, and told himself that it was verycold. Then he remembered Mr. Walker's injunction, and bethoughthimself that Mrs. Crawley, in spite of her poverty, was a lady. Heconceived even unconsciously the idea that something was due to herbecause of her poverty. "I'll go with the driver," said he, "buthe'll only give hisself a deal of trouble if he attempts to get out."

  "He won't; he won't," said Mrs. Crawley. "And I thank you with all myheart."

  "Come along, then," said Thompson.

  She went up to her husband, hat in hand, and looking round to seethat she was not watched, put the hat on his head, and then liftedhim as it were from his chair. He did not refuse to be led, andallowed her to throw round his shoulders the old cloak which washanging in the passage, and then he passed out, and was the firstto seat himself in the Silverbridge fly. His wife followed him, anddid not hear the blandishments with which Thompson instructed hismyrmidon to follow through the mud on foot. Slowly they made theirway through the lanes, and it was nearly twelve when the fly wasdriven into the yard of the "George and Vulture" at Silverbridge.

  Silverbridge, though it was blessed with a mayor and corporation,and was blessed also with a Member of Parliament all to itself, wasnot blessed with any court-house. The magistrates were thereforecompelled to sit in the big room at the "George and Vulture," inwhich the county balls were celebrated, and the meeting of the WestBarsetshire freemasons was held. That part of the country was, nodoubt, very much ashamed of its backwardness in this respect, butas yet nothing had been done to remedy the evil. Thompson and hisfly were therefore driven into the yard of the Inn, and Mr. andMrs. Crawley were ushered by him up into a little bed-chamber closeadjoining to the big room in which the magistrates were alreadyassembled. "There's a bit of fire here," said Thompson, "and you canmake yourselves a little warm." He himself was shivering with thecold. "When the gents is ready in there, I'll just come and fetchyou."

  "I may go in with him?" said Mrs. Crawley.

  "I'll have a chair for you at the end of the table, just nigh tohim," said Thompson. "You can slip into it and say nothing tonobody." Then he left them and went away to the magistrates.

  Mr. Crawley had not spoken a word since he had entered the vehicle.Nor had she said much to him, but had sat with him holding his handin hers. Now he spoke to her,--"Where is it that we are?" he asked.

  "At Silverbridge, dearest."

  "But what is this chamber? And why are we here?"

  "We are to wait here till the magistrates are ready. They are in thenext room."

  "But this is the Inn?"

  "Yes, dear, it is the Inn."

  "And I see crowds of people about." There were crowds of peopleabout. There had been men in the yard, and others standing about onthe stairs, and the public room was full of men who were curious tosee the clergyman who had stolen twenty pounds, and to hear whatwould be the result of the case before the magistrates. He must becommitted; so, at least, said everybody; but then there would be thequestion of bail. Would the magistrates let him out on bail, and whowould be the bailsmen? "Why are the people here?" said Mr. Crawley.

  "I suppose it is the custom when the magistrates are sitting," saidhis wife.

  "They have come to see the degradation of a clergyman," saidhe;--"and they will not be disappointed."

  "Nothing can degrade but guilt," said his wife.

  "Yes,--misfortune can degrade, and poverty. A man is degraded whenthe cares of the world press so heavily upon him that he cannot rousehimself. They have come to look at me as though I were a huntedbeast."

  "It is but their custom always on such days."

  "They have not always a clergyman before them as a criminal." Then hewas silent for a while, while she was chafing his cold hands. "Wouldthat I were dead, before they had brought me to this! Would that Iwere dead!"

  "Is it not right, dear, that we should all bear what He sends us?"

  "Would that I were dead!" he repeated. "The load is too heavy for meto bear, and I would that I were dead!"

  The time seemed to be very long before Thompson returned and a
skedthem to accompany him into the big room. When he did so, Mr. Crawleygrasped hold of his chair as though he had resolved that he would notgo. But his wife whispered a word to him, and he obeyed her. "He willfollow me," she said to the policeman. And in that way they went fromthe small room into the large one. Thompson went first; Mrs. Crawleywith her veil down came next; and the wretched man followed his wife,with his eyes fixed upon the ground and his hands clasped togetherupon his breast. He could at first have seen nothing, and couldhardly have known where he was when they placed him in a chair. She,with a better courage, contrived to look round through her veil, andsaw that there was a long board or table covered with green cloth,and that six or seven gentlemen were sitting at one end of it, whilethere seemed to be a crowd standing along the sides and about theroom. Her husband was seated at the other end of the table, nearthe corner, and round the corner,--so that she might be close tohim,--her chair had been placed. On the other side of him there wasanother chair, now empty, intended for any professional gentlemanwhom he might choose to employ.

  There were five magistrates sitting there. Lord Lufton, from Framley,was in the chair;--a handsome man, still young, who was very popularin the county. The cheque which had been cashed had borne hissignature, and he had consequently expressed his intention of notsitting at the board; but Mr. Walker, desirous of having him there,had overruled him, showing him that the loss was not his loss. Thecheque, if stolen, had not been stolen from him. He was not theprosecutor. "No, by Jove," said Lord Lufton, "if I could quash thewhole thing, I'd do it at once!"

  "You can't do that, my lord, but you may help us at the board," saidMr. Walker.

  Then there was the Hon. George De Courcy, Lord De Courcy's brother,from Castle Courcy. Lord De Courcy did not live in the county, buthis brother did so, and endeavoured to maintain the glory of thefamily by the discretion of his conduct. He was not, perhaps, amongthe wisest of men, but he did very well as a country magistrate,holding his tongue, keeping his eyes open, and, on such occasions asthis, obeying Mr. Walker in all things. Dr. Tempest was also there,the rector of the parish, he being both magistrate and clergyman.There were many in Silverbridge who declared that Dr. Tempest wouldhave done far better to stay away when a brother clergyman wasthus to be brought before the bench; but it had been long since Dr.Tempest had cared what was said about him in Silverbridge. He hadbecome so accustomed to the life he led as to like to be disliked,and to be enamoured of unpopularity. So when Mr. Walker had venturedto suggest to him that, perhaps, he might not choose to be there, hehad laughed Mr. Walker to scorn. "Of course I shall be there," hesaid. "I am interested in the case,--very much interested. Of courseI shall be there." And had not Lord Lufton been present he would havemade himself more conspicuous by taking the chair. Mr. Fothergill wasthe fourth. Mr. Fothergill was man of business to the Duke of Omnium,who was the great owner of property in and about Silverbridge, and hewas the most active magistrate in that part of the county. He was asharp man, and not at all likely to have any predisposition in favourof a clergyman. The fifth was Dr. Thorne, of Chaldicotes, a gentlemanwhose name has been already mentioned in these pages. He had beenfor many years a medical man practising in a little village in thefurther end of the county; but it had come to be his fate, late inlife, to marry a great heiress, with whose money the ancient houseand domain of Chaldicotes had been purchased from the Sowerbys. Sincethen Dr. Thorne had done his duty well as a country gentleman,--not,however, without some little want of smoothness between him and theduke's people.

  Chaldicotes lay next to the duke's territory, and the duke had wishedto buy Chaldicotes. When Chaldicotes slipped through the duke'sfingers and went into the hands of Dr. Thorne,--or of Dr. Thorne'swife,--the duke had been very angry with Mr. Fothergill. Hence it hadcome to pass that there had not always been smoothness between theduke's people and the Chaldicotes people. It was now rumoured thatDr. Thorne intended to stand for the county on the next vacancy, andthat did not tend to make things smoother. On the right hand of LordLufton sat Lord George and Mr. Fothergill, and beyond Mr. Fothergillsat Mr. Walker, and beyond Mr. Walker sat Mr. Walker's clerk. On theleft hand of the chairman were Dr. Tempest and Dr. Thorne, and alittle lower down was Mr. Zachary Winthrop, who held the situation ofclerk to the magistrates. Many people in Silverbridge said that thiswas all wrong, as Mr. Winthrop was partner with Mr. Walker, who wasalways employed before the magistrates if there was any employmentgoing for an attorney. For this, however, Mr. Walker cared verylittle. He had so much of his own way in Silverbridge, that he wassupposed to care nothing for anybody.

  There were many other gentlemen in the room, and some who knew Mr.Crawley with more or less intimacy. He, however, took notice of noone, and when one friend, who had really known him well, came upbehind and spoke to him gently leaning over his chair, the poor manhardly recognized his friend.

  "I'm sure your husband won't forget me," said Mr. Robarts, theclergyman of Framley, as he gave his hand to that lady across theback of Mr. Crawley's chair.

  "No, Mr. Robarts, he does not forget you. But you must excuse him ifat this moment he is not quite himself. It is a trying situation fora clergyman."

  "I can understand all that; but I'll tell you why I have come. Isuppose this inquiry will finish the whole affair, and clear upwhatever may be the difficulty. But should it not do so, it may bejust possible, Mrs. Crawley, that something may be said about bail. Idon't understand much about it, and I daresay you do not either; butif there should be anything of that sort, let Mr. Crawley name me.A brother clergyman will be best, and I'll have some other gentlemanwith me." Then he left her, not waiting for any answer.

  At the same time there was a conversation going on between Mr. Walkerand another attorney standing behind him, Mr. Mason. "I'll go tohim," said Walker, "and try to arrange it." So Mr. Walker seatedhimself in the empty chair beside Mr. Crawley, and endeavoured toexplain to the wretched man, that he would do well to allow Mr. Masonto assist him. Mr. Crawley seemed to listen to all that was said, andthen turned upon the speaker sharply: "I will have no one to assistme," he said so loudly that every one in the room heard the words."I am innocent. Why should I want assistance? Nor have I money topay for it." Mr. Mason made a quick movement forward, intending toexplain that that consideration need offer no impediment, but wasstopped by further speech from Mr. Crawley. "I will have no one tohelp me," said he, standing upright, and for the first time removinghis hat from his head. "Go on, and do what it is you have to do."After that he did not sit down till the proceedings were nearly over,though he was invited more than once by Lord Lufton to do so.

  We need not go through all the evidence that was brought to bear uponthe question. It was proved that money for the cheque was paid to Mr.Crawley's messenger, and that this money was given to Mr. Crawley.When there occurred some little delay in the chain of evidencenecessary to show that Mr. Crawley had signed and sent the cheque andgot the money, he became impatient. "Why do you trouble the man?" hesaid. "I had the cheque, and I sent him; I got the money. Has anyone denied it, that you should strive to drive a poor man like thatbeyond his wits?" Then Mr. Soames and the manager of the bank showedwhat inquiry had been made as soon as the cheque came back from theLondon bank; how at first they had both thought that Mr. Crawleycould of course explain the matter, and how he had explained it bya statement which was manifestly untrue. Then there was evidence toprove that the cheque could not have been paid to him by Mr. Soames,and as this was given, Mr. Crawley shook his head and again becameimpatient. "I erred in that," he exclaimed. "Of course I erred. In myhaste I thought it was so, and in my haste I said so. I am not goodat reckoning money and remembering sums; but I saw that I had beenwrong when my error was shown to me, and I acknowledged at once thatI had been wrong."

  Up to this point he had behaved not only with so much spirit, butwith so much reason, that his wife began to hope that the importanceof the occasion had brought back the clearness of his mind, and thathe would, even now, be able to place himself right as
the inquirywent on. Then it was explained that Mr. Crawley had stated that thecheque had been given to him by Dean Arabin, as soon as it was shownthat it could not have been given to him by Mr. Soames. In referenceto this, Mr. Walker was obliged to explain that application had beenmade to the dean, who was abroad, and that the dean had stated thathe had given fifty pounds to his friend. Mr. Walker explained alsothat the very notes of which this fifty pounds had consisted had beentraced back to Mr. Crawley, and that they had had no connection withthe cheque or with the money which had been given for the cheque atthe bank.

  Mr. Soames stated that he had lost the cheque with a pocket-book;that he had certainly lost it on the day on which he had called onMr. Crawley at Hogglestock; and that he missed his pocket-book on hisjourney back from Hogglestock to Barchester. At the moment of missingit he remembered that he had taken the book out from his pocket inMr. Crawley's room, and, at that moment, he had not doubted butthat he had left it in Mr. Crawley's house. He had written andsent to Mr. Crawley to inquire, but had been assured that nothinghad been found. There had been no other property of value in thepocket-book,--nothing but a few visiting cards and a memorandum, andhe had therefore stopped the cheque at the London bank, and thoughtno more about it.

  Mr. Crawley was then asked to explain in what way he came possessedof the cheque. The question was first put by Lord Lufton but it soonfell into Mr. Walker's hands, who certainly asked it with all thekindness with which such an inquiry could be made. Could Mr. Crawleyat all remember by what means that bit of paper had come into hispossession, or how long he had had it? He answered the last questionfirst. "It had been with him for months." And why had he kept it? Helooked round the room sternly, almost savagely, before he answered,fixing his eyes for a moment upon almost every face around him as hedid so. Then he spoke. "I was driven by shame to keep it,--and thenby shame to use it." That this statement was true, no one in the roomdoubted.

  And then the other question was pressed upon him; and he lifted uphis hands, and raised his voice, and swore by the Saviour in whom hetrusted, that he knew not from whence the money had come to him. Whythen had he said that it had come from the dean? He had thought so.The dean had given him money, covered up, in an enclosure, "so thatthe touch of the coin might not add to my disgrace in taking hisalms," said the wretched man, thus speaking openly and freely in hisagony of the shame which he had striven so persistently to hide. Hehad not seen the dean's monies as they had been given, and he hadthought that the cheque had been with them. Beyond that he could tellthem nothing.

  Then there was a conference between the magistrates and Mr. Walker,in which Mr. Walker submitted that the magistrates had no alternativebut to commit the gentleman. To this Lord Lufton demurred, and withhim Dr. Thorne.

  "I believe, as I am sitting here," said Lord Lufton, "that he hastold the truth, and that he does not know any more than I do fromwhence the cheque came."

  "I am quite sure he does not," said Dr. Thorne.

  Lord George remarked that it was the "queerest go he had ever comeacross." Dr. Tempest merely shook his head. Mr. Fothergill pointedout that even supposing the gentleman's statement to be true, it byno means went towards establishing the gentleman's innocence. Thecheque had been traced to the gentleman's hands, and the gentlemanwas bound to show how it had come into his possession. Even supposingthat the gentleman had found the cheque in his house, which waslikely enough, he was not thereby justified in changing it, andapplying the proceeds to his own purposes. Mr. Walker told them thatMr. Fothergill was right, and that the only excuse to be made for Mr.Crawley was that he was out of his senses.

  "I don't see it," said Lord Lufton. "I might have a lot of papermoney by me, and not know from Adam where I got it."

  "But you would have to show where you got it, my lord, when inquirywas made," said Mr. Fothergill.

  Lord Lufton, who was not particularly fond of Mr. Fothergill, andwas very unwilling to be instructed by him in any of the duties of amagistrate, turned his back at once upon the duke's agent; but withinthree minutes afterwards he had submitted to the same instructionsfrom Mr. Walker.

  Mr. Crawley had again seated himself, and during this period of theaffair was leaning over the table with his face buried on his arms.Mrs. Crawley sat by his side, utterly impotent as to any assistance,just touching him with her hand, and waiting behind her veil tillshe should be made to understand what was the decision of themagistrates. This was at last communicated to her,--and to him,--ina whisper by Mr. Walker. Mr. Crawley must understand that he wascommitted to take his trial at Barchester, at the next assizes, whichwould be held in April, but that bail would be taken;--his own bailin five hundred pounds, and that of two others in two hundred andfifty pounds each. And Mr. Walker explained further that he and thebailmen were ready, and that the bail-bond was prepared. The bailmenwere to be the Rev. Mr. Robarts, and Major Grantly. In five minutesthe bond was signed and Mr. Crawley was at liberty to go away, a freeman,--till the Barchester Assizes should come round in April.

  Of all that was going on at this time Mr. Crawley knew little ornothing, and Mrs. Crawley did not know much. She did say a word ofthanks to Mr. Robarts, and begged that the same might be said to--theother gentleman. If she had heard the major's name she did notremember it. Then they were led out back into the bed-room, whereMrs. Walker was found, anxious to do something, if she only knewwhat, to comfort the wretched husband and the wretched wife. But whatcomfort or consolation could there be within their reach? There wastea made ready for them, and sandwiches cut from the Inn larder. Andthere was sherry in the Inn decanter. But no such comfort as that waspossible for either of them.

  They were taken home again in the fly, returning without the escortof Mr. Thompson, and as they went some few words were spoken by Mrs.Crawley. "Josiah," she said, "there will be a way out of this, evenyet, if you will only hold up your head and trust."

  "There is a way out of it," he said. "There is a way. There is butone way." When he had so spoken she said no more, but resolved thather eye should never be off him, no,--not for a moment. Then, whenshe had gotten him once more into that front parlour, she threw herarms round him and kissed him.