"I\'m giving you a great deal of trouble, Robarts," said the doctor; "but then you are so much younger than I am, and I\'ve an idea that you would do more for this poor man than any one else in the diocese." Mr. Robarts of course declared that he did not begrudge his trouble, and that he would do anything in his power for the poor man. "I think that you should see him again, and that you should then see Thumble also. I don\'t know whether you can condescend to be civil to Thumble. I could not."
"I am not quite sure that incivility would not be more efficacious," said Mr. Robarts.
"Very likely. There are men who are deaf as adders to courtesy, but who are compelled to obedience at once by ill-usage. Very likely Thumble is one of them; but of that you will be the best judge yourself. I would see Crawley first, and get his consent."
"That\'s the difficulty."
"Then I should go on without his consent, and I would see Thumble and the bishop\'s chaplain, Snapper. I think you might manage just at this moment, when they will all be a little abashed and perplexed by this woman\'s death, to arrange that simply nothing shall be done. The great thing will be that Crawley should go on with the duty till the assizes. If it should then happen that he goes into Barchester, is acquitted, and comes back again, the whole thing will be over, and there will be no further interference in the parish. If I were you, I think I would try it." Mr. Robarts said that he would try it. "I daresay Mr. Crawley will be a little stiff-necked with you."
"He will be very stiff-necked with me," said Mr. Robarts.
"But I can hardly think that he will throw away the only means he has of supporting his wife and children, when he finds that there can be no occasion for his doing so. I do not suppose that any person wishes him to throw up his work now that that poor woman has gone."
Mr. Crawley had been almost in good spirits since the last visit which Mr. Thumble had made to him. It seemed as though the loss of everything in the world was in some way satisfactory to him. He had now given up his living by his own doing, and had after a fashion acknowledged his guilt by this act. He had proclaimed to all around him that he did not think himself to be any longer fit to perform the sacred functions of his office. He spoke of his trial as though a verdict against him must be the result. He knew that in going into prison he would leave his wife and children dependent on the charity of their friends,—on charity which they must condescend to accept, though he could not condescend to ask it. And yet he was able to carry himself now with a greater show of fortitude than had been within his power when the extent of his calamity was more doubtful. I must not ask the reader to suppose that he was cheerful. To have been cheerful under such circumstances would have been inhuman. But he carried his head on high, and walked firmly, and gave his orders at home with a clear voice. His wife, who was necessarily more despondent than ever, wondered at him,—but wondered in silence. It certainly seemed as though the very extremity of ill-fortune was good for him. And he was very diligent with his school, passing the greater part of the morning with the children. Mr. Thumble had told him that he would come on Sunday, and that he would then take charge of the parish. Up to the coming of Mr. Thumble he would do everything in the parish that could be done by a clergyman with a clear spirit and a free heart. Mr. Thumble should not find that spiritual weeds had grown rank in the parish because of his misfortunes.
Mrs. Proudie had died on the Tuesday,—that having been the day of Mr. Thumble\'s visit to Hogglestock,—and Mr. Robarts had gone over to Silverbridge, in answer to Dr. Tempest\'s invitation, on the Thursday. He had not, therefore, the command of much time, it being his express object to prevent the appearance of Mr. Thumble at Hogglestock on the next Sunday. He had gone to Silverbridge by railway, and had, therefore, been obliged to postpone his visit to Mr. Crawley till the next day; but early on the Friday morning he rode over to Hogglestock. That he did not arrive there with a broken-knee\'d horse, the reader may be quite sure. In all matters of that sort, Mr. Robarts was ever above reproach. He rode a good horse, and drove a neat gig, and was always well dressed. On this account Mr. Crawley, though he really liked Mr. Robarts, and was thankful to him for many kindnesses, could never bear his presence with perfect equanimity. Robarts was no scholar, was not a great preacher, had obtained no celebrity as a churchman,—had, in fact, done nothing to merit great reward; and yet everything had been given to him with an abundant hand. Within the last twelvemonth his wife had inherited Mr. Crawley did not care to know how many thousand pounds. And yet Mr. Robarts had won all that he possessed by being a clergyman. Was it possible that Mr. Crawley should regard such a man with equanimity? Robarts rode over with a groom behind him,—really taking the groom because he knew that Mr. Crawley would have no one to hold his horse for him;—and the groom was the source of great offence. He came upon Mr. Crawley standing at the school door, and stopping at once, jumped off his nag. There was something in the way in which he sprang out of the saddle and threw the reins to the man, which was not clerical in Mr. Crawley\'s eyes. No man could be so quick in the matter of a horse who spent as many hours with the poor and with the children as should be spent by a parish clergyman. It might be probable that Mr. Robarts had never stolen twenty pounds,—might never be accused of so disgraceful a crime,—but, nevertheless, Mr. Crawley had his own ideas, and made his own comparisons.
"Crawley," said Robarts, "I am so glad to find you at home."
"I am generally to be found in the parish," said the perpetual curate of Hogglestock.
"I know you are," said Robarts, who knew the man well, and cared nothing for his friend\'s peculiarities when he felt his own withers to be unwrung. "But you might have been down at Hoggle End with the brickmakers, and then I should have had to go after you."
"I should have grieved—," began Crawley; but Robarts interrupted him at once.
"Let us go for a walk, and I\'ll leave the man with the horses. I\'ve something special to say to you, and I can say it better out here than in the house. Grace is quite well, and sends her love. She is growing to look so beautiful!"
"I hope she may grow in grace with God," said Mr. Crawley.
"She\'s as good a girl as I ever knew. By-the-by, you had Henry Grantly over here the other day?"
"Major Grantly, whom I cannot name without expressing my esteem for him, did do us the honour of calling upon us not very long since. If it be with reference to him that you have taken this trouble—"
"No, no; not at all. I\'ll allow him and the ladies to fight out that battle. I\'ve not the least doubt in the world how that will go. When I\'m told that she made a complete conquest of the archdeacon, there cannot be a doubt about that."
"A conquest of the archdeacon!"
But Mr. Robarts did not wish to have to explain anything further about the archdeacon. "Were you not terribly shocked, Crawley," he asked, "when you heard of the death of Mrs. Proudie?"
"It was sudden and very awful," said Mr. Crawley. "Such deaths are always shocking. Not more so, perhaps, as regards the wife of a bishop, than with any other woman."
"Only we happened to know her."
"No doubt the finite and meagre nature of our feelings does prevent us from extending our sympathies to those whom we have not seen in the flesh. It should not be so, and would not with one who had nurtured his heart with proper care. And we are prone to permit an evil worse than that to canker our regards and to foster and to mar our solicitudes. Those who are high in station strike us more by their joys and sorrows than do the poor and lowly. Were some young duke\'s wife, wedded but the other day, to die, all England would put on some show of mourning,—nay, would feel some true gleam of pity; but nobody cares for the widowed brickmaker seated with his starving infant on his cold hearth."
"Of course we hear more of the big people," said Robarts.
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CHAPTER LXVII. IN MEMORIAM.
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CHAPTER LXIX. MR. CRAWLEY\'S LAST APPEARANCE IN HIS OWN PULPIT.
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