In these hot midsummer days, the end of June and the beginning of July, Mr Sowerby had but an uneasy time of it. At his sister’s instance, he had hurried up to London and there had remained for days in attendance on the lawyers. He had to see new lawyers, Miss Dunstable’s men of business, quiet old cautious gentlemen whose place of business was in a dark alley behind the bank, Messrs Slow & Bideawhile by name, who had no scruple in detaining him for hours while they or their clerks talked to him about anything or about nothing. It was of vital consequence to Mr Sowerby that this business of his should be settled without delay, and yet these men, to whose care this settling was now confided, went on as though law processes were a sunny bank on which men delighted to bask easily. And then, too, he had to go more than once to South Audley Street, which was a worse infliction; for the men in South Audley Street were less civil now than had been their wont. It was well understood there that Mr Sowerby was no longer a client of the duke’s but his opponent; no longer his nominee and dependant, but his enemy in the county. ‘Chaldicotes,’ as old Mr Gumption remarked to young Mr Gagebee; ‘Chaldicotes, Gagebee, is a cooked goose, as far as Sowerby is concerned. And what difference could it make to him whether the duke is to own it or Miss Dunstable? For my part I cannot understand how a gentleman like Sowerby can like to see his property go into the hands of a gallipot wench whose money smells of bad drugs. And nothing can be more ungrateful,’ he said, ‘than Sowerby’s conduct. He has held the county five-and-twenty years without expense; and now that the time for payment has come, he begrudges the price.’ He called it no better than cheating, he did not — he, Mr Gumption. According to his ideas Sowerby was attempting to cheat the duke. It may be imagined, therefore, that Mr Sowerby did not feel any great delight in attending at South Audley Street. And then rumour was spread about among all the bill-discounting leeches that blood was once more to be sucked from the Sowerby carcass. The rich Miss Dunstable had taken up his affairs; so much as that became known in the purlieus of the Goat and Compasses. Tom Tozer’s brother declared that she and Sowerby were going to make a match of it, and that any scrap of paper with Sowerby’s name on it, would become worth its weight in bank-notes; but Tom Tozer himself — Tom, who was the real hero of the family — pooh-poohed at this, screwing up his nose, and alluding in most contemptuous terms to his brother’s softness. He knew better — as was indeed the fact. Miss Dunstable was buying up the squire, and by Jingo she should buy them up — them, the Tozers as well as others! They knew their value, the Tozers did;— whereupon they became more than ordinarily active. From them and all their brethren Mr Sowerby at this time endeavoured to keep his distance, but his endeavours were not altogether effectual. Whenever he could escape for a day or two from the lawyers he ran down to Chaldicotes; but Tom Tozer in his perseverance followed him there, and boldly sent in his name by the servant at the front door.

‘Mr Sowerby is not just at home at the present moment,’ said the well-trained domestic.

‘I’ll wait about, then,’ said Tom, seating himself on an heraldic griffin which flanked the big stone steps before the house. And in this way Mr Tozer gained his purpose. Sowerby was still contesting the county, and it behoved him not to let his enemies say that he was hiding himself. It had been a part of his bargain with Miss Dunstable that he should contest the county. She had taken it into her head that the duke had behaved badly, and she had resolved that he should be made to pay for it. ‘The duke,’ she said, ‘had meddled long enough;’ she would now see whether the Chaldicotes interest would not suffice of itself to return a member for the county, even in opposition to the duke. Mr Sowerby himself was so harrassed at the time, that he would have given way on this point if he had had the power; but Miss Dunstable was determined, and he was obliged to yield to her. In this manner Mr Tom Tozer succeeded and did make his way into Mr Sowerby’s presence — of which intrusion one effect was the following letter from Mr Sowerby to his friend Mark Robarts:—

‘Chaldicotes, July, 185-‘MY DEAR ROBARTS,

‘I am so harrassed at the present moment by an infinity of troubles of my own that I am almost callous to those of other people. They say that prosperity makes a man selfish. I have never tried that, but I am quite sure that adversity does so. Nevertheless I am anxious about these bills of yours,’

‘Bills of mine!’ said Robarts to himself, as he walked up and down the shrubbery path at the parsonage, reading this letter. This happened a day or two after his visit to the lawyer at Barchester.

‘— and would rejoice greatly if I thought that I could save you from any further annoyance about them. That kite, Tom Tozer, has just been with me, and insists that both of them shall be paid. He knows — no one better — that no consideration was given for the latter. But he knows also that the dealing was not with him, nor even with his brother and he will be prepared to swear that he gave value for both. He would swear anything for five hundred pounds — or for half the money, for that matter. I do not think that the father of mischief ever let loose upon the world a greater rascal than Tom Tozer.

‘He declares that nothing shall induce him to take one shilling less than the whole sum of nine hundred pounds. He has been brought to this by hearing that my debts are about to be paid. Heaven help me! The meaning of that is that these wretched acres, which are now mortgaged to one millionaire, are to change hands and be mortgaged to another instead. By this exchange I may possibly obtain the benefit of having a house to live in for the next twelve months, but no other. Tozer, however, is altogether wrong in his scent; and the worst of it is that his malice will fall on you rather than on me.

‘What I want you to do is this: let us pay him one hundred pounds between us. Though I sell the last sorry jade of a horse I have, I will make up fifty; and I know you can, at any rate, do as much as that. Then do you accept a bill conjointly with me, for eight hundred. It shall be done in Forrest’s presence, and handed to him; and you shall receive back the two old bills into your own hands at the same time. This new bill should be timed to run ninety days; and I will move heaven and earth, during that time, to have it included in the general schedule of my debts which are to be secured on the Chaldicotes property.

The meaning of which was that Miss Dunstable was to be cozened into paying the money under an idea that it was a part of the sum covered by the existing mortgage.

‘What you said the other day at Barchester, as to never executing another bill, is very well regards future transactions. Nothing can be wiser than such a resolution. But it would be folly — worse than folly — if you were to allow your furniture to be seized when the means of preventing it are so ready to your hand. By leaving the new bill in Forrest’s hands you may be sure that you are safe from the claws of such birds of prey as the Tozers. Even if I cannot get it settled when the three months are over, Forrest will enable you to make any arrangement that may be most convenient.

‘For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow, do not refuse this. You can hardly conceive how it weighs upon me, this fear that bailiffs should make their way into your wife’s drawing-room. I know you think ill of me, and I do not wonder at it. But you would be less inclined to do so if you knew how terribly I am punished. Pray let me hear that you will do as I counsel you.

‘Yours always faithfully, ‘N.SOWERBY’

In answer to which the parson wrote a very short reply:-

‘Framley, July 185-‘MY DEAR SOWERBY, ‘I will sign no more bills on any consideration. ‘Yours truly, MARK ROBARTS’

And then having written this, and having shown it to his wife, he returned to the shrubbery walk and paced it up and down, looking every now and then to Sowerby’s letter as he thought over all the past circumstances of his friendship with that gentleman. That the man who had written this letter should be his friend — that very fact was a disgrace to him. Sowerby so well knew himself and his own reputation, that he did not dare to suppose that his own word would be taken for anything,— not even when the thing promised was an act of the commonest honesty. ‘The old bills shall be given back into your own hands’, he had declared with energy, knowing that his friend and correspondent would not feel himself secure against further fraud under less stringent guarantee. This gentleman, this county member, the owner of Chaldicotes, with whom Mark Robarts had been so anxious to be on terms of intimacy, had now come to such a phase of life that he had given over speaking of himself as an honest man. He had become so used to suspicion that he argued of it as of a thing of course. He knew that no one could trust either his spoken or written word, and he was content to speak and to write without attempt to hide this conviction. And this was the man whom he had been so glad to call his friend; for whose sake he had been willing to quarrel with Lady Lufton, and at whose instance he had unconsciously abandoned so many of the best resolutions of his life. He looked back now, as he walked there slowly, still holding the letter in his hand, to the day when he had stopped at the school-house and written his letter to Mr Sowerby, promising to join the party at Chaldicotes. He had been so eager then to have his own way, that he would not permit himself to go home and talk the matter over with his wife. He thought also of the manner in which he had been tempted to the house of the Duke of Omnium, and the conviction on his mind at the time of giving way to that temptation would surely bring him no evil. And then he remembered the evening in Sowerby’s bed-room, when the bill had been brought out, and he had allowed himself to be persuaded to put his name upon it — not because he was willing in this way to assist his friend, but because he was unable to refuse. He had lacked the courage to say ‘No,’ though he knew at the time how gross was the error which he was committing. He had lacked the courage to say, ‘No’, and hence had come upon him and on his household all this misery and cause for bitter repentance.

I have written much of clergymen, but in doing so, I have endeavoured to portray them as they bear on our social life rather than to describe the mode and working of their professional careers. Had I done the latter I could hardly have steered clear of subjects on which it has not been my intention to pronounce an opinion, and I should either have laden my fiction with sermons or I should have degraded my sermons into fiction. Therefore I have said but little in my narrative of this man’s feelings or doings as a clergyman. But I must protest against its being on this account considered that Mr Robarts was indifferent to the duties of his clerical position. He had been fond of pleasure and had given way to temptation,— as is so customarily done by young men of six-and-twenty, who are placed beyond control and who have means at command. Had he re............