The Last Chronicle of Barset

family throne in Raymond’s Buildings. The present Toogood was therefore first-cousin to Mrs. Crawley. But there had been no intimacy between them. Mrs. Crawley had not seen her cousin since her marriage⁠—as indeed she had seen none of her relations, having been estranged from them by the singular bearing of her husband. She knew that her cousin stood high in his profession, the firm of Toogood and Crump⁠—Crump and Toogood it should have been properly called in these days⁠—having always held its head up high above all dirty work; and she felt that her husband could look for advice from no better source. But how would such a one as he manage to tell his story to a stranger? Nay, how would he find his way alone into the lawyer’s room, to tell his story at all⁠—so strange was he to the world? And then the expense!

“If you do not wish me to apply to your cousin, say so, and there shall be an end of it,” said Mr. Crawley in an angry tone.

“Of course I would wish it. I believe him to be an excellent man, and a good lawyer.”

“Then why should I not go to his chambers? In formâ pauperis I must go to him, and must tell him so. I cannot pay him for the labour of his counsel, nor for such minutes of his time as I shall use.”

“Oh, Josiah, you need not speak of that.”

“But I must speak of it. Can I go to a professional man, who keeps as it were his shop open for those who may think fit to come, and purchase of him, and take of his goods, and afterwards, when the goods have been used, tell him that I have not the price in my hand? I will not do that, Mary. You think that I am mad, that I know not what I do. Yes⁠—I see it in your eyes; and you are sometimes partly right. But I am not so mad but that I know what is honest. I will tell your cousin that I am sore straitened, and brought down into the very dust by misfortune. And I will beseech him, for what of ancient feeling of family he may bear to you, to listen to me for a while. And I will be very short, and, if need be, will bide his time patiently, and perhaps he may say a word to me that may be of use.”

There was certainly very much in this to provoke Mrs. Crawley. It was not only that she knew well that her cousin would give ample and immediate attention, and lend himself thoroughly to the matter without any idea of payment⁠—but that she could not quite believe that her husband’s humility was true humility. She strove to believe it, but knew that she failed. After all it was only a feeling on her part. There was no argument within herself about it. An unpleasant taste came across the palate of her mind, as such a savour will sometimes, from some unexpected source, come across the palate of the mouth. Well; she could only gulp at it, and swallow it and excuse it. Among the salad that comes from your garden a bitter leaf will now and then make its way into your salad-bowl. Alas, there were so many bitter leaves ever making their way into her bowl!

“What I mean is, Josiah, that no long explanation will be needed. I think, from what I remember of him, that he would do for us anything that he could do.”

“Then I will go to the man, and will humble myself before him. Even that, hard as it is to me, may be a duty that I owe.” Mr. Crawley as he said this was remembering the fact that he was a clergyman of the Church of England, and that he had a rank of his own in the country, which, did he ever do such a thing as go out to dinner in company, would establish for him a certain right of precedence; whereas this attorney, of whom he was speaking, was, so to say, nobody in the eyes of the world.

“There need be no humbling, Josiah, other than that which is due from man to man in all circumstances. But never mind; we will not talk about that. If it seems good to you, go to Mr. Toogood. I think that it is good. May I write to him and say that you will go?”

“I will write myself; it will be more seemly.”

Then the wife paused before she asked the next question⁠—paused for some minute or two, and then asked it with anxious doubt⁠—“And may I go with you, Josiah?”

“Why should two go when one can do the work?” he answered sharply. “Have we money so much at command?”

“Indeed, no.”

“You should go and do it all, for you are wiser in these things than I am, were it not that I may not dare to show⁠—that I submit myself to my wife.”

“Nay, my dear!”

“But it is ay, my dear. It is so. This is a thing such as men do; not such as women do, unless they be forlorn and unaided of men. I know that I am weak where you are strong; that I am crazed where you are clear-witted.”

“I meant not that, Josiah. It was of your health that I thought.”

“Nevertheless it is as I say; but, for all that, it may not be that you should do my work. There are those watching me who would say, ‘Lo! he confesses himself incapable.’ And then someone would whisper something of a madhouse. Mary, I fear that worse than a prison.”

“May God in His mercy forbid such cruelty!”

“But I must look to it, my dear. Do you think that that woman, who sits there at Barchester in high places, disgracing herself and that puny ecclesiastical lord who is her husband⁠—do you think that she would not immure me if