“I care nothing now for the verdict,” said Mr. Crawley.
“And you will turn your wife into the poorhouse for an idea!”
“It’s dogged as does it,” said Mr. Crawley to himself. “I have thought of that,” he said aloud. “That my wife is dear to me, and that my children are dear, I will not deny. She was softly nurtured, Dr. Tempest, and came from a house in which want was never known. Since she has shared my board she has had some experience of that nature. That I should have brought her to all this is very terrible to me—so terrible, that I often wonder how it is that I live. But, sir, you will agree with me, that my duty as a clergyman is above everything. I do not dare, even for their sake, to remain in the parish. Good morning, Dr. Tempest.” Dr. Tempest, finding that he could not prevail with him, bade him adieu, feeling that any service to the Crawleys within his power might be best done by intercession with the bishop and with the dean.
Then Mr. Crawley walked back to Hogglestock, repeating to himself Giles Hoggett’s words, “It’s dogged as does it.”
LXII
Mr. Crawley’s Letter to the Dean
Mr. Crawley, when he got home after his walk to Silverbridge, denied that he was at all tired. “The man at Silverbridge whom I went to see administered refreshment to me;—nay, he administered it with salutary violence,” he said, affecting even to laugh. “And I am bound to speak well of him on behalf of mercies over and beyond that exhibited by the persistent tender of some wine. That I should find him judicious I had expected. What little I have known of him taught me so to think of him. But I found with him also a softness of heart for which I had not looked.”
“And you will not give up the living, Josiah?”
“Most certainly I will. A duty, when it is clear before a man, should never be made less so by any tenderness in others.” He was still thinking of Giles Hoggett. “It’s dogged as does it.” The poor woman could not answer him. She knew well that it was vain to argue with him. She could only hope that in the event of his being acquitted at the trial, the dean, whose friendship she did not doubt, might re-endow him with the small benefice which was their only source of bread.
On the following morning there came by post a short note from Dr. Tempest.
“My dear Mr. Crawley,” the note ran,
I implore you, if there be yet time, to do nothing rashly. And even although you should have written to the bishop or to the dean, your letters need have no effect, if you will allow me to make them inoperative. Permit me to say that I am a man much older than you, and one who has mixed much both with clergymen and with the world at large. I tell you with absolute confidence, that it is not your duty in your present position to give up your living. Should your conduct ever be called in question on this matter you will be at perfect liberty to say that you were guided by my advice. You should take no step till after the trial. Then, if the verdict be against you, you should submit to the bishop’s judgment. If the verdict be in your favour, the bishop’s interference will be over.
And you must remember that if it is not your duty as a clergyman to give up your living, you can have no right, seeing that you have a wife and family, to throw it away as an indulgence to your pride. Consult any other friend you please;—Mr. Robarts, or the dean himself. I am quite sure that any friend who knows as many of the circumstances as I know will advise you to hold the living, at any rate till after the trial. You can refer any such friend to me.
Mr. Crawley walked about again with this letter in his pocket, but on this occasion he did not go in the direction of Hoggle End. From Hoggle End he could hardly hope to pick up further lessons of wisdom. What could any Giles Hoggett say to him beyond what he had said to him already? If he were to read the doctor’s letter to Hoggett, and to succeed in making Hoggett understand it all, Hoggett could only caution him to be dogged. But it seemed to him that Hoggett and his new friend at Silverbridge did not agree in their doctrines, and it might be well that he should endeavour to find out which of them had most of justice on his side. He was quite sure that Hoggett would advise him to adhere to his project of giving up the living—if only Hoggett could be made to understand the circumstances.
He had written, but had not as yet sent away his letter to the dean.
His letter to the bishop would be but a note, and he had postponed the writing of that till the other should be copied and made complete.
He had sat up late into the night composing and altering his letter to his old friend, and now that the composition was finished he was loth to throw it away. Early in this morning, before the postman had brought to him Dr. Tempest’s urgent remonstrance, he had shown to his wife the draught of his letter to the dean. “I cannot say that it is not true,” she had said.
“It is certainly
