“I don’t know what you call slow, Mr. Crawley. I was ever so much over two hours coming here from Barchester. He stumbled almost at every step.”
“Did he fall while you were on him?” asked the major.
“Indeed he did, sir. You never saw such a thing, Major Grantly. Look here.” Then Mr. Thumble, turning round, showed that the rear portion of his clothes had not escaped without injury.
“It was well he was not going fast, or you would have come on to your head,” said Grantly.
“It was a mercy,” said Thumble. “But, sir, as it was, I came to the ground with much violence. It was on Spigglewick Hill, where the road is covered with loose stones. I see, sir, you have a gig and horse here, with a servant. Perhaps, as the circumstances are so very peculiar—” Then Mr. Thumble stopped, and looked up into the major’s face with imploring eyes. But the major had no tenderness for such sufferings. “I’m sorry to say that I am going quite the other way,” he said. “I am returning to Silverbridge.”
Mr. Thumble hesitated, and then made a renewed request. “If you would not mind taking me to Silverbridge, I could get home from thence by railway; and perhaps you would allow your servant to take the horse to Barchester.”
Major Grantly was for a moment dumbfounded. “The request is most unreasonable, sir,” said Mr. Crawley.
“That is as Major Grantly pleases to look at it,” said Mr. Thumble.
“I am sorry to say that it is quite out of my power,” said the major.
“You can surely walk, leading the beast, if you fear to mount him,” said Mr. Crawley.
“I shall do as I please about that,” said Mr. Thumble. “And, Mr. Crawley, if you will have the kindness to leave things in the parish just as they are—just as they are, I will be obliged to you. It is the bishop’s wish that you should touch nothing.” Mr. Thumble was by this time on the step, and Mr. Crawley instantly slammed the door.
“The gentleman is a clergyman from Barchester,” said Mr. Crawley, modestly folding his hands upon his breast, “whom the bishop has sent over here to take upon himself temporarily the services of the church, and, as it appears, the duties also of the parish. I refrain from animadverting upon his lordship’s choice.”
“And are you leaving Hogglestock?”
“When I have found a shelter for my wife and children I shall do so; nay, peradventure, I must do so before any such shelter can be found. I shall proceed in that matter as I am bid. I am one who can regard myself as no longer possessing the privilege of free action in anything. But while I have a room at your service, permit me to ask you to enter it.” Then Mr. Crawley motioned him in with his hand, and Major Grantly found himself in the presence of Mrs. Crawley and her younger daughter.
He looked at them both for a moment, and could trace much of the lines of that face which he loved so well. But the troubles of life had almost robbed the elder lady of her beauty; and with the younger, the awkward thinness of the last years of feminine childhood had not yet given place to the fulfilment of feminine grace. But the likeness in each was quite enough to make him feel that he ought to be at home in that room. He thought that he could love the woman as his mother, and the girl as his sister. He found it very difficult to begin any conversation in their presence, and yet it seemed to be his duty to begin. Mr. Crawley had marshalled him into the room, and having done so, stood aside near the door. Mrs. Crawley had received him very graciously, and having done so, seemed to be ashamed of her own hospitality. Poor Jane had shrunk back into a distant corner, near the open standing desk at which she was accustomed to read Greek to her father, and, of course, could not be expected to speak. If Major Grantly could have found himself alone with any one of the three—nay, if he could have been there with any two, he could have opened his budget at once; but, before all the family, he felt the difficulty of his situation. “Mrs. Crawley,” said he, “I have been most anxious to make your acquaintance, and I trust you will excuse the liberty I have taken in calling.”
“I feel grateful to you, as I am sure does also my husband.” So much she said, and then felt angry with herself for saying so much. Was she not expressing her strong hope that he might stand fast by her child, whereby the whole Crawley family would gain so much—and the Grantly family lose much, in the same proportion?
“Sir,” said Mr. Crawley, “I owe you thanks, still unexpressed, in that you came forward, together with Mr. Robarts of Framley, to satisfy the not unnatural requisition of the magistrates before whom I was called upon to appear in the early winter. I know not why anyone should have ventured into such jeopardy on my account.”
“There was no jeopardy, Mr. Crawley. Anyone in the county would have done it.”
“I know not that; nor can I see that there was no jeopardy. I trust that I may assure you that there is no danger;—none, I mean, to you. The danger to myself and those belonging to me is, alas, very urgent. The facts of my position are pressing close upon me. Methinks I suffer more from the visit of the gentleman who has just departed from me than from anything that has yet happened to me. And yet he is in his right;—he is altogether in his right.”
“No, papa; he is not,” said Jane, from her standing ground near the upright desk.
“My dear,” said her father,
