The Last Chronicle of Barset

duty⁠—as by God’s help, I will endeavour to do. Mr. Robarts, there are many of us who in many things, are much worse than we believe ourselves to be. But in other matters, and perhaps of larger moment, we can rise to ideas of duty as the need for such ideas comes upon us. I say not this at all as praising myself. I speak of men as I believe that they will be found to be;⁠—of yourself, of myself, and of others who strive to live with clean hands and a clear conscience. I do not for a moment think that you would retain your benefice at Framley if there had come upon you, after much thought, an assured conviction that you could not retain it without grievous injury to the souls of others and grievous sin to your own. Wife and children, dear as they are to you and to me⁠—as dear to me as to you⁠—fade from the sight when the time comes for judgment on such a matter as that!” They were standing quite still now, facing each other, and Crawley, as he spoke with a low voice, looked straight into his friend’s eyes, and kept his hand firmly fixed on his friend’s arm.

“I cannot interfere further,” said Robarts.

“No⁠—you cannot interfere further.” Robarts, when he told the story of the interview to his wife that evening, declared that he had never heard a voice so plaintively touching as was the voice of Mr. Crawley when he uttered those last words.

They returned back to the servant and the house almost without a word, and Robarts mounted without offering to see Mrs. Crawley. Nor did Mr. Crawley ask him to do so. It was better now that Robarts should go. “May God send you through all your troubles,” said Mr. Robarts.

“Mr. Robarts, I thank you warmly, for your friendship,” said Mr. Crawley. And then they parted. In about half an hour Mr. Crawley returned to the house. “Now for Pindar, Jane,” he said, seating himself at his old desk.

LXIX

Mr. Crawley’s Last Appearance in His Own Pulpit

No word or message from Mr. Crawley reached Barchester throughout the week, and on the Sunday morning Mr. Thumble was under a positive engagement to go out to Hogglestock, and perform the services of the church. Dr. Tempest had been quite right in saying that Mr. Thumble would be awed by the death of his patroness. Such was altogether the case, and he was very anxious to escape from the task he had undertaken at her instance, if it were possible. In the first place, he had never been a favourite with the bishop himself, and had now, therefore, nothing to expect in the diocese. The crusts from bits of loaves and the morsels of broken fishes which had come in his way had all come from the bounty of Mrs. Proudie. And then, as regarded this special Hogglestock job, how was he to get paid for it? Whence, indeed, was he to seek repayment for the actual money which he would be out of pocket in finding his way to Hogglestock and back again? But he could not get to speak to the bishop, nor could he induce anyone who had access to his lordship to touch upon the subject. Mr. Snapper avoided him as much as possible; and Mr. Snapper, when he was caught and interrogated, declared that he regarded the matter as settled. Nothing could be in worse taste, Mr. Snapper thought, than to undo, immediately after the poor lady’s death, work in the diocese which had been arranged and done by her. Mr. Snapper expressed his opinion that Mr. Thumble was bound to go out to Hogglestock; and, when Mr. Thumble declared petulantly that he would not stir a step out of Barchester, Mr. Snapper protested that Mr. Thumble would have to answer for it in this world and in the next if there were no services at Hogglestock on that Sunday. On the Saturday evening Mr. Thumble made a desperate attempt to see the bishop, but was told by Mrs. Draper that the bishop had positively declined to see him. The bishop himself probably felt unwilling to interfere with his wife’s doings so soon after her death! So Mr. Thumble, with a heavy heart, went across to The Dragon of Wantly, and ordered a gig, resolving that the bill should be sent in to the palace. He was not going to trust himself again upon the bishop’s cob!

Up to Saturday evening Mr. Crawley did the work of his parish, and on the Saturday evening he made an address to his parishioners from his pulpit. He had given notice among the brickmakers and labourers that he wished to say a few words to them in the schoolroom; but the farmers also heard of this and came with their wives and daughters, and all the brickmakers came, and most of the labourers were there, so that there was no room for them in the schoolhouse. The congregation was much larger than was customary even in the church. “They will come,” he said to his wife, “to hear a ruined man declare his own ruin, but they will not come to hear the word of God.” When it was found that the persons assembled were too many for the schoolroom, the meeting was adjourned to the church, and Mr. Crawley was forced to get into his pulpit. He said a short prayer, and then he began his story.

His story as he told it then shall not be repeated now, as the same story has been told too often already in these pages. Surely it was a singular story for a parish clergyman to tell of himself in so solemn a manner. That he had applied the cheque to his own purposes, and was unable to account for the possession of it, was certain. He did not know when or how he had got it.