The Last Chronicle of Barset

guilty, even though they may have thought that he spent the money without any proper right to it. And now he will get off. But dear me, Mary, Mr. Smithe told me yesterday that he had already given up his living, and that Mr. Spooner, the minor canon, was trying to get it from the dean. But that was because Mr. Spooner and Mrs. Proudie had quarrelled; and as Mrs. Proudie is gone, Mr. Spooner very likely won’t want to move now.”

“They’ll never go and put anybody into Hogglestock, Annabella, over Mr. Crawley’s head,” said Anne.

“I didn’t say that they would. Surely I may be allowed to repeat what I hear, like another person, without being snapped up.”

“I didn’t mean to snap you up, Annabella.”

“You’re always snapping me up. But if this is true, I cannot say how glad I am. My poor Grace! Now, I suppose, there will be no difficulty, and Grace will become a great lady.” Then they discussed very minutely the chances of Grace Crawley’s promotion.

John Walker, Mr. Winthrop, and several others of the chosen spirits of Silverbridge, were playing whist at a provincial club, which had established itself in the town, when the news was brought to them. Though Mr. Winthrop was the partner of the great Walker, and though John Walker was the great man’s son, I fear that the news reached their ears in but an underhand sort of way. As for the great man himself, he never went near the club, preferring his slippers and tea at home. The Walkerian groom, rushing up the street to the “George and Vulture,” paused a moment to tell his tidings to the club porter; from the club porter it was whispered respectfully to the Silverbridge apothecary, who, by special grace, was a member of the club;⁠—and was by him repeated with much cautious solemnity over the card-table. “Who told you that, Balsam?” said John Walker, throwing down his cards.

“I’ve just heard it,” said Balsam.

“I don’t believe it,” said John.

“I shouldn’t wonder if it’s true,” said Winthrop. “I always said that something would turn up.”

“Will you bet three to one he is not found guilty?” said John Walker.

“Done,” said Winthrop; “in pounds.” That morning the odds in the club against the event had been only two to one. But as the matter was discussed, the men in the club began to believe the tidings, and before he went home, John Walker would have been glad to hedge his bet on any terms. After he had spoken to his father, he gave his money up for lost.

But Mr. Walker⁠—the great Walker⁠—had more to do that night before his son came home from the club. He and Mr. Toogood agreed that it would be right that they should see Dr. Tempest at once, and they went over together to the rectory. It was past ten at this time, and they found the doctor almost in the act of putting out the candles for the night. “I could not but come to you, doctor,” said Mr. Walker, “with the news my friend has brought. Mrs. Arabin gave the cheque to Crawley. Here is a telegram from her saying so.” And the telegram was handed to the doctor.

He stood perfectly silent for a few minutes, reading it over and over again. “I see it all,” he said, when he spoke at last. “I see it all now; and I must own I was never before so much puzzled in my life.”

“I own I can’t see why she should have given him Mr. Soames’s cheque,” said Mr. Walker.

“I can’t say where she got it, and I own I don’t much care,” said Dr. Tempest. “But I don’t doubt but what she gave it him without telling the dean, and that Crawley thought it came from the dean. I’m very glad. I am, indeed, very glad. I do not know that I ever pitied a man so much in my life as I have pitied Mr. Crawley.”

“It must have been a hard case when it has moved him,” said Mr. Walker to Mr. Toogood as they left the clergyman’s house; and then the Silverbridge attorney saw the attorney from London home to his inn.

It was the general opinion at Silverbridge that the news from Venice ought to be communicated to the Crawleys by Major Grantly. Mary Walker had expressed this opinion very strongly, and her mother had agreed with her. Miss Prettyman also felt that poetical justice, or, at least, the romance of justice, demanded this; and, as she told her sister Anne after Mary Walker left her, she was of opinion that such an arrangement might tend to make things safe. “I do think he is an honest man and a fine fellow,” said Miss Prettyman; “but, my dear, you know what the proverb says, ‘There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.’ ” Miss Prettyman thought that anything which might be done to prevent a slip ought to be done. The idea that the pleasant task of taking the news out to Hogglestock ought to be confided to Major Grantly was very general; but then Mr. Walker was of opinion that the news ought not to be taken to Hogglestock at all till something more certain than the telegram had reached them. Early on the following morning the two lawyers again met, and it was arranged between them that the London lawyer should go over at once to Barchester, and that the Silverbridge lawyer should see Major Grantly. Mr. Toogood was still of opinion that with due diligence something might yet be learned as to the cheque, by inquiry among the denizens of The Dragon of Wantly; and his opinion to this effect was stronger than ever when he learned from Mr. Walker that The Dragon of Wantly belonged to Mrs. Arabin.

Mr. Walker, after breakfast, had himself driven up in his open carriage to Cosby Lodge, and, as he entered the gates, observed that the auctioneer’s bills as to