and had repeated it with uncouth glee till his daughter knew it all by heart.  And when there had come to him a five-pound note from some admiring magazine editor as the price of the same—­still through the dean’s hands—­he had brightened up his heart and had thought for an hour or two that even yet the world would smile upon him.  His wife knew well that he was not mad; but yet she knew that there were dark moments with him, in which his mind was so much astray that he could not justly be called to account as to what he might remember and what he might forget.  How would it be possible to explain all this to a judge and jury, so that they might neither say that he was dishonest, nor yet that he was mad?

‘Perhaps he picked it up, and had forgotten,’ her daughter said to her.  Perhaps it was so, but she might not as yet admit as much even to her child.

’It is a mystery, dear, as yet, which, with God’s aid, will be unravelled.  Of one thing we at least may be sure; that your papa has not wilfully done anything wrong.’

‘Of course we are sure of that, mamma.’

Mrs Crawley had many troubles during the next four or five days, of which the worst, perhaps, had reference to the services of the Sunday which intervened between the day of her visit to Silverbridge and the sitting of the magistrates.  On the Saturday it was necessary that he should prepare his sermons, of which he preached two every Sunday, though his congregation consisted only of farmers, brickmakers, and agricultural labourers, who would willingly have dispensed with the second.  Mrs Crawley proposed to send over to Mr Robarts, a neighbouring clergyman, for the loan of a curate.  Mr Robarts was a warm friend to the Crawleys, and in such an emergency would probably have come himself; but Mr Crawley would not hear of it.  The discussion took place early on the Saturday morning, before it was as yet daylight, for the poor woman was thinking day and night of her husband’s troubles, and it had this good effect, that immediately after breakfast he seated himself at his desk, and worked at his task as though he had forgotten all else in the world.

And on the Sunday morning he went into his school before the hour of the church service, as had been his wont, and taught there as though everything with him was as usual.  Some of the children were absent, having heard of their teacher’s tribulation, and having been told probably that he would remit his work; and for these absent ones he sent in great anger.  The poor bairns came creeping in, for he was a man who by his manners had been able to secure their obedience in spite of his poverty.  And he preached to the people of his parish on that Sunday, as he had always preached; eagerly, clearly, and with an eloquence fitted for the hearts of such an audience.  No one would have guessed from his tones and gestures and appearance on that occasion, that there was aught wrong with him—­unless there had been some observer keen enough to perceive that the greater care which he used, and the special eagerness of his words, denoted a special frame of mind.