and had plenty of money.  People did not think much of Mr Winthrop; but still on this subject he might know something, and when he shook his head he manifestly intended to indicate guilt.  And Dr Tempest, the rector of Silverbridge, did not hesitate to declare his belief in the guilt of the incumbent of Hogglestock.  No man reverences a clergyman, as a clergyman, so slightly as a brother clergyman.  To Dr Tempest it appeared to be neither very strange nor very terrible that Mr Crawley should have stolen twenty pounds.  ‘What is a man to do,’ he said, ’when he sees his children starving?  He should not have married on such a preferment as that.’  Mr Crawley had married, however, long before he got the living at Hogglestock.

There were two Lady Luftons—­mother-in-law and daughter-in-law—­who at this time were living together at Framley Hall, Lord Lufton’s seat in the county of Barset, and there were both thoroughly convinced of Mr Crawley’s innocence.  The elder lady had lived much among clergymen, and could hardly, I think, by any means have been brought to believe in the guilt of any man who had taken upon himself the orders of the Church of England.  She had also known Mr Crawley personally for some years, and was one of those who could not admit to herself that anyone was vile who had been near to herself.  She believed intensely in the wickedness of the outside world, of the world which was far away from herself, and of which she never saw anything; but they who were near to her, and who had even become dear to her, or who even had been respected by her, were made, as it were, saints in her imagination.  They were brought into the inner circle, and could hardly be expelled.  She was an old woman who thought all evil of those she did not know, and all good of those whom she did know; and as she did know Mr Crawley, she was quite sure that he had not stolen Mr Soames’s twenty pounds.  She did know Mr Soames also; and thus there was a mystery for the unravelling of which she was very anxious.  And the young Lady Lufton was equally sure, and perhaps with better reason for such certainty.

She had, in truth, known more of Mr Crawley personally, than anyone in the county, unless it was the dean.  The younger Lady Lufton, the present Lord Lufton’s wife, had sojourned at one time in Mr Crawley’s house, amidst the Crawley poverty, living as they lived, and nursing Mrs Crawley through an illness which had wellnigh been fatal to her; and the younger Lady Lufton believed in Mr Crawley—­as Mr Crawley believed in her.

‘It is quite impossible, my dear,’ the old woman said to her daughter-in-law.

‘Quite impossible, my lady.’  The dowager was always called ‘my lady’, both by her daughter and her son’s wife, except when in the presence of their children, when she was addressed as ‘grandmamma’.  ’Think how well I knew him.  It’s no use talking of evidence.  No evidence would make me believe it.’

’Nor me; and I think it a great shame that such a report should be spread about.’