hardly, as they lived; that he worked hard, as they worked; and that the outside world was hard to him, as it was to them; and there had been an apparent sincerity of godliness about the man, and a manifest struggle to do his duty in spite of the world’s ill-usage, which had won its way even with the rough; so that Mr Crawley’s name had stood high with many in the parish, in spite of the unfortunate peculiarity of his disposition.  This was the man who was now accused of stealing a cheque for twenty pounds.

But before the circumstances of the alleged theft are stated, a word or two must be said as to Mr Crawley’s family.  It is declared that a good wife is a crown to her husband, but Mrs Crawley has been much more than a crown to him.  As had regarded all the inner life of the man—­all that portion of his life which had not been passed in the pulpit or in pastoral teaching—­she had been crown, throne, and sceptre all in one.  That she had endured with him and on his behalf the miseries of poverty, and the troubles of a life which had known no smiles, is perhaps not to be alleged as much to her honour.  She had joined herself to him for better or worse, and it was her manifest duty to bear such things; wives always have to bear them, knowing when they marry that they must take their chance.  Mr Crawley might have been a bishop, and Mrs Crawley, when she married him, perhaps thought it probable that such would be his fortune.  Instead of that he was now, just as he was approaching his fiftieth year, a perpetual curate, with an income of one hundred and thirty pounds per annum—­and a family.  That had been Mrs Crawley’s luck in life, and of course she bore it.  But she had also done much more than this.  She had striven hard to be contented, or, rather, to appear to be contented, when he had been most wretched and most moody.  She had struggled to conceal from him her own conviction to his half-insanity, treating him at the same time with the respect due to an honoured father of a family, and with the careful measured indulgence fit for a sick and wayward child.  In all the terrible troubles of their life her courage had been higher than his.  The metal of which she was made had been tempered to a steel which was very rare and fine, but the rareness and fineness of which he had failed to appreciate.  He had often told her that she was without pride, because she was stooped to receive from others on his behalf and on behalf of their children, things which were needful, but which she could not buy.  He had told her that she was a beggar, and that it was better to starve than to beg.  She had borne the rebuke without a word in reply, and had then begged again for him, and had endured the starvation herself.  Nothing in their poverty had, for years past, been a shame to her; but every accident of their poverty was still, and ever had been, a living disgrace to him.