the father of his affection for the daughter without any allusion to the coming trial; and he did not know how such allusion could be made.  Thinking of this, he had at different times almost resolved not to call at Hogglestock till the trial might be over.  Then he would go there, let the result of the trial have been what it might.  But it had now become necessary for him to go on at once.  His father had precipitated matters by his appeal to Grace.  He would appeal to Grace’s father, and reach Grace through his influence.

He drove over to Hogglestock, feeling himself to be anything but comfortable as he came near to the house.  And when he did reach the spot he was somewhat disconcerted to find that another visitor was in the house before him.  He presumed this to be the case, because there stood a little pony horse—­an animal which did not recommend itself to his instructed eye—­attached by its rein to the palings.  It was a poor humble-looking beast, whose knees had very lately become acquainted with the hard and sharp stones of a newly-mended highway.  The blood was even now red upon the wounds.

‘He’ll never be much good again,’ said the major to his servant.

‘That he won’t, sir,’ said the man.  ’But I don’t think he’s been very much good for some time back.’

‘I shouldn’t like to have to ride him into Silverbridge,’ said the major, descending from the gig, and instructing his servant to move the horse and gig about as long as he might remain within the house.  Then he walked across the little garden and knocked at the door.  The door was immediately opened, and in the passage he found Mr Crawley and another clergyman whom the reader will recognise as Mr Thumble.  Mr Thumble had come over to make arrangements as to the Sunday services and the parochial work, and had been very urgent in impressing on Mr Crawley that the duties were to be left entirely to himself.  Hence had come some bitter words, in which Mr Crawley, though no doubt he said the sharper things of the two, had not been able to vanquish his enemy so completely as he had done of former occasions.

’There must be no interference, my dear sir—­not whatever, if you please,’ Mr Thumble had said.

‘There shall be none of which the bishop shall have reason to complain,’ Mr Crawley had replied.

’There must be none at all, Mr Crawley, if you please.  It is only on that understanding that I have consented to take the parish temporarily into my hands.  Mrs Crawley, I hope that there may be no mistake about the schools.  It must be exactly as though I were residing on the spot.’

‘Sir,’ said Mr Crawley, very irate at this appeal to his wife, and speaking in a loud voice, ’do you misdoubt my word; or do you think that if I were minded to be false to you, that I should be corrected in my falsehood by the firmer faith of my wife?’

‘I meant nothing about falsehood, Mr Crawley.’

’Having resigned the benefice for certain reasons of my own, with which I shall not trouble you, and acknowledging as I do—­and have done in writing under my hand to the bishop—­the propriety of his lordship’s interference in providing for the services of the parish till any successor shall have been instituted, I shall, with what feelings of regret, I need not say, leave you to the performance of your temporary duties.’