‘Of course I am anxious for my wife and children,’ said Crawley, repeating his words; ’how anxious, I fancy no man can conceive who has not been hear enough to absolute want to know how terrible is its approach when it threatens those who are weak and who are very dear!  But, Mr Robarts, you spoke just now of the chance of the thing—­the chance of your arranging on my behalf that I should for a while longer be left in the enjoyment of the freehold of my parish.  It seemeth to me that there should be no chance on such a subject; that in the adjustment of so momentous a matter there should be a consideration of right and wrong, and no consideration of aught beside.  I have been growing to feel, for some weeks past, that circumstances—­whether through my fault or not is an outside question as to which I will not further delay you by offering even an opinion—­that unfortunate circumstances have made me unfit to remain here as guardian of the souls of the people of this parish.  Then there came to me the letter from Dr Tempest—­for which I am greatly beholden to him—­strengthening me altogether in this view.  What could I do then, Mr Robarts?  Could I allow myself to think of my wife and my children when such a question as that was before me for self-discussion?’

‘I would—­certainly,’ said Robarts.

’No sir!  Excuse the bluntness of my contradiction, but I feel assured that in such emergency you would look solely to duty—­as by God’s help I will endeavour to do.  Mr Robarts, there are many of us who in many things are much worse than we believe ourselves to be.  But in other matters, and perhaps of larger moment, we can rise to ideas of duty as the need for such ideas comes to us.  I say not this at all as praising myself.  I speak of men as I believe that they will be found to be;—­of yourself, of myself, and of others who strive to live with clean hands and a clear conscience.  I do not for a moment think that you would retain your benefice at Framley if there had come upon you, after much thought, an assured conviction that you could not retain it without grievous injury to the souls of others and grievous sin to your own.  Wife and children, dear as they are to you and to me—­as dear to me as to you—­fade from the sight when the time comes for judgment on such a matter as that!’ They were standing quite still now, facing each other, and Crawley, as he spoke with a low voice, looked straight into his friend’s eyes, and kept his hand firmly fixed on his friend’s arm.

‘I cannot interfere further,’ said Robarts.

‘No—­you cannot interfere further.’  Robarts, when he told the story of the interview to his wife that evening, declared that he had never heard a voice so plaintively touching as was the voice of Mr Crawley when he uttered those last words.

They turned back to the servant and the house almost without a word, and Robarts mounted without offering to see Mrs Crawley.  Nor did Mr Crawley ask him to do so.  It was better now that Robarts should go.  ’May God send you through all your troubles,’ said Mr Robarts.