congregation was much larger than was customary even in the church.  ‘They will come,’ he said to his wife, ’to hear a ruined man declare his own ruin, but they will not come to hear the word of God.’  When it was found that the persons assembled were too many for the school-room, the meeting was adjourned to the church, and Mr Crawley was forced to get into his pulpit.  He said a short prayer, and then he began his story.

His story as he told it then shall not be repeated now, as the same story has been told too often already in these pages.  Surely it was a singular story for a parish clergyman to tell himself in so solemn a manner.  That he had applied the cheque to his own purposes, and was unable to account for its possession of it, was certain.  He did not know when or how he had got it.  Speaking to them then in God’s house he told them that.  He was to be tried by a jury, and all he could do was to tell the jury the same.  He would not expect the jury to believe him.  The jury would, of course, believe only that which was proved to them.  But he did expect his old friends at Hogglestock, who had known him so long, to take his word as true.  That there was no sufficient excuse for his conduct, even in his own sight, this, his voluntary resignation of his parish, was, he said, sufficient evidence.  Then he explained to them, as clearly as he was able, what the bishop had done, what the commission had done, and what he had done himself.  That he spoke no word of Mrs Proudie to that audience need hardly be mentioned here.  ’And now, dearest friends, I leave you,’ he said, with that weighty solemnity which was so peculiar to the man, and which he was able to make singularly impressive even on such a congregation as that of Hogglestock, ’and I trust that the heavy burden but pleasing burden of the charge which I have had over you may fall into hands better fitted than mine have been for such work.  I have always known my own unfitness, by reason of the worldly cares with which I have been laden.  Poverty makes the spirit poor, and the hands weak, and the heart sore—­and too often makes the conscience dull.  May the latter never be the case with any of you.’  Then he uttered another short prayer, and, stepping down from the pulpit, walked out of the church, with his weeping wife hanging on his arm, and his daughter following them, almost dissolved in tears.  He never again entered that church as the pastor of the congregation.

There was an old lame man from Hoggle End leaning on his stick near the door as Mr Crawley went out, and with him was his old lame wife.  ’He’ll pull through yet,’ said the old man to his wife; ’you’ll see else.  He’ll pull through because he’s so dogged.  It’s dogged as does it.’