‘Mr Crawley is a very old friend of mine, and a very dear friend.’

’Is he?  Ah!  A very worthy man, I am sure, and one who has been much tried by undeserved adversities.’

‘Most severely, my lord.’

’Sitting among the potsherds, like Job; has he not, Mr Dean?  Well; let us hope that is all over.  When this accusation about the robbery was brought against him, I found myself bound to interfere.’

‘He has no complaint on that score.’

’I hope not.  I have not wished to be harsh, but what could I do, Mr Dean?  They told me that the civil authorities found the evidence so strong against him that it could not be withstood.’

‘It was very strong.’

’And we thought that he should at least be relieved, and we sent for Dr Tempest, who is his rural dean.’  Then the bishop remembering all the circumstances of that interview with the Dr Tempest—­as to which he had ever felt assured that one of the results was the death of his wife, whereby there was no longer any ‘we’ left in the palace of Barchester—­sighed piteously, looking at the dean with a hopeless face.

‘Nobody doubts, my lord, that you acted for the best.’

’I hope we did.  I think we did.  And now what will we do?  He has resigned his living, both to you and to me, as I hear—­you being the patron.  It will simply be necessary, I think, that he should ask to have the letters cancelled.  Then, as I take it, there need be no restitution.  You cannot think, Mr Dean, how much I have thought about it all.’

Then the dean unfolded his budget, and explained to the bishop how he hoped that the living of St Ewold’s, which was, after some ecclesiastical fashion, attached to the rectory of Plumstead, and which was now vacant by the demise of Mr Harding, might be conferred by the archdeacon upon Mr Crawley.  It was necessary to explain also that this could not be done quite immediately, and in doing this the dean encountered some little difficulty.  The archdeacon, he said, wished to be allowed another week to think about it; and therefore perhaps provision for the duties of Hogglestock might yet be made for a few Sundays.  The bishop, the dean said, might easily understand that, after what has occurred, Mr Crawley would hardly wish to go again into that pulpit, unless he did so as resuming duties, which would necessarily be permanent with him.  To all this the bishop assented, but he was apparently struck with much wonder at the choice made by the archdeacon.  ‘I should have thought, Mr Dean,’ he said, ’that Mr Crawley was the last man to have suited the archdeacon’s choice.’

‘The archdeacon and I married sisters, my lord.’