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But if he escape conviction, you must sequestrate the living because of the debts. The income is enough to get an excellent curate. It would just do for Thumble." To all of which the bishop made no further reply, but simply nodded his head and patted his apron.
"But I can hardly think that he will throw away the only means he has of supporting his wife and children, when he finds that there can be no occasion for his doing so. I do not suppose that any person wishes him to throw up his work now that the poor woman has gone." Mr Crawley had been almost in good spirits since the last visit which Mr Thumble had made him.
The "us" here named comprised Mrs Proudie and the bishop's managing chaplain. Then the bishop was left alone for an hour to write the letter which Mr Thumble was to carry over to Mr Crawley, and after a while he did write it.
Mr Thumble returned to Barchester that day, leading the broken-down cob; and a dreadful walk he had. He was not good at walking, and before he came near Barchester had come to entertain a violent hatred for the beast he was leading. The leading of a horse that is tired, or in pain, or even stiff in his limbs, is not pleasant work.
So far, Dr Tempest had carried his point exactly as he might have done had the four gentlemen been represented by the chairs on which they had sat. "I shan't come again, all the same, unless I know where I'm to get my expenses," said Mr Quiverful, as he got into the gig. "I shall come," said Mr Thumble, "because I think it a duty. Of course it is a hardship."
But Mr Crawley did not please to answer the question. "The man is obstinate," said Mrs Proudie. "I had better proceed," said the bishop. "Mr Thumble brought me back your reply, which grieved me greatly." "It was contumacious and indecent," said Mrs Proudie. The bishop again shook his head and looked so utterly miserable that a smile came across Mr Crawley's face.
"I, therefore, sent over to you a gentleman with whom I am well acquainted, Mr Thumble, with a letter from myself, in which I endeavoured to impress upon you, without the use of any severe language, what my convictions were." "Severe words are often the best mercy," said Mrs Proudie. Mr Crawley had raised his hand, with his finger out, preparatory to answering the bishop.
He would submit to the bishop, let the bishop's decision be what it might. Things were different since the day on which he had refused Mr Thumble admission to his pulpit. At that time people believed him to be innocent, and he so believed of himself.
Mr Thumble called to mind the fact, that Mr Crawley was a very poor man indeed, so poor that he owed money all round the country to butchers and bakers, and the other fact, that he, Mr Thumble himself, did not owe any money to any one, his wife luckily having a little income of her own; and, strengthened by these remembrances, he endeavoured to bear Mr Crawley's attack with gallantry.
But the words came to him easily, and before an hour was over he had handed his letter to Mr Thumble. The letter was as follows: THE PARSONAGE, HOGGLESTOCK, December, 186
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