The Last Chronicle of Barset [96]
of the road till he had covered the first five miles out of Barchester. It was nearly four o'clock, and the thick gloom of the winter evening was making itself felt. And then he began to be fatigued. He had not as yet eaten since he had left his home in the morning, and he now pulled a crust out of his pocket and leaned against a gate as he crunched it. There were still ten miles before him, and he knew that such an addition to the work he had already done would task him very severely. Farmer Mangle had told him that he would not leave Framley Mill by that time. But he had said that he would not return to Framley Mill, and he remembered his suspicion that his wife and the farmer between them had cozened him. No; he would persevere and walk--walk though he should drop upon the road. He was now nearer fifty then forty years of age, and hardships as well as time had told upon him. He knew that the last four miles in the dark would be very sad with him. But still he persevered, endeavouring, as he went, to cherish himself with the remembrance of his triumph.
He passed the turning going down to Framley with courage, but when he came to the further turning, by which the cart would return from Framley to the Hogglestock road, he looked wistfully down the road for farmer Mangle. But farmer Mangle was still at the Mill, waiting in expectation that Mr Crawley might come to him. But the poor traveller paused here barely for a minute, and then went on, stumbling through the mud, striking his ill-covered feet against the rough stones in the dark, sweating in his weakness, almost tottering at times, and calculating whether his remaining strength would serve to carry him home. He had almost forgotten the bishop and his wife before at last he grasped the wicket gate leading to his own door.
'Oh, mamma, here is papa!'
'But where is the cart? I did not hear the wheels,' said Mrs Crawley.
'Oh, mamma, I think papa is ill.' Then the wife took her drooping husband by both arms and strove to look him in the face. 'He has walked all the way, and he is ill,' said Jane.
'No, my dear, I am very tired, but not ill. Let me sit down, and give me some bread and tea, and I shall recover myself.' Then Mrs Crawley, from some secret hoard, got him a small modicum of spirits, and gave him meat and tea, and he was docile; and, obeying her behests, allowed himself to be taken to his bed.
'I do not think the bishop will send for me again,' he said, as she tucked the clothes around him.
CHAPTER XIX
WHERE DID IT COME FROM?
When Christmas morning came no emissary from the bishop appeared at Hogglestock to interfere with the ordinary performance of the day's services. 'I think we need fear no further disturbance,' Mr Crawley said to his wife--and there was no further disturbance.
On the day after his walk from Framley to Barchester, and from Barchester back to Hogglestock, Mr Crawley had risen not much the worse for his labour, and had gradually given to his wife a full account of what had taken place. 'A poor weak man,' he said, speaking of the bishop. 'A poor weak creature, and much to be pitied.'
'I have always heard that she is a violent woman.'
'Very violent, and very ignorant; and most intrusive withal.'
'And you did not answer her a word?'
'At last my forbearance with her broke down, and I bade her mind her distaff.'
'What;--really? Did you say those words to her?'
'Nay; as for the exact words I cannot remember them. I was thinking more of the word which it might be fitting that I should answer the bishop. But I certainly told her that she had better mind her distaff.'
'And how did she behave then?'
'I did not wait to see. The bishop had spoken, and I had replied; and why should I tarry to behold the woman's violence? I had told him that he was wrong in law, and that I at least would not submit to usurped authority. There was nothing to keep me longer, and so I went without much ceremony of leave-taking. There had been little ceremony of greeting on their part, and there was less in the making
He passed the turning going down to Framley with courage, but when he came to the further turning, by which the cart would return from Framley to the Hogglestock road, he looked wistfully down the road for farmer Mangle. But farmer Mangle was still at the Mill, waiting in expectation that Mr Crawley might come to him. But the poor traveller paused here barely for a minute, and then went on, stumbling through the mud, striking his ill-covered feet against the rough stones in the dark, sweating in his weakness, almost tottering at times, and calculating whether his remaining strength would serve to carry him home. He had almost forgotten the bishop and his wife before at last he grasped the wicket gate leading to his own door.
'Oh, mamma, here is papa!'
'But where is the cart? I did not hear the wheels,' said Mrs Crawley.
'Oh, mamma, I think papa is ill.' Then the wife took her drooping husband by both arms and strove to look him in the face. 'He has walked all the way, and he is ill,' said Jane.
'No, my dear, I am very tired, but not ill. Let me sit down, and give me some bread and tea, and I shall recover myself.' Then Mrs Crawley, from some secret hoard, got him a small modicum of spirits, and gave him meat and tea, and he was docile; and, obeying her behests, allowed himself to be taken to his bed.
'I do not think the bishop will send for me again,' he said, as she tucked the clothes around him.
CHAPTER XIX
WHERE DID IT COME FROM?
When Christmas morning came no emissary from the bishop appeared at Hogglestock to interfere with the ordinary performance of the day's services. 'I think we need fear no further disturbance,' Mr Crawley said to his wife--and there was no further disturbance.
On the day after his walk from Framley to Barchester, and from Barchester back to Hogglestock, Mr Crawley had risen not much the worse for his labour, and had gradually given to his wife a full account of what had taken place. 'A poor weak man,' he said, speaking of the bishop. 'A poor weak creature, and much to be pitied.'
'I have always heard that she is a violent woman.'
'Very violent, and very ignorant; and most intrusive withal.'
'And you did not answer her a word?'
'At last my forbearance with her broke down, and I bade her mind her distaff.'
'What;--really? Did you say those words to her?'
'Nay; as for the exact words I cannot remember them. I was thinking more of the word which it might be fitting that I should answer the bishop. But I certainly told her that she had better mind her distaff.'
'And how did she behave then?'
'I did not wait to see. The bishop had spoken, and I had replied; and why should I tarry to behold the woman's violence? I had told him that he was wrong in law, and that I at least would not submit to usurped authority. There was nothing to keep me longer, and so I went without much ceremony of leave-taking. There had been little ceremony of greeting on their part, and there was less in the making