第77章

'With me, Mary, it has been all of them--every one! My spirit is broken, my mind has not been able to keep its even tenor amidst the ruins. But I will strive. I will strive. I will strive still. And if God helps me, I will prevail.' Then he took up his hat and cloak, and went forth among the lanes; and on this occasion his wife was glad that he should go alone.

This occurred a day or two before Christmas, and Mrs Crawley during those days said nothing more to her husband on the subject which he had so unexpectedly discussed. She asked him no questions about the money, or as to the possibility of his exercising his memory, nor did she counsel him to plead that the false excuses given by him for the possession of the cheque had been occasioned by the sad slip to which sorrow had in those days subjected his memory and his intellect. But the matter had always been on her mind. Might it not be her paramount duty to do something of this at the present moment? Might it not be that his acquittal or conviction would depend on what she might now learn from him? It was clear to her that he was brighter in spirit since his encounter with the Proudies than he had ever been since the accusation had been first made against him. And she knew well that his present mood would not be of long continuance. He would fall again into his moody silent ways, and then the chance of learning aught from him would be past, and perhaps, for ever.

He performed the Christmas services with nothing of special despondency in his tone or manner, and his wife thought that she had never heard him give the sacrament with more impressive dignity. After the service he stood awhile at the churchyard gate, and exchanged a word of courtesy as to the season with such of the families of the farmers as had stayed for the Lord's Supper.

'I waited at Framley for your reverence till arter six--so I did,' said farmer Mangle.

'I kept the road, and walked the whole way,' said Mr Crawley, 'I think Itold you that I should not return to the mill. But I am not the less obliged by your great kindness.'

'Say nowt o' that,' said the farmer. 'No doubt I had business at the mill--lots to do at the mill.' Nor did he think the fib he was telling was at all incompatible with the Holy Sacrament in which he had just taken part.

The Christmas dinner at the parsonage was not a repast that did much honour to the season, but it was a better dinner than the inhabitants of that house usually had on the board before them. There was roast pork and mince-pies, and a bottle of wine. As Mrs Crawley with her own hand put the meat upon the table, and then, as was her custom in their house, proceeded to cut it up, she looked at husband's face to see whether he was scrutinising the food with painful eye. It was better that she should tell the truth at once than that she should be made to tell it, in answer to a question. Everything on the table, except the bread and potatoes, had come in a basket from Framley Court. Pork had been sent instead of beef, because people in the country, when they kill their pigs, do sometimes give each other pork--but do not exchange joints of beef, when they slay their oxen. All this was understood by Mrs Crawley, but she almost wished that beef had been sent, because beef would have attracted less attention. He said, however, nothing to the meat; but when his wife proposed to him that he should eat a mince-pie he resented it. 'The bare food,' said he, 'is bitter enough, coming as it does; but that would choke me.' She did not press it, but ate one herself, as otherwise her girl would have been forced also to refuse the dainty.

That evening, as soon as Jane was in bed, she resolved to ask him some further questions. 'You will have a lawyer, Josiah--will you not?'

'Why should I have a lawyer?'

'Because he will know what questions to ask, and how questions on the other side should be answered.'

'I have no questions to ask, and there is only one way in which questions should be answered. I have no money to pay a lawyer.'

'But, Josiah, in such a case as this, where your honour, and our very life depend upon it--'

'Depend on what?'

'On your acquittal.'

'I shall not be acquitted. It is as well to look it in the face at once. Lawyer or no lawyer, they will say that I took the money. Were Iupon the jury, trying the case myself, knowing all that I know now,'--and as he said this he struck forth with his hands into the air--'I think that I should say so myself. A lawyer will do no good. It is here. It is here.' And again he put his hands up to his head.

So far she had been successful. At this moment it had in truth been her object to induce him to speak of his own memory, and not of the aid that a lawyer might give. The proposition of the lawyer had been brought in to introduce the subject.

'But, Josiah--'

'Well?'

It was very hard for her to speak. She could not bear to torment him by any allusion to his own deficiencies. She could not endure to make him think that she suspected him of any frailty either in intellect or thought. Wifelike, she desired to worship him, and that he should know that she worshipped him. But if a word might save him! 'Josiah, where did it come from?'

'Yes,' said he; 'yes; that is the question. Where did it come from:?'--and he turned sharp upon her, looking at her with all the power of his eyes. 'It is because I cannot tell you where it came from that Iought to be--either in Bedlam, as a madman, or in the county gaol as a thief.' The words were so dreadful to her that she could not utter at the moment another syllable. 'How is a man--to think himself--fit--for a man's work, when he cannot answer his wife such a plain question as that?' Then he paused again. 'They should take me to Bedlam at once--at once--at once. That would not disgrace the children as the gaol will do.'

Mrs Crawley could ask no further questions on that evening.