But he had no right to make a marriage by which his family would be disgraced.  Whether he was right or wrong in supposing that he would disgrace his family were he to marry the daughter of a convicted thief, it is hardly necessary to discuss here.  He told himself that it would be so—­telling himself also that, by the stern laws of the world, the son and the daughter must pay for the offence of the father and mother.  Even among the poor, who would willingly marry the child of a man who had been hanged?  But he carried the argument beyond this, thinking much of the matter, and endeavouring to think of it not only justly but generously.  If the accusation against Crawley were false—­if the man were being injured by an unjust charge—­even if he, Grantly, could make himself think that the girl’s father had not stolen the money, then he would dare everything and go on.  I do not know that his argument was good, or that his mind was logical on the matter.  He ought to have felt that his own judgment as to the man’s guilt was less likely to be correct than that of those whose duty it was and would be to form and to express a judgment on the matter; and as to Grace herself, she was equally innocent whether her father were guilty or not guilty.  If he were to be debarred from asking for her hand by his feelings for her father and mother, he should hardly have trusted to his own skill in ascertaining the real truth as to the alleged theft.  But he was not logical, and thus, meaning to be generous, he became unjust.

He found that among those in Silverbridge whom he presumed to be best informed on such matters, there was a growing opinion that Mr Crawley had stolen the money.  He was intimate with all the Walkers, and was able to find out that Mrs Walker knew that her husband believed in the clergyman’s guilt.  He was by no means alone in his willingness to accept Mr Walker’s opinion as the true opinion.  Silverbridge, generally, was endeavouring to dress itself in Mr Walker’s glass, and to believe as Mr Walker believed.  The ladies of Silverbridge, including the Miss Prettymans, were aware that Mr Walker had been very kind both to Mr and Mrs Crawley, and argued from this that Mr Walker must think the man innocent.  But Henry Grantly, who did not dare to ask a direct question of the solicitor, went cunningly to work, and closeted himself with Mrs Walker—­with Mrs Walker, who knew well of the good fortune that was hovering over Grace’s head and was so nearly settling itself on her shoulders.  She would have given a finger to be able to whitewash Mr Crawley in the major’s estimation.  Nor must it be supposed that she told the major in plain words that her husband had convinced himself of the man’s guilt.  In plain words no question was asked between them, and in plain words no opinion was expressed.  But there was the look of sorrow in the woman’s eye, there was the absence of reference to her husband’s assurance that the man was innocent, there was the air of settled grief which told of her own conviction; and the major left her, convinced that Mrs Walker believed Mr Crawley to be guilty.