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 I upon 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?’