Mr Crawley received this letter in his wife’s presence, and read it in silence.  Mrs Crawley saw that he paid close attention to it, and was sure—­she felt that she was sure—­that it referred in some way to the terrible subject of the cheque for twenty pounds.  Indeed, everything that came into the house, almost every word spoken there, and every thought that came into the breast of any of the family, had more or less reference to the coming trial.  How could it be otherwise?  There was ruin coming on them all—­ruin and complete disgrace coming on father, mother, and children!  To have been accused itself was very bad; but now it seemed to be the opinion of everyone that the verdict must be against the man.  Mrs Crawley herself, who was perfectly sure of her husband’s innocence before God, believed that the jury would find him guilty—­and believed also that he had become possessed of the money in some manner that would have been dishonest, had he not been so different from other people as to be entitled to be considered innocent where another man would have been plainly guilty.  She was full of the cheque for twenty pounds, and of its results.  When, therefore, he had read the letter through a second time, and even then had spoken no word about it, of course she could not refrain from questioning him.  ‘My love,’ she said, ‘what is the letter?’

‘It is on business,’ he answered.

She was silent for a moment before she spoke again.  ’May I not know the business?’

‘No,’ said he; ‘not at present.’

‘Is it from the bishop?’

’Have I not answered you?  Have I not given you to understand that, for a while at least, I would prefer to keep the contents of this epistle to myself?’ Then he looked at her very sternly, and afterwards turned his eyes upon the fireplace and gazed at the fire, as though he were striving to read there something of his future fate.  She did not much regard the severity of his speech.  That, too, like the taking of the cheque itself, was to be forgiven him, because he was different from other men.  His black mood had come upon him, cutting his teeth.  Let the poor wayward sufferer be ever so petulant, the mother simply pities and loves him, and is never angry.  ‘I beg your pardon, Josiah,’ she said, ‘but I thought it would comfort you to speak to me about it.’

‘It will not comfort me,’ he said.  ’Nothing comforts me.  Nothing can comfort me.  Jane, give me my hat and my stick.’  His daughter brought to him his hat and stick, and without another word he went out and left them.

As a matter of course he turned his steps towards Hoggle End.  When he desired to be long absent from the house, he always went among the brickmakers.  His wife, as she stood at the window and watched the direction in which he went, knew that he might be away for hours.  The only friends out of his own family with whom he ever spoke freely were some of those rough parishioners.  But he was not thinking of