e done."

"Done in what way, Henry?"

"There's a great deal to be done yet. Crawley does not know himself
at this moment how the cheque got into his hands. He must be told,
and something must be settled about the living. They've taken the
living away from him among them. And then the indictment must be
quashed, or something of that kind done. Toogood has got hold of the
scoundrel at Barchester who really stole the cheque from Soames;--or
thinks he has. It's that Dan Stringer."

"He's got hold of a regular scamp, then. I never knew any good of Dan
Stringer," said the archdeacon.

Then Mrs. Grantly was told, and the whole story was repeated again,
with many expressions of commiseration in reference to all the
Crawleys. The archdeacon did not join in these at first, being rather
shy on that head. It was very hard for him to have to speak to his
son about the Crawleys as though they were people in all respects
estimable and well-conducted, and satisfactory. Mrs. Grantly
understood this so well, that every now and then she said some
half-laughing word respecting Mr. Crawley's peculiarities, feeling
that in this way she might ease her husband's difficulties. "He must
be the oddest man that ever lived," said Mrs. Grantly, "not to have
known where he got the cheque." The archdeacon shook his head, and
rubbed his hands as he walked about the room. "I suppose too much
learning has upset him," said the archdeacon. "They say he's not very
good at talking English, but put him on in Greek and he never stops."

The archdeacon was perfectly aware that he had to admit Mr. Crawley
to his goodwill, and that as for Grace Crawley,--it was essentially
necessary that she should be admitted to his heart of hearts. He had
promised as much. It must be acknowledged that Archdeacon Grantly
always kept his promises, and especially such promises as these. And
indeed it was the nature of the man that when he had been angry with
those he loved, he should be unhappy until he had found some escape
from his anger. He could not endure to have to own himself to have
been in the wrong, but he could be content with a very incomplete
recognition of his having been in the right. The posters had been
pulled down and Mr. Crawley, as he was now told, had not stolen the
cheque. That was sufficient. If his son would only drink a glass
or two of wine with him comfortably, and talk dutifully about the
Plumstead foxes, all should be held to be right, and Grace C