difference. My father, who was
physically a much stronger man, did not succumb so easily. But the
likeness is in their characters. There is the same mild sweetness,
becoming milder and sweeter as they increased in age;--a sweetness
that never could believe much evil, but that could believe less,
and still less, as the weakness of age came upon them. No amount of
evidence would induce your father to think that Mr. Crawley stole that
money." This was said of course before the telegram had come from
Venice.

"As far as that goes, I agree with him," said Mrs. Grantly, who had
her own reasons for choosing to believe Mr. Crawley to be innocent.
"If your son, my dear, is to marry a man's daughter, it will be as
well that you should at least be able to say that you do not believe
that man to be a thief."

"That is neither here nor there," said the archdeacon. "A jury must
decide it."

"No jury in Barsetshire shall decide it for me," said Mrs. Grantly.

"I'm sick of Mr. Crawley, and I'm sorry I spoke of him," said the
archdeacon. "But look at Mrs. Proudie. You'll agree that she was not
the most charming woman in the world."

"She certainly was not," said Mrs. Grantly, who was anxious to
encourage her husband, if she could do so without admitting anything
which might injure herself afterwards.

"And she was at one time violently insolent to your father. And even
the bishop thought to trample upon him. Do you remember the bishop's
preaching against your father's chanting? If I ever forget it!" And
the archdeacon slapped his closed fist against his open hand.

"Don't, dear, don't. What is the good of being violent now?"

"Paltry little fool! It will be long enough before such a chaunt as
that is heard in any English cathedral again." Then Mrs. Grantly got
up and kissed her husband, but he, somewhat negligent of the kiss,
went on with his speech. "But your father remembers nothing of it,
and if there was a single human being who shed a tear in Barchester
for that woman, I believe it was your father. And it was the same
with mine. It came to that at last, that I could not bear to speak
to him of any shortcoming as to one of his own clergymen. I might as
well have pricked him with a penknife. And yet they say men become
heartless and unfeeling as they grow old!"

"Some do, I suppose."

"Yes; the heartless and unfeeling do. As the bodily strength fails
and the power of control becomes lessened, the natural aptitude of
th