as their spiritual
pastor. And in it all, I think, there was nothing so bitter to the
man as the derogation from the spiritual grandeur of his position
as priest among men, which came as one necessary result from his
poverty. St Paul could go forth without money in his purse or shoes
to his feet or two suits to his back, and his poverty never stood in
the way of his preaching, or hindered the veneration of the faithful.
St Paul, indeed, was called upon to bear stripes, was flung into
prison, encountered terrible dangers. But Mr. Crawley,--so he told
himself,--could have encountered all that without flinching. The
stripes and scorn of the unfaithful would have been nothing to him,
if only the faithful would have believed in him, poor as he was, as
they would have believed in him had he been rich! Even they whom he
had most loved treated him almost with derision, because he was now
different from them. Dean Arabin had laughed at him because he had
persisted in walking ten miles through the mud instead of being
conveyed in the dean's carriage; and yet, after that, he had been
driven to accept the dean's charity! No one respected him. No one!
His very wife thought that he was a lunatic. And now he had been
publicly branded as a thief; and in all likelihood would end his
days in a gaol! Such were always his thoughts as he sat idle, silent,
moody, over the fire; and his wife knew well their currents. It would
certainly be better that he should drive himself to some employment,
if any employment could be found possible to him.

When she had been alone for a few minutes, Mrs. Crawley got up from
her chair, and going into the kitchen, lighted the fire there, and
put the kettle over it, and began to prepare such breakfast for her
husband as the means in the house afforded. Then she called the
sleeping servant-girl, who was little more than a child, and went
into her own girl's room, and then she got into bed with her
daughter.

"I have been up with your papa, dear, and I am cold."

"Oh, mamma, poor mamma! Why is papa up so early?"

"He has gone out to visit some of the brickmakers, before they go to
their work. It is better for him to be employed."

"But, mamma, it is pitch dark."

"Yes, dear, it is still dark. Sleep again for a while, and I will
sleep too. I think Grace will be here to-night, and then there will
be no room for me here."

Mr. Crawley went forth and made his way with rapid steps to a portion
of his paris