tself felt. And then he began to be
fatigued. He had not as yet eaten since he had left his home in the
morning, and he now pulled a crust out of his pocket and leaned
against a gate as he crunched it. There were still ten miles before
him, and he knew that such an addition to the work he had already
done would task him very severely. Farmer Mangle had told him that he
would not leave Framley Mill till five, and he had got time to reach
Framley Mill by that time. But he had said that he would not return
to Framley Mill, and he remembered his suspicion that his wife and
farmer Mangle between them had cozened him. No; he would persevere
and walk,--walk, though he should drop upon the road. He was now
nearer fifty then forty years of age, and hardships as well as time
had told upon him. He knew that though his strength was good for the
commencement of a hard day's work, it would not hold out for him as
it used to do. He knew that the last four miles in the dark night
would be very sad with him. But still he persevered, endeavouring, as
he went, to cherish himself with the remembrance of his triumph.

He passed the turning going down to Framley with courage, but when
he came to the further turning, by which the cart would return
from Framley to the Hogglestock road, he looked wistfully down the
road for farmer Mangle. But farmer Mangle was still at the Mill,
waiting in expectation that Mr. Crawley might come to him. But the
poor traveller paused here barely for a minute, and then went on,
stumbling through the mud, striking his ill-covered feet against the
rough stones in the dark, sweating in his weakness, almost tottering
at times, and calculating whether his remaining strength would serve
to carry him home. He had almost forgotten the bishop and his wife
before at last he grasped the wicket gate leading to his own door.

"Oh, mamma, here is papa!"

"But where is the cart? I did not hear the wheels," said Mrs. Crawley.

"Oh, mamma, I think papa is ill." Then the wife took her drooping
husband by both arms and strove to look him in the face. "He has
walked all the way, and he is ill," said Jane.

"No, my dear, I am very tired, but not ill. Let me sit down, and give
me some bread and tea, and I shall recover myself." Then Mrs. Crawley,
from some secret hoard, got him a small modicum of spirits, and gave
him meat and tea, and he was docile; and, obeying her behests,
allowed himself to be taken to his bed.

"I do not t