while, "don't be unkind to me. I make as
little of it as I can, for all our sakes. It is better so, Fanny,
than that I should go about moaning, like a sick cow;" and then they
looked at her, and saw that the tears were already brimming over from
her eyes.

"Dearest, dearest Lucy," said Fanny, immediately going down on her
knees before her, "I won't be unkind to you again." And then they had
a great cry together.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Kidnapping at Hogglestock

The great cry, however, did not take long, and Lucy was soon in the
pony-carriage again. On this occasion her brother volunteered to
drive her, and it was now understood that he was to bring back with
him all the Crawley children. The whole thing had been arranged;
the groom and his wife were to be taken into the house, and the
big bedroom across the yard, usually occupied by them, was to be
converted into a quarantine hospital until such time as it might be
safe to pull down the yellow flag. They were about half-way on their
road to Hogglestock when they were overtaken by a man on horseback,
whom, when he came up beside them, Mr. Robarts recognized as Dr.
Arabin, Dean of Barchester, and head of the chapter to which he
himself belonged. It immediately appeared that the dean also was
going to Hogglestock, having heard of the misfortune that had
befallen his friends there; he had, he said, started as soon as the
news reached him, in order that he might ascertain how best he might
render assistance. To effect this he had undertaken a ride of nearly
forty miles, and explained that he did not expect to reach home again
much before midnight. "You pass by Framley?" said Robarts.

"Yes, I do," said the dean.

"Then of course you will dine with us as you go home; you and your
horse also, which will be quite as important." This having been duly
settled, and the proper ceremony of introduction having taken place
between the dean and Lucy, they proceeded to discuss the character of
Mr. Crawley.

"I have known him all my life," said the dean, "having been at school
and college with him, and for years since that I was on terms of the
closest intimacy with him; but in spite of that, I do not know how to
help him in his need. A prouder-hearted man I never met, or one less
willing to share his sorrows with his friends."

"I have often heard him speak of you," said Mark.

"One of the bitterest feelings I have is that a man so dear to me
should live so near to me, an