On the morning after his return from London Mr. Crawley showed symptoms of great fatigue¹, and his wife implored² him to remain in bed. But this he would not do. He would get up, and go out down to the brickfields. He had specially³ bound himself,—he said, to see that the duties of the parish did not suffer by being left in his hands. The bishop⁴ had endeavoured to place them in other hands, but he had persisted in retaining them. As he had done so he could allow no weariness of his own to interfere,—and especially no weariness induced by labours undertaken on his own behalf. The day in the week had come round on which it was his wont⁵ to visit the brickmakers, and he would visit them. So he dragged himself out of his bed and went forth⁷ amidst the cold storm of a harsh wet March morning. His wife well knew when she heard his first word on that morning that one of those terrible moods had come upon him which made her doubt whether she ought to allow him to go anywhere alone. Latterly there had been some improvement in his mental health. Since the day of his encounter with the bishop and Mrs. Proudie, though he had been as stubborn as ever, he had been less apparently⁸ unhappy, less depressed⁹ in spirits. And the journey to London had done him good. His wife had congratulated herself on finding him able to set about his work like another man, and he himself had experienced a renewal¹⁰, if not of hope, at any rate, of courage, which had given him a comfort which he had recognized. His common-sense had not been very striking in his interview with Mr. Toogood, but yet he had talked more rationally then and had given a better account of the matter in hand than could have been expected from him for some weeks

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