As all this passed through his mind, he forgot his wife's cunning, and farmer Mangle's sin, and for the moment he was happy.
As he turned a corner round by Lord Lufton's park paling, who should he meet but his old friend Mr.Robarts, the parson of Framley,--the parson who had committed the sin of being bail for him,--the sin, that is, according to Mrs.Proudie's view of the matter.

He was walking with his hand still stretched out,--still crushing the bishop, when Mr.Robarts was close upon him.
"What, Crawley! upon my word I am very glad to see you; you are coming up to me, of course ?" "Thank you, Mr.Robarts; no, not to-day.

The bishop has summoned me to his presence, and I am on my road to Barchester." "But how are you going ?" "I shall walk." "Walk to Barchester.

Impossible!" "I hope not quite impossible, Mr.Robarts.I trust I shall get as far before two o'clock; but to do so I must be on my road." Then he showed signs of a desire to go on upon his way without further parley.
"But, Crawley, do let me send you over.

There is the horse and gig doing nothing." "Thank you, Mr.Robarts; no.