whenthetimeofhistrialshouldbecloseathand。
Fullofsuchthoughtsasthesehewentalongalmostgaily，norfeltthefatigueoftheroadtillhehadcoveredthefirstfivemilesoutofBarchester。Itwasnearlyfouro’clock，andthethickgloomofthewintereveningwasmakingitselffelt。Andthenhebegantobefatigued。
Hehadnotasyeteatensincehehadlefthishomeinthemorning，andhenowpulledacrustoutofhispocketandleanedagainstagateashecrunchedit。Therewerestilltenmilesbeforehim，andheknewthatsuchanadditiontotheworkhehadalreadydonewouldtaskhimveryseverely。FarmerManglehadtoldhimthathewouldnotleaveFramleyMillbythattime。ButhehadsaidthathewouldnotreturntoFramleyMill，andherememberedhissuspicionthathiswifeandthefarmerbetweenthemhadcozenedhim。No；hewouldpersevereandwalk——walkthoughheshoulddropupontheroad。Hewasnownearerfiftythenfortyyearsofage，andhardshipsaswellastimehadtolduponhim。Heknewthatthelastfourmilesinthedarkwouldbeverysadwithhim。Butstillhepersevered，endeavouring，ashewent，tocherishhimselfwiththeremembranceofhistriumph。
HepassedtheturninggoingdowntoFramleywithcourage，butwhenhecametothefurtherturning，bywhichthecartwouldreturnfromFramleytotheHogglestockroad，helookedwistfullydowntheroadforfarmerMangle。ButfarmerManglewasstillattheMill，waitinginexpectationthatMrCrawleymightcometohim。Butthepoortravellerpausedherebarelyforaminute，andthenwenton，stumblingthroughthemud，strikinghisill—coveredfeetagainsttheroughstonesinthedark，sweatinginhisweakness，almosttotteringattimes，andcalculatingwhetherhisremainingstrengthwouldservetocarryhimhome。Hehadalmostforgottenthebishopandhiswifebeforeatlasthegraspedthewicketgateleadingtohisowndoor。
’Oh，mamma，hereispapa！’