archdeacon's son by no means despised money. How could he, having come
forth as a bird fledged from such a nest as the rectory at Plumstead
Episcopi? Before he had been brought by his better nature and true
judgment to see that Grace Crawley was the greater woman of the two, he
had nearly submitted himself to the twenty thousand pounds of Miss Emily
Dunstable--to that, and her good-humour and rosy freshness combined. But
he regarded himself as the well-to-do son of a very rich father. His
only child was amply provided for; and he felt that, as regarded money,
he had a right to do as he pleased. He felt this with double strength
after his father's threat.

But he had no right to make a marriage by which his family would be
disgraced. Whether he was right or wrong in supposing that he would
disgrace his family were he to marry the daughter of a convicted thief,
it is hardly necessary to discuss here. He told himself that it would be
so--telling himself also that, by the stern laws of the world, the son
and the daughter must pay for the offence of the father and mother. Even
among the poor, who would willingly marry the child of a man who had
been hanged? But he carried the argument beyond this, thinking much of
the matter, and endeavouring to think of it not only justly but
generously. If the accusation against Crawley were false--if the man
were being injured by an unjust charge--even if he, Grantly, could make
himself think that the girl's father had not stolen the money, then he
would dare everything and go on. I do not know that his argument was
good, or that his mind was logical on the matter. He ought to have felt
that his own judgment as to the man's guilt was less likely to be
correct than that of those whose duty it was and would be to form and to
express a judgment on the matter; and as to Grace herself, she was
equally innocent whether her father were guilty or not guilty. If he
were to be debarred from asking for her hand by his feelings for her