"I would rather beg than see my wife starve," said Arabin.
Crawley, when he heard these words, turned sharply round, and stood with his back to the dean, with his hands still behind him, and with his eyes fixed upon the ground.
"But in this case there is no question of begging," continued the dean. "I, out of those superfluities which it has pleased God to put at my disposal, am anxious to assist the needs of those whom I love."
"She is not starving," said Crawley, in a voice very bitter, but still intended to be exculpatory of himself.
"No, my dear friend, I know she is not, and do not you be angry with me because I have endeavored to put the matter to you in the strongest language I could use."
"You look at it, Arabin, from one side only; I can only look at it from the other. It is very sweet to give, I do not doubt that; but the taking of what is given is very bitter. Gift bread chokes in a man's throat, and poisons his blood, and sits like lead upon the heart. You have never tried it."
"But that is the very fault for which I blame you. That is the pride which I say you ought to sacrifice."
"And why should I be called on to do so? Is not the laborer worthy of his hire? Am I not able to work, and willing? Have I not always had my shoulder to the collar, and is it right that I should now be contented with the scraps from a rich man's kitchen? Arabin, you and I were equal once, and we were then friends, understanding each other's thoughts and sympathizing with each other's sorrows. But it can not be so now."
"If there be such inability, it is all with you."
"It is all with me, because in our connection the pain would all be on my side. It would not hurt you to see me at your table with worn shoes and a ragged shirt. I do not think so meanly of you as that. You would give me your feast to eat though I were not clad a tithe as well as the menial behind your chair; but it would hurt me to know that there were those looking at me who thought me unfit to sit in your rooms."
"That is the pride of which I speak—false pride."
"Call it so, if you will; but, Arabin, no preaching of yours can alter it. It is all that is left to me of my manliness. That poor broken reed who is lying there sick—who
