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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:59 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:59 -0700 |
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diff --git a/2860-h/2860-h.htm b/2860-h/2860-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da37563 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/2860-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23379 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>Framley Parsonage | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> + body {background:#fdfdfd; + color:black; + font-family: “Times New Roman”, serif; + margin-left:12%; + margin-right:12%; + text-align:justify; } + h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center; + clear: both; } + hr.narrow { width: 40%; + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; } + hr { width: 100%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + img { border: 0; } + img.left { float:left; + margin: 0px 8px 6px 0px; } + .caption { font-size: small; + font-weight: bold; } + blockquote { margin-left: 8%; + margin-right: 8%; } + blockquote.med { font-size: medium; + margin-left: 6%; + margin-right: 6%; } + table { text-align: left; } + table.med {font-size: medium; + text-align: left; } + td.just { text-align: justify; } + p {text-indent: 4%; } + p.noindent { text-indent: 0%; } + .center { text-align: center; } + .ind2 { margin-left: 8%; } + .ind4 { margin-left: 16%; } + .ind6 { margin-left: 24%; } + .ind8 { margin-left: 32%; } + .ind10 { margin-left: 40%; } + .ind12 { margin-left: 48%; } + .ind14 { margin-left: 56%; } + .ind15 { margin-left: 60%; } + .ind16 { margin-left: 64%; } + .ind18 { margin-left: 72%; } + .ind20 { margin-left: 80%; } + .jright { text-align: right; } + .wide { letter-spacing: 2em; } + .nowrap { white-space: nowrap; } + .small { font-size: 85%; } + .large { font-size: 130%; } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps; } + .u { text-decoration: underline; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red; + text-decoration: underline; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + + +.cellpadding3 {padding: 3px;} +.cellpadding4px {padding: 4px;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +.ph2, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } +.righttop {vertical-align: top; text-align: right;} +.valignbottom {vertical-align: bottom;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRAMLEY PARSONAGE ***</div> +<h1>FRAMLEY PARSONAGE</h1> + +<p> </p> +<div class="ph4">by</div> + +<div class="ph2">ANTHONY TROLLOPE</div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<hr class="narrow"> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class='chapter'><h2>CONTENTS</h2></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table class="med cellpadding3" style="margin: 0 auto"> +<tr><td class="righttop">I. </td> <td><a href="#c1">“OMNES OMNIA BONA DICERE.”</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">II. </td> <td><a href="#c2">THE FRAMLEY SET, AND THE CHALDICOTES SET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">III. </td> <td><a href="#c3">CHALDICOTES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">IV. </td> <td><a href="#c4">A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">V. </td> <td><a href="#c5">AMANTIUM IRÆ AMORIS INTEGRATIO.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">VI. </td> <td><a href="#c6">MR. HAROLD SMITH’S LECTURE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">VII. </td> <td><a href="#c7">SUNDAY MORNING.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">VIII. </td> <td><a href="#c8">GATHERUM CASTLE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">IX. </td> <td><a href="#c9">THE VICAR’S RETURN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">X. </td> <td><a href="#c10">LUCY ROBARTS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XI. </td> <td><a href="#c11">GRISELDA GRANTLY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XII. </td> <td><a href="#c12">THE LITTLE BILL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XIII. </td> <td><a href="#c13">DELICATE HINTS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XIV. </td> <td><a href="#c14">MR. CRAWLEY OF HOGGLESTOCK.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XV. </td> <td><a href="#c15">LADY LUFTON’S AMBASSADOR.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XVI. </td> <td><a href="#c16">MRS. PODGENS’ BABY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XVII. </td> <td><a href="#c17">MRS. PROUDIE’S CONVERSAZIONE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c18">THE NEW MINISTER’S PATRONAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XIX. </td> <td><a href="#c19">MONEY DEALINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XX. </td> <td><a href="#c20">HAROLD SMITH IN THE CABINET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXI. </td> <td><a href="#c21">WHY PUCK, THE PONY, WAS BEATEN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXII. </td> <td><a href="#c22">HOGGLESTOCK PARSONAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c23">THE TRIUMPH OF THE GIANTS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c24">MAGNA EST VERITAS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXV. </td> <td><a href="#c25">NON-IMPULSIVE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c26">IMPULSIVE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c27">SOUTH AUDLEY STREET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c28">DR. THORNE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c29">MISS DUNSTABLE AT HOME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXX. </td> <td><a href="#c30">THE GRANTLY TRIUMPH.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXI. </td> <td><a href="#c31">SALMON FISHING IN NORWAY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXII. </td> <td><a href="#c32">THE GOAT AND COMPASSES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c33">CONSOLATION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c34">LADY LUFTON IS TAKEN BY SURPRISE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXV. </td> <td><a href="#c35">THE STORY OF KING COPHETUA.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c36">KIDNAPPING AT HOGGLESTOCK.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c37">MR. SOWERBY WITHOUT COMPANY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXVIII. </td><td><a href="#c38">IS THERE CAUSE OR JUST IMPEDIMENT?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XXXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c39">HOW TO WRITE A LOVE LETTER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XL. </td> <td><a href="#c40">INTERNECINE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLI. </td> <td><a href="#c41">DON QUIXOTE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLII. </td> <td><a href="#c42">TOUCHING PITCH.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLIII. </td> <td><a href="#c43">IS SHE NOT INSIGNIFICANT?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLIV. </td> <td><a href="#c44">THE PHILISTINES AT THE PARSONAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLV. </td> <td><a href="#c45">PALACE BLESSINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLVI. </td> <td><a href="#c46">LADY LUFTON’S REQUEST.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLVII. </td> <td><a href="#c47">NEMESIS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="righttop">XLVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c48">HOW THEY WERE ALL MARRIED, HAD TWO<br>CHILDREN, AND LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow"> +<p> </p> + +<div class='chapter'><h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></div> +<div class="center"> +<table class="med cellpadding3" style="margin: 0 auto"> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill01">LORD LUFTON AND LUCY ROBARTS.</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill02">“WAS IT NOT A LIE?”</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill03">THE CRAWLEY FAMILY.</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill04">LADY LUFTON AND THE DUKE OF OMNIUM.</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill05">MRS. GRESHAM AND MISS DUNSTABLE.</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ill06">“MARK,” SHE SAID, “THE MEN ARE HERE.”</a> </td><td class='valignbottom'> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XLIV.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow"> + + +<p><a id="c1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER I.</h2></div> +<h3>“OMNES OMNIA BONA DICERE.”<br> </h3> + + +<p>When young Mark Robarts was leaving college, his father might well +declare that all men began to say all good things to him, and to +extol his fortune in that he had a son blessed with so excellent a +disposition.</p> + +<p>This father was a physician living at Exeter. He was a gentleman +possessed of no private means, but enjoying a lucrative practice, +which had enabled him to maintain and educate a family with all the +advantages which money can give in this country. Mark was his eldest +son and second child; and the first page or two of this narrative +must be consumed in giving a catalogue of the good things which +chance and conduct together had heaped upon this young man’s head.</p> + +<p>His first step forward in life had arisen from his having been sent, +while still very young, as a private pupil to the house of a +clergyman, who was an old friend and intimate friend of his father’s. +This clergyman had one other, and only one other, pupil—the young +Lord Lufton; and between the two boys, there had sprung up a close +alliance.</p> + +<p>While they were both so placed, Lady Lufton had visited her son, and +then invited young Robarts to pass his next holidays at Framley +Court. This visit was made; and it ended in Mark going back to Exeter +with a letter full of praise from the widowed peeress. She had been +delighted, she said, in having such a companion for her son, and +expressed a hope that the boys might remain together during the +course of their education. Dr. Robarts was a man who thought much of +the breath of peers and peeresses, and was by no means inclined to +throw away any advantage which might arise to his child from such a +friendship. When, therefore, the young lord was sent to Harrow, Mark +Robarts went there also.</p> + +<p>That the lord and his friend often quarrelled, and occasionally +fought,—the fact even that for one period of three months they never +spoke to each other—by no means interfered with the doctor’s hopes. +Mark again and again stayed a fortnight at Framley Court, and Lady +Lufton always wrote about him in the highest terms.</p> + +<p>And then the lads went together to Oxford, and here Mark’s good +fortune followed him, consisting rather in the highly respectable +manner in which he lived, than in any wonderful career of collegiate +success. His family was proud of him, and the doctor was always ready +to talk of him to his patients; not because he was a prizeman, and +had gotten medals and scholarships, but on account of the excellence +of his general conduct. He lived with the best set—he incurred no +debts—he was fond of society, but able to avoid low society—liked +his glass of wine, but was never known to be drunk; and, above all +things, was one of the most popular men in the university.</p> + +<p>Then came the question of a profession for this young Hyperion, and +on this subject, Dr. Robarts was invited himself to go over to +Framley Court to discuss the matter with Lady Lufton. Dr. Robarts +returned with a very strong conception that the Church was the +profession best suited to his son.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton had not sent for Dr. Robarts all the way from Exeter for +nothing. The living of Framley was in the gift of the Lufton family, +and the next presentation would be in Lady Lufton’s hands, if it +should fall vacant before the young lord was twenty-five years of +age, and in the young lord’s hands if it should fall afterwards. But +the mother and the heir consented to give a joint promise to Dr. +Robarts. Now, as the present incumbent was over seventy, and as the +living was worth £900 a year, there could be no doubt as to the +eligibility of the clerical profession.</p> + +<p>And I must further say, that the dowager and the doctor were +justified in their choice by the life and principles of the young +man—as far as any father can be justified in choosing such a +profession for his son, and as far as any lay impropriator can be +justified in making such a promise. Had Lady Lufton had a second son, +that second son would probably have had the living, and no one would +have thought it wrong;—certainly not if that second son had been +such a one as Mark Robarts.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton herself was a woman who thought much on religious +matters, and would by no means have been disposed to place any one in +a living, merely because such a one had been her son’s friend. Her +tendencies were High Church, and she was enabled to perceive that +those of young Mark Robarts ran in the same direction. She was very +desirous that her son should make an associate of his clergyman, and +by this step she would insure, at any rate, that. She was anxious +that the parish vicar should be one with whom she could herself fully +co-operate, and was perhaps unconsciously wishful that he might in +some measure be subject to her influence. Should she appoint an elder +man, this might probably not be the case to the same extent; and +should her son have the gift, it might probably not be the case at +all. And therefore it was resolved that the living should be given to +young Robarts.</p> + +<p>He took his degree—not with any brilliancy, but quite in the manner +that his father desired; he then travelled for eight or ten months +with Lord Lufton and a college don, and almost immediately after his +return home was ordained.</p> + +<p>The living of Framley is in the diocese of Barchester; and, seeing +what were Mark’s hopes with reference to that diocese, it was by no +means difficult to get him a curacy within it. But this curacy he was +not allowed long to fill. He had not been in it above a twelvemonth, +when poor old Dr. Stopford, the then vicar of Framley, was gathered +to his fathers, and the full fruition of his rich hopes fell upon his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>But even yet more must be told of his good fortune before we can come +to the actual incidents of our story. Lady Lufton, who, as I have +said, thought much of clerical matters, did not carry her High Church +principles so far as to advocate celibacy for the clergy. On the +contrary, she had an idea that a man could not be a good parish +parson without a wife. So, having given to her favourite a position +in the world, and an income sufficient for a gentleman’s wants, she +set herself to work to find him a partner in those blessings.</p> + +<p>And here also, as in other matters, he fell in with the views of his +patroness—not, however, that they were declared to him in that +marked manner in which the affair of the living had been broached. +Lady Lufton was much too highly gifted with woman’s craft for that. +She never told the young vicar that Miss Monsell accompanied her +ladyship’s married daughter to Framley Court expressly that he, Mark, +might fall in love with her; but such was in truth the case.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton had but two children. The eldest, a daughter, had been +married some four or five years to Sir George Meredith, and this Miss +Monsell was a dear friend of hers. And now looms before me the +novelist’s great difficulty. Miss Monsell,—or, rather, Mrs. Mark +Robarts,—must be described. As Miss Monsell, our tale will have to +take no prolonged note of her. And yet we will call her Fanny +Monsell, when we declare that she was one of the pleasantest +companions that could be brought near to a man, as the future partner +of his home, and owner of his heart. And if high principles without +asperity, female gentleness without weakness, a love of laughter +without malice, and a true loving heart, can qualify a woman to be a +parson’s wife, then was Fanny Monsell qualified to fill that station.</p> + +<p>In person she was somewhat larger than common. Her face would have +been beautiful but that her mouth was large. Her hair, which was +copious, was of a bright brown; her eyes also were brown, and, being +so, were the distinctive feature of her face, for brown eyes are not +common. They were liquid, large, and full either of tenderness or of +mirth. Mark Robarts still had his accustomed luck, when such a girl +as this was brought to Framley for his wooing.</p> + +<p>And he did woo her—and won her. For Mark himself was a handsome +fellow. At this time the vicar was about twenty-five years of age, +and the future Mrs. Robarts was two or three years younger. Nor did +she come quite empty-handed to the vicarage. It cannot be said that +Fanny Monsell was an heiress, but she had been left with a provision +of some few thousand pounds. This was so settled, that the interest +of his wife’s money paid the heavy insurance on his life which young +Robarts effected, and there was left to him, over and above, +sufficient to furnish his parsonage in the very best style of +clerical comfort,—and to start him on the road of life rejoicing.</p> + +<p>So much did Lady Lufton do for her +<i>protégé</i>, and it may well be +imagined that the Devonshire physician, sitting meditative over his +parlour fire, looking back, as men will look back on the upshot of +their life, was well contented with that upshot, as regarded his +eldest offshoot, the Rev. Mark Robarts, the vicar of Framley.</p> + +<p>But little has as yet been said, personally, as to our hero himself, +and perhaps it may not be necessary to say much. Let us hope that by +degrees he may come forth upon the canvas, showing to the beholder +the nature of the man inwardly and outwardly. Here it may suffice to +say that he was no born heaven’s cherub, neither was he a born fallen +devil’s spirit. Such as his training made him, such he was. He had +large capabilities for good—and aptitudes also for evil, quite +enough: quite enough to make it needful that he should repel +temptation as temptation only can be repelled. Much had been done to +spoil him, but in the ordinary acceptation of the word he was not +spoiled. He had too much tact, too much common sense, to believe +himself to be the paragon which his mother thought him. Self-conceit +was not, perhaps, his greatest danger. Had he possessed more of it, +he might have been a less agreeable man, but his course before him +might on that account have been the safer.</p> + +<p>In person he was manly, tall, and fair-haired, with a square +forehead, denoting intelligence rather than thought, with clear white +hands, filbert nails, and a power of dressing himself in such a +manner that no one should ever observe of him that his clothes were +either good or bad, shabby or smart.</p> + +<p>Such was Mark Robarts when at the age of twenty-five, or a little +more, he married Fanny Monsell. The marriage was celebrated in his +own church, for Miss Monsell had no home of her own, and had been +staying for the last three months at Framley Court. She was given +away by Sir George Meredith, and Lady Lufton herself saw that the +wedding was what it should be, with almost as much care as she had +bestowed on that of her own daughter. The deed of marrying, the +absolute tying of the knot, was performed by the Very Reverend the +Dean of Barchester, an esteemed friend of Lady Lufton’s. And Mrs. +Arabin, the dean’s wife, was of the party, though the distance from +Barchester to Framley is long, and the roads deep, and no railway +lends its assistance. And Lord Lufton was there of course; and people +protested that he would surely fall in love with one of the four +beautiful bridesmaids, of whom Blanche Robarts, the vicar’s second +sister, was by common acknowledgment by far the most beautiful.</p> + +<p>And there was there another and a younger sister of Mark’s—who did +not officiate at the ceremony, though she was present—and of whom no +prediction was made, seeing that she was then only sixteen, but of +whom mention is made here, as it will come to pass that my readers +will know her hereafter. Her name was Lucy Robarts.</p> + +<p>And then the vicar and his wife went off on their wedding tour, the +old curate taking care of the Framley souls the while.</p> + +<p>And in due time they returned; and after a further interval, in due +course, a child was born to them; and then another; and after that +came the period at which we will begin our story. But before doing +so, may I not assert that all men were right in saying all manner of +good things to the Devonshire physician, and in praising his luck in +having such a son?</p> + +<p>“You were up at the house to-day, I suppose?” said Mark to his wife, +as he sat stretching himself in an easy chair in the drawing-room, +before the fire, previously to his dressing for dinner. It was a +November evening, and he had been out all day, and on such occasions +the aptitude for delay in dressing is very powerful. A strong-minded +man goes direct from the hall-door to his chamber without +encountering the temptation of the drawing-room fire.</p> + +<p>“No; but Lady Lufton was down here.”</p> + +<p>“Full of arguments in favour of Sarah Thompson?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly so, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you say about Sarah Thompson?”</p> + +<p>“Very little as coming from myself; but I did hint that you thought, +or that I thought that you thought, that one of the regular trained +schoolmistresses would be better.”</p> + +<p>“But her ladyship did not agree?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I won’t exactly say that;—though I think that perhaps she did +not.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure she did not. When she has a point to carry, she is very +fond of carrying it.”</p> + +<p>“But then, Mark, her points are generally so good.”</p> + +<p>“But, you see, in this affair of the school she is thinking more of +her <i>protégée</i> than she does of the children.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her that, and I am sure she will give way.”</p> + +<p>And then again they were both silent. And the vicar having thoroughly +warmed himself, as far as this might be done by facing the fire, +turned round and began the operation <i>à tergo</i>.</p> + +<p>“Come, Mark, it is twenty minutes past six. Will you go and dress?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what, Fanny: she must have her way about Sarah +Thompson. You can see her to-morrow and tell her so.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure, Mark, I would not give way, if I thought it wrong. Nor +would she expect it.”</p> + +<p>“If I persist this time, I shall certainly have to yield the next; +and then the next may probably be more important.”</p> + +<p>“But if it’s wrong, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say it was wrong. Besides, if it is wrong, wrong in some +infinitesimal degree, one must put up with it. Sarah Thompson is very +respectable; the only question is whether she can teach.”</p> + +<p>The young wife, though she did not say so, had some idea that her +husband was in error. It is true that one must put up with wrong, +with a great deal of wrong. But no one need put up with wrong that he +can remedy. Why should he, the vicar, consent to receive an +incompetent teacher for the parish children, when he was able to +procure one that was competent? In such a case,—so thought Mrs. +Robarts to herself,—she would have fought the matter out with Lady +Lufton.</p> + +<p>On the next morning, however, she did as she was bid, and signified +to the dowager that all objection to Sarah Thompson would be +withdrawn.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I was sure he would agree with me,” said her ladyship, “when he +learned what sort of person she is. I know I had only to +explain;”—and then she plumed her feathers, and was very gracious; +for, to tell the truth, Lady Lufton did not like to be opposed in +things which concerned the parish nearly.</p> + +<p>“And, Fanny,” said Lady Lufton, in her kindest manner, “you are not +going anywhere on Saturday, are you?”</p> + +<p>“No, I think not.”</p> + +<p>“Then you must come to us. Justinia is to be here, you know”—Lady +Meredith was named Justinia—“and you and Mr. Robarts had better stay +with us till Monday. He can have the little book-room all to himself +on Sunday. The Merediths go on Monday; and Justinia won’t be happy if +you are not with her.”</p> + +<p>It would be unjust to say that Lady Lufton had determined not to +invite the Robartses if she were not allowed to have her own way +about Sarah Thompson. But such would have been the result. As it was, +however, she was all kindness; and when Mrs. Robarts made some little +excuse, saying that she was afraid she must return home in the +evening, because of the children, Lady Lufton declared that there was +room enough at Framley Court for baby and nurse, and so settled the +matter in her own way, with a couple of nods and three taps of her +umbrella.</p> + +<p>This was on a Tuesday morning, and on the same evening, before +dinner, the vicar again seated himself in the same chair before the +drawing-room fire, as soon as he had seen his horse led into the +stable.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” said his wife, “the Merediths are to be at Framley on +Saturday and Sunday; and I have promised that we will go up and stay +over till Monday.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean it! Goodness gracious, how provoking!”</p> + +<p>“Why? I thought you wouldn’t mind it. And Justinia would think it +unkind if I were not there.”</p> + +<p>“You can go, my dear, and of course will go. But as for me, it is +impossible.”</p> + +<p>“But why, love?”</p> + +<p>“Why? Just now, at the school-house, I answered a letter that was +brought to me from Chaldicotes. Sowerby insists on my going over +there for a week or so; and I have said that I would.”</p> + +<p>“Go to Chaldicotes for a week, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“I believe I have even consented to ten days.”</p> + +<p>“And be away two Sundays?”</p> + +<p>“No, Fanny, only one. Don’t be so censorious.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t call me censorious, Mark; you know I am not so. But I am so +sorry. It is just what Lady Lufton won’t like. Besides, you were away +in Scotland two Sundays last month.”</p> + +<p>“In September, Fanny. And that is being censorious.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but, Mark, dear Mark; don’t say so. You know I don’t mean it. +But Lady Lufton does not like those Chaldicotes people. You know Lord +Lufton was with you the last time you were there; and how annoyed she +was!”</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton won’t be with me now, for he is still in Scotland. And +the reason why I am going is this: Harold Smith and his wife will be +there, and I am very anxious to know more of them. I have no doubt +that Harold Smith will be in the government some day, and I cannot +afford to neglect such a man’s acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mark, what do you want of any government?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Fanny, of course I am bound to say that I want nothing; +neither in one sense do I; but nevertheless, I shall go and meet the +Harold Smiths.”</p> + +<p>“Could you not be back before Sunday?”</p> + +<p>“I have promised to preach at Chaldicotes. Harold Smith is going to +lecture at Barchester, about the Australasian archipelago, and I am +to preach a charity sermon on the same subject. They want to send out +more missionaries.”</p> + +<p>“A charity sermon at Chaldicotes!”</p> + +<p>“And why not? The house will be quite full, you know; and I dare say +the Arabins will be there.”</p> + +<p>“I think not; Mrs. Arabin may get on with Mrs. Harold Smith, though I +doubt that; but I’m sure she’s not fond of Mrs. Smith’s brother. I +don’t think she would stay at Chaldicotes.”</p> + +<p>“And the bishop will probably be there for a day or two.”</p> + +<p>“That is much more likely, Mark. If the pleasure of meeting Mrs. +Proudie is taking you to Chaldicotes, I have not a word more to say.”</p> + +<p>“I am not a bit more fond of Mrs. Proudie than you are, Fanny,” said +the vicar, with something like vexation in the tone of his voice, for +he thought that his wife was hard upon him. “But it is generally +thought that a parish clergyman does well to meet his bishop now and +then. And as I was invited there, especially to preach while all +these people are staying at the place, I could not well refuse.” And +then he got up, and taking his candlestick, escaped to his +dressing-room.</p> + +<p>“But what am I to say to Lady Lufton?” his wife said to him, in the +course of the evening.</p> + +<p>“Just write her a note, and tell her that you find I had promised to +preach at Chaldicotes next Sunday. You’ll go, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Yes: but I know she’ll be annoyed. You were away the last time she +had people there.”</p> + +<p>“It can’t be helped. She must put it down against Sarah Thompson. She +ought not to expect to win always.”</p> + +<p>“I should not have minded it, if she had lost, as you call it, about +Sarah Thompson. That was a case in which you ought to have had your +own way.”</p> + +<p>“And this other is a case in which I shall have it. It’s a pity that +there should be such a difference; isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Then the wife perceived that, vexed as she was, it would be better +that she should say nothing further; and before she went to bed, she +wrote the note to Lady Lufton, as her husband recommended.</p> + + +<p><a id="c2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER II.</h2></div> +<h3>THE FRAMLEY SET, AND THE CHALDICOTES SET.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It will be necessary that I should say a word or two of some of the +people named in the few preceding pages, and also of the localities +in which they lived.</p> + +<p>Of Lady Lufton herself enough, perhaps, has been written to introduce +her to my readers. The Framley property belonged to her son; but as +Lufton Park—an ancient ramshackle place in another county—had +heretofore been the family residence of the Lufton family, Framley +Court had been apportioned to her for her residence for life. Lord +Lufton himself was still unmarried; and as he had no establishment at +Lufton Park—which indeed had not been inhabited since his +grandfather died—he lived with his mother when it suited him to live +anywhere in that neighbourhood. The widow would fain have seen more +of him than he allowed her to do. He had a shooting-lodge in +Scotland, and apartments in London, and a string of horses in +Leicestershire—much to the disgust of the county gentry around him, +who held that their own hunting was as good as any that England could +afford. His lordship, however, paid his subscription to the East +Barsetshire pack, and then thought himself at liberty to follow his +own pleasure as to his own amusement.</p> + +<p>Framley itself was a pleasant country place, having about it nothing +of seignorial dignity or grandeur, but possessing everything +necessary for the comfort of country life. The house was a low +building of two stories, built at different periods, and devoid of +all pretensions to any style of architecture; but the rooms, though +not lofty, were warm and comfortable, and the gardens were trim and +neat beyond all others in the county. Indeed, it was for its gardens +only that Framley Court was celebrated.</p> + +<p>Village there was none, properly speaking. The high road went winding +about through the Framley paddocks, shrubberies, and wood-skirted +home fields, for a mile and a half, not two hundred yards of which +ran in a straight line; and there was a cross-road which passed down +through the domain, whereby there came to be a locality called +Framley Cross. Here stood the “Lufton Arms,” and here, at Framley +Cross, the hounds occasionally would meet; for the Framley woods were +drawn in spite of the young lord’s truant disposition; and then, at +the Cross also, lived the shoemaker, who kept the post-office.</p> + +<p>Framley church was distant from this just a quarter of a mile, and +stood immediately opposite to the chief entrance to Framley Court. It +was but a mean, ugly building, having been erected about a hundred +years since, when all churches then built were made to be mean and +ugly; nor was it large enough for the congregation, some of whom were +thus driven to the dissenting chapels, the Sions and Ebenezers, which +had got themselves established on each side of the parish, in putting +down which Lady Lufton thought that her pet parson was hardly as +energetic as he might be. It was, therefore, a matter near to Lady +Lufton’s heart to see a new church built, and she was urgent in her +eloquence, both with her son and with the vicar, to have this good +work commenced.</p> + +<p>Beyond the church, but close to it, were the boys’ school and girls’ +school, two distinct buildings, which owed their erection to Lady +Lufton’s energy; then came a neat little grocer’s shop, the neat +grocer being the clerk and sexton, and the neat grocer’s wife, the +pew-opener in the church. Podgens was their name, and they were great +favourites with her ladyship, both having been servants up at the +house.</p> + +<p>And here the road took a sudden turn to the left, turning, as it +were, away from Framley Court; and just beyond the turn was the +vicarage, so that there was a little garden path running from the +back of the vicarage grounds into the churchyard, cutting the +Podgenses off into an isolated corner of their own;—from whence, to +tell the truth, the vicar would have been glad to banish them and +their cabbages, could he have had the power to do so. For has not the +small vineyard of Naboth been always an eyesore to neighbouring +potentates?</p> + +<p>The potentate in this case had as little excuse as Ahab, for nothing +in the parsonage way could be more perfect than his parsonage. It had +all the details requisite for the house of a moderate gentleman with +moderate means, and none of those expensive superfluities which +immoderate gentlemen demand, or which themselves demand—immoderate +means. And then the gardens and paddocks were exactly suited to it; +and everything was in good order;—not exactly new, so as to be raw +and uncovered, and redolent of workmen; but just at that era of their +existence in which newness gives way to comfortable homeliness.</p> + +<p>Other village at Framley there was none. At the back of the Court, up +one of those cross-roads, there was another small shop or two, and +there was a very neat cottage residence, in which lived the widow of +a former curate, another <i>protégé</i> of Lady +Lufton’s; and there was a +big, staring brick house, in which the present curate lived; but this +was a full mile distant from the church, and farther from Framley +Court, standing on that cross-road which runs from Framley Cross in a +direction away from the mansion. This gentleman, the Rev. Evan Jones, +might, from his age, have been the vicar’s father; but he had been +for many years curate of Framley; and though he was personally +disliked by Lady Lufton, as being Low Church in his principles, and +unsightly in his appearance, nevertheless, she would not urge his +removal. He had two or three pupils in that large brick house, and if +turned out from these and from his curacy, might find it difficult to +establish himself elsewhere. On this account mercy was extended to +the Rev. E. Jones, and, in spite of his red face and awkward big +feet, he was invited to dine at Framley Court, with his plain +daughter, once in every three months.</p> + +<p>Over and above these, there was hardly a house in the parish of +Framley, outside the bounds of Framley Court, except those of farmers +and farm labourers; and yet the parish was of large extent.</p> + +<p>Framley is in the eastern division of the county of Barsetshire, +which, as all the world knows, is, politically speaking, as true blue +a county as any in England. There have been backslidings even here, +it is true; but then, in what county have there not been such +backslidings? Where, in these pinchbeck days, can we hope to find the +old agricultural virtue in all its purity? But, among those +backsliders, I regret to say, that men now reckon Lord Lufton. Not +that he is a violent Whig, or perhaps that he is a Whig at all. But +he jeers and sneers at the old county doings; declares, when +solicited on the subject, that, as far as he is concerned, Mr. Bright +may sit for the county, if he pleases; and alleges, that being +unfortunately a peer, he has no right even to interest himself in the +question. All this is deeply regretted, for, in the old days, there +was no portion of the county more decidedly true blue than that +Framley district; and, indeed, up to the present day, the dowager is +able to give an occasional helping hand.</p> + +<p>Chaldicotes is the seat of Nathaniel Sowerby, Esq., who, at the +moment supposed to be now present, is one of the members for the +Western Division of Barsetshire. But this Western Division can boast +none of the fine political attributes which grace its twin brother. +It is decidedly Whig, and is almost governed in its politics by one +or two great Whig families.</p> + +<p>It has been said that Mark Robarts was about to pay a visit to +Chaldicotes, and it has been hinted that his wife would have been as +well pleased had this not been the case. Such was certainly the fact; +for she, dear, prudent, excellent wife as she was, knew that Mr. +Sowerby was not the most eligible friend in the world for a young +clergyman, and knew, also, that there was but one other house in the +whole county the name of which was so distasteful to Lady Lufton. The +reasons for this were, I may say, manifold. In the first place, Mr. +Sowerby was a Whig, and was seated in Parliament mainly by the +interest of that great Whig autocrat the Duke of Omnium, whose +residence was more dangerous even than that of Mr. Sowerby, and whom +Lady Lufton regarded as an impersonation of Lucifer upon earth. Mr. +Sowerby, too, was unmarried—as indeed, also, was Lord Lufton, much +to his mother’s grief. Mr. Sowerby, it is true, was fifty, whereas +the young lord was as yet only twenty-six, but, nevertheless, her +ladyship was becoming anxious on the subject. In her mind, every man +was bound to marry as soon as he could maintain a wife; and she held +an idea—a quite private tenet, of which she was herself but +imperfectly conscious—that men in general were inclined to neglect +this duty for their own selfish gratifications, that the wicked ones +encouraged the more innocent in this neglect, and that many would not +marry at all, were not an unseen coercion exercised against them by +the other sex. The Duke of Omnium was the very head of all such +sinners, and Lady Lufton greatly feared that her son might be made +subject to the baneful Omnium influence, by means of Mr. Sowerby and +Chaldicotes.</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Sowerby was known to be a very poor man, with a very +large estate. He had wasted, men said, much on electioneering, and +more in gambling. A considerable portion of his property had already +gone into the hands of the duke, who, as a rule, bought up everything +around him that was to be purchased. Indeed it was said of him by his +enemies, that so covetous was he of Barsetshire property, that he +would lead a young neighbour on to his ruin, in order that he might +get his land. What—oh! what if he should come to be possessed in +this way of any of the fair acres of Framley Court? What if he should +become possessed of them all? It can hardly be wondered at that Lady +Lufton should not like Chaldicotes.</p> + +<p>The Chaldicotes set, as Lady Lufton called them, were in every way +opposed to what a set should be according to her ideas. She liked +cheerful, quiet, well-to-do people, who loved their Church, their +country, and their Queen, and who were not too anxious to make a +noise in the world. She desired that all the farmers round her should +be able to pay their rents without trouble, that all the old women +should have warm flannel petticoats, that the working men should be +saved from rheumatism by healthy food and dry houses, that they +should all be obedient to their pastors and masters—temporal as well +as spiritual. That was her idea of loving her country. She desired +also that the copses should be full of pheasants, the stubble-field +of partridges, and the gorse covers of foxes;—in that way, also, she +loved her country. She had ardently longed, during that Crimean war, +that the Russians might be beaten—but not by the French, to the +exclusion of the English, as had seemed to her to be too much the +case; and hardly by the English under the dictatorship of Lord +Palmerston. Indeed, she had had but little faith in that war after +Lord Aberdeen had been expelled. If, indeed, Lord Derby could have +come in!</p> + +<p>But now as to this Chaldicotes set. After all, there was nothing so +very dangerous about them; for it was in London, not in the country, +that Mr. Sowerby indulged, if he did indulge, his bachelor +mal-practices. Speaking of them as a set, the chief offender was Mr. +Harold Smith, or perhaps his wife. He also was a member of +Parliament, and, as many thought, a rising man. His father had been +for many years a debater in the House, and had held high office. +Harold, in early life, had intended himself for the cabinet; and if +working hard at his trade could ensure success, he ought to obtain it +sooner or later. He had already filled more than one subordinate +station, had been at the Treasury, and for a month or two at the +Admiralty, astonishing official mankind by his diligence. Those +last-named few months had been under Lord Aberdeen, with whom he had +been forced to retire. He was a younger son, and not possessed of any +large fortune. Politics as a profession was therefore of importance +to him. He had in early life married a sister of Mr. Sowerby; and as +the lady was some six or seven years older than himself, and had +brought with her but a scanty dowry, people thought that in this +matter Mr. Harold Smith had not been perspicacious. Mr. Harold Smith +was not personally a popular man with any party, though some judged +him to be eminently useful. He was laborious, well-informed, and, on +the whole, honest; but he was conceited, long-winded, and pompous.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith was the very opposite of her lord. She was a +clever, bright woman, good-looking for her time of life—and she was +now over forty—with a keen sense of the value of all worldly things, +and a keen relish for all the world’s pleasures. She was neither +laborious, nor well-informed, nor perhaps altogether honest—what +woman ever understood the necessity or recognized the advantage of +political honesty?—but then she was neither dull nor pompous, and if +she was conceited, she did not show it. She was a disappointed woman, +as regards her husband; seeing that she had married him on the +speculation that he would at once become politically important; and +as yet Mr. Smith had not quite fulfilled the prophecies of his early +life.</p> + +<p>And Lady Lufton, when she spoke of the Chaldicotes set, distinctly +included, in her own mind, the Bishop of Barchester, and his wife and +daughter. Seeing that Bishop Proudie was, of course, a man much +addicted to religion and to religious thinking, and that Mr. Sowerby +himself had no peculiar religious sentiments whatever, there would +not at first sight appear to be ground for much intercourse, and +perhaps there was not much of such intercourse; but Mrs. Proudie and +Mrs. Harold Smith were firm friends of four or five years’ +standing—ever since the Proudies came into the diocese; and +therefore the bishop was usually taken to Chaldicotes whenever Mrs. +Smith paid her brother a visit. Now Bishop Proudie was by no means a +High Church dignitary, and Lady Lufton had never forgiven him for +coming into that diocese. She had, instinctively, a high respect for +the episcopal office; but of Bishop Proudie himself she hardly +thought better than she did of Mr. Sowerby, or of that fabricator of +evil, the Duke of Omnium. Whenever Mr. Robarts would plead that in +going anywhere he would have the benefit of meeting the bishop, Lady +Lufton would slightly curl her upper lip. She could not say in words, +that Bishop Proudie—bishop as he certainly must be called—was no +better than he ought to be; but by that curl of her lip she did +explain to those who knew her that such was the inner feeling of her +heart.</p> + +<p>And then it was understood—Mark Robarts, at least, had so heard, and +the information soon reached Framley Court—that Mr. Supplehouse was +to make one of the Chaldicotes party. Now Mr. Supplehouse was a worse +companion for a gentlemanlike, young, High Church, conservative +county parson than even Harold Smith. He also was in Parliament, and +had been extolled during the early days of that Russian war by some +portion of the metropolitan daily press, as the only man who could +save the country. Let him be in the ministry, the <i>Jupiter</i> had said, +and there would be some hope of reform, some chance that England’s +ancient glory would not be allowed in these perilous times to go +headlong to oblivion. And upon this the ministry, not anticipating +much salvation from Mr. Supplehouse, but willing, as they usually +are, to have the <i>Jupiter</i> at their back, did send for that +gentleman, and gave him some footing among them. But how can a man +born to save a nation, and to lead a people, be content to fill the +chair of an under-secretary? Supplehouse was not content, and soon +gave it to be understood that his place was much higher than any yet +tendered to him. The seals of high office, or war to the knife, was +the alternative which he offered to a much-belaboured Head of +Affairs—nothing doubting that the Head of Affairs would recognize +the claimant’s value, and would have before his eyes a wholesome fear +of the <i>Jupiter</i>. But the Head of Affairs, much belaboured as he was, +knew that he might pay too high even for Mr. Supplehouse and the +<i>Jupiter</i>; and the saviour of the nation was told that he might swing +his tomahawk. Since that time he had been swinging his tomahawk, but +not with so much effect as had been anticipated. He also was very +intimate with Mr. Sowerby, and was decidedly one of the Chaldicotes +set.</p> + +<p>And there were many others included in the stigma whose sins were +political or religious rather than moral. But they were gall and +wormwood to Lady Lufton, who regarded them as children of the Lost +One, and who grieved with a mother’s grief when she knew that her son +was among them, and felt all a patron’s anger when she heard that her +clerical <i>protégé</i> was about to +seek such society. Mrs. Robarts might +well say that Lady Lufton would be annoyed.</p> + +<p>“You won’t call at the house before you go, will you?” the wife asked +on the following morning. He was to start after lunch on that day, +driving himself in his own gig, so as to reach Chaldicotes, some +twenty-four miles distant, before dinner.</p> + +<p>“No, I think not. What good should I do?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I can’t explain; but I think I should call: partly, perhaps, +to show her that as I had determined to go, I was not afraid of +telling her so.”</p> + +<p>“Afraid! That’s nonsense, Fanny. I’m not afraid of her. But I don’t +see why I should bring down upon myself the disagreeable things she +will say. Besides, I have not time. I must walk up and see Jones +about the duties; and then, what with getting ready, I shall have +enough to do to get off in time.”</p> + +<p>He paid his visit to Mr. Jones, the curate, feeling no qualms of +conscience there, as he rather boasted of all the members of +Parliament he was going to meet, and of the bishop who would be with +them. Mr. Evan Jones was only his curate, and in speaking to him on +the matter he could talk as though it were quite the proper thing for +a vicar to meet his bishop at the house of a county member. And one +would be inclined to say that it was proper: only why could he not +talk of it in the same tone to Lady Lufton? And then, having kissed +his wife and children, he drove off, well pleased with his prospect +for the coming ten days, but already anticipating some discomfort on +his return.</p> + +<p>On the three following days, Mrs. Robarts did not meet her ladyship. +She did not exactly take any steps to avoid such a meeting, but she +did not purposely go up to the big house. She went to her school as +usual, and made one or two calls among the farmers’ wives, but put no +foot within the Framley Court grounds. She was braver than her +husband, but even she did not wish to anticipate the evil day.</p> + +<p>On the Saturday, just before it began to get dusk, when she was +thinking of preparing for the fatal plunge, her friend, Lady +Meredith, came to her.</p> + +<p>“So, Fanny, we shall again be so unfortunate as to miss Mr. Robarts,” +said her ladyship.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Did you ever know anything so unlucky? But he had promised Mr. +Sowerby before he heard that you were coming. Pray do not think that +he would have gone away had he known it.”</p> + +<p>“We should have been sorry to keep him from so much more amusing a +party.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Justinia, you are unfair. You intend to imply that he has gone +to Chaldicotes, because he likes it better than Framley Court; but +that is not the case. I hope Lady Lufton does not think that it is.”</p> + +<p>Lady Meredith laughed as she put her arm round her friend’s waist. +“Don’t lose your eloquence in defending him to me,” she said. “You’ll +want all that for my mother.”</p> + +<p>“But is your mother angry?” asked Mrs. Robarts, showing by her +countenance, how eager she was for true tidings on the subject.</p> + +<p>“Well, Fanny, you know her ladyship as well as I do. She thinks so +very highly of the vicar of Framley, that she does begrudge him to +those politicians at Chaldicotes.”</p> + +<p>“But, Justinia, the bishop is to be there, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that that consideration will at all reconcile my +mother to the gentleman’s absence. He ought to be very proud, I know, +to find that he is so much thought of. But come, Fanny, I want you to +walk back with me, and you can dress at the house. And now we’ll go +and look at the children.”</p> + +<p>After that, as they walked together to Framley Court, Mrs. Robarts +made her friend promise that she would stand by her if any serious +attack were made on the absent clergyman.</p> + +<p>“Are you going up to your room at once?” said the vicar’s wife, as +soon as they were inside the porch leading into the hall. Lady +Meredith immediately knew what her friend meant, and decided that the +evil day should not be postponed. “We had better go in and have it +over,” she said, “and then we shall be comfortable for the evening.” +So the drawing-room door was opened, and there was Lady Lufton alone +upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>“Now, mamma,” said the daughter, “you mustn’t scold Fanny much about +Mr. Robarts. He has gone to preach a charity sermon before the +bishop, and under those circumstances, perhaps, he could not refuse.” +This was a stretch on the part of Lady Meredith—put in with much +good nature, no doubt; but still a stretch; for no one had supposed +that the bishop would remain at Chaldicotes for the Sunday.</p> + +<p>“How do you do, Fanny?” said Lady Lufton, getting up. “I am not going +to scold her; and I don’t know how you can talk such nonsense, +Justinia. Of course, we are very sorry not to have Mr. Robarts; more +especially as he was not here the last Sunday that Sir George was +with us. I do like to see Mr. Robarts in his own church, certainly; +and I don’t like any other clergyman there as well. If Fanny takes +that for scolding, <span class="nowrap">why—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh! no, Lady Lufton; and it’s so kind of you to say so. But Mr. +Robarts was so sorry that he had accepted this invitation to +Chaldicotes, before he heard that Sir George was coming, +<span class="nowrap">and—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, I know that Chaldicotes has great attractions which we cannot +offer,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, it was not that. But he was asked to preach, you know; and +Mr. Harold <span class="nowrap">Smith—”</span> Poor +Fanny was only making it worse. Had she been +worldly wise, she would have accepted the little compliment implied +in Lady Lufton’s first rebuke, and then have held her peace.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; the Harold Smiths! They are irresistible, I know. How could +any man refuse to join a party, graced both by Mrs. Harold Smith and +Mrs. Proudie—even though his duty should require him to stay away?”</p> + +<p>“Now, mamma—” said Justinia.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, what am I to say? You would not wish me to tell a +fib. I don’t like Mrs. Harold Smith—at least, what I hear of her; +for it has not been my fortune to meet her since her marriage. It may +be conceited; but to own the truth, I think that Mr. Robarts would be +better off with us at Framley than with the Harold Smiths at +Chaldicotes,—even though Mrs. Proudie be thrown into the bargain.”</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark, and therefore the rising colour in the face of +Mrs. Robarts could not be seen. She, however, was too good a wife to +hear these things said without some anger within her bosom. She could +blame her husband in her own mind; but it was intolerable to her that +others should blame him in her hearing.</p> + +<p>“He would undoubtedly be better off,” she said; “but then, Lady +Lufton, people can’t always go exactly where they will be best off. +Gentlemen sometimes <span class="nowrap">must—”</span></p> + +<p>“Well—well, my dear, that will do. He has not taken you, at any +rate; and so we will forgive him.” And Lady Lufton kissed her. “As it +is,”—and she affected a low whisper between the two young wives—“as +it is, we must e’en put up with poor old Evan Jones. He is to be here +to-night, and we must go and dress to receive him.”</p> + +<p>And so they went off. Lady Lufton was quite good enough at heart to +like Mrs. Robarts all the better for standing up for her absent lord.</p> + + +<p><a id="c3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER III.</h2></div> +<h3>CHALDICOTES.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Chaldicotes is a house of much more pretension than Framley Court. +Indeed, if one looks at the ancient marks about it, rather than at +those of the present day, it is a place of very considerable +pretension. There is an old forest, not altogether belonging to the +property, but attached to it, called the Chace of Chaldicotes. A +portion of this forest comes up close behind the mansion, and of +itself gives a character and celebrity to the place. The Chace of +Chaldicotes—the greater part of it, at least—is, as all the world +knows, Crown property, and now, in these utilitarian days, is to be +disforested. In former times it was a great forest, stretching half +across the country, almost as far as Silverbridge; and there are bits +of it, here and there, still to be seen at intervals throughout the +whole distance; but the larger remaining portion, consisting of aged +hollow oaks, centuries old, and wide-spreading withered beeches, +stands in the two parishes of Chaldicotes and Uffley. People still +come from afar to see the oaks of Chaldicotes, and to hear their feet +rustle among the thick autumn leaves. But they will soon come no +longer. The giants of past ages are to give way to wheat and turnips; +a ruthless Chancellor of the Exchequer, disregarding old associations +and rural beauty, requires money returns from the lands; and the +Chace of Chaldicotes is to vanish from the earth’s surface.</p> + +<p>Some part of it, however, is the private property of Mr. Sowerby, who +hitherto, through all his pecuniary distresses, has managed to save +from the axe and the auction-mart that portion of his paternal +heritage. The house of Chaldicotes is a large stone building, +probably of the time of Charles the Second. It is approached on both +fronts by a heavy double flight of stone steps. In the front of the +house a long, solemn, straight avenue through a double row of +lime-trees, leads away to lodge-gates, which stand in the centre of +the village of Chaldicotes; but to the rear the windows open upon +four different vistas, which run down through the forest: four open +green rides, which all converge together at a large iron gateway, the +barrier which divides the private grounds from the Chace. The +Sowerbys, for many generations, have been rangers of the Chace of +Chaldicotes, thus having almost as wide an authority over the Crown +forest as over their own. But now all this is to cease, for the +forest will be disforested.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark as Mark Robarts drove up through the avenue of +lime-trees to the hall-door; but it was easy to see that the house, +which was dead and silent as the grave through nine months of the +year, was now alive in all its parts. There were lights in many of +the windows, and a noise of voices came from the stables, and +servants were moving about, and dogs barked, and the dark gravel +before the front steps was cut up with many a coach-wheel.</p> + +<p>“Oh, be that you, sir, Mr. Robarts?” said a groom, taking the +parson’s horse by the head, and touching his own hat. “I hope I see +your reverence well?”</p> + +<p>“Quite well, Bob, thank you. All well at Chaldicotes?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty bobbish, Mr. Robarts. Deal of life going on here now, sir. +The bishop and his lady came this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—ah—yes! I understood they were to be here. Any of the young +ladies?”</p> + +<p>“One young lady. Miss Olivia, I think they call her, your reverence.”</p> + +<p>“And how’s Mr. Sowerby?”</p> + +<p>“Very well, your reverence. He, and Mr. Harold Smith, and Mr. +Fothergill—that’s the duke’s man of business, you know—is getting +off their horses now in the stable-yard there.”</p> + +<p>“Home from hunting—eh, Bob?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, just home, this minute.” And then Mr. Robarts walked into +the house, his portmanteau following on a footboy’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>It will be seen that our young vicar was very intimate at +Chaldicotes; so much so that the groom knew him, and talked to him +about the people in the house. Yes; he was intimate there: much more +than he had given the Framley people to understand. Not that he had +wilfully and overtly deceived any one; not that he had ever spoken a +false word about Chaldicotes. But he had never boasted at home that +he and Sowerby were near allies. Neither had he told them there how +often Mr. Sowerby and Lord Lufton were together in London. Why +trouble women with such matters? Why annoy so excellent a woman as +Lady Lufton?</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Sowerby was one whose intimacy few young men would wish +to reject. He was fifty, and had lived, perhaps, not the most +salutary life; but he dressed young, and usually looked well. He was +bald, with a good forehead, and sparkling moist eyes. He was a clever +man, and a pleasant companion, and always good-humoured when it so +suited him. He was a gentleman, too, of high breeding and good birth, +whose ancestors had been known in that county—longer, the farmers +around would boast, than those of any other landowner in it, unless +it be the Thornes of Ullathorne, or perhaps the Greshams of +Greshamsbury—much longer than the De Courcys at Courcy Castle. As +for the Duke of Omnium, he, comparatively speaking, was a new man.</p> + +<p>And then he was a member of Parliament, a friend of some men in +power, and of others who might be there; a man who could talk about +the world as one knowing the matter of which he talked. And moreover, +whatever might be his ways of life at other times, when in the +presence of a clergyman he rarely made himself offensive to clerical +tastes. He neither swore, nor brought his vices on the carpet, nor +sneered at the faith of the Church. If he was no churchman himself, +he at least knew how to live with those who were.</p> + +<p>How was it possible that such a one as our vicar should not relish +the intimacy of Mr. Sowerby? It might be very well, he would say to +himself, for a woman like Lady Lufton to turn up her nose at him—for +Lady Lufton, who spent ten months of the year at Framley Court, and +who during those ten months, and for the matter of that, during the +two months also which she spent in London, saw no one out of her own +set. Women did not understand such things, the vicar said to himself; +even his own wife—good, and nice, and sensible, and intelligent as +she was—even she did not understand that a man in the world must +meet all sorts of men; and that in these days it did not do for a +clergyman to be a hermit.</p> + +<p>’Twas thus that Mark Robarts argued when he found himself called upon +to defend himself before the bar of his own conscience for going to +Chaldicotes and increasing his intimacy with Mr. Sowerby. He did know +that Mr. Sowerby was a dangerous man; he was aware that he was over +head and ears in debt, and that he had already entangled young Lord +Lufton in some pecuniary embarrassment; his conscience did tell him +that it would be well for him, as one of Christ’s soldiers, to look +out for companions of a different stamp. But nevertheless he went to +Chaldicotes, not satisfied with himself indeed, but repeating to +himself a great many arguments why he should be so satisfied.</p> + +<p>He was shown into the drawing-room at once, and there he found Mrs. +Harold Smith, with Mrs. and Miss Proudie, and a lady whom he had +never before seen, and whose name he did not at first hear mentioned.</p> + +<p>“Is that Mr. Robarts?” said Mrs. Harold Smith, getting up to greet +him, and screening her pretended ignorance under the veil of the +darkness. “And have you really driven over four-and-twenty miles of +Barsetshire roads on such a day as this to assist us in our little +difficulties? Well, we can promise you gratitude at any rate.”</p> + +<p>And then the vicar shook hands with Mrs. Proudie, in that deferential +manner which is due from a vicar to his bishop’s wife; and Mrs. +Proudie returned the greeting with all that smiling condescension +which a bishop’s wife should show to a vicar. Miss Proudie was not +quite so civil. Had Mr. Robarts been still unmarried, she also could +have smiled sweetly; but she had been exercising smiles on clergymen +too long to waste them now on a married parish parson.</p> + +<p>“And what are the difficulties, Mrs. Smith, in which I am to assist +you?”</p> + +<p>“We have six or seven gentlemen here, Mr. Robarts, and they always go +out hunting before breakfast, and they never come back—I was going +to say—till after dinner. I wish it were so, for then we should not +have to wait for them.”</p> + +<p>“Excepting Mr. Supplehouse, you know,” said the unknown lady, in a +loud voice.</p> + +<p>“And he is generally shut up in the library, writing articles.”</p> + +<p>“He’d be better employed if he were trying to break his neck like the +others,” said the unknown lady.</p> + +<p>“Only he would never succeed,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “But perhaps, +Mr. Robarts, you are as bad as the rest; perhaps you, too, will be +hunting to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Mrs. Smith!” said Mrs. Proudie, in a tone denoting slight +reproach, and modified horror.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I forgot. No, of course, you won’t be hunting, Mr. Robarts; +you’ll only be wishing that you could.”</p> + +<p>“Why can’t he?” said the lady with the loud voice.</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Dunstable! a clergyman hunt, while he is staying in the +same house with the bishop? Think of the proprieties!”</p> + +<p>“Oh—ah! The bishop wouldn’t like it—wouldn’t he? Now, do tell me, +sir, what would the bishop do to you if you did hunt?”</p> + +<p>“It would depend upon his mood at the time, madam,” said Mr. Robarts. +“If that were very stern, he might perhaps have me beheaded before +the palace gates.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie drew herself up in her chair, showing that she did not +like the tone of the conversation; and Miss Proudie fixed her eyes +vehemently on her book, showing that Miss Dunstable and her +conversation were both beneath her notice.</p> + +<p>“If these gentlemen do not mean to break their necks to-night,” said +Mrs. Harold Smith, “I wish they’d let us know it. It’s half-past six +already.”</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Robarts gave them to understand that no such catastrophe +could be looked for that day, as Mr. Sowerby and the other sportsmen +were within the stable-yard when he entered the door.</p> + +<p>“Then, ladies, we may as well dress,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. But as +she moved towards the door, it opened, and a short gentleman, with a +slow, quiet step, entered the room; but was not yet to be +distinguished through the dusk by the eyes of Mr. Robarts. “Oh! +bishop, is that you?” said Mrs. Smith. “Here is one of the luminaries +of your diocese.” And then the bishop, feeling through the dark, made +his way up to the vicar and shook him cordially by the hand. “He was +delighted to meet Mr. Robarts at Chaldicotes,” he said—“quite +delighted. Was he not going to preach on behalf of the Papuan Mission +next Sunday? Ah! so he, the bishop, had heard. It was a good work, an +excellent work.” And then Dr. Proudie expressed himself as much +grieved that he could not remain at Chaldicotes, and hear the sermon. +It was plain that his bishop thought no ill of him on account of his +intimacy with Mr. Sowerby. But then he felt in his own heart that he +did not much regard his bishop’s opinion.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Robarts, I’m delighted to see you,” said Mr. Sowerby, when they +met on the drawing-room rug before dinner. “You know Harold Smith? +Yes, of course you do. Well, who else is there? Oh! Supplehouse. Mr. +Supplehouse, allow me to introduce to you my friend Mr. Robarts. It +is he who will extract the five-pound note out of your pocket next +Sunday for these poor Papuans whom we are going to Christianize. That +is, if Harold Smith does not finish the work out of hand at his +Saturday lecture. And, Robarts, you have seen the bishop, of course:” +this he said in a whisper. “A fine thing to be a bishop, isn’t it? I +wish I had half your chance. But, my dear fellow, I’ve made such a +mistake; I haven’t got a bachelor parson for Miss Proudie. You must +help me out, and take her in to dinner.” And then the great gong +sounded, and off they went in pairs.</p> + +<p>At dinner Mark found himself seated between Miss Proudie and the lady +whom he had heard named as Miss Dunstable. Of the former he was not +very fond, and, in spite of his host’s petition, was not inclined to +play bachelor parson for her benefit. With the other lady he would +willingly have chatted during the dinner, only that everybody else at +table seemed to be intent on doing the same thing. She was neither +young, nor beautiful, nor peculiarly ladylike; yet she seemed to +enjoy a popularity which must have excited the envy of Mr. +Supplehouse, and which certainly was not altogether to the taste of +Mrs. Proudie—who, however, fêted her as much as did the others. So +that our clergyman found himself unable to obtain more than an +inconsiderable share of the lady’s attention.</p> + +<p>“Bishop,” said she, speaking across the table, “we have missed you so +all day! we have had no one on earth to say a word to us.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Dunstable, had I known that— But I really was engaged +on business of some importance.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe in business of importance; do you, Mrs. Smith?”</p> + +<p>“Do I not?” said Mrs. Smith. “If you were married to Mr. Harold Smith +for one week, you’d believe in it.”</p> + +<p>“Should I, now? What a pity that I can’t have that chance of +improving my faith! But you are a man of business, also, Mr. +Supplehouse; so they tell me.” And she turned to her neighbour on her +right hand.</p> + +<p>“I cannot compare myself to Harold Smith,” said he. “But perhaps I +may equal the bishop.”</p> + +<p>“What does a man do, now, when he sits himself down to business? How +does he set about it? What are his tools? A quire of blotting paper, +I suppose, to begin with?”</p> + +<p>“That depends, I should say, on his trade. A shoemaker begins by +waxing his thread.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Harold Smith—?”</p> + +<p>“By counting up his yesterday’s figures, generally, I should say; or +else by unrolling a ball of red tape. Well-docketed papers and +statistical facts are his forte.”</p> + +<p>“And what does a bishop do? Can you tell me that?”</p> + +<p>“He sends forth to his clergy either blessings or blowings-up, +according to the state of his digestive organs. But Mrs. Proudie can +explain all that to you with the greatest accuracy.”</p> + +<p>“Can she, now? I understand what you mean, but I don’t believe a word +of it. The bishop manages his own affairs himself, quite as much as +you do, or Mr. Harold Smith.”</p> + +<p>“I, Miss Dunstable?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you.”</p> + +<p>“But I, unluckily, have not a wife to manage them for me.”</p> + +<p>“Then you should not laugh at those who have, for you don’t know what +you may come to yourself, when you’re married.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Supplehouse began to make a pretty speech, saying that he would +be delighted to incur any danger in that respect to which he might be +subjected by the companionship of Miss Dunstable. But before he was +half through it, she had turned her back upon him, and begun a +conversation with Mark Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Have you much work in your parish, Mr. Robarts?” she asked. Now, +Mark was not aware that she knew his name, or the fact of his having +a parish, and was rather surprised by the question. And he had not +quite liked the tone in which she had seemed to speak of the bishop +and his work. His desire for her further acquaintance was therefore +somewhat moderated, and he was not prepared to answer her question +with much zeal.</p> + +<p>“All parish clergymen have plenty of work, if they choose to do it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is it; is it not, Mr. Robarts? If they choose to do it? A +great many do—many that I know, do; and see what a result they have. +But many neglect it—and see what a result <i>they</i> have. I think it +ought to be the happiest life that a man can lead, that of a parish +clergyman, with a wife and family, and a sufficient income.”</p> + +<p>“I think it is,” said Mark Robarts, asking himself whether the +contentment accruing to him from such blessings had made him +satisfied at all points. He had all these things of which Miss +Dunstable spoke, and yet he had told his wife, the other day, that he +could not afford to neglect the acquaintance of a rising politician +like Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“What I find fault with is this,” continued Miss Dunstable, “that we +expect clergymen to do their duty, and don’t give them a sufficient +income—give them hardly any income at all. Is it not a scandal, that +an educated gentleman with a family should be made to work half his +life, and perhaps the whole, for a pittance of seventy pounds a +year?”</p> + +<p>Mark said that it was a scandal, and thought of Mr. Evan Jones and +his daughter;—and thought also of his own worth, and his own house, +and his own nine hundred a year.</p> + +<p>“And yet you clergymen are so proud—aristocratic would be the +genteel word, I know—that you won’t take the money of common, +ordinary poor people. You must be paid from land and endowments, from +tithe and church property. You can’t bring yourself to work for what +you earn, as lawyers and doctors do. It is better that curates should +starve than undergo such ignominy as that.”</p> + +<p>“It is a long subject, Miss Dunstable.”</p> + +<p>“A very long one; and that means that I am not to say any more about +it.”</p> + +<p>“I did not mean that exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but you did though, Mr. Robarts. And I can take a hint of that +kind when I get it. You clergymen like to keep those long subjects +for your sermons, when no one can answer you. Now if I have a longing +heart’s desire for anything at all in this world, it is to be able to +get up into a pulpit, and preach a sermon.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t conceive how soon that appetite would pall upon you, after +its first indulgence.”</p> + +<p>“That would depend upon whether I could get people to listen to me. +It does not pall upon Mr. Spurgeon, I suppose.” Then her attention +was called away by some question from Mr. Sowerby, and Mark Robarts +found himself bound to address his conversation to Miss Proudie. Miss +Proudie, however, was not thankful, and gave him little but +monosyllables for his pains.</p> + +<p>“Of course you know Harold Smith is going to give us a lecture about +these islanders,” Mr. Sowerby said to him, as they sat round the fire +over their wine after dinner. Mark said that he had been so informed, +and should be delighted to be one of the listeners.</p> + +<p>“You are bound to do that, as he is going to listen to you the day +afterwards—or, at any rate, to pretend to do so, which is as much as +you will do for him. It’ll be a terrible bore—the lecture, I mean, +not the sermon.” And he spoke very low into his friend’s ear. “Fancy +having to drive ten miles after dusk, and ten miles back, to hear +Harold Smith talk for two hours about Borneo! One must do it, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay it will be very interesting.”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, you haven’t undergone so many of these things as I +have. But he’s right to do it. It’s his line of life; and when a man +begins a thing he ought to go on with it. Where’s Lufton all this +time?”</p> + +<p>“In Scotland, when I last heard from him; but he’s probably at Melton +now.”</p> + +<p>“It’s deuced shabby of him, not hunting here in his own county. He +escapes all the bore of going to lectures, and giving feeds to the +neighbours; that’s why he treats us so. He has no idea of his duty, +has he?”</p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton does all that, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I’d a Mrs. Sowerby <i>mère</i> to do it for me. But then Lufton +has no constituents to look after—lucky dog! By-the-by, has he +spoken to you about selling that outlying bit of land of his in +Oxfordshire? It belongs to the Lufton property, and yet it doesn’t. +In my mind it gives more trouble than it’s worth.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton had spoken to Mark about this sale, and had explained to +him that such a sacrifice was absolutely necessary, in consequence of +certain pecuniary transactions between him, Lord Lufton, and Mr. +Sowerby. But it was found impracticable to complete the business +without Lady Lufton’s knowledge, and her son had commissioned Mr. +Robarts not only to inform her ladyship, but to talk her over, and to +appease her wrath. This commission he had not yet attempted to +execute, and it was probable that this visit to Chaldicotes would not +do much to facilitate the business.</p> + +<p>“They are the most magnificent islands under the sun,” said Harold +Smith to the bishop.</p> + +<p>“Are they, indeed!” said the bishop, opening his eyes wide, and +assuming a look of intense interest.</p> + +<p>“And the most intelligent people.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“All they want is guidance, encouragement, +<span class="nowrap">instruction—”</span></p> + +<p>“And Christianity,” suggested the bishop.</p> + +<p>“And Christianity, of course,” said Mr. Smith, remembering that he +was speaking to a dignitary of the Church. It was well to humour such +people, Mr. Smith thought. But the Christianity was to be done in the +Sunday sermon, and was not part of his work.</p> + +<p>“And how do you intend to begin with them?” asked Mr. Supplehouse, +the business of whose life it had been to suggest difficulties.</p> + +<p>“Begin with them—oh—why—it’s very easy to begin with them. The +difficulty is to go on with them, after the money is all spent. We’ll +begin by explaining to them the benefits of civilization.”</p> + +<p>“Capital plan!” said Mr. Supplehouse. “But how do you set about it, +Smith?”</p> + +<p>“How do we set about it? How did we set about it with Australia and +America? It is very easy to criticize; but in such matters the great +thing is to put one’s shoulder to the wheel.”</p> + +<p>“We sent our felons to Australia,” said Supplehouse, “and they began +the work for us. And as to America, we exterminated the people +instead of civilizing them.”</p> + +<p>“We did not exterminate the inhabitants of India,” said Harold Smith, +angrily.</p> + +<p>“Nor have we attempted to Christianize them, as the bishop so +properly wishes to do with your islanders.”</p> + +<p>“Supplehouse, you are not fair,” said Mr. Sowerby, “neither to Harold +Smith nor to us;—you are making him rehearse his lecture, which is +bad for him; and making us hear the rehearsal, which is bad for us.”</p> + +<p>“Supplehouse belongs to a clique which monopolizes the wisdom of +England,” said Harold Smith; “or, at any rate, thinks that it does. +But the worst of them is that they are given to talk leading +articles.”</p> + +<p>“Better that, than talk articles which are not leading,” said Mr. +Supplehouse. “Some first-class official men do that.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I meet you at the duke’s next week, Mr. Robarts?” said the +bishop to him, soon after they had gone into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Meet him at the duke’s!—the established enemy of Barsetshire +mankind, as Lady Lufton regarded his grace! No idea of going to the +duke’s had ever entered our hero’s mind; nor had he been aware that +the duke was about to entertain any one.</p> + +<p>“No, my lord; I think not. Indeed, I have no acquaintance with his +grace.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—ah! I did not know. Because Mr. Sowerby is going; and so are the +Harold Smiths, and, I think, Mr. Supplehouse. An excellent man is the +duke;—that is, as regards all the county interests,” added the +bishop, remembering that the moral character of his bachelor grace +was not the very best in the world.</p> + +<p>And then his lordship began to ask some questions about the church +affairs of Framley, in which a little interest as to Framley Court +was also mixed up, when he was interrupted by a rather sharp voice, +to which he instantly attended.</p> + +<p>“Bishop,” said the rather sharp voice; and the bishop trotted across +the room to the back of the sofa, on which his wife was sitting. +“Miss Dunstable thinks that she will be able to come to us for a +couple of days, after we leave the duke’s.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be delighted above all things,” said the bishop, bowing low +to the dominant lady of the day. For be it known to all men, that +Miss Dunstable was the great heiress of that name.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie is so very kind as to say that she will take me in, +with my poodle, parrot, and pet old woman.”</p> + +<p>“I tell Miss Dunstable that we shall have quite room for any of her +suite,” said Mrs. Proudie. “And that it will give us no trouble.”</p> + +<p>“‘The labour we delight in physics pain,’” said the gallant bishop, +bowing low, and putting his hand upon his heart.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Mr. Fothergill had got hold of Mark Robarts. Mr. +Fothergill was a gentleman, and a magistrate of the county, but he +occupied the position of managing man on the Duke of Omnium’s +estates. He was not exactly his agent; that is to say, he did not +receive his rents; but he “managed” for him, saw people, went about +the county, wrote letters, supported the electioneering interest, did +popularity when it was too much trouble for the duke to do it +himself, and was, in fact, invaluable. People in West Barsetshire +would often say that they did not know what <i>on earth</i> the duke would +do, if it were not for Mr. Fothergill. Indeed, Mr. Fothergill was +useful to the duke.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robarts,” he said, “I am very happy to have the pleasure of +meeting you—very happy, indeed. I have often heard of you from our +friend Sowerby.”</p> + +<p>Mark bowed, and said that he was delighted to have the honour of +making Mr. Fothergill’s acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“I am commissioned by the Duke of Omnium,” continued Mr. Fothergill, +“to say how glad he will be if you will join his grace’s party at +Gatherum Castle, next week. The bishop will be there, and indeed +nearly the whole set who are here now. The duke would have written +when he heard that you were to be at Chaldicotes; but things were +hardly quite arranged then, so his grace has left it for me to tell +you how happy he will be to make your acquaintance in his own house. +I have spoken to Sowerby,” continued Mr. Fothergill, “and he very +much hopes that you will be able to join us.”</p> + +<p>Mark felt that his face became red when this proposition was made to +him. The party in the county to which he properly belonged—he and +his wife, and all that made him happy and respectable—looked upon +the Duke of Omnium with horror and amazement; and now he had +absolutely received an invitation to the duke’s house! A proposition +was made to him that he should be numbered among the duke’s friends!</p> + +<p>And though in one sense he was sorry that the proposition was made to +him, yet in another he was proud of it. It is not every young man, +let his profession be what it may, who can receive overtures of +friendship from dukes without some elation. Mark, too, had risen in +the world, as far as he had yet risen, by knowing great people; and +he certainly had an ambition to rise higher. I will not degrade him +by calling him a tuft-hunter; but he undoubtedly had a feeling that +the paths most pleasant for a clergyman’s feet were those which were +trodden by the great ones of the earth.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, at the moment he declined the duke’s invitation. He was +very much flattered, he said, but the duties of his parish would +require him to return direct from Chaldicotes to Framley.</p> + +<p>“You need not give me an answer to-night, you know,” said Mr. +Fothergill. “Before the week is past, we will talk it over with +Sowerby and the bishop. It will be a thousand pities, Mr. Robarts, if +you will allow me to say so, that you should neglect such an +opportunity of knowing his grace.”</p> + +<p>When Mark went to bed, his mind was still set against going to the +duke’s; but, nevertheless, he did feel that it was a pity that he +should not do so. After all, was it necessary that he should obey +Lady Lufton in all things?</p> + + +<p><a id="c4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2></div> +<h3>A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It is no doubt very wrong to long after a naughty thing. But +nevertheless we all do so. One may say that hankering after naughty +things is the very essence of the evil into which we have been +precipitated by Adam’s fall. When we confess that we are all sinners, +we confess that we all long after naughty things.</p> + +<p>And ambition is a great vice—as Mark Antony told us a long time +ago—a great vice, no doubt, if the ambition of the man be with +reference to his own advancement, and not to the advancement of +others. But then, how many of us are there who are not ambitious in +this vicious manner?</p> + +<p>And there is nothing viler than the desire to know great +people—people of great rank, I should say; nothing worse than the +hunting of titles and worshipping of wealth. We all know this, and +say it every day of our lives. But presuming that a way into the +society of Park Lane was open to us, and a way also into that of +Bedford Row, how many of us are there who would prefer Bedford Row +because it is so vile to worship wealth and title?</p> + +<p>I am led into these rather trite remarks by the necessity of putting +forward some sort of excuse for that frame of mind in which the Rev. +Mark Robarts awoke on the morning after his arrival at Chaldicotes. +And I trust that the fact of his being a clergyman will not be +allowed to press against him unfairly. Clergymen are subject to the +same passions as other men; and, as far as I can see, give way to +them, in one line or in another, almost as frequently. Every +clergyman should, by canonical rule, feel a personal disinclination +to a bishopric; but yet we do not believe that such personal +disinclination is generally very strong.</p> + +<p>Mark’s first thoughts when he woke on that morning flew back to Mr. +Fothergill’s invitation. The duke had sent a special message to say +how peculiarly glad he, the duke, would be to make acquaintance with +him, the parson! How much of this message had been of Mr. +Fothergill’s own manufacture, that Mark Robarts did not consider.</p> + +<p>He had obtained a living at an age when other young clergymen are +beginning to think of a curacy, and he had obtained such a living as +middle-aged parsons in their dreams regard as a possible Paradise for +their old years. Of course he thought that all these good things had +been the results of his own peculiar merits. Of course he felt that +he was different from other parsons,—more fitted by nature for +intimacy with great persons, more urbane, more polished, and more +richly endowed with modern clerical well-to-do aptitudes. He was +grateful to Lady Lufton for what she had done for him; but perhaps +not so grateful as he should have been.</p> + +<p>At any rate he was not Lady Lufton’s servant, nor even her dependant. +So much he had repeated to himself on many occasions, and had gone so +far as to hint the same idea to his wife. In his career as parish +priest he must in most things be the judge of his own actions—and in +many also it was his duty to be the judge of those of his patroness. +The fact of Lady Lufton having placed him in the living, could by no +means make her the proper judge of his actions. This he often said to +himself; and he said as often that Lady Lufton certainly had a +hankering after such a judgment-seat.</p> + +<p>Of whom generally did prime ministers and official bigwigs think it +expedient to make bishops and deans? Was it not, as a rule, of those +clergymen who had shown themselves able to perform their clerical +duties efficiently, and able also to take their place with ease in +high society? He was very well off certainly at Framley; but he could +never hope for anything beyond Framley, if he allowed himself to +regard Lady Lufton as a bugbear. Putting Lady Lufton and her +prejudices out of the question, was there any reason why he ought not +to accept the duke’s invitation? He could not see that there was any +such reason. If any one could be a better judge on such a subject +than himself, it must be his bishop. And it was clear that the bishop +wished him to go to Gatherum Castle.</p> + +<p>The matter was still left open to him. Mr. Fothergill had especially +explained that; and therefore his ultimate decision was as yet within +his own power. Such a visit would cost him some money, for he knew +that a man does not stay at great houses without expense; and then, +in spite of his good income, he was not very flush of money. He had +been down this year with Lord Lufton in Scotland. Perhaps it might be +more prudent for him to return home.</p> + +<p>But then an idea came to him that it behoved him as a man and a +priest to break through that Framley thraldom under which he felt +that he did to a certain extent exist. Was it not the fact that he +was about to decline this invitation from fear of Lady Lufton? and if +so, was that a motive by which he ought to be actuated? It was +incumbent on him to rid himself of that feeling. And in this spirit +he got up and dressed.</p> + +<p>There was hunting again on that day; and as the hounds were to meet +near Chaldicotes, and to draw some coverts lying on the verge of the +Chace, the ladies were to go in carriages through the drives of the +forest, and Mr. Robarts was to escort them on horseback. Indeed it +was one of those hunting-days got up rather for the ladies than for +the sport. Great nuisances they are to steady, middle-aged hunting +men; but the young fellows like them because they have thereby an +opportunity of showing off their sporting finery, and of doing a +little flirtation on horseback. The bishop, also, had been minded to +be of the party; so, at least, he had said on the previous evening; +and a place in one of the carriages had been set apart for him: but +since that, he and Mrs. Proudie had discussed the matter in private, +and at breakfast his lordship declared that he had changed his mind.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby was one of those men who are known to be very poor—as +poor as debt can make a man—but who, nevertheless, enjoy all the +luxuries which money can give. It was believed that he could not live +in England out of jail but for his protection as a member of +Parliament; and yet it seemed that there was no end to his horses and +carriages, his servants and retinue. He had been at this work for a +great many years, and practice, they say, makes perfect. Such +companions are very dangerous. There is no cholera, no yellow-fever, +no small-pox more contagious than debt. If one lives habitually among +embarrassed men, one catches it to a certainty. No one had injured +the community in this way more fatally than Mr. Sowerby. But still he +carried on the game himself; and now on this morning carriages and +horses thronged at his gate, as though he were as substantially rich +as his friend the Duke of Omnium.</p> + +<p>“Robarts, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Sowerby, when they were well +under way down one of the glades of the forest,—for the place where +the hounds met was some four or five miles from the house of +Chaldicotes,—“ride on with me a moment. I want to speak to you; and +if I stay behind we shall never get to the hounds.” So Mark, who had +come expressly to escort the ladies, rode on alongside of Mr. Sowerby +in his pink coat.</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, Fothergill tells me that you have some hesitation +about going to Gatherum Castle.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I did decline, certainly. You know I am not a man of pleasure, +as you are. I have some duties to attend to.”</p> + +<p>“Gammon!” said Mr. Sowerby; and as he said it he looked with a kind +of derisive smile into the clergyman’s face.</p> + +<p>“It is easy enough to say that, Sowerby; and perhaps I have no right +to expect that you should understand me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I do understand you; and I say it is gammon. I would be the +last man in the world to ridicule your scruples about duty, if this +hesitation on your part arose from any such scruple. But answer me +honestly, do you not know that such is not the case?”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing of the kind.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I think you do. If you persist in refusing this invitation +will it not be because you are afraid of making Lady Lufton angry? I +do not know what there can be in that woman that she is able to hold +both you and Lufton in leading-strings.”</p> + +<p>Robarts, of course, denied the charge and protested that he was not +to be taken back to his own parsonage by any fear of Lady Lufton. But +though he made such protest with warmth, he knew that he did so +ineffectually. Sowerby only smiled and said that the proof of the +pudding was in the eating.</p> + +<p>“What is the good of a man keeping a curate if it be not to save him +from that sort of drudgery?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Drudgery! If I were a drudge how could I be here to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Robarts, look here. I am speaking now, perhaps, with more of +the energy of an old friend than circumstances fully warrant; but I +am an older man than you, and as I have a regard for you I do not +like to see you throw up a good game when it is in your hands.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, as far as that goes, Sowerby, I need hardly tell you that I +appreciate your kindness.”</p> + +<p>“If you are content,” continued the man of the world, “to live at +Framley all your life, and to warm yourself in the sunshine of the +dowager there, why, in such case, it may perhaps be useless for you +to extend the circle of your friends; but if you have higher ideas +than these, I think you will be very wrong to omit the present +opportunity of going to the duke’s. I never knew the duke go so much +out of his way to be civil to a clergyman as he has done in this +instance.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I am very much obliged to him.”</p> + +<p>“The fact is, that you may, if you please, make yourself popular in +the county; but you cannot do it by obeying all Lady Lufton’s +behests. She is a dear old woman, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“She is, Sowerby; and you would say so, if you knew her.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t doubt it; but it would not do for you or me to live exactly +according to her ideas. Now, here, in this case, the bishop of the +diocese is to be one of the party, and he has, I believe, already +expressed a wish that you should be another.”</p> + +<p>“He asked me if I were going.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; and Archdeacon Grantly will be there.”</p> + +<p>“Will he?” asked Mark. Now, that would be a great point gained, for +Archdeacon Grantly was a close friend of Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“So I understand from Fothergill. Indeed, it will be very wrong of +you not to go, and I tell you so plainly; and what is more, when you +talk about your duty—you having a curate as you have—why, it is +gammon.” These last words he spoke looking back over his shoulder as +he stood up in his stirrups, for he had caught the eye of the +huntsman, who was surrounded by his hounds, and was now trotting on +to join him.</p> + +<p>During a great portion of the day, Mark found himself riding by the +side of Mrs. Proudie, as that lady leaned back in her carriage. And +Mrs. Proudie smiled on him graciously, though her daughter would not +do so. Mrs. Proudie was fond of having an attendant clergyman; and as +it was evident that Mr. Robarts lived among nice people—titled +dowagers, members of Parliament, and people of that sort—she was +quite willing to instal him as a sort of honorary +chaplain <i>pro tem</i>.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what we have settled, Mrs. Harold Smith and I,” said +Mrs. Proudie to him. “This lecture at Barchester will be so late on +Saturday evening, that you had all better come and dine with us.”</p> + +<p>Mark bowed and thanked her, and declared that he should be very happy +to make one of such a party. Even Lady Lufton could not object to +this, although she was not especially fond of Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“And then they are to sleep at the hotel. It will really be too late +for ladies to think of going back so far at this time of the year. I +told Mrs. Harold Smith, and Miss Dunstable, too, that we could manage +to make room at any rate for them. But they will not leave the other +ladies; so they go to the hotel for that night. But, Mr. Robarts, the +bishop will never allow you to stay at the inn, so of course you will +take a bed at the palace.”</p> + +<p>It immediately occurred to Mark that as the lecture was to be given +on Saturday evening, the next morning would be Sunday; and, on that +Sunday, he would have to preach at Chaldicotes. “I thought they were +all going to return the same night,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Well, they did intend it; but you see Mrs. Smith is afraid.”</p> + +<p>“I should have to get back here on the Sunday morning, Mrs. Proudie.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, that is bad—very bad, indeed. No one dislikes any +interference with the Sabbath more than I do. Indeed, if I am +particular about anything it is about that. But some works are works +of necessity, Mr. Robarts; are they not? Now you must necessarily be +back at Chaldicotes on Sunday morning!” And so the matter was +settled. Mrs. Proudie was very firm in general in the matter of +Sabbath-day observances; but when she had to deal with such persons +as Mrs. Harold Smith, it was expedient that she should give way a +little. “You can start as soon as it’s daylight, you know, if you +like it, Mr. Robarts,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>There was not much to boast of as to the hunting, but it was a very +pleasant day for the ladies. The men rode up and down the grass roads +through the Chace, sometimes in the greatest possible hurry as though +they never could go quick enough; and then the coachmen would drive +very fast also, though they did not know why, for a fast pace of +movement is another of those contagious diseases. And then again the +sportsmen would move at an undertaker’s pace, when the fox had +traversed and the hounds would be at a loss to know which was the +hunt and which was the heel; and then the carriage also would go +slowly, and the ladies would stand up and talk. And then the time for +lunch came; and altogether the day went by pleasantly enough.</p> + +<p>“And so that’s hunting, is it?” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s hunting,” said Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“I did not see any gentleman do anything that I could not do myself, +except there was one young man slipped off into the mud; and I +shouldn’t like that.”</p> + +<p>“But there was no breaking of bones, was there, my dear?” said Mrs. +Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“And nobody caught any foxes,” said Miss Dunstable. “The fact is, +Mrs. Smith, that I don’t think much more of their sport than I do of +their business. I shall take to hunting a pack of hounds myself after +this.”</p> + +<p>“Do, my dear, and I’ll be your whipper-in. I wonder whether Mrs. +Proudie would join us.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be writing to the duke to-night,” said Mr. Fothergill to +Mark, as they were all riding up to the stable-yard together. “You +will let me tell his grace that you will accept his invitation—will +you not?”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, the duke is very kind,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“He is very anxious to know you, I can assure you,” said Fothergill.</p> + +<p>What could a young flattered fool of a parson do, but say that he +would go? Mark did say that he would go; and in the course of the +evening his friend Mr. Sowerby congratulated him, and the bishop +joked with him and said that he knew that he would not give up good +company so soon; and Miss Dunstable said she would make him her +chaplain as soon as Parliament would allow quack doctors to have such +articles—an allusion which Mark did not understand, till he learned +that Miss Dunstable was herself the proprietress of the celebrated +Oil of Lebanon, invented by her late respected father, and patented +by him with such wonderful results in the way of accumulated fortune; +and Mrs. Proudie made him quite one of their party, talking to him +about all manner of church subjects; and then at last, even Miss +Proudie smiled on him, when she learned that he had been thought +worthy of a bed at a duke’s castle. And all the world seemed to be +open to him.</p> + +<p>But he could not make himself happy that evening. On the next morning +he must write to his wife; and he could already see the look of +painful sorrow which would fall upon his Fanny’s brow when she +learned that her husband was going to be a guest at the Duke of +Omnium’s. And he must tell her to send him money, and money was +scarce. And then, as to Lady Lufton, should he send her some message, +or should he not? In either case he must declare war against her. And +then did he not owe everything to Lady Lufton? And thus in spite of +all his triumphs he could not get himself to bed in a happy frame of +mind.</p> + +<p>On the next day, which was Friday, he postponed the disagreeable task +of writing. Saturday would do as well; and on Saturday morning, +before they all started for Barchester, he did write. And his letter +ran as <span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Chaldicotes, — November, 185—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest +Love</span>,—You will be astonished when I tell you how +gay we all are here, and what further dissipations are in +store for us. The Arabins, as you supposed, are not of our +party; but the Proudies are,—as you supposed also. Your +suppositions are always right. And what will you think +when I tell you that I am to sleep at the palace on +Saturday? You know that there is to be a lecture in +Barchester on that day. Well; we must all go, of course, +as Harold Smith, one of our set here, is to give it. And +now it turns out that we cannot get back the same night +because there is no moon; and Mrs. Bishop would not allow +that my cloth should be contaminated by an hotel;—very +kind and considerate, is it not?</p> + +<p>But I have a more astounding piece of news for you than +this. There is to be a great party at Gatherum Castle next +week, and they have talked me over into accepting an +invitation which the duke sent expressly to me. I refused +at first; but everybody here said that my doing so would +be so strange; and then they all wanted to know my reason. +When I came to render it, I did not know what reason I had +to give. The bishop is going, and he thought it very odd +that I should not go also, seeing that I was asked.</p> + +<p>I know what my own darling will think, and I know that she +will not be pleased, and I must put off my defence till I +return to her from this ogre-land,—if ever I do get back +alive. But joking apart, Fanny, I think that I should have +been wrong to stand out, when so much was said about it. I +should have been seeming to take upon myself to sit in +judgment upon the duke. I doubt if there be a single +clergyman in the diocese, under fifty years of age, who +would have refused the invitation under such +circumstances,—unless it be Crawley, who is so mad on the +subject that he thinks it almost wrong to take a walk out +of his own parish.</p> + +<p>I must stay at Gatherum Castle over Sunday week—indeed, +we only go there on Friday. I have written to Jones about +the duties. I can make it up to him, as I know he wishes +to go into Wales at Christmas. My wanderings will all be +over then, and he may go for a couple of months if he +pleases. I suppose you will take my classes in the school +on Sunday, as well as your own; but pray make them have a +good fire. If this is too much for you, make Mrs. Podgens +take the boys. Indeed I think that will be better.</p> + +<p>Of course you will tell her ladyship of my whereabouts. +Tell her from me, that as regards the bishop, as well as +regarding another great personage, the colour has been +laid on perhaps a little too thickly. Not that Lady Lufton +would ever like him. Make her understand that my going to +the duke’s has almost become a matter of conscience with +me. I have not known how to make it appear that it would +be right for me to refuse, without absolutely making a +party matter of it. I saw that it would be said, that I, +coming from Lady Lufton’s parish, could not go to the Duke +of Omnium’s. This I did not choose.</p> + +<p>I find that I shall want a little more money before I +leave here, five or ten pounds—say ten pounds. If you +cannot spare it, get it from Davis. He owes me more than +that, a good deal.</p> + +<p>And now, God bless and preserve you, my own love. Kiss my +darling bairns for papa, and give them my blessing.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Always and ever your own,</p> + +<p class="ind12">M. R.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>And then there was written, on an outside scrap which was folded +round the full-written sheet of paper, “Make it as smooth at Framley +Court as possible.”</p> + +<p>However strong, and reasonable, and unanswerable the body of Mark’s +letter may have been, all his hesitation, weakness, doubt, and fear, +were expressed in this short postscript.</p> + + +<p><a id="c5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER V.</h2></div> +<h3>AMANTIUM IRÆ AMORIS INTEGRATIO.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now, with my reader’s consent, I will follow the postman with +that letter to Framley; not by its own circuitous route indeed, or by +the same mode of conveyance; for that letter went into Barchester by +the Courcy night mail-cart, which, on its road, passes through the +villages of Uffley and Chaldicotes, reaching Barchester in time for +the up mail-train to London. By that train, the letter was sent +towards the metropolis as far as the junction of the Barset branch +line, but there it was turned in its course, and came down again by +the main line as far as Silverbridge; at which place, between six and +seven in the morning, it was shouldered by the Framley footpost +messenger, and in due course delivered at the Framley Parsonage +exactly as Mrs. Robarts had finished reading prayers to the four +servants. Or, I should say rather, that such would in its usual +course have been that letter’s destiny. As it was, however, it +reached Silverbridge on Sunday, and lay there till the Monday, as the +Framley people have declined their Sunday post. And then again, when +the letter was delivered at the parsonage, on that wet Monday +morning, Mrs. Robarts was not at home. As we are all aware, she was +staying with her ladyship at Framley Court.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but it’s mortial wet,” said the shivering postman as he handed +in that and the vicar’s newspaper. The vicar was a man of the world, +and took the <i>Jupiter</i>.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Robin postman, and warm theeself awhile,” said Jemima the +cook, pushing a stool a little to one side, but still well in front +of the big kitchen fire.</p> + +<p>“Well, I dudna jist know how it’ll be. The wery ’edges ’as eyes and +tells on me in Silverbridge, if I so much as stops to pick a +blackberry.”</p> + +<p>“There bain’t no hedges here, mon, nor yet no blackberries; so sit +thee down and warm theeself. That’s better nor blackberries I’m +thinking,” and she handed him a bowl of tea with a slice of buttered +toast.</p> + +<p>Robin postman took the proffered tea, put his dripping hat on the +ground, and thanked Jemima cook. “But I dudna jist know how it’ll +be,” said he; “only it do pour so tarnation heavy.” Which among us, O +my readers, could have withstood that temptation?</p> + +<p>Such was the circuitous course of Mark’s letter; but as it left +Chaldicotes on Saturday evening, and reached Mrs. Robarts on the +following morning, or would have done, but for that intervening +Sunday, doing all its peregrinations during the night, it may be held +that its course of transport was not inconveniently arranged. We, +however, will travel by a much shorter route.</p> + +<p>Robin, in the course of his daily travels, passed, first the +post-office at Framley, then the Framley Court back entrance, and +then the vicar’s house, so that on this wet morning Jemima cook was +not able to make use of his services in transporting this letter back +to her mistress; for Robin had got another village before him, +expectant of its letters.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t thee leave it, mon, with Mr. Applejohn at the Court?” Mr. +Applejohn was the butler who took the letter-bag. “Thee know’st as +how missus was there.”</p> + +<p>And then Robin, mindful of the tea and toast, explained to her +courteously how the law made it imperative on him to bring the letter +to the very house that was indicated, let the owner of the letter be +where she might; and he laid down the law very satisfactorily with +sundry long-worded quotations. Not to much effect, however, for the +housemaid called him an oaf; and Robin would decidedly have had the +worst of it had not the gardener come in and taken his part. “They +women knows nothin’, and understands nothin’,” said the gardener. +“Give us hold of the letter. I’ll take it up to the house. It’s the +master’s fist.” And then Robin postman went on one way, and the +gardener, he went the other. The gardener never disliked an excuse +for going up to the Court gardens, even on so wet a day as this.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts was sitting over the drawing-room fire with Lady +Meredith, when her husband’s letter was brought to her. The Framley +Court letter-bag had been discussed at breakfast; but that was now +nearly an hour since, and Lady Lufton, as was her wont, was away in +her own room writing her own letters, and looking after her own +matters: for Lady Lufton was a person who dealt in figures herself, +and understood business almost as well as Harold Smith. And on that +morning she also had received a letter which had displeased her not a +little. Whence arose this displeasure neither Mrs. Robarts nor Lady +Meredith knew; but her ladyship’s brow had grown black at breakfast +time; she had bundled up an ominous-looking epistle into her bag +without speaking of it, and had left the room immediately that +breakfast was over.</p> + +<p>“There’s something wrong,” said Sir George.</p> + +<p>“Mamma does fret herself so much about Ludovic’s money matters,” said +Lady Meredith. Ludovic was Lord Lufton,—Ludovic Lufton, Baron Lufton +of Lufton, in the county of Oxfordshire.</p> + +<p>“And yet I don’t think Lufton gets much astray,” said Sir George, as +he sauntered out of the room. “Well, Justy; we’ll put off going then +till to-morrow; but remember, it must be the first train.” Lady +Meredith said she would remember, and then they went into the +drawing-room, and there Mrs. Robarts received her letter.</p> + +<p>Fanny, when she read it, hardly at first realized to herself the idea +that her husband, the clergyman of Framley, the family clerical +friend of Lady Lufton’s establishment, was going to stay with the +Duke of Omnium. It was so thoroughly understood at Framley Court that +the duke and all belonging to him was noxious and damnable. He was a +Whig, he was a bachelor, he was a gambler, he was immoral in every +way, he was a man of no church principle, a corrupter of youth, a +sworn foe of young wives, a swallower up of small men’s patrimonies; +a man whom mothers feared for their sons, and sisters for their +brothers; and worse again, whom fathers had cause to fear for their +daughters, and brothers for their sisters;—a man who, with his +belongings, dwelt, and must dwell, poles asunder from Lady Lufton and +her belongings!</p> + +<p>And it must be remembered that all these evil things were fully +believed by Mrs. Robarts. Could it really be that her husband was +going to dwell in the halls of Apollyon, to shelter himself beneath +the wings of this very Lucifer? A cloud of sorrow settled upon her +face, and then she read the letter again very slowly, not omitting +the tell-tale postscript.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Justinia!” at last she said.</p> + +<p>“What, have you got bad news, too?”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know how to tell you what has occurred. There; I suppose +you had better read it;” and she handed her husband’s epistle to Lady +Meredith,—keeping back, however, the postscript.</p> + +<p>“What on earth will her ladyship say now?” said Lady Meredith, as she +folded the paper, and replaced it in the envelope.</p> + +<p>“What had I better do, Justinia? how had I better tell her?” And then +the two ladies put their heads together, bethinking themselves how +they might best deprecate the wrath of Lady Lufton. It had been +arranged that Mrs. Robarts should go back to the parsonage after +lunch, and she had persisted in her intention after it had been +settled that the Merediths were to stay over that evening. Lady +Meredith now advised her friend to carry out this determination +without saying anything about her husband’s terrible iniquities, and +then to send the letter up to Lady Lufton as soon as she reached the +parsonage. “Mamma will never know that you received it here,” said +Lady Meredith.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Robarts would not consent to this. Such a course seemed to +her to be cowardly. She knew that her husband was doing wrong; she +felt that he knew it himself; but still it was necessary that she +should defend him. However terrible might be the storm, it must break +upon her own head. So she at once went up and tapped at Lady Lufton’s +private door; and as she did so Lady Meredith followed her.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” said Lady Lufton, and the voice did not sound soft and +pleasant. When they entered, they found her sitting at her little +writing table, with her head resting on her arm, and that letter +which she had received that morning was lying open on the table +before her. Indeed there were two letters now there, one from a +London lawyer to herself, and the other from her son to that London +lawyer. It needs only be explained that the subject of those letters +was the immediate sale of that outlying portion of the Lufton +property in Oxfordshire, as to which Mr. Sowerby once spoke. Lord +Lufton had told the lawyer that the thing must be done at once, +adding that his friend Robarts would have explained the whole affair +to his mother. And then the lawyer had written to Lady Lufton, as +indeed was necessary; but unfortunately Lady Lufton had not hitherto +heard a word of the matter.</p> + +<p>In her eyes the sale of family property was horrible; the fact that a +young man with some fifteen or twenty thousand a year should require +subsidiary money was horrible; that her own son should have not +written to her himself was horrible; and it was also horrible that +her own pet, the clergyman whom she had brought there to be her son’s +friend, should be mixed up in the matter,—should be cognizant of it +while she was not cognizant,—should be employed in it as a +go-between and agent in her son’s bad courses. It was all horrible, +and Lady Lufton was sitting there with a black brow and an uneasy +heart. As regarded our poor parson, we may say that in this matter he +was blameless, except that he had hitherto lacked the courage to +execute his friend’s commission.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Fanny?” said Lady Lufton as soon as the door was opened; +“I should have been down in half-an-hour, if you wanted me, +Justinia.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny has received a letter which makes her wish to speak to you at +once,” said Lady Meredith. “What letter, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>Poor Fanny’s heart was in her mouth; she held it in her hand, but had +not yet quite made up her mind whether she would show it bodily to +Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“From Mr. Robarts,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well; I suppose he is going to stay another week at Chaldicotes. For +my part I should be as well pleased;” and Lady Lufton’s voice was not +friendly, for she was thinking of that farm in Oxfordshire. The +imprudence of the young is very sore to the prudence of their elders. +No woman could be less covetous, less grasping than Lady Lufton; but +the sale of a portion of the old family property was to her as the +loss of her own heart’s blood.</p> + +<p>“Here is the letter, Lady Lufton; perhaps you had better read it;” +and Fanny handed it to her, again keeping back the postscript. She +had read and re-read the letter downstairs, but could not make out +whether her husband had intended her to show it. From the line of the +argument she thought that he must have done so. At any rate he said +for himself more than she could say for him, and so, probably, it was +best that her ladyship should see it.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton took it, and read it, and her face grew blacker and +blacker. Her mind was set against the writer before she began it, and +every word in it tended to make her feel more estranged from him. +“Oh, he is going to the palace, is he?—well; he must choose his own +friends. Harold Smith one of his party! It’s a pity, my dear, he did +not see Miss Proudie before he met you, he might have lived to be the +bishop’s chaplain. Gatherum Castle! You don’t mean to tell me that he +is going there? Then I tell you fairly, Fanny, that I have done with +him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lady Lufton, don’t say that,” said Mrs. Robarts, with tears in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Mamma, mamma, don’t speak in that way,” said Lady Meredith.</p> + +<p>“But my dear, what am I to say? I must speak in that way. You would +not wish me to speak falsehoods, would you? A man must choose for +himself, but he can’t live with two different sets of people; at +least, not if I belong to one and the Duke of Omnium to the other. +The bishop going indeed! If there be anything that I hate it is +hypocrisy.”</p> + +<p>“There is no hypocrisy in that, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“But I say there is, Fanny. Very strange, indeed! ‘Put off his +defence!’ Why should a man need any defence to his wife if he acts in +a straightforward way? His own language condemns him: ‘Wrong to stand +out!’ Now, will either of you tell me that Mr. Robarts would really +have thought it wrong to refuse that invitation? I say that that is +hypocrisy. There is no other word for it.”</p> + +<p>By this time the poor wife, who had been in tears, was wiping them +away and preparing for action. Lady Lufton’s extreme severity gave +her courage. She knew that it behoved her to fight for her husband +when he was thus attacked. Had Lady Lufton been moderate in her +remarks Mrs. Robarts would not have had a word to say.</p> + +<p>“My husband may have been ill-judged,” she said, “but he is no +hypocrite.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, my dear, I dare say you know better than I; but to me it +looks extremely like hypocrisy: eh, Justinia?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mamma, do be moderate.”</p> + +<p>“Moderate! That’s all very well. How is one to moderate one’s +feelings when one has been betrayed?”</p> + +<p>“You do not mean that Mr. Robarts has betrayed you?” said the wife.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; of course not.” And then she went on reading the letter: +“‘Seem to have been standing in judgment upon the duke.’ Might he not +use the same argument as to going into any house in the kingdom, +however infamous? We must all stand in judgment one upon another in +that sense. ‘Crawley!’ Yes; if he were a little more like Mr. Crawley +it would be a good thing for me, and for the parish, and for you too, +my dear. God forgive me for bringing him here; that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton, I must say that you are very hard upon him—very hard. +I did not expect it from such a friend.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, you ought to know me well enough to be sure that I shall +speak my mind. ‘Written to Jones’—yes; it is easy enough to write to +poor Jones. He had better write to Jones, and bid him do the whole +duty. Then he can go and be the duke’s domestic chaplain.”</p> + +<p>“I believe my husband does as much of his own duty as any clergyman +in the whole diocese,” said Mrs. Robarts, now again in tears.</p> + +<p>“And you are to take his work in the school; you and Mrs. Podgens. +What with his curate and his wife and Mrs. Podgens, I don’t see why +he should come back at all.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mamma,” said Justinia, “pray, pray don’t be so harsh to her.”</p> + +<p>“Let me finish it, my dear;—oh, here I come. ‘Tell her ladyship my +whereabouts.’ He little thought you’d show me this letter.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he?” said Mrs. Robarts, putting out her hand to get it back, +but in vain. “I thought it was for the best; I did indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I had better finish it now, if you please. What is this? How does he +dare send his ribald jokes to me in such a matter? No, I do not +suppose I ever shall like Dr. Proudie; I have never expected it. A +matter of conscience with him! Well—well, well. Had I not read it +myself, I could not have believed it of him. I would not positively +have believed it. ‘Coming from my parish he could not go to the Duke +of Omnium!’ And it is what I would wish to have said. People fit for +this parish should not be fit for the Duke of Omnium’s house. And I +had trusted that he would have this feeling more strongly than any +one else in it. I have been deceived—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“He has done nothing to deceive you, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he will not have deceived you, my dear. ‘More money;’ yes, it +is probable that he will want more money. There is your letter, +Fanny. I am very sorry for it. I can say nothing more.” And she +folded up the letter and gave it back to Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“I thought it right to show it you,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“It did not much matter whether you did or no; of course I must have +been told.”</p> + +<p>“He especially begs me to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes; he could not very well have kept me in the dark in such a +matter. He could not neglect his own work, and go and live with +gamblers and adulterers at the Duke of Omnium’s without my knowing +it.”</p> + +<p>And now Fanny Robarts’s cup was full, full to the overflowing. When +she heard these words she forgot all about Lady Lufton, all about +Lady Meredith, and remembered only her husband,—that he was her +husband, and, in spite of his faults, a good and loving husband;—and +that other fact also she remembered, that she was his wife.</p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton,” she said, “you forget yourself in speaking in that way +of my husband.”</p> + +<p>“What!” said her ladyship; “you are to show me such a letter as that, +and I am not to tell you what I think?”</p> + +<p>“Not if you think such hard things as that. Even you are not +justified in speaking to me in that way, and I will not hear it.”</p> + +<p>“Heighty-tighty!” said her ladyship.</p> + +<p>“Whether or no he is right in going to the Duke of Omnium’s, I will +not pretend to judge. He is the judge of his own actions, and neither +you nor I.”</p> + +<p>“And when he leaves you with the butcher’s bill unpaid and no money +to buy shoes for the children, who will be the judge then?”</p> + +<p>“Not you, Lady Lufton. If such bad days should ever come—and neither +you nor I have a right to expect them—I will not come to you in my +troubles; not after this.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, my dear. You may go to the Duke of Omnium if that suits +you better.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny, come away,” said Lady Meredith. “Why should you try to anger +my mother?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to anger her; but I won’t hear him abused in that way +without speaking up for him. If I don’t defend him, who will? Lady +Lufton has said terrible things about him; and they are not true.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Fanny!” said Justinia.</p> + +<p>“Very well, very well!” said Lady Lufton. “This is the sort of return +that one gets.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by return, Lady Lufton: but would you +wish me to stand by quietly and hear such things said of my husband? +He does not live with such people as you have named. He does not +neglect his duties. If every clergyman were as much in his parish, it +would be well for some of them. And in going to such a house as the +Duke of Omnium’s it does make a difference that he goes there in +company with the bishop. I can’t explain why, but I know that it +does.”</p> + +<p>“Especially when the bishop is coupled up with the devil, as Mr. +Robarts has done,” said Lady Lufton; “he can join the duke with them +and then they’ll stand for the three Graces, won’t they, Justinia?” +And Lady Lufton laughed a bitter little laugh at her own wit.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I may go now, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, certainly, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry if I have made you angry with me; but I will not allow +any one to speak against Mr. Robarts without answering them. You have +been very unjust to him; and even though I do anger you, I must say +so.”</p> + +<p>“Come, Fanny; this is too bad,” said Lady Lufton. “You have been +scolding me for the last half-hour because I would not congratulate +you on this new friend that your husband has made, and now you are +going to begin it all over again. That is more than I can stand. If +you have nothing else particular to say, you might as well leave me.” +And Lady Lufton’s face as she spoke was unbending, severe, and harsh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts had never before been so spoken to by her old friend; +indeed she had never been so spoken to by any one, and she hardly +knew how to bear herself.</p> + +<p>“Very well, Lady Lufton,” she said; “then I will go. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” said Lady Lufton, and turning herself to her table she +began to arrange her papers. Fanny had never before left Framley +Court to go back to her own parsonage without a warm embrace. Now she +was to do so without even having her hand taken. Had it come to this, +that there was absolutely to be a quarrel between them,—a quarrel +for ever?</p> + +<p>“Fanny is going, you know, mamma,” said Lady Meredith. “She will be +home before you are down again.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot help it, my dear. Fanny must do as she pleases. I am not to +be the judge of her actions. She has just told me so.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts had said nothing of the kind, but she was far too proud +to point this out. So with a gentle step she retreated through the +door, and then Lady Meredith, having tried what a conciliatory +whisper with her mother would do, followed her. Alas, the +conciliatory whisper was altogether ineffectual!</p> + +<p>The two ladies said nothing as they descended the stairs, but when +they had regained the drawing-room they looked with blank horror into +each other’s faces. What were they to do now? Of such a tragedy as +this they had had no remotest preconception. Was it absolutely the +case that Fanny Robarts was to walk out of Lady Lufton’s house as a +declared enemy,—she who, before her marriage as well as since, had +been almost treated as an adopted daughter of the family?</p> + +<p>“Oh, Fanny, why did you answer my mother in that way?” said Lady +Meredith. “You saw that she was vexed. She had other things to vex +her besides this about Mr. Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“And would not you answer any one who attacked Sir George?”</p> + +<p>“No, not my own mother. I would let her say what she pleased, and +leave Sir George to fight his own battles.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but it is different with you. You are her daughter, and Sir +George—she would not dare to speak in that way as to Sir George’s +doings.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed she would, if it pleased her. I am sorry I let you go up to +her.”</p> + +<p>“It is as well that it should be over, Justinia. As those are her +thoughts about Mr. Robarts, it is quite as well that we should know +them. Even for all that I owe to her, and all the love I bear to you, +I will not come to this house if I am to hear my husband abused;—not +into any house.”</p> + +<p>“My dearest Fanny, we all know what happens when two angry people get +together.”</p> + +<p>“I was not angry when I went up to her; not in the least.”</p> + +<p>“It is no good looking back. What are we to do now, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I had better go home,” said Mrs. Robarts. “I will go and +put my things up, and then I will send James for them.”</p> + +<p>“Wait till after lunch, and then you will be able to kiss my mother +before you leave us.”</p> + +<p>“No, Justinia; I cannot wait. I must answer Mr. Robarts by this post, +and I must think what I have to say to him. I could not write that +letter here, and the post goes at four.” And Mrs. Robarts got up from +her chair, preparatory to her final departure.</p> + +<p>“I shall come to you before dinner,” said Lady Meredith; “and if I +can bring you good tidings, I shall expect you to come back here with +me. It is out of the question that I should go away from Framley +leaving you and my mother at enmity with each other.”</p> + +<p>To this Mrs. Robarts made no answer; and in a very few minutes +afterwards she was in her own nursery, kissing her children, and +teaching the elder one to say something about papa. But, even as she +taught him, the tears stood in her eyes, and the little fellow knew +that everything was not right.</p> + +<p>And there she sat till about two, doing little odds and ends of +things for the children, and allowing that occupation to stand as an +excuse to her for not commencing her letter. But then there remained +only two hours to her, and it might be that the letter would be +difficult in the writing—would require thought and changes, and must +needs be copied, perhaps more than once. As to the money, that she +had in the house—as much, at least, as Mark now wanted, though the +sending of it would leave her nearly penniless. She could, however, +in case of personal need, resort to Davis as desired by him.</p> + +<p>So she got out her desk in the drawing-room and sat down and wrote +her letter. It was difficult, though she found that it hardly took so +long as she expected. It was difficult, for she felt bound to tell +him the truth; and yet she was anxious not to spoil all his pleasure +among his friends. She told him, however, that Lady Lufton was very +angry, “unreasonably angry, I must say,” she put in, in order to show +that she had not sided against him. “And indeed we have quite +quarrelled, and this has made me unhappy, as it will you, dearest; I +know that. But we both know how good she is at heart, and Justinia +thinks that she had other things to trouble her; and I hope it will +all be made up before you come home; only, dearest Mark, pray do not +be longer than you said in your last letter.” And then there were +three or four paragraphs about the babies and two about the schools, +which I may as well omit.</p> + +<p>She had just finished her letter, and was carefully folding it for +its envelope, with the two whole five-pound notes imprudently placed +within it, when she heard a footstep on the gravel path which led up +from a small wicket to the front-door. The path ran near the +drawing-room window, and she was just in time to catch a glimpse of +the last fold of a passing cloak. “It is Justinia,” she said to +herself; and her heart became disturbed at the idea of again +discussing the morning’s adventure. “What am I to do,” she had said +to herself before, “if she wants me to beg her pardon? I will not own +before her that he is in the wrong.”</p> + +<p>And then the door opened—for the visitor made her entrance without +the aid of any servant—and Lady Lufton herself stood before her. +“Fanny,” she said at once, “I have come to beg your pardon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lady Lufton!”</p> + +<p>“I was very much harassed when you came to me just now;—by more +things than one, my dear. But, nevertheless, I should not have spoken +to you of your husband as I did, and so I have come to beg your +pardon.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts was past answering by the time that this was said,—past +answering at least in words; so she jumped up and, with her eyes full +of tears, threw herself into her old friend’s arms. “Oh, Lady +Lufton!” she sobbed forth again.</p> + +<p>“You will forgive me, won’t you?” said her ladyship, as she returned +her young friend’s caress. “Well, that’s right. I have not been at +all happy since you left my den this morning, and I don’t suppose you +have. But, Fanny, dearest, we love each other too well and know each +other too thoroughly, to have a long quarrel, don’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Of course we do. Friends are not to be picked up on the road-side +every day; nor are they to be thrown away lightly. And now sit down, +my love, and let us have a little talk. There, I must take my bonnet +off. You have pulled the strings so that you have almost choked me.” +And Lady Lufton deposited her bonnet on the table and seated herself +comfortably in the corner of the sofa.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said, “there is no duty which any woman owes to any +other human being at all equal to that which she owes to her husband, +and, therefore, you were quite right to stand up for Mr. Robarts this +morning.”</p> + +<p>Upon this Mrs. Robarts said nothing, but she got her hand within that +of her ladyship and gave it a slight squeeze.</p> + +<p>“And I loved you for what you were doing all the time. I did, my +dear; though you were a little fierce, you know. Even Justinia admits +that, and she has been at me ever since you went away. And indeed, I +did not know that it was in you to look in that way out of those +pretty eyes of yours.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lady Lufton!”</p> + +<p>“But I looked fierce enough too myself, I dare say; so we’ll say +nothing more about that; will we? But now, about this good man of +yours?”</p> + +<p>“Dear Lady Lufton, you must forgive him.”</p> + +<p>“Well: as you ask me, I will. We’ll have nothing more said about the +duke, either now or when he comes back; not a word. Let me see—he’s +to be back;—when is it?”</p> + +<p>“Wednesday week, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Wednesday. Well, tell him to come and dine up at the house on +Wednesday. He’ll be in time, I suppose, and there shan’t be a word +said about this horrid duke.”</p> + +<p>“I am so much obliged to you, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“But look here, my dear; believe me, he’s better off without such +friends.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know he is; much better off.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m glad you admit that, for I thought you seemed to be in +favour of the duke.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, then. And now, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll use +your influence, as a good, dear sweet wife as you are, to prevent his +going there any more. I’m an old woman and he is a young man, and +it’s very natural that he should think me behind the times. I’m not +angry at that. But he’ll find that it’s better for him, better for +him in every way, to stick to his old friends. It will be better for +his peace of mind, better for his character as a clergyman, better +for his pocket, better for his children and for you,—and better for +his eternal welfare. The duke is not such a companion as he should +seek;—nor if he is sought, should he allow himself to be led away.”</p> + +<p>And then Lady Lufton ceased, and Fanny Robarts kneeling at her feet +sobbed, with her face hidden on her friend’s knees. She had not a +word now to say as to her husband’s capability of judging for +himself.</p> + +<p>“And now I must be going again; but Justinia has made me +promise,—promise, mind you, most solemnly, that I would have you +back to dinner to-night,—by force if necessary. It was the only way +I could make my peace with her; so you must not leave me in the +lurch.” Of course, Fanny said that she would go and dine at Framley +Court.</p> + +<p>“And you must not send that letter, by any means,” said her ladyship +as she was leaving the room, poking with her umbrella at the epistle, +which lay directed on Mrs. Robarts’s desk. “I can understand very +well what it contains. You must alter it altogether, my dear.” And +then Lady Lufton went.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts instantly rushed to her desk and tore open her letter. +She looked at her watch and it was past four. She had hardly begun +another when the postman came. “Oh, Mary,” she said, “do make him +wait. If he’ll wait a quarter of an hour I’ll give him a shilling.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no need of that, ma’am. Let him have a glass of beer.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Mary; but don’t give him too much, for fear he should +drop the letters about. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>And in five minutes she had scrawled a very different sort of a +letter. But he might want the money immediately, so she would not +delay it for a day.</p> + + +<p><a id="c6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2></div> +<h3>MR. HAROLD SMITH’S LECTURE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>On the whole the party at Chaldicotes was very pleasant, and the time +passed away quickly enough. Mr. Robarts’s chief friend there, +independently of Mr. Sowerby, was Miss Dunstable, who seemed to take +a great fancy to him, whereas she was not very accessible to the +blandishments of Mr. Supplehouse, nor more specially courteous even +to her host than good manners required of her. But then Mr. +Supplehouse and Mr. Sowerby were both bachelors, while Mark Robarts +was a married man.</p> + +<p>With Mr. Sowerby Robarts had more than one communication respecting +Lord Lufton and his affairs, which he would willingly have avoided +had it been possible. Sowerby was one of those men who are always +mixing up business with pleasure, and who have usually some scheme in +their mind which requires forwarding. Men of this class have, as a +rule, no daily work, no regular routine of labour; but it may be +doubted whether they do not toil much more incessantly than those who +have.</p> + +<p>“Lufton is so dilatory,” Mr. Sowerby said. “Why did he not arrange +this at once, when he promised it? And then he is so afraid of that +old woman at Framley Court. Well, my dear fellow, say what you will; +she is an old woman and she’ll never be younger. But do write to +Lufton and tell him that this delay is inconvenient to me; he’ll do +anything for you, I know.”</p> + +<p>Mark said that he would write, and, indeed, did do so; but he did not +at first like the tone of the conversation into which he was dragged. +It was very painful to him to hear Lady Lufton called an old woman, +and hardly less so to discuss the propriety of Lord Lufton’s parting +with his property. This was irksome to him, till habit made it easy. +But by degrees his feelings became less acute, and he accustomed +himself to his friend Sowerby’s mode of talking.</p> + +<p>And then on the Saturday afternoon they all went over to Barchester. +Harold Smith during the last forty-eight hours had become crammed to +overflowing with Sarawak, Labuan, New Guinea, and the Salomon +Islands. As is the case with all men labouring under temporary +specialities, he for the time had faith in nothing else, and was not +content that any one near him should have any other faith. They +called him Viscount Papua and Baron Borneo; and his wife, who headed +the joke against him, insisted on having her title. Miss Dunstable +swore that she would wed none but a South Sea islander; and to Mark +was offered the income and duties of Bishop of Spices. Nor did the +Proudie family set themselves against these little sarcastic quips +with any overwhelming severity. It is sweet to unbend oneself at the +proper opportunity, and this was the proper opportunity for Mrs. +Proudie’s unbending. No mortal can be seriously wise at all hours; +and in these happy hours did that usually wise mortal, the bishop, +lay aside for awhile his serious wisdom.</p> + +<p>“We think of dining at five to-morrow, my Lady Papua,” said the +facetious bishop; “will that suit his lordship and the affairs of +State? he! he! he!” And the good prelate laughed at the fun.</p> + +<p>How pleasantly young men and women of fifty or thereabouts can joke +and flirt and poke their fun about, laughing and holding their sides, +dealing in little innuendoes and rejoicing in nicknames when they +have no Mentors of twenty-five or thirty near them to keep them in +order. The vicar of Framley might perhaps have been regarded as such +a Mentor, were it not for that capability of adapting himself to the +company immediately around him on which he so much piqued himself. He +therefore also talked to my Lady Papua, and was jocose about the +Baron,—not altogether to the satisfaction of Mr. Harold Smith +himself.</p> + +<p>For Mr. Harold Smith was in earnest and did not quite relish these +jocundities. He had an idea that he could in about three months talk +the British world into civilizing New Guinea, and that the world of +Barsetshire would be made to go with him by one night’s efforts. He +did not understand why others should be less serious, and was +inclined to resent somewhat stiffly the amenities of our friend Mark.</p> + +<p>“We must not keep the Baron waiting,” said Mark, as they were +preparing to start for Barchester.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by the Baron, sir,” said Harold Smith. +“But perhaps the joke will be against you, when you are getting up +into your pulpit to-morrow and sending the hat round among the +clodhoppers of Chaldicotes.”</p> + +<p>“Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones; eh, Baron?” +said Miss Dunstable. “Mr. Robarts’s sermon will be too near akin to +your lecture to allow of his laughing.”</p> + +<p>“If we can do nothing towards instructing the outer world till it’s +done by the parsons,” said Harold Smith, “the outer world will have +to wait a long time, I fear.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody can do anything of that kind short of a member of Parliament +and a would-be minister,” whispered Mrs. Harold.</p> + +<p>And so they were all very pleasant together, in spite of a little +fencing with edge-tools; and at three o’clock the <i>cortége</i> of +carriages started for Barchester, that of the bishop, of course, +leading the way. His lordship, however, was not in it.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie, I’m sure you’ll let me go with you,” said Miss +Dunstable, at the last moment, as she came down the big stone steps. +“I want to hear the rest of that story about Mr. Slope.”</p> + +<p>Now this upset everything. The bishop was to have gone with his wife, +Mrs. Smith, and Mark Robarts; and Mr. Sowerby had so arranged matters +that he could have accompanied Miss Dunstable in his phaeton. But no +one ever dreamed of denying Miss Dunstable anything. Of course Mark +gave way; but it ended in the bishop declaring that he had no special +predilection for his own carriage, which he did in compliance with a +glance from his wife’s eye. Then other changes of course followed, +and, at last, Mr. Sowerby and Harold Smith were the joint occupants +of the phaeton.</p> + +<p>The poor lecturer, as he seated himself, made some remark such as +those he had been making for the last two days—for out of a full +heart the mouth speaketh. But he spoke to an impatient listener. +<span class="nowrap">“D——</span> the +South Sea islanders,” said Mr. Sowerby. “You’ll have it +all your own way in a few minutes, like a bull in a china-shop; but +for Heaven’s sake let us have a little peace till that time comes.” +It appeared that Mr. Sowerby’s little plan of having Miss Dunstable +for his companion was not quite insignificant; and, indeed, it may be +said that but few of his little plans were so. At the present moment +he flung himself back in the carriage and prepared for sleep. He +could further no plan of his by a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> conversation with his +brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Proudie began her story about Mr. Slope, or rather +recommenced it. She was very fond of talking about this gentleman, +who had once been her pet chaplain but was now her bitterest foe; and +in telling the story, she had sometimes to whisper to Miss Dunstable, +for there were one or two fie-fie little anecdotes about a married +lady, not altogether fit for young Mr. Robarts’s ears. But Mrs. +Harold Smith insisted on having them out loud, and Miss Dunstable +would gratify that lady in spite of Mrs. Proudie’s winks.</p> + +<p>“What, kissing her hand, and he a clergyman!” said Miss Dunstable. “I +did not think they ever did such things, Mr. Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“Still waters run deepest,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“Hush-h-h,” looked, rather than spoke, Mrs. Proudie. “The grief of +spirit which that bad man caused me nearly broke my heart, and all +the while, you know, he was +<span class="nowrap">courting—”</span> and then Mrs. Proudie +whispered a name.</p> + +<p>“What, the dean’s wife!” shouted Miss Dunstable, in a voice which +made the coachman of the next carriage give a chuck to his horses as +he overheard her.</p> + +<p>“The archdeacon’s sister-in-law!” screamed Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“What might he not have attempted next?” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“She wasn’t the dean’s wife then, you know,” said Mrs. Proudie, +explaining.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ve a gay set in the chapter, I must say,” said Miss +Dunstable. “You ought to make one of them in Barchester, Mr. +Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“Only perhaps Mrs. Robarts might not like it,” said Mrs. Harold +Smith.</p> + +<p>“And then the schemes which he tried on with the bishop!” said Mrs. +Proudie.</p> + +<p>“It’s all fair in love and war, you know,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“But he little knew whom he had to deal with when he began that,” +said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“The bishop was too many for him,” suggested Mrs. Harold Smith, very +maliciously.</p> + +<p>“If the bishop was not, somebody else was; and he was obliged to +leave Barchester in utter disgrace. He has since married the wife of +some tallow-chandler.”</p> + +<p>“The wife!” said Miss Dunstable. “What a man!”</p> + +<p>“Widow, I mean; but it’s all one to him.”</p> + +<p>“The gentleman was clearly born when Venus was in the ascendant,” +said Mrs. Smith. “You clergymen usually are, I believe, Mr. Robarts.” +So that Mrs. Proudie’s carriage was by no means the dullest as they +drove into Barchester that day; and by degrees our friend Mark became +accustomed to his companions, and before they reached the palace he +acknowledged to himself that Miss Dunstable was very good fun.</p> + +<p>We cannot linger over the bishop’s dinner, though it was very good of +its kind; and as Mr. Sowerby contrived to sit next to Miss Dunstable, +thereby overturning a little scheme made by Mr. Supplehouse, he again +shone forth in unclouded good humour. But Mr. Harold Smith became +impatient immediately on the withdrawal of the cloth. The lecture was +to begin at seven, and according to his watch that hour had already +come. He declared that Sowerby and Supplehouse were endeavouring to +delay matters in order that the Barchesterians might become vexed and +impatient; and so the bishop was not allowed to exercise his +hospitality in true episcopal fashion.</p> + +<p>“You forget, Sowerby,” said Supplehouse, “that the world here for the +last fortnight has been looking forward to nothing else.”</p> + +<p>“The world shall be gratified at once,” said Mrs. Harold, obeying a +little nod from Mrs. Proudie. “Come, my dear,” and she took hold of +Miss Dunstable’s arm, “don’t let us keep Barchester waiting. We shall +be ready in a quarter-of-an-hour, shall we not, Mrs. Proudie?” and so +they sailed off.</p> + +<p>“And we shall have time for one glass of claret,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“There; that’s seven by the cathedral,” said Harold Smith, jumping up +from his chair as he heard the clock. “If the people have come it +would not be right in me to keep them waiting, and I shall go.”</p> + +<p>“Just one glass of claret, Mr. Smith, and we’ll be off,” said the +bishop.</p> + +<p>“Those women will keep me an hour,” said Harold, filling his glass, +and drinking it standing. “They do it on purpose.” He was thinking of +his wife, but it seemed to the bishop as though his guest were +actually speaking of Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>It was rather late when they all found themselves in the big room of +the Mechanics’ Institute; but I do not know whether this on the whole +did them any harm. Most of Mr. Smith’s hearers, excepting the party +from the palace, were Barchester tradesmen with their wives and +families; and they waited, not impatiently, for the big people. And +then the lecture was gratis, a fact which is always borne in mind by +an Englishman when he comes to reckon up and calculate the way in +which he is treated. When he pays his money, then he takes his +choice; he may be impatient or not as he likes. His sense of justice +teaches him so much, and in accordance with that sense he usually +acts.</p> + +<p>So the people on the benches rose graciously when the palace party +entered the room. Seats for them had been kept in the front. There +were three arm-chairs, which were filled, after some little +hesitation, by the bishop, Mrs. Proudie, and Miss Dunstable—Mrs. +Smith positively declining to take one of them; though, as she +admitted, her rank as Lady Papua of the islands did give her some +claim. And this remark, as it was made quite out loud, reached Mr. +Smith’s ears as he stood behind a little table on a small raised +dais, holding his white kid gloves; and it annoyed him and rather put +him out. He did not like that joke about Lady Papua.</p> + +<p>And then the others of the party sat upon a front bench covered with +red cloth. “We shall find this very hard and very narrow about the +second hour,” said Mr. Sowerby, and Mr. Smith on his dais again +overheard the words, and dashed his gloves down to the table. He felt +that all the room would hear it.</p> + +<p>And there were one or two gentlemen on the second seat who shook +hands with some of our party. There was Mr. Thorne of Ullathorne, a +good-natured old bachelor, whose residence was near enough to +Barchester to allow of his coming in without much personal +inconvenience; and next to him was Mr. Harding, an old clergyman of +the chapter, with whom Mrs. Proudie shook hands very graciously, +making way for him to seat himself close behind her if he would so +please. But Mr. Harding did not so please. Having paid his respects +to the bishop he returned quietly to the side of his old friend Mr. +Thorne, thereby angering Mrs. Proudie, as might easily be seen by her +face. And Mr. Chadwick also was there, the episcopal man of business +for the diocese; but he also adhered to the two gentlemen above +named.</p> + +<p>And now that the bishop and the ladies had taken their places, Mr. +Harold Smith relifted his gloves and again laid them down, hummed +three times distinctly, and then began.</p> + +<p>“It was,” he said, “the most peculiar characteristic of the present +era in the British islands that those who were high placed before the +world in rank, wealth, and education were willing to come forward and +give their time and knowledge without fee or reward, for the +advantage and amelioration of those who did not stand so high in the +social scale.” And then he paused for a moment, during which Mrs. +Smith remarked to Miss Dunstable that that was pretty well for a +beginning; and Miss Dunstable replied, “that as for herself she felt +very grateful to rank, wealth, and education.” Mr. Sowerby winked to +Mr. Supplehouse, who opened his eyes very wide and shrugged his +shoulders. But the Barchesterians took it all in good part and gave +the lecturer the applause of their hands and feet.</p> + +<p>And then, well pleased, he recommenced—“I do not make these remarks +with reference to <span class="nowrap">myself—”</span></p> + +<p>“I hope he’s not going to be modest,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“It will be quite new if he is,” replied Mrs. Smith.</p> + +<p>“—so much as to many noble and talented lords and members of the +Lower House who have lately from time to time devoted themselves to +this good work.” And then he went through a long list of peers and +members of Parliament, beginning, of course, with Lord Boanerges, and +ending with Mr. Green Walker, a young gentleman who had lately been +returned by his uncle’s interest for the borough of Crewe Junction, +and had immediately made his entrance into public life by giving a +lecture on the grammarians of the Latin language as exemplified at +Eton school.</p> + +<p>“On the present occasion,” Mr. Smith continued, “our object is to +learn something as to those grand and magnificent islands which lie +far away, beyond the Indies, in the Southern Ocean; the lands of +which produce rich spices and glorious fruits, and whose seas are +imbedded with pearls and corals,—Papua and the Philippines, Borneo +and the Moluccas. My friends, you are familiar with your maps, and +you know the track which the equator makes for itself through those +distant oceans.” And then many heads were turned down, and there was +a rustle of leaves; for not a few of those “who stood not so high in +the social scale” had brought their maps with them, and refreshed +their memories as to the whereabouts of these wondrous islands.</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Smith also, with a map in his hand, and pointing +occasionally to another large map which hung against the wall, went +into the geography of the matter. “We might have found that out from +our atlases, I think, without coming all the way to Barchester,” said +that unsympathizing helpmate, Mrs. Harold, very cruelly—most +illogically too, for there be so many things which we could find out +ourselves by search, but which we never do find out unless they be +specially told us; and why should not the latitude and longitude of +Labuan be one—or rather two of these things?</p> + +<p>And then, when he had duly marked the path of the line through +Borneo, Celebes, and Gilolo, through the Macassar strait and the +Molucca passage, Mr. Harold Smith rose to a higher flight. “But +what,” said he, “avails all that God can give to man, unless man will +open his hand to receive the gift? And what is this opening of the +hand but the process of civilization—yes, my friends, the process of +civilization? These South Sea islanders have all that a kind +Providence can bestow on them; but that all is as nothing without +education. That education and that civilization it is for you to +bestow upon them—yes, my friends, for you; for you, citizens of +Barchester as you are.” And then he paused again, in order that the +feet and hands might go to work. The feet and hands did go to work, +during which Mr. Smith took a slight drink of water.</p> + +<p>He was now quite in his element and had got into the proper way of +punching the table with his fists. A few words dropping from Mr. +Sowerby did now and again find their way to his ears, but the sound +of his own voice had brought with it the accustomed charm, and he ran +on from platitude to truism, and from truism back to platitude, with +an eloquence that was charming to himself.</p> + +<p>“Civilization,” he exclaimed, lifting up his eyes and hands to the +ceiling. “Oh, <span class="nowrap">civilization—”</span></p> + +<p>“There will not be a chance for us now for the next hour and a half,” +said Mr. Supplehouse, groaning.</p> + +<p>Harold Smith cast one eye down at him, but it immediately flew back +to the ceiling.</p> + +<p>“Oh, civilization! thou that ennoblest mankind and makest him equal +to the gods, what is like unto thee?” Here Mrs. Proudie showed +evident signs of disapprobation, which no doubt would have been +shared by the bishop, had not that worthy prelate been asleep. But +Mr. Smith continued unobservant; or, at any rate, regardless.</p> + +<p>“What is like unto thee? Thou art the irrigating stream which makest +fertile the barren plain. Till thou comest all is dark and dreary; +but at thy advent the noontide sun shines out, the earth gives forth +her increase; the deep bowels of the rocks render up their tribute. +Forms which were dull and hideous become endowed with grace and +beauty, and vegetable existence rises to the scale of celestial life. +Then, too, Genius appears clad in a panoply of translucent armour, +grasping in his hand the whole terrestrial surface, and making every +rood of earth subservient to his purposes;—Genius, the child of +civilization, the mother of the Arts!”</p> + +<p>The last little bit, taken from the Pedigree of Progress, had a great +success, and all Barchester went to work with its hands and +feet;—all Barchester, except that ill-natured aristocratic front-row +together with the three arm-chairs at the corner of it. The +aristocratic front-row felt itself to be too intimate with +civilization to care much about it; and the three arm-chairs, or +rather that special one which contained Mrs. Proudie, considered that +there was a certain heathenness, a pagan sentimentality almost +amounting to infidelity, contained in the lecturer’s remarks, with +which she, a pillar of the Church, could not put up, seated as she +was now in public conclave.</p> + +<p>“It is to civilization that we must look,” continued Mr. Harold +Smith, descending from poetry to prose as a lecturer well knows how, +and thereby showing the value of both—“for any material progress in +these islands; <span class="nowrap">and—”</span></p> + +<p>“And to Christianity,” shouted Mrs. Proudie, to the great amazement +of the assembled people and to the thorough wakening of the bishop, +who, jumping up in his chair at the sound of the well-known voice, +exclaimed, “Certainly, certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear, hear,” said those on the benches who particularly +belonged to Mrs. Proudie’s school of divinity in the city, and among +the voices was distinctly heard that of a new verger in whose behalf +she had greatly interested herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Christianity of course,” said Harold Smith, upon whom the +interruption did not seem to operate favourably.</p> + +<p>“Christianity and Sabbath-day observance,” exclaimed Mrs. Proudie, +who, now that she had obtained the ear of the public, seemed well +inclined to keep it. “Let us never forget that these islanders can +never prosper unless they keep the Sabbath holy.”</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Smith, having been so rudely dragged from his high horse, +was never able to mount it again, and completed the lecture in a +manner not at all comfortable to himself. He had there, on the table +before him, a huge bundle of statistics with which he had meant to +convince the reason of his hearers after he had taken full possession +of their feelings. But they fell very dull and flat. And at the +moment when he was interrupted he was about to explain that that +material progress to which he had alluded could not be attained +without money; and that it behoved them, the people of Barchester +before him, to come forward with their purses like men and brothers. +He did also attempt this; but from the moment of that fatal onslaught +from the arm-chair, it was clear to him and to every one else, that +Mrs. Proudie was now the hero of the hour. His time had gone by, and +the people of Barchester did not care a straw for his appeal.</p> + +<p>From these causes the lecture was over full twenty minutes earlier +than any one had expected, to the great delight of Messrs. Sowerby +and Supplehouse, who, on that evening, moved and carried a vote of +thanks to Mrs. Proudie. For they had gay doings yet before they went +to their beds.</p> + +<p>“Robarts, here one moment,” Mr. Sowerby said, as they were standing +at the door of the Mechanics’ Institute. “Don’t you go off with Mr. +and Mrs. Bishop. We are going to have a little supper at the Dragon +of Wantly, and after what we have gone through upon my word we want +it. You can tell one of the palace servants to let you in.”</p> + +<p>Mark considered the proposal wistfully. He would fain have joined the +supper-party had he dared; but he, like many others of his cloth, had +the fear of Mrs. Proudie before his eyes.</p> + +<p>And a very merry supper they had; but poor Mr. Harold Smith was not +the merriest of the party.</p> + + +<p><a id="c7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2></div> +<h3>SUNDAY MORNING.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It was, perhaps, quite as well on the whole for Mark Robarts, that he +did not go to that supper party. It was eleven o’clock before they +sat down, and nearly two before the gentlemen were in bed. It must be +remembered that he had to preach, on the coming Sunday morning, a +charity sermon on behalf of a mission to Mr. Harold Smith’s +islanders; and, to tell the truth, it was a task for which he had now +very little inclination.</p> + +<p>When first invited to do this, he had regarded the task seriously +enough, as he always did regard such work, and he completed his +sermon for the occasion before he left Framley; but, since that, an +air of ridicule had been thrown over the whole affair, in which he +had joined without much thinking of his own sermon, and this made him +now heartily wish that he could choose a discourse upon any other +subject.</p> + +<p>He knew well that the very points on which he had most insisted, were +those which had drawn most mirth from Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Smith, +and had oftenest provoked his own laughter; and how was he now to +preach on those matters in a fitting mood, knowing, as he would know, +that those two ladies would be looking at him, would endeavour to +catch his eye, and would turn him into ridicule as they had already +turned the lecturer?</p> + +<p>In this he did injustice to one of the ladies, unconsciously. Miss +Dunstable, with all her aptitude for mirth, and we may almost fairly +say for frolic, was in no way inclined to ridicule religion or +anything which she thought to appertain to it. It may be presumed +that among such things she did not include Mrs. Proudie, as she was +willing enough to laugh at that lady; but Mark, had he known her +better, might have been sure that she would have sat out his sermon +with perfect propriety.</p> + +<p>As it was, however, he did feel considerable uneasiness; and in the +morning he got up early with the view of seeing what might be done in +the way of emendation. He cut out those parts which referred most +specially to the islands,—he rejected altogether those names over +which they had all laughed together so heartily,—and he inserted a +string of general remarks, very useful, no doubt, which he flattered +himself would rob his sermon of all similarity to Harold Smith’s +lecture. He had, perhaps, hoped, when writing it, to create some +little sensation; but now he would be quite satisfied if it passed +without remark.</p> + +<p>But his troubles for that Sunday were destined to be many. It had +been arranged that the party at the hotel should breakfast at eight, +and start at half-past eight punctually, so as to enable them to +reach Chaldicotes in ample time to arrange their dresses before they +went to church. The church stood in the grounds, close to that long +formal avenue of lime-trees, but within the front gates. Their walk, +therefore, after reaching Mr. Sowerby’s house, would not be long.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie, who was herself an early body, would not hear of her +guest—and he a clergyman—going out to the inn for his breakfast on +a Sunday morning. As regarded that Sabbath-day journey to +Chaldicotes, to that she had given her assent, no doubt with much +uneasiness of mind; but let them have as little desecration as +possible. It was, therefore, an understood thing that he was to +return with his friends; but he should not go without the advantage +of family prayers and family breakfast. And so Mrs. Proudie on +retiring to rest gave the necessary orders, to the great annoyance of +her household.</p> + +<p>To the great annoyance, at least, of her servants! The bishop himself +did not make his appearance till a much later hour. He in all things +now supported his wife’s rule; in all things, now, I say; for there +had been a moment, when in the first flush and pride of his +episcopacy other ideas had filled his mind. Now, however, he gave no +opposition to that good woman with whom Providence had blessed him; +and in return for such conduct that good woman administered in all +things to his little personal comforts. With what surprise did the +bishop now look back upon that unholy war which he had once been +tempted to wage against the wife of his bosom?</p> + +<p>Nor did any of the Miss Proudies show themselves at that early hour. +They, perhaps, were absent on a different ground. With them Mrs. +Proudie had not been so successful as with the bishop. They had wills +of their own which became stronger and stronger every day. Of the +three with whom Mrs. Proudie was blessed one was already in a +position to exercise that will in a legitimate way over a very +excellent young clergyman in the diocese, the Rev. Optimus Grey; but +the other two, having as yet no such opening for their powers of +command, were perhaps a little too much inclined to keep themselves +in practice at home.</p> + +<p>But at half-past seven punctually Mrs. Proudie was there, and so was +the domestic chaplain; so was Mr. Robarts, and so were the household +servants,—all excepting one lazy recreant. “Where is Thomas?” said +she of the Argus eyes, standing up with her book of family prayers in +her hand. “So please you, ma’am, Tummas be bad with the tooth-ache.” +“Tooth-ache!” exclaimed Mrs. Proudie; but her eyes said more terrible +things than that. “Let Thomas come to me before church.” And then +they proceeded to prayers. These were read by the chaplain, as it was +proper and decent that they should be; but I cannot but think that +Mrs. Proudie a little exceeded her office in taking upon herself to +pronounce the blessing when the prayers were over. She did it, +however, in a clear, sonorous voice, and perhaps with more personal +dignity than was within the chaplain’s compass.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was rather stern at breakfast, and the vicar of Framley +felt an unaccountable desire to get out of the house. In the first +place she was not dressed with her usual punctilious attention to the +proprieties of her high situation. It was evident that there was to +be a further toilet before she sailed up the middle of the cathedral +choir. She had on a large loose cap with no other strings than those +which were wanted for tying it beneath her chin, a cap with which the +household and the chaplain were well acquainted, but which seemed +ungracious in the eyes of Mr. Robarts after all the well-dressed +holiday doings of the last week. She wore also a large, loose, +dark-coloured wrapper, which came well up round her neck, and which +was not buoyed out, as were her dresses in general, with an under +mechanism of petticoats. It clung to her closely, and added to the +inflexibility of her general appearance. And then she had encased her +feet in large carpet slippers, which no doubt were comfortable, but +which struck her visitor as being strange and unsightly.</p> + +<p>“Do you find a difficulty in getting your people together for early +morning prayers?” she said, as she commenced her operations with the +teapot.</p> + +<p>“I can’t say that I do,” said Mark. “But then we are seldom so early +as this.”</p> + +<p>“Parish clergymen should be early, I think,” said she. “It sets a +good example in the village.”</p> + +<p>“I am thinking of having morning prayers in the church,” said Mr. +Robarts.</p> + +<p>“That’s nonsense,” said Mrs. Proudie, “and usually means worse than +nonsense. I know what that comes to. If you have three services on +Sunday and domestic prayers at home, you do very well.” And so saying +she handed him his cup.</p> + +<p>“But I have not three services on Sunday, Mrs. Proudie.”</p> + +<p>“Then I think you should have. Where can the poor people be so well +off on Sundays as in church? The bishop intends to express a very +strong opinion on this subject in his next charge; and then I am sure +you will attend to his wishes.”</p> + +<p>To this Mark made no answer, but devoted himself to his egg.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you have not a very large establishment at Framley?” asked +Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“What, at the parsonage?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you live at the parsonage, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly—well; not very large, Mrs. Proudie; just enough to do the +work, make things comfortable, and look after the children.”</p> + +<p>“It is a very fine living,” said she; “very fine. I don’t remember +that we have anything so good ourselves,—except it is Plumstead, the +archdeacon’s place. He has managed to butter his bread pretty well.”</p> + +<p>“His father was Bishop of Barchester.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I know all about him. Only for that he would barely have +risen to be an archdeacon, I suspect. Let me see; yours is £800, is +it not, Mr. Robarts? And you such a young man! I suppose you have +insured your life highly.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty well, Mrs. Proudie.”</p> + +<p>“And then, too, your wife had some little fortune, had she not? We +cannot all fall on our feet like that; can we, Mr. White?” and Mrs. +Proudie in her playful way appealed to the chaplain.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was an imperious woman; but then so also was Lady +Lufton; and it may therefore be said that Mr. Robarts ought to have +been accustomed to feminine domination; but as he sat there munching +his toast he could not but make a comparison between the two. Lady +Lufton in her little attempts sometimes angered him; but he certainly +thought, comparing the lay lady and the clerical together, that the +rule of the former was the lighter and the pleasanter. But then Lady +Lufton had given him a living and a wife, and Mrs. Proudie had given +him nothing.</p> + +<p>Immediately after breakfast Mr. Robarts escaped to the Dragon of +Wantly, partly because he had had enough of the matutinal Mrs. +Proudie, and partly also in order that he might hurry his friends +there. He was already becoming fidgety about the time, as Harold +Smith had been on the preceding evening, and he did not give Mrs. +Smith credit for much punctuality. When he arrived at the inn he +asked if they had done breakfast, and was immediately told that not +one of them was yet down. It was already half-past eight, and they +ought to be now under way on the road.</p> + +<p>He immediately went to Mr. Sowerby’s room, and found that gentleman +shaving himself. “Don’t be a bit uneasy,” said Mr. Sowerby. “You and +Smith shall have my phaeton, and those horses will take you there in +an hour. Not, however, but what we shall all be in time. We’ll send +round to the whole party and ferret them out.” And then Mr. Sowerby, +having evoked manifold aid with various peals of the bell, sent +messengers, male and female, flying to all the different rooms.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll hire a gig and go over at once,” said Mark. “It would +not do for me to be late, you know.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t do for any of us to be late; and it’s all nonsense about +hiring a gig. It would be just throwing a sovereign away, and we +should pass you on the road. Go down and see that the tea is made, +and all that; and make them have the bill ready; and, Robarts, you +may pay it too, if you like it. But I believe we may as well leave +that to Baron Borneo—eh?”</p> + +<p>And then Mark did go down and make the tea, and he did order the +bill; and then he walked about the room, looking at his watch, and +nervously waiting for the footsteps of his friends. And as he was so +employed, he bethought himself whether it was fit that he should be +so doing on a Sunday morning; whether it was good that he should be +waiting there, in painful anxiety, to gallop over a dozen miles in +order that he might not be too late with his sermon; whether his own +snug room at home, with Fanny opposite to him, and his bairns +crawling on the floor, with his own preparations for his own quiet +service, and the warm pressure of Lady Lufton’s hand when that +service should be over, was not better than all this.</p> + +<p>He could not afford not to know Harold Smith, and Mr. Sowerby, and +the Duke of Omnium, he had said to himself. He had to look to rise in +the world, as other men did. But what pleasure had come to him as yet +from these intimacies? How much had he hitherto done towards his +rising? To speak the truth he was not over well pleased with himself, +as he made Mrs. Harold Smith’s tea and ordered Mr. Sowerby’s +mutton-chops on that Sunday morning.</p> + +<p>At a little after nine they all assembled; but even then he could not +make the ladies understand that there was any cause for hurry; at +least Mrs. Smith, who was the leader of the party, would not +understand it. When Mark again talked of hiring a gig, Miss Dunstable +indeed said that she would join him; and seemed to be so far earnest +in the matter that Mr. Sowerby hurried through his second egg in +order to prevent such a catastrophe. And then Mark absolutely did +order the gig; whereupon Mrs. Smith remarked that in such case she +need not hurry herself; but the waiter brought up word that all the +horses of the hotel were out, excepting one pair, neither of which +could go in single harness. Indeed, half of their stable +establishment was already secured by Mr. Sowerby’s own party.</p> + +<p>“Then let me have the pair,” said Mark, almost frantic with delay.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Robarts; we are ready now. He won’t want them, James. +Come, Supplehouse, have you done?”</p> + +<p>“Then I am to hurry myself, am I?” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “What +changeable creatures you men are! May I be allowed half a cup more +tea, Mr. Robarts?”</p> + +<p>Mark, who was now really angry, turned away to the window. There was +no charity in these people, he said to himself. They knew the nature +of his distress, and yet they only laughed at him. He did not, +perhaps, reflect that he had assisted in the joke against Harold +Smith on the previous evening.</p> + +<p>“James,” said he, turning to the waiter, “let me have that pair of +horses immediately, if you please.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; round in fifteen minutes, sir: only Ned, sir, the +post-boy, sir; I fear he’s at his breakfast, sir; but we’ll have him +here in less than no time, sir!”</p> + +<p>But before Ned and the pair were there, Mrs. Smith had absolutely got +her bonnet on, and at ten they started. Mark did share the phaeton +with Harold Smith, but the phaeton did not go any faster than the +other carriages. They led the way, indeed, but that was all; and when +the vicar’s watch told him that it was eleven, they were still a mile +from Chaldicotes’ gate, although the horses were in a lather of +steam; and they had only just entered the village when the church +bells ceased to be heard.</p> + +<p>“Come, you are in time, after all,” said Harold Smith. “Better time +than I was last night.” Robarts could not explain to him that the +entry of a clergyman into church, of a clergyman who is going to +assist in the service, should not be made at the last minute, that it +should be staid and decorous, and not done in scrambling haste, with +running feet and scant breath.</p> + +<p>“I suppose we’ll stop here, sir,” said the postilion, as he pulled up +his horses short at the church-door, in the midst of the people who +were congregated together ready for the service. But Mark had not +anticipated being so late, and said at first that it was necessary +that he should go on to the house; then, when the horses had again +begun to move, he remembered that he could send for his gown, and as +he got out of the carriage he gave his orders accordingly. And now +the other two carriages were there, and so there was a noise and +confusion at the door—very unseemly, as Mark felt it; and the +gentlemen spoke in loud voices, and Mrs. Harold Smith declared that +she had no prayer-book, and was much too tired to go in at +present;—she would go home and rest herself, she said. And two other +ladies of the party did so also, leaving Miss Dunstable to go +alone;—for which, however, she did not care one button. And then one +of the party, who had a nasty habit of swearing, cursed at something +as he walked in close to Mark’s elbow; and so they made their way up +the church as the absolution was being read, and Mark Robarts felt +thoroughly ashamed of himself. If his rising in the world brought him +in contact with such things as these, would it not be better for him +that he should do without rising?</p> + +<p>His sermon went off without any special notice. Mrs. Harold Smith was +not there, much to his satisfaction; and the others who were did not +seem to pay any special attention to it. The subject had lost its +novelty, except with the ordinary church congregation, the farmers +and labourers of the parish; and the “quality” in the squire’s great +pew were content to show their sympathy by a moderate subscription. +Miss Dunstable, however, gave a ten-pound note, which swelled up the +sum total to a respectable amount—for such a place as Chaldicotes.</p> + +<p>“And now I hope I may never hear another word about New Guinea,” said +Mr. Sowerby, as they all clustered round the drawing-room fire after +church. “That subject may be regarded as having been killed and +buried; eh, Harold?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly murdered last night,” said Mrs. Harold, “by that awful +woman, Mrs. Proudie.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder you did not make a dash at her and pull her out of the +arm-chair,” said Miss Dunstable. “I was expecting it, and thought +that I should come to grief in the scrimmage.”</p> + +<p>“I never knew a lady do such a brazen-faced thing before,” said Miss +Kerrigy, a travelling friend of Miss Dunstable’s.</p> + +<p>“Nor I—never; in a public place, too,” said Dr. Easyman, a medical +gentleman, who also often accompanied her.</p> + +<p>“As for brass,” said Mr. Supplehouse, “she would never stop at +anything for want of that. It is well that she has enough, for the +poor bishop is but badly provided.”</p> + +<p>“I hardly heard what it was she did say,” said Harold Smith; “so I +could not answer her, you know. Something about Sundays, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“She hoped you would not put the South Sea islanders up to Sabbath +travelling,” said Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“And specially begged that you would establish Lord’s-day schools,” +said Mrs. Smith; and then they all went to work and picked Mrs. +Proudie to pieces from the top ribbon of her cap down to the sole of +her slipper.</p> + +<p>“And then she expects the poor parsons to fall in love with her +daughters. That’s the hardest thing of all,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>But, on the whole, when our vicar went to bed he did not feel that he +had spent a profitable Sunday.</p> + + +<p><a id="c8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2></div> +<h3>GATHERUM CASTLE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>On the Tuesday morning Mark did receive his wife’s letter and the +ten-pound note, whereby a strong proof was given of the honesty of +the post-office people in Barsetshire. That letter, written as it had +been in a hurry, while Robin post-boy was drinking a single mug of +beer,—well, what of it if it was half filled a second time?—was +nevertheless eloquent of his wife’s love and of her great +triumph.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I have only half a moment +to send you the money [she +said], for the postman is here waiting. When I see you +I’ll explain why I am so hurried. Let me know that you get +it safe. It is all right now, and Lady Lufton was here not +a minute ago. She did not quite like it; about Gatherum +Castle I mean; but you’ll hear <span class="u">nothing about it</span>. Only +remember that <span class="u">you must dine</span> at Framley Court on +Wednesday week. <span class="u">I have promised +for you.</span> You will: won’t +you, dearest? I shall come and fetch you away if you +attempt to stay longer than you have said. But I’m sure +you won’t. God bless you, my own one! Mr. Jones gave us +the same sermon he preached the second Sunday after +Easter. Twice in the same year is too often. God bless +you! The children <span class="u">are quite well</span>. Mark sends a big +kiss.—Your own F.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Robarts, as he read this letter and crumpled the note up into his +pocket, felt that it was much more satisfactory than he deserved. He +knew that there must have been a fight, and that his wife, fighting +loyally on his behalf, had got the best of it; and he knew also that +her victory had not been owing to the goodness of her cause. He +frequently declared to himself that he would not be afraid of Lady +Lufton; but nevertheless these tidings that no reproaches were to be +made to him afforded him great relief.</p> + +<p>On the following Friday they all went to the duke’s, and found that +the bishop and Mrs. Proudie were there before them; as were also +sundry other people, mostly of some note, either in the estimation of +the world at large or of that of West Barsetshire. Lord Boanerges was +there, an old man who would have his own way in everything, and who +was regarded by all men—apparently even by the duke himself—as an +intellectual king, by no means of the constitutional kind,—as an +intellectual emperor, rather, who took upon himself to rule all +questions of mind without the assistance of any ministers whatever. +And Baron Brawl was of the party, one of her Majesty’s puisne judges, +as jovial a guest as ever entered a country house; but given to be +rather sharp withal in his jovialities. And there was Mr. Green +Walker, a young but rising man, the same who lectured not long since +on a popular subject to his constituents at the Crewe Junction. Mr. +Green Walker was a nephew of the Marchioness of Hartletop, and the +Marchioness of Hartletop was a friend of the Duke of Omnium’s. Mr. +Mark Robarts was certainly elated when he ascertained who composed +the company of which he had been so earnestly pressed to make a +portion. Would it have been wise in him to forego this on account of +the prejudices of Lady Lufton?</p> + +<p>As the guests were so many and so great, the huge front portals of +Gatherum Castle were thrown open, and the vast hall, adorned with +trophies—with marble busts from Italy and armour from Wardour +Street,—was thronged with gentlemen and ladies, and gave forth +unwonted echoes to many a footstep. His grace himself, when Mark +arrived there with Sowerby and Miss Dunstable—for in this instance +Miss Dunstable did travel in the phaeton while Mark occupied a seat +in the dicky—his grace himself was at this moment in the +drawing-room, and nothing could exceed his urbanity.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Dunstable,” he said, taking that lady by the hand, and +leading her up to the fire, “now I feel for the first time that +Gatherum Castle has not been built for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody ever supposed it was, your grace,” said Miss Dunstable. “I am +sure the architect did not think so when his bill was paid.” And Miss +Dunstable put her toes up on the fender to warm them with as much +self-possession as though her father had been a duke also, instead of +a quack doctor.</p> + +<p>“We have given the strictest orders about the parrot,” said the +<span class="nowrap">duke—</span></p> + +<p>“Ah! but I have not brought him after all,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>—“and I have had an aviary built on purpose,—just such as parrots +are used to in their own country. Well, Miss Dunstable, I do call +that unkind. Is it too late to send for him?”</p> + +<p>“He and Dr. Easyman are travelling together. The truth was, I could +not rob the doctor of his companion.”</p> + +<p>“Why? I have had another aviary built for him. I declare, Miss +Dunstable, the honour you are doing me is shorn of half its glory. +But the poodle—I still trust in the poodle.”</p> + +<p>“And your grace’s trust shall not in that respect be in vain. Where +is he, I wonder?” And Miss Dunstable looked round as though she +expected that somebody would certainly have brought her dog in after +her. “I declare I must go and look for him,—only think if they were +to put him among your grace’s dogs,—how his morals would be +destroyed!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Dunstable, is that intended to be personal?” But the lady had +turned away from the fire, and the duke was able to welcome his other +guests.</p> + +<p>This he did with much courtesy. “Sowerby,” he said, “I am glad to +find that you have survived the lecture. I can assure you I had fears +for you.”</p> + +<p>“I was brought back to life after considerable delay by the +administration of tonics at the Dragon of Wantly. Will your grace +allow me to present to you Mr. Robarts, who on that occasion was not +so fortunate. It was found necessary to carry him off to the palace, +where he was obliged to undergo very vigorous treatment.”</p> + +<p>And then the duke shook hands with Mr. Robarts, assuring him that he +was most happy to make his acquaintance. He had often heard of him +since he came into the county; and then he asked after Lord Lufton, +regretting that he had been unable to induce his lordship to come to +Gatherum Castle.</p> + +<p>“But you had a diversion at the lecture, I am told,” continued the +duke. “There was a second performer, was there not, who almost +eclipsed poor Harold Smith?” And then Mr. Sowerby gave an amusing +sketch of the little Proudie episode.</p> + +<p>“It has, of course, ruined your brother-in-law for ever as a +lecturer,” said the duke, laughing.</p> + +<p>“If so, we shall feel ourselves under the deepest obligations to Mrs. +Proudie,” said Mr. Sowerby. And then Harold Smith himself came up and +received the duke’s sincere and hearty congratulations on the success +of his enterprise at Barchester.</p> + +<p>Mark Robarts had now turned away, and his attention was suddenly +arrested by the loud voice of Miss Dunstable, who had stumbled across +some very dear friends in her passage through the rooms, and who by +no means hid from the public her delight upon the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Well—well—well!” she exclaimed, and then she seized upon a very +quiet-looking, well-dressed, attractive young woman who was walking +towards her, in company with a gentleman. The gentleman and lady, as +it turned out, were husband and wife. “Well—well—well! I hardly +hoped for this.” And then she took hold of the lady and kissed her +enthusiastically, and after that grasped both the gentleman’s hands, +shaking them stoutly.</p> + +<p>“And what a deal I shall have to say to you!” she went on. “You’ll +upset all my other plans. But, Mary, my dear, how long are you going +to stay here? I go—let me see—I forget when, but it’s all put down +in a book upstairs. But the next stage is at Mrs. Proudie’s. I shan’t +meet you there, I suppose. And now, Frank, how’s the governor?”</p> + +<p>The gentleman called Frank declared that the governor was all +right—“mad about the hounds, of course, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, that’s better than the hounds being mad about him, +like the poor gentleman they’ve put into a statue. But talking of +hounds, Frank, how badly they manage their foxes at Chaldicotes! I +was out hunting all one +<span class="nowrap">day—”</span></p> + +<p>“You out hunting!” said the lady called Mary.</p> + +<p>“And why shouldn’t I go out hunting? I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Proudie +was out hunting, too. But they didn’t catch a single fox; and, if you +must have the truth, it seemed to me to be rather slow.”</p> + +<p>“You were in the wrong division of the county,” said the gentleman +called Frank.</p> + +<p>“Of course I was. When I really want to practise hunting I’ll go to +Greshamsbury; not a doubt about that.”</p> + +<p>“Or to Boxall Hill,” said the lady; “you’ll find quite as much zeal +there as at Greshamsbury.”</p> + +<p>“And more discretion, you should add,” said the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Miss Dunstable; “your discretion indeed! But +you have not told me a word about Lady Arabella.”</p> + +<p>“My mother is quite well,” said the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“And the doctor? By-the-by, my dear, I’ve had such a letter from the +doctor; only two days ago. I’ll show it you upstairs to-morrow. But +mind, it must be a positive secret. If he goes on in this way he’ll +get himself into the Tower, or Coventry, or a blue-book, or some +dreadful place.”</p> + +<p>“Why; what has he said?”</p> + +<p>“Never you mind, Master Frank: I don’t mean to show you the letter, +you may be sure of that. But if your wife will swear three times on a +poker and tongs that she won’t reveal, I’ll show it to her. And so +you are quite settled at Boxall Hill, are you?”</p> + +<p>“Frank’s horses are settled; and the dogs nearly so,” said Frank’s +wife; “but I can’t boast much of anything else yet.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there’s a good time coming. I must go and change my things +now. But, Mary, mind you get near me this evening; I have such a deal +to say to you.” And then Miss Dunstable marched out of the room.</p> + +<p>All this had been said in so loud a voice that it was, as a matter of +course, overheard by Mark Robarts—that part of the conversation of +course I mean which had come from Miss Dunstable. And then Mark +learned that this was young Frank Gresham of Boxall Hill, son of old +Mr. Gresham of Greshamsbury. Frank had lately married a great +heiress; a greater heiress, men said, even than Miss Dunstable; and +as the marriage was hardly as yet more than six months old the +Barsetshire world was still full of it.</p> + +<p>“The two heiresses seem to be very loving, don’t they?” said Mr. +Supplehouse. “Birds of a feather flock together, you know. But they +did say some little time ago that young Gresham was to have married +Miss Dunstable himself.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Dunstable! why she might almost be his mother,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“That makes but little difference. He was obliged to marry money, and +I believe there is no doubt that he did at one time propose to Miss +Dunstable.”</p> + +<p>“I have had a letter from Lufton,” Mr. Sowerby said to him the next +morning. “He declares that the delay was all your fault. You were to +have told Lady Lufton before he did anything, and he was waiting to +write about it till he heard from you. It seems that you never said a +word to her ladyship on the subject.”</p> + +<p>“I never did, certainly. My commission from Lufton was to break the +matter to her when I found her in a proper humour for receiving it. +If you knew Lady Lufton as well as I do, you would know that it is +not every day that she would be in a humour for such tidings.”</p> + +<p>“And so I was to be kept waiting indefinitely because you two between +you were afraid of an old woman! However I have not a word to say +against her, and the matter is settled now.”</p> + +<p>“Has the farm been sold?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it. The dowager could not bring her mind to suffer such +profanation for the Lufton acres, and so she sold five thousand +pounds out of the funds and sent the money to Lufton as a +present;—sent it to him without saying a word, only hoping that it +would suffice for his wants. I wish I had a mother, I know.”</p> + +<p>Mark found it impossible at the moment to make any remark upon what +had been told him, but he felt a sudden qualm of conscience and a +wish that he was at Framley instead of at Gatherum Castle at the +present moment. He knew a good deal respecting Lady Lufton’s income +and the manner in which it was spent. It was very handsome for a +single lady, but then she lived in a free and open-handed style; her +charities were noble; there was no reason why she should save money, +and her annual income was usually spent within the year. Mark knew +this, and he knew also that nothing short of an impossibility to +maintain them would induce her to lessen her charities. She had now +given away a portion of her principal to save the property of her +son—her son, who was so much more opulent than herself,—upon whose +means, too, the world made fewer effectual claims.</p> + +<p>And Mark knew, too, something of the purpose for which this money had +gone. There had been unsettled gambling claims between Sowerby and +Lord Lufton, originating in affairs of the turf. It had now been +going on for four years, almost from the period when Lord Lufton had +become of age. He had before now spoken to Robarts on the matter with +much bitter anger, alleging that Mr. Sowerby was treating him +unfairly, nay, dishonestly—that he was claiming money that was not +due to him; and then he declared more than once that he would bring +the matter before the Jockey Club. But Mark, knowing that Lord Lufton +was not clear-sighted in these matters, and believing it to be +impossible that Mr. Sowerby should actually endeavour to defraud his +friend, had smoothed down the young lord’s anger, and recommended him +to get the case referred to some private arbiter. All this had +afterwards been discussed between Robarts and Mr. Sowerby himself, +and hence had originated their intimacy. The matter was so referred, +Mr. Sowerby naming the referee; and Lord Lufton, when the matter was +given against him, took it easily. His anger was over by that time. +“I’ve been clean done among them,” he said to Mark, laughing; “but it +does not signify; a man must pay for his experience. Of course, +Sowerby thinks it all right; I am bound to suppose so.” And then +there had been some further delay as to the amount, and part of the +money had been paid to a third person, and a bill had been given, and +heaven and the Jews only know how much money Lord Lufton had paid in +all; and now it was ended by his handing over to some wretched +villain of a money-dealer, on behalf of Mr. Sowerby, the enormous sum +of five thousand pounds, which had been deducted from the means of +his mother, Lady Lufton!</p> + +<p>Mark, as he thought of all this, could not but feel a certain +animosity against Mr. Sowerby—could not but suspect that he was a +bad man. Nay, must he not have known that he was very bad? And yet he +continued walking with him through the duke’s grounds, still talking +about Lord Lufton’s affairs, and still listening with interest to +what Sowerby told him of his own.</p> + +<p>“No man was ever robbed as I have been,” said he. “But I shall win +through yet, in spite of them all. But those Jews, Mark”—he had +become very intimate with him in these latter days—“whatever you do, +keep clear of them. Why, I could paper a room with their signatures; +and yet I never had a claim upon one of them, though they always have +claims on me!”</p> + +<p>I have said above that this affair of Lord Lufton’s was ended; but it +now appeared to Mark that it was not <i>quite</i> ended. “Tell Lufton, you +know,” said Sowerby, “that every bit of paper with his name has been +taken up, except what that ruffian Tozer has. Tozer may have one +bill, I believe,—something that was not given up when it was +renewed. But I’ll make my lawyer Gumption get that up. It may cost +ten pounds or twenty pounds, not more. You’ll remember that when you +see Lufton, will you?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll see Lufton in all probability before I shall.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s going to Framley Court at once; you’ll +find him there when you return.”</p> + +<p>“Find him at Framley!”</p> + +<p>“Yes; this little <i>cadeau</i> from his mother has touched his filial +heart. He is rushing home to Framley to pay back the dowager’s hard +moidores in soft caresses. I wish I had a mother; I know that.”</p> + +<p>And Mark still felt that he feared Mr. Sowerby, but he could not make +up his mind to break away from him.</p> + +<p>And there was much talk of politics just then at the castle. Not that +the duke joined in it with any enthusiasm. He was a Whig—a huge +mountain of a colossal Whig—all the world knew that. No opponent +would have dreamed of tampering with his whiggery, nor would any +brother Whig have dreamed of doubting it. But he was a Whig who gave +very little practical support to any set of men, and very little +practical opposition to any other set. He was above troubling himself +with such sublunar matters. At election time he supported, and always +carried, Whig candidates; and in return he had been appointed lord +lieutenant of the county by one Whig minister, and had received the +Garter from another. But these things were matters of course to a +Duke of Omnium. He was born to be a lord lieutenant and a knight of +the Garter.</p> + +<p>But not the less on account of his apathy, or rather quiescence, was +it thought that Gatherum Castle was a fitting place in which +politicians might express to each other their present hopes and +future aims, and concoct together little plots in a half-serious and +half-mocking way. Indeed it was hinted that Mr. Supplehouse and +Harold Smith, with one or two others, were at Gatherum for this +express purpose. Mr. Fothergill, too, was a noted politician, and was +supposed to know the duke’s mind well; and Mr. Green Walker, the +nephew of the marchioness, was a young man whom the duke desired to +have brought forward. Mr. Sowerby also was the duke’s own member, and +so the occasion suited well for the interchange of a few ideas.</p> + +<p>The then prime minister, angry as many men were with him, had not +been altogether unsuccessful. He had brought the Russian war to a +close, which, if not glorious, was at any rate much more so than +Englishmen at one time had ventured to hope. And he had had wonderful +luck in that Indian mutiny. It is true that many of those even who +voted with him would declare that this was in no way attributable to +him. Great men had risen in India and done all that. Even his +minister there, the governor whom he had sent out, was not allowed in +those days any credit for the success which was achieved under his +orders. There was great reason to doubt the man at the helm. But +nevertheless he had been lucky. There is no merit in a public man +like success!</p> + +<p>But now, when the evil days were well nigh over, came the question +whether he had not been too successful. When a man has nailed fortune +to his chariot-wheels he is apt to travel about in rather a proud +fashion. There are servants who think that their masters cannot do +without them; and the public also may occasionally have some such +servant. What if this too successful minister were one of them!</p> + +<p>And then a discreet, commonplace, zealous member of the Lower House +does not like to be jeered at, when he does his duty by his +constituents and asks a few questions. An all-successful minister who +cannot keep his triumph to himself, but must needs drive about in a +proud fashion, laughing at commonplace zealous members—laughing even +occasionally at members who are by no means commonplace, which is +outrageous!—may it not be as well to ostracize him for awhile?</p> + +<p>“Had we not better throw in our shells against him?” says Mr. Harold +Smith.</p> + +<p>“Let us throw in our shells, by all means,” says Mr. Supplehouse, +mindful as Juno of his despised charms. And when Mr. Supplehouse +declares himself an enemy, men know how much it means. They know that +that much-belaboured head of affairs must succumb to the terrible +blows which are now in store for him. “Yes, we will throw in our +shells.” And Mr. Supplehouse rises from his chair with gleaming eyes. +“Has not Greece as noble sons as him? ay, and much nobler, traitor +that he is. We must judge a man by his friends,” says Mr. +Supplehouse; and he points away to the East, where our dear allies +the French are supposed to live, and where our head of affairs is +supposed to have too close an intimacy.</p> + +<p>They all understand this, even Mr. Green Walker. “I don’t know that +he is any good to any of us at all, now,” says the talented member +for the Crewe Junction. “He’s a great deal too uppish to suit my +book; and I know a great many people that think so too. There’s my +<span class="nowrap">uncle—”</span></p> + +<p>“He’s the best fellow in the world,” said Mr. Fothergill, who felt, +perhaps, that that coming revelation about Mr. Green Walker’s uncle +might not be of use to them; “but the fact is one gets tired of the +same man always. One does not like partridge every day. As for me, I +have nothing to do with it myself; but I would certainly like to +change the dish.”</p> + +<p>“If we’re merely to do as we are bid, and have no voice of our own, I +don’t see what’s the good of going to the shop at all,” said Mr. +Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“Not the least use,” said Mr. Supplehouse. “We are false to our +constituents in submitting to such a dominion.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s have a change, then,” said Mr. Sowerby. “The matter’s pretty +much in our own hands.”</p> + +<p>“Altogether,” said Mr. Green Walker. “That’s what my uncle always +says.”</p> + +<p>“The Manchester men will only be too happy for the chance,” said +Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“And as for the high and dry gentlemen,” said Mr. Sowerby, “it’s not +very likely that they will object to pick up the fruit when we shake +the tree.”</p> + +<p>“As to picking up the fruit, that’s as may be,” said Mr. Supplehouse. +Was he not the man to save the nation; and if so, why should he not +pick up the fruit himself? Had not the greatest power in the country +pointed him out as such a saviour? What though the country at the +present moment needed no more saving, might there not, nevertheless, +be a good time coming? Were there not rumours of other wars still +prevalent—if indeed the actual war then going on was being brought +to a close without his assistance by some other species of salvation? +He thought of that country to which he had pointed, and of that +friend of his enemies, and remembered that there might be still work +for a mighty saviour. The public mind was now awake, and understood +what it was about. When a man gets into his head an idea that the +public voice calls for him, it is astonishing how great becomes his +trust in the wisdom of the public. <i>Vox populi vox Dei.</i> “Has it not +been so always?” he says to himself, as he gets up and as he goes to +bed. And then Mr. Supplehouse felt that he was the master mind there +at Gatherum Castle, and that those there were all puppets in his +hand. It is such a pleasant thing to feel that one’s friends are +puppets, and that the strings are in one’s own possession. But what +if Mr. Supplehouse himself were a puppet?</p> + +<p>Some months afterwards, when the much-belaboured head of affairs was +in very truth made to retire, when unkind shells were thrown in +against him in great numbers, when he exclaimed, “<i>Et tu, Brute!</i>” +till the words were stereotyped upon his lips, all men in all places +talked much about the great Gatherum Castle confederation. The Duke +of Omnium, the world said, had taken into his high consideration the +state of affairs, and seeing with his eagle’s eye that the welfare of +his countrymen at large required that some great step should be +initiated, he had at once summoned to his mansion many members of the +Lower House, and some also of the House of Lords,—mention was here +especially made of the all-venerable and all-wise Lord Boanerges; and +men went on to say that there, in deep conclave, he had made known to +them his views. It was thus agreed that the head of affairs, Whig as +he was, must fall. The country required it, and the duke did his +duty. This was the beginning, the world said, of that celebrated +confederation, by which the ministry was overturned, and—as the +<i>Goody Twoshoes</i> added,—the country saved. But the +<i>Jupiter</i> took all the credit to itself; and the <i>Jupiter</i> was +not far wrong. All +the credit was due to the <i>Jupiter</i>—in that, as +in everything else.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the Duke of Omnium entertained his guests in the +quiet princely style, but did not condescend to have much +conversation on politics either with Mr. Supplehouse or with Mr. +Harold Smith. And as for Lord Boanerges, he spent the morning on +which the above-described conversation took place in teaching Miss +Dunstable to blow soap-bubbles on scientific principles.</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear!” said Miss Dunstable, as sparks of knowledge came flying +in upon her mind. “I always thought that a soap-bubble was a +soap-bubble, and I never asked the reason why. One doesn’t, you know, +my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Miss Dunstable,” said the old lord, “one does; but nine +hundred and ninety-nine do not.”</p> + +<p>“And the nine hundred and ninety-nine have the best of it,” said Miss +Dunstable. “What pleasure can one have in a ghost after one has seen +the phosphorus rubbed on?”</p> + +<p>“Quite true, my dear lady. ‘If ignorance be bliss, ’tis folly to be +wise.’ It all lies in the ‘if.’”</p> + +<p>Then Miss Dunstable began to sing:—</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" ><tr><td> +“‘What tho’ I trace each herb and flower<br> + That sips the morning dew—’ +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">—you know the rest, my lord.”</p> + +<p>Lord Boanerges did know almost everything, but he did not know that; +and so Miss Dunstable went +<span class="nowrap">on:—</span></p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" ><tr><td> +“‘Did I not own Jehovah’s power<br> + How vain were all I knew.’” +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“Exactly, exactly, Miss Dunstable,” said his lordship; “but why not +own the power and trace the flower as well? perhaps one might help +the other.”</p> + +<p>Upon the whole I am afraid that Lord Boanerges got the best of it. +But then that is his line. He has been getting the best of it all his +life.</p> + +<p>It was observed by all that the duke was especially attentive to +young Mr. Frank Gresham, the gentleman on whom and on whose wife Miss +Dunstable had seized so vehemently. This Mr. Gresham was the richest +commoner in the county, and it was rumoured that at the next election +he would be one of the members for the East Riding. Now the duke had +little or nothing to do with the East Riding, and it was well known +that young Gresham would be brought forward as a strong conservative. +But, nevertheless, his acres were so extensive and his money so +plentiful that he was worth a duke’s notice. Mr. Sowerby also was +almost more than civil to him, as was natural, seeing that this very +young man by a mere scratch of his pen could turn a scrap of paper +into a bank-note of almost fabulous value.</p> + +<p>“So you have the East Barsetshire hounds at Boxall Hill; have you +not?” said the duke.</p> + +<p>“The hounds are there,” said Frank. “But I am not the master.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I understood—”</p> + +<p>“My father has them. But he finds Boxall Hill more centrical than +Greshamsbury. The dogs and horses have to go shorter distances.”</p> + +<p>“Boxall Hill is very centrical.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, exactly!”</p> + +<p>“And your young gorse coverts are doing well?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty well—gorse won’t thrive everywhere, I find. I wish it +would.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just what I say to Fothergill; and then where there’s much +woodland you can’t get the vermin to leave it.”</p> + +<p>“But we haven’t a tree at Boxall Hill,” said Mrs. Gresham.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes; you’re new there, certainly; you’ve enough of it at +Greshamsbury in all conscience. There’s a larger extent of wood there +than we have; isn’t there, Fothergill?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fothergill said that the Greshamsbury woods were very extensive, +but that, perhaps, he <span class="nowrap">thought—</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, ah! I know,” said the duke. “The Black Forest in its old days +was nothing to Gatherum woods, according to Fothergill. And then +again, nothing in East Barsetshire could be equal to anything in West +Barsetshire. Isn’t that it; eh, Fothergill?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fothergill professed that he had been brought up in that faith +and intended to die in it.</p> + +<p>“Your exotics at Boxall Hill are very fine, magnificent!” said Mr. +Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner have one full-grown oak standing in its pride alone,” +said young Gresham, rather grandiloquently, “than all the exotics in +the world.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll come in due time,” said the duke.</p> + +<p>“But the due time won’t be in my days. And so they’re going to cut +down Chaldicotes forest, are they, Mr. Sowerby?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I can’t tell you that. They are going to disforest it. I have +been ranger since I was twenty-two, and I don’t yet know whether that +means cutting down.”</p> + +<p>“Not only cutting down, but rooting up,” said Mr. Fothergill.</p> + +<p>“It’s a murderous shame,” said Frank Gresham; “and I will say one +thing, I don’t think any but a Whig government would do it.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed his grace. “At any rate I’m sure of this,” he +said, “that if a conservative government did do so, the Whigs would +be just as indignant as you are now.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what you ought to do, Mr. Gresham,” said Sowerby: “put +in an offer for the whole of the West Barsetshire crown property; +they will be very glad to sell it.”</p> + +<p>“And we should be delighted to welcome you on this side of the +border,” said the duke.</p> + +<p>Young Gresham did feel rather flattered. There were not many men in +the county to whom such an offer could be made without an absurdity. +It might be doubted whether the duke himself could purchase the Chace +of Chaldicotes with ready money; but that he, Gresham, could do +so—he and his wife between them—no man did doubt. And then Mr. +Gresham thought of a former day when he had once been at Gatherum +Castle. He had been poor enough then, and the duke had not treated +him in the most courteous manner in the world. How hard it is for a +rich man not to lean upon his riches! harder, indeed, than for a +camel to go through the eye of a needle.</p> + +<p>All Barsetshire knew—at any rate all West Barsetshire—that Miss +Dunstable had been brought down in those parts in order that Mr. +Sowerby might marry her. It was not surmised that Miss Dunstable +herself had had any previous notice of this arrangement, but it was +supposed that the thing would turn out as a matter of course. Mr. +Sowerby had no money, but then he was witty, clever, good-looking, +and a member of Parliament. He lived before the world, represented an +old family, and had an old place. How could Miss Dunstable possibly +do better? She was not so young now, and it was time that she should +look about her.</p> + +<p>The suggestion as regarded Mr. Sowerby was certainly true, and was +not the less so as regarded some of Mr. Sowerby’s friends. His +sister, Mrs. Harold Smith, had devoted herself to the work, and with +this view had run up a dear friendship with Miss Dunstable. The +bishop had intimated, nodding his head knowingly, that it would be a +very good thing. Mrs. Proudie had given in her adherence. Mr. +Supplehouse had been made to understand that it must be a case of +“Paws off” with him, as long as he remained in that part of the +world; and even the duke himself had desired Fothergill to manage it.</p> + +<p>“He owes me an enormous sum of money,” said the duke, who held all +Mr. Sowerby’s title-deeds, “and I doubt whether the security will be +sufficient.”</p> + +<p>“Your grace will find the security quite sufficient,” said Mr. +Fothergill; “but nevertheless it would be a good match.”</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said the duke. And then it became Mr. Fothergill’s duty +to see that Mr. Sowerby and Miss Dunstable became man and wife as +speedily as possible.</p> + +<p>Some of the party, who were more wide awake than others, declared +that he had made the offer; others, that he was just going to do so; +and one very knowing lady went so far at one time as to say that he +was making it at that moment. Bets also were laid as to the lady’s +answer, as to the terms of the settlement, and as to the period of +the marriage,—of all which poor Miss Dunstable of course knew +nothing.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby, in spite of the publicity of his proceedings, proceeded +in the matter very well. He said little about it to those who joked +with him, but carried on the fight with what best knowledge he had in +such matters. But so much it is given to us to declare with +certainty, that he had not proposed on the evening previous to the +morning fixed for the departure of Mark Robarts.</p> + +<p>During the last two days Mr. Sowerby’s intimacy with Mark had grown +warmer and warmer. He had talked to the vicar confidentially about +the doings of these bigwigs now present at the castle, as though +there were no other guest there with whom he could speak in so free a +manner. He confided, it seemed, much more in Mark than in his +brother-in-law, Harold Smith, or in any of his brother members of +Parliament, and had altogether opened his heart to him in this affair +of his anticipated marriage. Now Mr. Sowerby was a man of mark in the +world, and all this flattered our young clergyman not a little.</p> + +<p>On that evening before Robarts went away Sowerby asked him to come up +into his bedroom when the whole party was breaking up, and there got +him into an easy-chair while he, Sowerby, walked up and down the +room.</p> + +<p>“You can hardly tell, my dear fellow,” said he, “the state of nervous +anxiety in which this puts me.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask her and have done with it? She seems to me to be +fond of your society.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, it is not that only; there are wheels within wheels;” and then +he walked once or twice up and down the room, during which Mark +thought that he might as well go to bed.</p> + +<p>“Not that I mind telling you everything,” said Sowerby. “I am +infernally hard up for a little ready money just at the present +moment. It may be, and indeed I think it will be, the case that I +shall be ruined in this matter for the want of it.”</p> + +<p>“Could not Harold Smith give it you?”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha! you don’t know Harold Smith. Did you ever hear of his +lending a man a shilling in his life?”</p> + +<p>“Or Supplehouse?”</p> + +<p>“Lord love you! You see me and Supplehouse together here, and he +comes and stays at my house, and all that; but Supplehouse and I are +no friends. Look you here, Mark—I would do more for your little +finger than for his whole hand, including the pen which he holds in +it. Fothergill indeed might—but then I know Fothergill is pressed +himself at the present moment. It is deuced hard, isn’t it? I must +give up the whole game if I can’t put my hand upon £400 within the +next two days.”</p> + +<p>“Ask her for it, herself.”</p> + +<p>“What, the woman I wish to marry! No, Mark, I’m not quite come to +that. I would sooner lose her than that.”</p> + +<p>Mark sat silent, gazing at the fire and wishing that he was in his +own bedroom. He had an idea that Mr. Sowerby wished him to produce +this £400; and he knew also that he had not £400 in the world, and +that if he had he would be acting very foolishly to give it to Mr. +Sowerby. But nevertheless he felt half fascinated by the man, and +half afraid of him.</p> + +<p>“Lufton owes it to me to do more than this,” continued Mr. Sowerby; +“but then Lufton is not here.”</p> + +<p>“Why, he has just paid five thousand pounds for you.”</p> + +<p>“Paid five thousand pounds for me! Indeed he has done no such thing: +not a sixpence of it came into my hands. Believe me, Mark, you don’t +know the whole of that yet. Not that I mean to say a word against +Lufton. He is the soul of honour; though so deucedly dilatory in +money matters. He thought he was right all through that affair, but +no man was ever so confoundedly wrong. Why, don’t you remember that +that was the very view you took of it yourself?”</p> + +<p>“I remember saying that I thought he was mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he was mistaken. And dearly the mistake cost me. I had to +make good the money for two or three years. And my property is not +like his—I wish it were.”</p> + +<p>“Marry Miss Dunstable, and that will set it all right for you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! so I would if I had this money. At any rate I would bring it to +the point. Now, I tell you what, Mark; if you’ll assist me at this +strait I’ll never forget it. And the time will come round when I may +be able to do something for you.”</p> + +<p>“I have not got a hundred, no, not fifty pounds by me in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you’ve not. Men don’t walk about the streets with £400 in +their pockets. I don’t suppose there’s a single man here in the house +with such a sum at his bankers’, unless it be the duke.”</p> + +<p>“What is it you want then?”</p> + +<p>“Why, your name, to be sure. Believe me, my dear fellow, I would not +ask you really to put your hand into your pocket to such a tune as +that. Allow me to draw on you for that amount at three months. Long +before that time I shall be flush enough.” And then, before Mark +could answer, he had a bill stamp and pen and ink out on the table +before him, and was filling in the bill as though his friend had +already given his consent.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, Sowerby, I had rather not do that.”</p> + +<p>“Why! what are you afraid of?”—Mr. Sowerby asked this very sharply. +“Did you ever hear of my having neglected to take up a bill when it +fell due?” Robarts thought that he had heard of such a thing; but in +his confusion he was not exactly sure, and so he said nothing.</p> + +<p>“No, my boy; I have not come to that. Look here: just you write, +‘Accepted, Mark Robarts,’ across that, and then you shall never hear +of the transaction again;—and you will have obliged me for ever.”</p> + +<p>“As a clergyman it would be wrong of me,” said Robarts.</p> + +<p>“As a clergyman! Come, Mark! If you don’t like to do as much as that +for a friend, say so; but don’t let us have that sort of humbug. If +there be one class of men whose names would be found more frequent on +the backs of bills in the provincial banks than another, clergymen +are that class. Come, old fellow, you won’t throw me over when I am +so hard pushed.”</p> + +<p>Mark Robarts took the pen and signed the bill. It was the first time +in his life that he had ever done such an act. Sowerby then shook him +cordially by the hand, and he walked off to his own bedroom a +wretched man.</p> + + +<p><a id="c9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2></div> +<h3>THE VICAR’S RETURN.<br> </h3> + + +<p>The next morning Mr. Robarts took leave of all his grand friends with +a heavy heart. He had lain awake half the night thinking of what he +had done and trying to reconcile himself to his position. He had not +well left Mr. Sowerby’s room before he felt certain that at the end +of three months he would again be troubled about that £400. As he +went along the passage all the man’s known antecedents crowded upon +him much quicker than he could remember them when seated in that +arm-chair with the bill stamp before him, and the pen and ink ready +to his hand. He remembered what Lord Lufton had told him—how he had +complained of having been left in the lurch; he thought of all the +stories current through the entire county as to the impossibility of +getting money from Chaldicotes; he brought to mind the known +character of the man, and then he knew that he must prepare himself +to make good a portion at least of that heavy payment.</p> + +<p>Why had he come to this horrid place? Had he not everything at home +at Framley which the heart of man could desire? No; the heart of man +can desire deaneries—the heart, that is, of the man vicar; and the +heart of the man dean can desire bishoprics; and before the eyes of +the man bishop does there not loom the transcendental glory of +Lambeth? He had owned to himself that he was ambitious; but he had to +own to himself now also that he had hitherto taken but a sorry path +towards the object of his ambition.</p> + +<p>On the next morning at breakfast-time, before his horse and gig +arrived for him, no one was so bright as his friend Sowerby. “So you +are off, are you?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I shall go this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Say everything that’s kind from me to Lufton. I may possibly see him +out hunting; otherwise we shan’t meet till the spring. As to my going +to Framley, that’s out of the question. Her ladyship would look for +my tail, and swear that she smelt brimstone. By-bye, old fellow!”</p> + +<p>The German student when he first made his bargain with the devil felt +an indescribable attraction to his new friend; and such was the case +now with Robarts. He shook Sowerby’s hand very warmly, said that he +hoped he should meet him soon somewhere, and professed himself +specially anxious to hear how that affair with the lady came off. As +he had made his bargain—as he had undertaken to pay nearly +half-a-year’s income for his dear friend—ought he not to have as +much value as possible for his money? If the dear friendship of this +flash member of Parliament did not represent that value, what else +did do so? But then he felt, or fancied that he felt, that Mr. +Sowerby did not care for him so much this morning as he had done on +the previous evening. “By-bye,” said Mr. Sowerby, but he spoke no +word as to such future meetings, nor did he even promise to write. +Mr. Sowerby probably had many things on his mind; and it might be +that it behoved him, having finished one piece of business, +immediately to look to another.</p> + +<p>The sum for which Robarts had made himself responsible—which he so +much feared that he would be called upon to pay—was very nearly +half-a-year’s income; and as yet he had not put by one shilling since +he had been married. When he found himself settled in his parsonage, +he found also that all the world regarded him as a rich man. He had +taken the dictum of all the world as true, and had set himself to +work to live comfortably. He had no absolute need of a curate; but he +could afford the £70—as Lady Lufton had said rather injudiciously; +and by keeping Jones in the parish he would be acting charitably to a +brother clergyman, and would also place himself in a more independent +position. Lady Lufton had wished to see her pet clergyman well-to-do +and comfortable; but now, as matters had turned out, she much +regretted this affair of the curate. Mr. Jones, she said to herself, +more than once, must be made to depart from Framley.</p> + +<p>He had given his wife a pony-carriage, and for himself he had a +saddle-horse, and a second horse for his gig. A man in his position, +well-to-do as he was, required as much as that. He had a footman +also, and a gardener, and a groom. The two latter were absolutely +necessary, but about the former there had been a question. His wife +had been decidedly hostile to the footman; but, in all such matters +as that, to doubt is to be lost. When the footman had been discussed +for a week it became quite clear to the master that he also was a +necessary.</p> + +<p>As he drove home that morning he pronounced to himself the doom of +that footman, and the doom also of that saddle-horse. They at any +rate should go. And then he would spend no more money in trips to +Scotland; and above all, he would keep out of the bedrooms of +impoverished members of Parliament at the witching hour of midnight. +Such resolves did he make to himself as he drove home; and bethought +himself wearily how that £400 might be made to be forthcoming. As to +any assistance in the matter from Sowerby,—of that he gave himself +no promise.</p> + +<p>But he almost felt himself happy again as his wife came out into the +porch to meet him, with a silk shawl over her head, and pretending to +shiver as she watched him descending from his gig.</p> + +<p>“My dear old man,” she said, as she led him into the warm +drawing-room with all his wrappings still about him, “you must be +starved.” But Mark during the whole drive had been thinking too much +of that transaction in Mr. Sowerby’s bedroom to remember that the air +was cold. Now he had his arm round his own dear Fanny’s waist; but +was he to tell her of that transaction? At any rate he would not do +it now, while his two boys were in his arms, rubbing the moisture +from his whiskers with their kisses. After all, what is there equal +to that coming home?</p> + +<p>“And so Lufton is here. I say, Frank, gently, old boy,”—Frank was +his eldest son—“you’ll have baby into the fender.”</p> + +<p>“Let me take baby; it’s impossible to hold the two of them, they are +so strong,” said the proud mother. “Oh, yes, he came home early +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen him?”</p> + +<p>“He was here yesterday, with her ladyship; and I lunched there +to-day. The letter came, you know, in time to stop the Merediths. +They don’t go till to-morrow, so you will meet them after all. Sir +George is wild about it, but Lady Lufton would have her way. You +never saw her in such a state as she is.”</p> + +<p>“Good spirits, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I should think so. All Lord Lufton’s horses are coming, and he’s to +be here till March.”</p> + +<p>“Till March!”</p> + +<p>“So her ladyship whispered to me. She could not conceal her triumph +at his coming. He’s going to give up Leicestershire this year +altogether. I wonder what has brought it all about?” Mark knew very +well what had brought it about; he had been made acquainted, as the +reader has also, with the price at which Lady Lufton had purchased +her son’s visit. But no one had told Mrs. Robarts that the mother had +made her son a present of five thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>“She’s in a good humour about everything now,” continued Fanny; “so +you need say nothing at all about Gatherum Castle.”</p> + +<p>“But she was very angry when she first heard it; was she not?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mark, to tell the truth, she was; and we had quite a scene +there up in her own room up-stairs,—Justinia and I. She had heard +something else that she did not like at the same time; and then—but +you know her way. She blazed up quite hot.”</p> + +<p>“And said all manner of horrid things about me.”</p> + +<p>“About the duke she did. You know she never did like the duke; and +for the matter of that, neither do I. I tell you that fairly, Master +Mark!”</p> + +<p>“The duke is not so bad as he’s painted.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that’s what you say about another great person. However, he +won’t come here to trouble us, I suppose. And then I left her, not in +the best temper in the world; for I blazed up too, you must know.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you did,” said Mark, pressing his arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>“And then we were going to have a dreadful war, I thought; and I came +home and wrote such a doleful letter to you. But what should happen +when I had just closed it, but in came her ladyship—all alone, +<span class="nowrap">and—.</span> But I can’t tell you what she did or said, only she behaved +beautifully; just like herself too; so full of love and truth and +honesty. There’s nobody like her, Mark; and she’s better than all the +dukes that ever wore—whatever dukes do wear.”</p> + +<p>“Horns and hoofs; that’s their usual apparel, according to you and +Lady Lufton,” said he, remembering what Mr. Sowerby had said of +himself.</p> + +<p>“You may say what you like about me, Mark, but you shan’t abuse Lady +Lufton. And if horns and hoofs mean wickedness and dissipation, I +believe it’s not far wrong. But get off your big coat and make +yourself comfortable.” And that was all the scolding that Mark +Robarts got from his wife on the occasion of his great iniquity.</p> + +<p>“I will certainly tell her about this bill transaction,” he said to +himself; “but not to-day; not till after I have seen Lufton.”</p> + +<p>That evening they dined at Framley Court, and there they met the +young lord; they found also Lady Lufton still in high good-humour. +Lord Lufton himself was a fine, bright-looking young man; not so tall +as Mark Robarts, and with perhaps less intelligence marked on his +face; but his features were finer, and there was in his countenance a +thorough appearance of good-humour and sweet temper. It was, indeed, +a pleasant face to look upon, and dearly Lady Lufton loved to gaze at +it.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mark, so you have been among the Philistines?” that was his +lordship’s first remark. Robarts laughed as he took his friend’s +hands, and bethought himself how truly that was the case; that he +was, in very truth, already “himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.” +Alas, alas, it is very hard to break asunder the bonds of the +latter-day Philistines. When a Samson does now and then pull a temple +down about their ears, is he not sure to be engulfed in the ruin with +them? There is no horse-leech that sticks so fast as your latter-day +Philistine.</p> + +<p>“So you have caught Sir George, after all,” said Lady Lufton; and +that was nearly all she did say in allusion to his absence. There was +afterwards some conversation about the lecture, and from her +ladyship’s remarks, it certainly was apparent that she did not like +the people among whom the vicar had been lately staying; but she said +no word that was personal to him himself, or that could be taken as a +reproach. The little episode of Mrs. Proudie’s address in the +lecture-room had already reached Framley, and it was only to be +expected that Lady Lufton should enjoy the joke. She would affect to +believe that the body of the lecture had been given by the bishop’s +wife; and afterwards, when Mark described her costume at that Sunday +morning breakfast-table, Lady Lufton would assume that such had been +the dress in which she had exercised her faculties in public.</p> + +<p>“I would have given a five-pound note to have heard it,” said Sir +George.</p> + +<p>“So would not I,” said Lady Lufton. “When one hears of such things +described so graphically as Mr. Robarts now tells it, one can hardly +help laughing. But it would give me great pain to see the wife of one +of our bishops place herself in such a situation. For he is a bishop +after all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, upon my word, my lady, I agree with Meredith,” said Lord +Lufton. “It must have been good fun. As it did happen, you know,—as +the Church was doomed to the disgrace, I should like to have heard +it.”</p> + +<p>“I know you would have been shocked, Ludovic.”</p> + +<p>“I should have got over that in time, mother. It would have been like +a bull-fight I suppose—horrible to see no doubt, but extremely +interesting. And Harold Smith, Mark; what did he do all the while?”</p> + +<p>“It didn’t take so very long, you know,” said Robarts.</p> + +<p>“And the poor bishop,” said Lady Meredith; “how did he look? I really +do pity him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he was asleep, I think.”</p> + +<p>“What, slept through it all?” said Sir George.</p> + +<p>“It awakened him; and then he jumped up and said something.”</p> + +<p>“What, out loud too?”</p> + +<p>“Only one word or so.”</p> + +<p>“What a disgraceful scene!” said Lady Lufton. “To those who remember +the good old man who was in the diocese before him it is perfectly +shocking. He confirmed you, Ludovic, and you ought to remember him. +It was over at Barchester, and you went and lunched with him +afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“I do remember; and especially this, that I never ate such tarts in +my life, before or since. The old man particularly called my +attention to them, and seemed remarkably pleased that I concurred in +his sentiments. There are no such tarts as those going in the palace +now, I’ll be bound.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie will be very happy to do her best for you if you will +go and try,” said Sir George.</p> + +<p>“I beg that he will do no such thing,” said Lady Lufton, and that was +the only severe word she said about any of Mark’s visitings.</p> + +<p>As Sir George Meredith was there, Robarts could say nothing then to +Lord Lufton about Mr. Sowerby and Mr. Sowerby’s money affairs; but he +did make an appointment for a <i>tête-à-tête</i> on +the next morning.</p> + +<p>“You must come down and see my nags, Mark; they came to-day. The +Merediths will be off at twelve, and then we can have an hour +together.” Mark said he would, and then went home with his wife under +his arm.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, is not she kind?” said Fanny, as soon as they were out on +the gravel together.</p> + +<p>“She is kind; kinder than I can tell you just at present. But did you +ever know anything so bitter as she is to the poor bishop? And really +the bishop is not so bad.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I know something much more bitter; and that is what she thinks +of the bishop’s wife. And you know, Mark, it was so unladylike, her +getting up in that way. What must the people of Barchester think of +her?”</p> + +<p>“As far as I could see the people of Barchester liked it.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Mark; they could not. But never mind that now. I want you +to own that she is good.” And then Mrs. Robarts went on with another +long eulogy on the dowager. Since that affair of the pardon-begging +at the parsonage Mrs. Robarts hardly knew how to think well enough of +her friend. And the evening had been so pleasant after the dreadful +storm and threatenings of hurricanes; her husband had been so well +received after his lapse of judgment; the wounds that had looked so +sore had been so thoroughly healed, and everything was so pleasant. +How all of this would have been changed had she known of that little +bill!</p> + +<p>At twelve the next morning the lord and the vicar were walking +through the Framley stables together. Quite a commotion had been made +there, for the larger portion of these buildings had of late years +seldom been used. But now all was crowding and activity. Seven or +eight very precious animals had followed Lord Lufton from +Leicestershire, and all of them required dimensions that were thought +to be rather excessive by the Framley old-fashioned groom. My lord, +however, had a head man of his own who took the matter quite into his +own hands.</p> + +<p>Mark, priest as he was, was quite worldly enough to be fond of a good +horse; and for some little time allowed Lord Lufton to descant on the +merit of this four-year-old filly, and that magnificent Rattlebones +colt, out of a Mousetrap mare; but he had other things that lay heavy +on his mind, and after bestowing half an hour on the stud, he +contrived to get his friend away to the shrubbery walks.</p> + +<p>“So you have settled with Sowerby,” Robarts began by saying.</p> + +<p>“Settled with him; yes, but do you know the price?”</p> + +<p>“I believe that you have paid five thousand pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and about three before; and that in a matter in which I did not +really owe one shilling. Whatever I do in future, I’ll keep out of +Sowerby’s grip.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t think he has been unfair to you.”</p> + +<p>“Mark, to tell you the truth I have banished the affair from my mind, +and don’t wish to take it up again. My mother has paid the money to +save the property, and of course I must pay her back. But I think I +may promise that I will not have any more money dealings with +Sowerby. I will not say that he is dishonest, but at any rate he is +sharp.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Lufton; what will you say when I tell you that I have put my +name to a bill for him, for four hundred pounds?”</p> + +<p>“Say; why I should say—; but you’re joking; a man in your position +would never do such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“But I have done it.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton gave a long low whistle.</p> + +<p>“He asked me the last night that I was there, making a great favour +of it, and declaring that no bill of his had ever yet been +dishonoured.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton whistled again. “No bill of his dishonoured! Why the +pocket-books of the Jews are stuffed full of his dishonoured papers! +And you have really given him your name for four hundred pounds?”</p> + +<p>“I have certainly.”</p> + +<p>“At what date?”</p> + +<p>“Three months.”</p> + +<p>“And have you thought where you are to get the money?”</p> + +<p>“I know very well that I can’t get it; not at least by that time. The +bankers must renew it for me, and I must pay it by degrees. That is, +if Sowerby really does not take it up.”</p> + +<p>“It is just as likely that he will take up the national debt.”</p> + +<p>Robarts then told him about the projected marriage with Miss +Dunstable, giving it as his opinion that the lady would probably +accept the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Not at all improbable,” said his lordship, “for Sowerby is an +agreeable fellow; and if it be so, he will have all that he wants for +life. But his creditors will gain nothing. The duke, who has his +title-deeds, will doubtless get his money, and the estate will in +fact belong to the wife. But the small fry, such as you, will not get +a shilling.”</p> + +<p>Poor Mark! He had had an inkling of this before; but it had hardly +presented itself to him in such certain terms. It was, then, a +positive fact, that in punishment for his weakness in having signed +that bill he would have to pay, not only four hundred pounds, but +four hundred pounds with interest, and expenses of renewal, and +commission, and bill stamps. Yes; he had certainly got among the +Philistines during that visit of his to the duke. It began to appear +to him pretty clearly that it would have been better for him to have +relinquished altogether the glories of Chaldicotes and Gatherum +Castle.</p> + +<p>And now, how was he to tell his wife?</p> + + +<p><a id="c10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER X.</h2></div> +<h3>LUCY ROBARTS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now how was he to tell his wife? That was the consideration heavy +on Mark Robarts’ mind when last we left him; and he turned the matter +often in his thoughts before he could bring himself to a resolution. +At last he did do so, and one may say that it was not altogether a +bad one, if only he could carry it out.</p> + +<p>He would ascertain in what bank that bill of his had been discounted. +He would ask Sowerby, and if he could not learn from him, he would go +to the three banks in Barchester. That it had been taken to one of +them he felt tolerably certain. He would explain to the manager his +conviction that he would have to make good the amount, his inability +to do so at the end of the three months, and the whole state of his +income; and then the banker would explain to him how the matter might +be arranged. He thought that he could pay £50 every three months with +interest. As soon as this should have been concerted with the banker, +he would let his wife know all about it. Were he to tell her at the +present moment, while the matter was all unsettled, the intelligence +would frighten her into illness.</p> + +<p>But on the next morning there came to him tidings by the hands of +Robin postman, which for a long while upset all his plans. The letter +was from Exeter. His father had been taken ill, and had very quickly +been pronounced to be in danger. That evening—the evening on which +his sister wrote—the old man was much worse, and it was desirable +that Mark should go off to Exeter as quickly as possible. Of course +he went to Exeter—again leaving the Framley souls at the mercy of +the Welsh Low Churchman. Framley is only four miles from +Silverbridge, and at Silverbridge he was on the direct road to the +west. He was therefore at Exeter before nightfall on that day.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless he arrived there too late to see his father again +alive. The old man’s illness had been sudden and rapid, and he +expired without again seeing his eldest son. Mark arrived at the +house of mourning just as they were learning to realize the full +change in their position.</p> + +<p>The doctor’s career had been on the whole successful, but +nevertheless he did not leave behind him as much money as the world +had given him credit for possessing. Who ever does? Dr. Robarts had +educated a large family, had always lived with every comfort, and had +never possessed a shilling but what he had earned himself. A +physician’s fees come in, no doubt, with comfortable rapidity as soon +as rich old gentlemen and middle-aged ladies begin to put their faith +in him; but fees run out almost with equal rapidity when a wife and +seven children are treated to everything that the world considers +most desirable. Mark, we have seen, had been educated at Harrow and +Oxford, and it may be said, therefore, that he had received his +patrimony early in life. For Gerald Robarts, the second brother, a +commission had been bought in a crack regiment. He also had been +lucky, having lived and become a captain in the Crimea; and the +purchase-money was lodged for his majority. And John Robarts, the +youngest, was a clerk in the Petty Bag Office, and was already +assistant private secretary to the Lord Petty Bag himself—a place of +considerable trust, if not hitherto of large emolument; and on his +education money had been spent freely, for in these days a young man +cannot get into the Petty Bag Office without knowing at least three +modern languages; and he must be well up in trigonometry too, in +bible theology, or in one dead language—at his option.</p> + +<p>And the doctor had four daughters. The two elder were married, +including that Blanche with whom Lord Lufton was to have fallen in +love at the vicar’s wedding. A Devonshire squire had done this in the +lord’s place; but on marrying her it was necessary that he should +have a few thousand pounds, two or three perhaps, and the old doctor +had managed that they should be forthcoming. The elder also had not +been sent away from the paternal mansion quite empty-handed. There +were, therefore, at the time of the doctor’s death two children left +at home, of whom one only, Lucy, the younger, will come much across +us in the course of our story.</p> + +<p>Mark stayed for ten days at Exeter, he and the Devonshire squire +having been named as executors in the will. In this document it was +explained that the doctor trusted that provision had been made for +most of his children. As for his dear son Mark, he said, he was aware +that he need be under no uneasiness. On hearing this read Mark smiled +sweetly, and looked very gracious; but, nevertheless, his heart did +sink somewhat within him, for there had been a hope that a small +windfall, coming now so opportunely, might enable him to rid himself +at once of that dreadful Sowerby incubus. And then the will went on +to declare that Mary, and Gerald, and Blanche, had also, by God’s +providence, been placed beyond want. And here, looking into the +squire’s face, one might have thought that his heart fell a little +also; for he had not so full a command of his feelings as his +brother-in-law, who had been so much more before the world. To John, +the assistant private secretary, was left a legacy of a thousand +pounds; and to Jane and Lucy certain sums in certain four per cents., +which were quite sufficient to add an efficient value to the hands of +those young ladies in the eyes of most prudent young would-be +Benedicts. Over and beyond this there was nothing but the furniture, +which he desired might be sold, and the proceeds divided among them +all. It might come to sixty or seventy pounds a piece, and pay the +expenses incidental on his death.</p> + +<p>And then all men and women there and thereabouts said that old Dr. +Robarts had done well. His life had been good and prosperous, and his +will was just. And Mark, among others, so declared,—and was so +convinced in spite of his own little disappointment. And on the third +morning after the reading of the will Squire Crowdy, of Creamclotted +Hall, altogether got over his grief, and said that it was all right. +And then it was decided that Jane should go home with him,—for there +was a brother squire who, it was thought, might have an eye to +Jane;—and Lucy, the younger, should be taken to Framley Parsonage. +In a fortnight from the receipt of that letter Mark arrived at his +own house with his sister Lucy under his wing.</p> + +<p>All this interfered greatly with Mark’s wise resolution as to the +Sowerby-bill incubus. In the first place he could not get to +Barchester as soon as he had intended, and then an idea came across +him that possibly it might be well that he should borrow the money of +his brother John, explaining the circumstances, of course, and paying +him due interest. But he had not liked to broach the subject when +they were there in Exeter, standing, as it were, over their father’s +grave, and so the matter was postponed. There was still ample time +for arrangement before the bill would come due, and he would not tell +Fanny till he had made up his mind what that arrangement would be. It +would kill her, he said to himself over and over again, were he to +tell her of it without being able to tell her also that the means of +liquidating the debt were to be forthcoming.</p> + +<p>And now I must say a word about Lucy Robarts. If one might only go on +without those descriptions, how pleasant it would all be! But Lucy +Robarts has to play a forward part in this little drama, and those +who care for such matters must be made to understand something of her +form and likeness. When last we mentioned her as appearing, though +not in any prominent position, at her brother’s wedding, she was only +sixteen; but now, at the time of her father’s death, somewhat over +two years having since elapsed, she was nearly nineteen. Laying aside +for the sake of clearness that indefinite term of girl—for girls are +girls from the age of three up to forty-three, if not previously +married—dropping that generic word, we may say that then, at that +wedding of her brother, she was a child; and now, at the death of her +father, she was a woman.</p> + +<p>Nothing, perhaps, adds so much to womanhood, turns the child so +quickly into a woman, as such death-bed scenes as these. Hitherto but +little had fallen to Lucy to do in the way of woman’s duties. Of +money transactions she had known nothing, beyond a jocose attempt to +make her annual allowance of twenty-five pounds cover all her +personal wants—an attempt which was made jocose by the loving bounty +of her father. Her sister, who was three years her elder—for John +came in between them—had managed the house; that is, she had made +the tea and talked to the housekeeper about the dinners. But Lucy had +sat at her father’s elbow, had read to him of evenings when he went +to sleep, had brought him his slippers and looked after the comforts +of his easy-chair. All this she had done as a child; but when she +stood at the coffin head, and knelt at the coffin side, then she was +a woman.</p> + +<p>She was smaller in stature than either of her three sisters, to all +of whom had been acceded the praise of being fine women—a eulogy +which the people of Exeter, looking back at the elder sisters, and +the general remembrance of them which pervaded the city, were not +willing to extend to Lucy. “Dear—dear!” had been said of her; “poor +Lucy is not like a Robarts at all; is she, now, Mrs. Pole?”—for as +the daughters had become fine women, so had the sons grown into +stalwart men. And then Mrs. Pole had answered: “Not a bit; is she, +now? Only think what Blanche was at her age. But she has fine eyes, +for all that; and they do say she is the cleverest of them all.”</p> + +<p>And that, too, is so true a description of her, that I do not know +that I can add much to it. She was not like Blanche; for Blanche had +a bright complexion, and a fine neck, and a noble bust, <i>et vera +incessu patuit Dea</i>—a true goddess, that is, as far as the eye went. +She had a grand idea, moreover, of an apple-pie, and had not reigned +eighteen months at Creamclotted Hall before she knew all the +mysteries of pigs and milk, and most of those appertaining to cider +and green geese.</p> + +<p>Lucy had no neck at all worth speaking of,—no neck, I mean, that +ever produced eloquence; she was brown, too, and had addicted herself +in nowise, as she undoubtedly should have done, to larder utility. In +regard to the neck and colour, poor girl, she could not help herself; +but in that other respect she must be held as having wasted her +opportunities.</p> + +<p>But then what eyes she had! Mrs. Pole was right there. They flashed +upon you—not always softly; indeed not often softly, if you were a +stranger to her; but whether softly or savagely, with a brilliancy +that dazzled you as you looked at them. And who shall say of what +colour they were? Green probably, for most eyes are green—green or +grey, if green be thought uncomely for an eye-colour. But it was not +their colour, but their fire, which struck one with such surprise.</p> + +<p>Lucy Robarts was thoroughly a brunette. Sometimes the dark tint of +her cheek was exquisitely rich and lovely, and the fringes of her +eyes were long and soft, and her small teeth, which one so seldom +saw, were white as pearls, and her hair, though short, was +beautifully soft—by no means black, but yet of so dark a shade of +brown. Blanche, too, was noted for fine teeth. They were white and +regular and lofty as a new row of houses in a French city. But then +when she laughed she was all teeth; as she was all neck when she sat +at the piano. But Lucy’s teeth!—it was only now and again, when in +some sudden burst of wonder she would sit for a moment with her lips +apart, that the fine finished lines and dainty pearl-white colour of +that perfect set of ivory could be seen. Mrs. Pole would have said a +word of her teeth also, but that to her they had never been made +visible.</p> + +<p>“But they do say that she is the cleverest of them all,” Mrs. Pole +had added, very properly. The people of Exeter had expressed such an +opinion, and had been quite just in doing so. I do not know how it +happens, but it always does happen, that everybody in every small +town knows which is the brightest-witted in every family. In this +respect Mrs. Pole had only expressed public opinion, and public +opinion was right. Lucy Robarts was blessed with an intelligence +keener than that of her brothers or sisters.</p> + +<p>“To tell the truth, Mark, I admire Lucy more than I do Blanche.” This +had been said by Mrs. Robarts within a few hours of her having +assumed that name. “She’s not a beauty, I know, but yet I do.”</p> + +<p>“My dearest Fanny!” Mark had answered in a tone of surprise.</p> + +<p>“I do then; of course people won’t think so; but I never seem to care +about regular beauties. Perhaps I envy them too much.”</p> + +<p>What Mark said next need not be repeated, but everybody may be sure +that it contained some gross flattery for his young bride. He +remembered this, however, and had always called Lucy his wife’s pet. +Neither of the sisters had since that been at Framley; and though +Fanny had spent a week at Exeter on the occasion of Blanche’s +marriage, it could hardly be said that she was very intimate with +them. Nevertheless, when it became expedient that one of them should +go to Framley, the remembrance of what his wife had said immediately +induced Mark to make the offer to Lucy; and Jane, who was of a +kindred soul with Blanche, was delighted to go to Creamclotted Hall. +The acres of Heavybed House, down in that fat Totnes country, +adjoined those of Creamclotted Hall, and Heavybed House still wanted +a mistress.</p> + +<p>Fanny was delighted when the news reached her. It would of course be +proper that one of his sisters should live with Mark under their +present circumstances, and she was happy to think that that quiet +little bright-eyed creature was to come and nestle with her under the +same roof. The children should so love her—only not quite so much as +they loved mamma; and the snug little room that looks out over the +porch, in which the chimney never smokes, should be made ready for +her; and she should be allowed her share of driving the pony—which +was a great sacrifice of self on the part of Mrs. Robarts—and Lady +Lufton’s best good-will should be bespoken. In fact, Lucy was not +unfortunate in the destination that was laid out for her.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton had of course heard of the doctor’s death, and had sent +all manner of kind messages to Mark, advising him not to hurry home +by any means until everything was settled at Exeter. And then she was +told of the new-comer that was expected in the parish. When she heard +that it was Lucy, the younger, she also was satisfied; for Blanche’s +charms, though indisputable, had not been altogether to her taste. If +a second Blanche were to arrive there what danger might there not be +for young Lord Lufton!</p> + +<p>“Quite right,” said her ladyship, “just what he ought to do. I think +I remember the young lady; rather small, is she not, and very +retiring?”</p> + +<p>“Rather small and very retiring. What a description!” said Lord +Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, Ludovic; some young ladies must be small, and some at +least ought to be retiring. We shall be delighted to make her +acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>“I remember your other sister-in-law very well,” said Lord Lufton. +“She was a beautiful woman.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you will consider Lucy a beauty,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Small, retiring, and—” so far Lord Lufton had gone, when Mrs. +Robarts finished by the word, “plain.” She had liked Lucy’s face, but +she had thought that others probably did not do so.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word,” said Lady Lufton, “you don’t deserve to have a +sister-in-law. I remember her very well, and can say that she is not +plain. I was very much taken with her manner at your wedding, my +dear; and thought more of her than I did of the beauty, I can tell +you.”</p> + +<p>“I must confess I do not remember her at all,” said his lordship. And +so the conversation ended.</p> + +<p>And then at the end of the fortnight Mark arrived with his sister. +They did not reach Framley till long after dark—somewhere between +six and seven—and by this time it was December. There was snow on +the ground, and frost in the air, and no moon, and cautious men when +they went on the roads had their horses’ shoes cocked. Such being the +state of the weather Mark’s gig had been nearly filled with cloaks +and shawls when it was sent over to Silverbridge. And a cart was sent +for Lucy’s luggage, and all manner of preparations had been made. +Three times had Fanny gone herself to see that the fire burned +brightly in the little room over the porch, and at the moment that +the sound of the wheels was heard she was engaged in opening her +son’s mind as to the nature of an aunt. Hitherto papa and mamma and +Lady Lufton were all that he had known, excepting, of course, the +satellites of the nursery.</p> + +<p>And then in three minutes Lucy was standing by the fire. Those three +minutes had been taken up in embraces between the husband and the +wife. Let who would be brought as a visitor to the house, after a +fortnight’s absence, she would kiss him before she welcomed any one +else. But then she turned to Lucy, and began to assist her with her +cloaks.</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you,” said Lucy; “I’m not cold,—not very at least. Don’t +trouble yourself: I can do it.” But here she had made a false boast, +for her fingers had been so numbed that she could not do nor undo +anything.</p> + +<p>They were all in black, of course; but the sombreness of Lucy’s +clothes struck Fanny much more than her own. They seemed to have +swallowed her up in their blackness, and to have made her almost an +emblem of death. She did not look up, but kept her face turned +towards the fire, and seemed almost afraid of her position.</p> + +<p>“She may say what she likes, Fanny,” said Mark, “but she is very +cold. And so am I,—cold enough. You had better go up with her to her +room. We won’t do much in the dressing way to-night; eh, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>In the bedroom Lucy thawed a little, and Fanny, as she kissed her, +said to herself that she had been wrong as to that word “plain.” +Lucy, at any rate, was not plain.</p> + +<p>“You will be used to us soon,” said Fanny, “and then I hope we shall +make you comfortable.” And she took her sister-in-law’s hand and +pressed it.</p> + +<p>Lucy looked up at her, and her eyes then were tender enough. “I am +sure I shall be happy here,” she said, “with you. But—but—dear +papa!” And then they got into each other’s arms, and had a great bout +of kissing and crying. “Plain,” said Fanny to herself, as at last she +got her guest’s hair smoothed and the tears washed from her +eyes—“plain! She has the loveliest countenance that I ever looked at +in my life!”</p> + +<p>“Your sister is quite beautiful,” she said to Mark, as they talked +her over alone before they went to sleep that night.</p> + +<p>“No, she’s not beautiful; but she’s a very good girl, and clever +enough too, in her sort of way.”</p> + +<p>“I think her perfectly lovely. I never saw such eyes in my life +before.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll leave her in your hands then; you shall get her a husband.”</p> + +<p>“That mayn’t be so easy. I don’t think she’d marry anybody.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope not. But she seems to me to be exactly cut out for an +old maid;—to be aunt Lucy for ever and ever to your bairns.”</p> + +<p>“And so she shall, with all my heart. But I don’t think she will, +very long. I have no doubt she will be hard to please; but if I were +a man I should fall in love with her at once. Did you ever observe +her teeth, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I ever did.”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t know whether any one had a tooth in their head, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“No one except you, my dear; and I know all yours by heart.”</p> + +<p>“You are a goose.”</p> + +<p>“And a very sleepy one; so, if you please, I’ll go to roost.” And +thus there was nothing more said about Lucy’s beauty on that +occasion.</p> + +<p>For the first two days Mrs. Robarts did not make much of her +sister-in-law. Lucy, indeed, was not demonstrative; and she was, +moreover, one of those few persons—for they are very few—who are +contented to go on with their existence without making themselves the +centre of any special outward circle. To the ordinary run of minds it +is impossible not to do this. A man’s own dinner is to himself so +important that he cannot bring himself to believe that it is a matter +utterly indifferent to every one else. A lady’s collection of +baby-clothes, in early years, and of house linen and curtain-fringes +in later life, is so very interesting to her own eyes, that she +cannot believe but what other people will rejoice to behold it. I +would not, however, be held as regarding this tendency as evil. It +leads to conversation of some sort among people, and perhaps to a +kind of sympathy. Mrs. Jones will look at Mrs. White’s linen-chest, +hoping that Mrs. White may be induced to look at hers. One can only +pour out of a jug that which is in it. For the most of us, if we do +not talk of ourselves, or at any rate of the individual circles of +which we are the centres, we can talk of nothing. I cannot hold with +those who wish to put down the insignificant chatter of the world. As +for myself, I am always happy to look at Mrs. Jones’s linen, and +never omit an opportunity of giving her the details of my own +dinners.</p> + +<p>But Lucy Robarts had not this gift. She had come there as a stranger +into her sister-in-law’s house, and at first seemed as though she +would be contented in simply having her corner in the drawing-room +and her place at the parlour-table. She did not seem to need the +comforts of condolence and open-hearted talking. I do not mean to say +that she was moody, that she did not answer when she was spoken to, +or that she took no notice of the children; but she did not at once +throw herself and all her hopes and sorrows into Fanny’s heart, as +Fanny would have had her do.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts herself was what we call demonstrative. When she was +angry with Lady Lufton she showed it. And as since that time her love +and admiration for Lady Lufton had increased, she showed that also. +When she was in any way displeased with her husband, she could not +hide it, even though she tried to do so, and fancied herself +successful;—no more than she could hide her warm, constant, +overflowing woman’s love. She could not walk through a room hanging +on her husband’s arm without seeming to proclaim to every one there +that she thought him the best man in it. She was demonstrative, and +therefore she was the more disappointed in that Lucy did not rush at +once with all her cares into her open heart.</p> + +<p>“She is so quiet,” Fanny said to her husband.</p> + +<p>“That’s her nature,” said Mark. “She always was quiet as a child. +While we were smashing everything, she would never crack a teacup.”</p> + +<p>“I wish she would break something now,” said Fanny, “and then perhaps +we should get to talk about it.” But she did not on this account give +over loving her sister-in-law. She probably valued her the more, +unconsciously, for not having those aptitudes with which she herself +was endowed.</p> + +<p>And then after two days Lady Lufton called; of course it may be +supposed that Fanny had said a good deal to her new inmate about Lady +Lufton. A neighbour of that kind in the country exercises so large an +influence upon the whole tenor of one’s life, that to abstain from +such talk is out of the question. Mrs. Robarts had been brought up +almost under the dowager’s wing, and of course she regarded her as +being worthy of much talking. Do not let persons on this account +suppose that Mrs. Robarts was a tuft-hunter, or a toad-eater. If they +do not see the difference they have yet got to study the earliest +principles of human nature.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton called, and Lucy was struck dumb. Fanny was particularly +anxious that her ladyship’s first impression should be favourable, +and to effect this, she especially endeavoured to throw the two +together during that visit. But in this she was unwise. Lady Lufton, +however, had woman-craft enough not to be led into any egregious +error by Lucy’s silence.</p> + +<p>“And what day will you come and dine with us?” said Lady Lufton, +turning expressly to her old friend Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do you name the day. We never have many engagements, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Will Thursday do, Miss Robarts? You will meet nobody you know, only +my son; so you need not regard it as going out. Fanny here will tell +you that stepping over to Framley Court is no more going out, than +when you go from one room to another in the parsonage. Is it, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>Fanny laughed and said that that stepping over to Framley Court +certainly was done so often that perhaps they did not think so much +about it as they ought to do.</p> + +<p>“We consider ourselves a sort of happy family here, Miss Robarts, and +are delighted to have the opportunity of including you in the +ménage.”</p> + +<p>Lucy gave her ladyship one of her sweetest smiles, but what she said +at that moment was inaudible. It was plain, however, that she could +not bring herself even to go as far as Framley Court for her dinner +just at present. “It was very kind of Lady Lufton,” she said to +Fanny; “but it was so very soon, and—and—and if they would only go +without her, she would be so happy.” But as the object was to go with +her—expressly to take her there—the dinner was adjourned for a +short time—<i>sine die</i>.</p> + + +<p><a id="c11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2></div> +<h3>GRISELDA GRANTLY.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It was nearly a month after this that Lucy was first introduced to +Lord Lufton, and then it was brought about only by accident. During +that time Lady Lufton had been often at the parsonage, and had in a +certain degree learned to know Lucy; but the stranger in the parish +had never yet plucked up courage to accept one of the numerous +invitations that had reached her. Mr. Robarts and his wife had +frequently been at Framley Court, but the dreaded day of Lucy’s +initiation had not yet arrived.</p> + +<p>She had seen Lord Lufton in church, but hardly so as to know him, and +beyond that she had not seen him at all. One day, however—or rather, +one evening, for it was already dusk—he overtook her and Mrs. +Robarts on the road walking towards the vicarage. He had his gun on +his shoulder, three pointers were at his heels, and a gamekeeper +followed a little in the rear.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Mrs. Robarts?” he said, almost before he had overtaken +them. “I have been chasing you along the road for the last half mile. +I never knew ladies walk so fast.”</p> + +<p>“We should be frozen if we were to dawdle about as you gentlemen do,” +and then she stopped and shook hands with him. She forgot at the +moment that Lucy and he had not met, and therefore she did not +introduce them.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you make me known to your sister-in-law?” said he, taking off +his hat, and bowing to Lucy. “I have never yet had the pleasure of +meeting her, though we have been neighbours for a month and more.”</p> + +<p>Fanny made her excuses and introduced them, and then they went on +till they came to Framley Gate, Lord Lufton talking to them both, and +Fanny answering for the two, and there they stopped for a moment.</p> + +<p>“I am surprised to see you alone,” Mrs. Robarts had just said; “I +thought that Captain Culpepper was with you.”</p> + +<p>“The captain has left me for this one day. If you’ll whisper I’ll +tell you where he has gone. I dare not speak it out loud, even to the +woods.”</p> + +<p>“To what terrible place can he have taken himself? I’ll have no +whisperings about such horrors.”</p> + +<p>“He has gone to—to—but you’ll promise not to tell my mother?”</p> + +<p>“Not tell your mother! Well, now you have excited my curiosity! where +can he be?”</p> + +<p>“Do you promise, then?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! I will promise, because I am sure Lady Lufton won’t ask me +as to Captain Culpepper’s whereabouts. We won’t tell; will we, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“He has gone to Gatherum Castle for a day’s pheasant-shooting. Now, +mind, you must not betray us. Her ladyship supposes that he is shut +up in his room with a toothache. We did not dare to mention the name +to her.”</p> + +<p>And then it appeared that Mrs. Robarts had some engagement which made +it necessary that she should go up and see Lady Lufton, whereas Lucy +was intending to walk on to the parsonage alone.</p> + +<p>“And I have promised to go to your husband,” said Lord Lufton; “or +rather to your husband’s dog, Ponto. And I will do two other good +things—I will carry a brace of pheasants with me, and protect Miss +Robarts from the evil spirits of the Framley roads.” And so Mrs. +Robarts turned in at the gate, and Lucy and his lordship walked off +together.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton, though he had never before spoken to Miss Robarts, had +already found out that she was by no means plain. Though he had +hardly seen her except at church, he had already made himself certain +that the owner of that face must be worth knowing, and was not sorry +to have the present opportunity of speaking to her. “So you have an +unknown damsel shut up in your castle,” he had once said to Mrs. +Robarts. “If she be kept a prisoner much longer, I shall find it my +duty to come and release her by force of arms.” He had been there +twice with the object of seeing her, but on both occasions Lucy had +managed to escape. Now we may say she was fairly caught, and Lord +Lufton, taking a pair of pheasants from the gamekeeper, and swinging +them over his shoulder, walked off with his prey.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill01"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill01.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill01-t.jpg" height="500" alt="Lord Lufton and Lucy Robarts."></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Lord + Lufton and Lucy Robarts.</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill01.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“You have been here a long time,” he said, “without our having had +the pleasure of seeing you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my lord,” said Lucy. Lords had not been frequent among her +acquaintance hitherto.</p> + +<p>“I tell Mrs. Robarts that she has been confining you illegally, and +that we shall release you by force or stratagem.”</p> + +<p>“I—I—I have had a great sorrow lately.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Robarts; I know you have; and I am only joking, you know. +But I do hope that now you will be able to come amongst us. My mother +is so anxious that you should do so.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure she is very kind, and you also—my lord.”</p> + +<p>“I never knew my own father,” said Lord Lufton, speaking gravely. +“But I can well understand what a loss you have had.” And then, after +pausing a moment, he continued, “I remember Dr. Robarts well.”</p> + +<p>“Do you, indeed?” said Lucy, turning sharply towards him, and +speaking now with some animation in her voice. Nobody had yet spoken +to her about her father since she had been at Framley. It had been as +though the subject were a forbidden one. And how frequently is this +the case! When those we love are dead, our friends dread to mention +them, though to us who are bereaved no subject would be so pleasant +as their names. But we rarely understand how to treat our own sorrow +or those of others.</p> + +<p>There was once a people in some land—and they may be still there for +what I know—who thought it sacrilegious to stay the course of a +raging fire. If a house were being burned, burn it must, even though +there were facilities for saving it. For who would dare to interfere +with the course of the god? Our idea of sorrow is much the same. We +think it wicked, or at any rate heartless, to put it out. If a man’s +wife be dead, he should go about lugubrious, with long face, for at +least two years, or perhaps with full length for eighteen months, +decreasing gradually during the other six. If he be a man who can +quench his sorrow—put out his fire as it were—in less time than +that, let him at any rate not show his power!</p> + +<p>“Yes: I remember him,” continued Lord Lufton. “He came twice to +Framley while I was a boy, consulting with my mother about Mark and +myself,—whether the Eton floggings were not more efficacious than +those at Harrow. He was very kind to me, foreboding all manner of +good things on my behalf.”</p> + +<p>“He was very kind to every one,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I should think he would have been—a kind, good, genial man—just +the man to be adored by his own family.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; and so he was. I do not remember that I ever heard an +unkind word from him. There was not a harsh tone in his voice. And he +was generous as the day.” Lucy, we have said, was not generally +demonstrative, but now, on this subject, and with this absolute +stranger, she became almost eloquent.</p> + +<p>“I do not wonder that you should feel his loss, Miss Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do feel it. Mark is the best of brothers, and, as for Fanny, +she is too kind and too good to me. But I had always been specially +my father’s friend. For the last year or two we had lived so much +together!”</p> + +<p>“He was an old man when he died, was he not?”</p> + +<p>“Just seventy, my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then he was old. My mother is only fifty, and we sometimes call +her the old woman. Do you think she looks older than that? We all say +that she makes herself out to be so much more ancient than she need +do.”</p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton does not dress young.”</p> + +<p>“That is it. She never has, in my memory. She always used to wear +black when I first recollect her. She has given that up now; but she +is still very sombre; is she not?”</p> + +<p>“I do not like ladies to dress very young, that is, ladies +of—<span class="nowrap">of—”</span></p> + +<p>“Ladies of fifty, we will say?”</p> + +<p>“Very well; ladies of fifty, if you like it.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am sure you will like my mother.”</p> + +<p>They had now turned up through the parsonage wicket, a little gate +that opened into the garden at a point on the road nearer than the +chief entrance.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I shall find Mark up at the house?” said he.</p> + +<p>“I daresay you will, my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll go round this way, for my business is partly in the +stable. You see I am quite at home here, though you never have seen +me before. But, Miss Robarts, now that the ice is broken, I hope that +we may be friends.” He then put out his hand, and when she gave him +hers he pressed it almost as an old friend might have done.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, Lucy had talked to him almost as though he were an old +friend. For a minute or two she had forgotten that he was a lord and +a stranger—had forgotten also to be stiff and guarded as was her +wont. Lord Lufton had spoken to her as though he had really cared to +know her; and she, unconsciously, had been taken by the compliment. +Lord Lufton, indeed, had not thought much about it—excepting as +thus, that he liked the glance of a pair of bright eyes, as most +other young men do like it. But, on this occasion, the evening had +been so dark, that he had hardly seen Lucy’s eyes at all.</p> + +<p>“Well, Lucy, I hope you liked your companion,” Mrs. Robarts said, as +the three of them clustered round the drawing-room fire before +dinner.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; pretty well,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“That is not at all complimentary to his lordship.”</p> + +<p>“I did not mean to be complimentary, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy is a great deal too matter-of-fact for compliments,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“What I meant was, that I had no great opportunity for judging, +seeing that I was only with Lord Lufton for about ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but there are girls here who would give their eyes for ten +minutes of Lord Lufton to themselves. You do not know how he’s +valued. He has the character of being always able to make himself +agreeable to ladies at half a minute’s warning.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he had not the half-minute’s warning in this case,” said +Lucy,—hypocrite that she was.</p> + +<p>“Poor Lucy,” said her brother; “he was coming up to see Ponto’s +shoulder, and I am afraid he was thinking more about the dog than +you.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” said Lucy; and then they went in to dinner.</p> + +<p>Lucy had been a hypocrite, for she had confessed to herself, while +dressing, that Lord Lufton had been very pleasant; but then it is +allowed to young ladies to be hypocrites when the subject under +discussion is the character of a young gentleman.</p> + +<p>Soon after that, Lucy did dine at Framley Court. Captain Culpepper, +in spite of his enormity with reference to Gatherum Castle, was still +staying there, as was also a clergyman from the neighbourhood of +Barchester with his wife and daughter. This was Archdeacon Grantly, a +gentleman whom we have mentioned before, and who was as well known in +the diocese as the bishop himself,—and more thought about by many +clergymen than even that illustrious prelate.</p> + +<p>Miss Grantly was a young lady not much older than Lucy Robarts, and +she also was quiet, and not given to much talking in open company. +She was decidedly a beauty, but somewhat statuesque in her +loveliness. Her forehead was high and white, but perhaps too like +marble to gratify the taste of those who are fond of flesh and blood. +Her eyes were large and exquisitely formed, but they seldom showed +much emotion. She, indeed, was impassive herself, and betrayed but +little of her feelings. Her nose was nearly Grecian, not coming +absolutely in a straight line from her forehead, but doing so nearly +enough to entitle it to be considered as classical. Her mouth, too, +was very fine—artists, at least, said so, and connoisseurs in +beauty; but to me she always seemed as though she wanted fulness of +lip. But the exquisite symmetry of her cheek and chin and lower face +no man could deny. Her hair was light, and being always dressed with +considerable care, did not detract from her appearance; but it lacked +that richness which gives such luxuriance to feminine loveliness. She +was tall and slight, and very graceful in her movements; but there +were those who thought that she wanted the ease and <i>abandon</i> of +youth. They said that she was too composed and stiff for her age, and +that she gave but little to society beyond the beauty of her form and +face.</p> + +<p>There can be no doubt, however, that she was considered by most men +and women to be the beauty of Barsetshire, and that gentlemen from +neighbouring counties would come many miles through dirty roads on +the mere hope of being able to dance with her. Whatever attractions +she may have lacked, she had at any rate created for herself a great +reputation. She had spent two months of the last spring in London, +and even there she had made a sensation; and people had said that +Lord Dumbello, Lady Hartletop’s eldest son, had been peculiarly +struck with her.</p> + +<p>It may be imagined that the archdeacon was proud of her, and so +indeed was Mrs. Grantly—more proud, perhaps, of her daughter’s +beauty, than so excellent a woman should have allowed herself to be +of such an attribute. Griselda—that was her name—was now an only +daughter. One sister she had had, but that sister had died. There +were two brothers also left, one in the Church and the other in the +army. That was the extent of the archdeacon’s family, and as the +archdeacon was a very rich man—he was the only child of his father, +who had been Bishop of Barchester for a great many years; and in +those years it had been worth a man’s while to be Bishop of +Barchester—it was supposed that Miss Grantly would have a large +fortune. Mrs. Grantly, however, had been heard to say, that she was +in no hurry to see her daughter established in the world;—ordinary +young ladies are merely married, but those of real importance are +established:—and this, if anything, added to the value of the prize. +Mothers sometimes depreciate their wares by an undue solicitude to +dispose of them.</p> + +<p>But to tell the truth openly and at once—a virtue for which a +novelist does not receive very much commendation—Griselda Grantly +was, to a certain extent, already given away. Not that she, Griselda, +knew anything about it, or that the thrice happy gentleman had been +made aware of his good fortune; nor even had the archdeacon been +told. But Mrs. Grantly and Lady Lufton had been closeted together +more than once, and terms had been signed and sealed between them. +Not signed on parchment, and sealed with wax, as is the case with +treaties made by kings and diplomats,—to be broken by the same; but +signed with little words, and sealed with certain pressings of the +hand,—a treaty which between two such contracting parties would be +binding enough. And by the terms of this treaty Griselda Grantly was +to become Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton had hitherto been fortunate in her matrimonial +speculations. She had selected Sir George for her daughter, and Sir +George, with the utmost good nature, had fallen in with her views. +She had selected Fanny Monsell for Mr. Robarts, and Fanny Monsell had +not rebelled against her for a moment. There was a prestige of +success about her doings, and she felt almost confident that her dear +son Ludovic must fall in love with Griselda.</p> + +<p>As to the lady herself, nothing, Lady Lufton thought, could be much +better than such a match for her son. Lady Lufton, I have said, was a +good churchwoman, and the archdeacon was the very type of that branch +of the Church which she venerated. The Grantlys, too, were of a good +family,—not noble, indeed; but in such matters Lady Lufton did not +want everything. She was one of those persons who, in placing their +hopes at a moderate pitch, may fairly trust to see them realized. She +would fain that her son’s wife should be handsome; this she wished +for his sake, that he might be proud of his wife, and because men +love to look on beauty. But she was afraid of vivacious beauty, of +those soft, sparkling feminine charms which are spread out as lures +for all the world, soft dimples, laughing eyes, luscious lips, +conscious smiles, and easy whispers. What if her son should bring her +home a rattling, rapid-spoken, painted piece of Eve’s flesh such as +this? Would not the glory and joy of her life be over, even though +such child of their first mother should have come forth to the +present day ennobled by the blood of two dozen successive British +peers?</p> + +<p>And then, too, Griselda’s money would not be useless. Lady Lufton, +with all her high-flown ideas, was not an imprudent woman. She knew +that her son had been extravagant, though she did not believe that he +had been reckless; and she was well content to think that some balsam +from the old bishop’s coffers should be made to cure the slight +wounds which his early imprudence might have inflicted on the carcase +of the family property. And thus, in this way, and for these reasons, +Griselda Grantly had been chosen out from all the world to be the +future Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton had met Griselda more than once already; had met her +before these high contracting parties had come to any terms +whatsoever, and had evidently admired her. Lord Dumbello had remained +silent one whole evening in London with ineffable disgust, because +Lord Lufton had been rather particular in his attentions; but then +Lord Dumbello’s muteness was his most eloquent mode of expression. +Both Lady Hartletop and Mrs. Grantly, when they saw him, knew very +well what he meant. But that match would not exactly have suited Mrs. +Grantly’s views. The Hartletop people were not in her line. They +belonged altogether to another set, being connected, as we have heard +before, with the Omnium interest—“those <i>horrid</i> Gatherum people,” +as Lady Lufton would say to her, raising her hands and eyebrows, and +shaking her head. Lady Lufton probably thought that they ate babies +in pies during their midnight orgies at Gatherum Castle; and that +widows were kept in cells, and occasionally put on racks for the +amusement of the duke’s guests.</p> + +<p>When the Robarts’s party entered the drawing-room the Grantlys were +already there, and the archdeacon’s voice sounded loud and imposing +in Lucy’s ears, as she heard him speaking while she was yet on the +threshold of the door.</p> + +<p>“My dear Lady Lufton, I would believe anything on earth about +her—anything. There is nothing too outrageous for her. Had she +insisted on going there with the bishop’s apron on, I should not have +been surprised.” And then they all knew that the archdeacon was +talking about Mrs. Proudie, for Mrs. Proudie was his bugbear.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton after receiving her guests introduced Lucy to Griselda +Grantly. Miss Grantly smiled graciously, bowed slightly, and then +remarked in the lowest voice possible that it was exceedingly cold. A +low voice, we know, is an excellent thing in woman.</p> + +<p>Lucy, who thought that she was bound to speak, said that it was cold, +but that she did not mind it when she was walking. And then Griselda +smiled again, somewhat less graciously than before, and so the +conversation ended. Miss Grantly was the elder of the two, and having +seen most of the world, should have been the best able to talk, but +perhaps she was not very anxious for a conversation with Miss +Robarts.</p> + +<p>“So, Robarts, I hear that you have been preaching at Chaldicotes,” +said the archdeacon, still rather loudly. “I saw Sowerby the other +day, and he told me that you gave them the fag end of Mrs. Proudie’s +lecture.”</p> + +<p>“It was ill-natured of Sowerby to say the fag end,” said Robarts. “We +divided the matter into thirds. Harold Smith took the first part, I +the <span class="nowrap">last—”</span></p> + +<p>“And the lady the intervening portion. You have electrified the +county between you; but I am told that she had the best of it.”</p> + +<p>“I was so sorry that Mr. Robarts went there,” said Lady Lufton, as +she walked into the dining-room leaning on the archdeacon’s arm.</p> + +<p>“I am inclined to think he could not very well have helped himself,” +said the archdeacon, who was never willing to lean heavily on a +brother parson, unless on one who had utterly and irrevocably gone +away from his side of the Church.</p> + +<p>“Do you think not, archdeacon?”</p> + +<p>“Why, no: Sowerby is a friend of Lufton’s—”</p> + +<p>“Not particularly,” said poor Lady Lufton, in a deprecating tone.</p> + +<p>“Well, they have been intimate; and Robarts, when he was asked to +preach at Chaldicotes, could not well refuse.”</p> + +<p>“But then he went afterwards to Gatherum Castle. Not that I am vexed +with him at all now, you understand. But it is such a dangerous +house, you know.”</p> + +<p>“So it is.—But the very fact of the duke’s wishing to have a +clergyman there, should always be taken as a sign of grace, Lady +Lufton. The air was impure, no doubt; but it was less impure with +Robarts there than it would have been without him. But, gracious +heavens! what blasphemy have I been saying about impure air? Why, the +bishop was there!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the bishop was there,” said Lady Lufton, and they both +understood each other thoroughly.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton took out Mrs. Grantly to dinner, and matters were so +managed that Miss Grantly sat on his other side. There was no +management apparent in this to anybody; but there she was, while Lucy +was placed between her brother and Captain Culpepper. Captain +Culpepper was a man with an enormous moustache, and a great aptitude +for slaughtering game; but as he had no other strong characteristics, +it was not probable that he would make himself very agreeable to poor +Lucy.</p> + +<p>She had seen Lord Lufton once, for two minutes, since the day of that +walk, and then he had addressed her quite like an old friend. It had +been in the parsonage drawing-room, and Fanny had been there. Fanny +now was so well accustomed to his lordship, that she thought but +little of this, but to Lucy it had been very pleasant. He was not +forward or familiar, but kind, and gentle, and pleasant; and Lucy did +feel that she liked him.</p> + +<p>Now, on this evening, he had hitherto hardly spoken to her; but then +she knew that there were other people in the company to whom he was +bound to speak. She was not exactly humble-minded in the usual sense +of the word; but she did recognize the fact that her position was +less important than that of other people there, and that therefore it +was probable that to a certain extent she would be overlooked. But +not the less would she have liked to occupy the seat to which Miss +Grantly had found her way. She did not want to flirt with Lord +Lufton; she was not such a fool as that; but she would have liked to +have heard the sound of his voice close to her ear, instead of that +of Captain Culpepper’s knife and fork.</p> + +<p>This was the first occasion on which she had endeavoured to dress +herself with care since her father had died; and now, sombre though +she was in her deep mourning, she did look very well.</p> + +<p>“There is an expression about her forehead that is full of poetry,” +Fanny had said to her husband.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you turn her head, Fanny, and make her believe that she is a +beauty,” Mark had answered.</p> + +<p>“I doubt it is not so easy to turn her head, Mark. There is more in +Lucy than you imagine, and so you will find out before long.” It was +thus that Mrs. Robarts prophesied about her sister-in-law. Had she +been asked she might perhaps have said that Lucy’s presence would be +dangerous to the Grantly interest at Framley Court.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton’s voice was audible enough as he went on talking to Miss +Grantly—his voice, but not his words. He talked in such a way that +there was no appearance of whispering, and yet the person to whom he +spoke, and she only, could hear what he said. Mrs. Grantly the while +conversed constantly with Lucy’s brother, who sat at Lucy’s left +hand. She never lacked for subjects on which to speak to a country +clergyman of the right sort, and thus Griselda was left quite +uninterrupted.</p> + +<p>But Lucy could not but observe that Griselda herself seemed to have +very little to say,—or at any rate to say very little. Every now and +then she did open her mouth, and some word or brace of words would +fall from it. But for the most part she seemed to be content in the +fact that Lord Lufton was paying her attention. She showed no +animation, but sat there still and graceful, composed and classical, +as she always was. Lucy, who could not keep her ears from listening +or her eyes from looking, thought that had she been there she would +have endeavoured to take a more prominent part in the conversation. +But then Griselda Grantly probably knew much better than Lucy did how +to comport herself in such a situation. Perhaps it might be that +young men, such as Lord Lufton, liked to hear the sound of their own +voices.</p> + +<p>“Immense deal of game about here,” Captain Culpepper said to her +towards the end of the dinner. It was the second attempt he had made; +on the former he had asked her whether she knew any of the fellows of +the 9th.</p> + +<p>“Is there?” said Lucy. “Oh! I saw Lord Lufton the other day with a +great armful of pheasants.”</p> + +<p>“An armful! Why we had seven cartloads the other day at Gatherum.”</p> + +<p>“Seven carts full of pheasants!” said Lucy, amazed.</p> + +<p>“That’s not so much. We had eight guns, you know. Eight guns will do +a deal of work when the game has been well got together. They manage +all that capitally at Gatherum. Been at the duke’s, eh?”</p> + +<p>Lucy had heard the Framley report as to Gatherum Castle, and said +with a sort of shudder that she had never been at that place. After +this, Captain Culpepper troubled her no further.</p> + +<p>When the ladies had taken themselves to the drawing-room Lucy found +herself hardly better off than she had been at the dinner-table. Lady +Lufton and Mrs. Grantly got themselves on to a sofa together, and +there chatted confidentially into each other’s ears. Her ladyship had +introduced Lucy and Miss Grantly, and then she naturally thought that +the young people might do very well together. Mrs. Robarts did +attempt to bring about a joint conversation, which should include the +three, and for ten minutes or so she worked hard at it. But it did +not thrive. Miss Grantly was monosyllabic, smiling, however, at every +monosyllable; and Lucy found that nothing would occur to her at that +moment worthy of being spoken. There she sat, still and motionless, +afraid to take up a book, and thinking in her heart how much happier +she would have been at home at the parsonage. She was not made for +society; she felt sure of that; and another time she would let Mark +and Fanny come to Framley Court by themselves.</p> + +<p>And then the gentlemen came in, and there was another stir in the +room. Lady Lufton got up and bustled about; she poked the fire and +shifted the candles, spoke a few words to Dr. Grantly, whispered +something to her son, patted Lucy on the cheek, told Fanny, who was a +musician, that they would have a little music, and ended by putting +her two hands on Griselda’s shoulders and telling her that the fit of +her frock was perfect. For Lady Lufton, though she did dress old +herself, as Lucy had said, delighted to see those around her neat and +pretty, jaunty and graceful.</p> + +<p>“Dear Lady Lufton!” said Griselda, putting up her hand so as to press +the end of her ladyship’s fingers. It was the first piece of +animation she had shown, and Lucy Robarts watched it all.</p> + +<p>And then there was music. Lucy neither played nor sang; Fanny did +both, and for an amateur did both well. Griselda did not sing, but +she played; and did so in a manner that showed that neither her own +labour nor her father’s money had been spared in her instruction. +Lord Lufton sang also, a little, and Captain Culpepper a very little; +so that they got up a concert among them. In the meantime the doctor +and Mark stood talking together on the rug before the fire; the two +mothers sat contented, watching the billings and the cooings of their +offspring—and Lucy sat alone, turning over the leaves of a book of +pictures. She made up her mind fully, then and there, that she was +quite unfitted by disposition for such work as this. She cared for no +one, and no one cared for her. Well, she must go through with it now; +but another time she would know better. With her own book and a +fireside she never felt herself to be miserable as she was now.</p> + +<p>She had turned her back to the music, for she was sick of seeing Lord +Lufton watch the artistic motion of Miss Grantly’s fingers, and was +sitting at a small table as far away from the piano as a long room +would permit, when she was suddenly roused from a reverie of +self-reproach by a voice close behind her: “Miss Robarts,” said the +voice, “why have you cut us all?” and Lucy felt that though she heard +the words plainly, nobody else did. Lord Lufton was now speaking to +her as he had before spoken to Miss Grantly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t play, my lord,” said Lucy, “nor yet sing.”</p> + +<p>“That would have made your company so much more valuable to us, for +we are terribly badly off for listeners. Perhaps you don’t like +music?”</p> + +<p>“I do like it,—sometimes very much.”</p> + +<p>“And when are the sometimes? But we shall find it all out in time. We +shall have unravelled all your mysteries, and read all your riddles, +by—when shall I say?—by the end of the winter. Shall we not?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know that I have got any mysteries.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you have! It is very mysterious in you to come and sit here, +with your back to us +<span class="nowrap">all—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord Lufton; if I have done wrong—!” and poor Lucy almost +started from her chair, and a deep flush came across her dark cheek.</p> + +<p>“No—no; you have done no wrong. I was only joking. It is we who have +done wrong in leaving you to yourself—you who are the greatest +stranger among us.”</p> + +<p>“I have been very well, thank you. I don’t care about being left +alone. I have always been used to it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but we must break you of the habit. We won’t allow you to make a +hermit of yourself. But the truth is, Miss Robarts, you don’t know us +yet, and therefore you are not quite happy among us.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! yes, I am; you are all very good to me.”</p> + +<p>“You must let us be good to you. At any rate, you must let me be so. +You know, don’t you, that Mark and I have been dear friends since we +were seven years old. His wife has been my sister’s dearest friend +almost as long; and now that you are with them, you must be a dear +friend too. You won’t refuse the offer; will you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” she said, quite in a whisper; and, indeed, she could hardly +raise her voice above a whisper, fearing that tears would fall from +her tell-tale eyes.</p> + +<p>“Dr. and Mrs. Grantly will have gone in a couple of days, and then we +must get you down here. Miss Grantly is to remain for Christmas, and +you two must become bosom friends.”</p> + +<p>Lucy smiled, and tried to look pleased, but she felt that she and +Griselda Grantly could never be bosom friends—could never have +anything in common between them. She felt sure that Griselda despised +her, little, brown, plain, and unimportant as she was. She herself +could not despise Griselda in turn; indeed she could not but admire +Miss Grantly’s great beauty and dignity of demeanour; but she knew +that she could never love her. It is hardly possible that the +proud-hearted should love those who despise them; and Lucy Robarts +was very proud-hearted.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think she is very handsome?” said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Oh, very,” said Lucy. “Nobody can doubt that.”</p> + +<p>“Ludovic,” said Lady Lufton—not quite approving of her son’s +remaining so long at the back of Lucy’s chair—“won’t you give us +another song? Mrs. Robarts and Miss Grantly are still at the piano.”</p> + +<p>“I have sung away all that I knew, mother. There’s Culpepper has not +had a chance yet. He has got to give us his dream—how he ‘dreamt +that he dwelt in marble halls!’”</p> + +<p>“I sang that an hour ago,” said the captain, not over pleased.</p> + +<p>“But you certainly have not told us how ‘your little lovers came!’”</p> + +<p>The captain, however, would not sing any more. And then the party was +broken up, and the Robartses went home to their parsonage.</p> + + +<p><a id="c12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2></div> +<h3>THE LITTLE BILL.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Lucy, during those last fifteen minutes of her sojourn in the Framley +Court drawing-room, somewhat modified the very strong opinion she had +before formed as to her unfitness for such society. It was very +pleasant sitting there in that easy chair, while Lord Lufton stood at +the back of it saying nice, soft, good-natured words to her. She was +sure that in a little time she could feel a true friendship for him, +and that she could do so without any risk of falling in love with +him. But then she had a glimmering of an idea that such a friendship +would be open to all manner of remarks, and would hardly be +compatible with the world’s ordinary ways. At any rate it would be +pleasant to be at Framley Court, if he would come and occasionally +notice her. But she did not admit to herself that such a visit would +be intolerable if his whole time were devoted to Griselda Grantly. +She neither admitted it, nor thought it; but nevertheless, in a +strange unconscious way, such a feeling did find entrance in her +bosom.</p> + +<p>And then the Christmas holidays passed away. How much of this +enjoyment fell to her share, and how much of this suffering she +endured, we will not attempt accurately to describe. Miss Grantly +remained at Framley Court up to Twelfth Night, and the Robartses also +spent most of the season at the house. Lady Lufton, no doubt, had +hoped that everything might have been arranged on this occasion in +accordance with her wishes, but such had not been the case. Lord +Lufton had evidently admired Miss Grantly very much; indeed, he had +said so to his mother half-a-dozen times; but it may almost be +questioned whether the pleasure Lady Lufton derived from this was not +more than neutralized by an opinion he once put forward that Griselda +Grantly wanted some of the fire of Lucy Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Surely, Ludovic, you would never compare the two girls,” said Lady +Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Of course not. They are the very antipodes to each other. Miss +Grantly would probably be more to my taste; but then I am wise enough +to know that it is so because my taste is a bad taste.”</p> + +<p>“I know no man with a more accurate or refined taste in such +matters,” said Lady Lufton. Beyond this she did not dare to go. She +knew very well that her strategy would be vain should her son once +learn that she had a strategy. To tell the truth, Lady Lufton was +becoming somewhat indifferent to Lucy Robarts. She had been very kind +to the little girl; but the little girl seemed hardly to appreciate +the kindness as she should do—and then Lord Lufton would talk to +Lucy, “which was so unnecessary, you know;” and Lucy had got into a +way of talking quite freely with Lord Lufton, having completely +dropped that short, spasmodic, ugly exclamation of “my lord.”</p> + +<p>And so the Christmas festivities were at an end, and January wore +itself away. During the greater part of this month Lord Lufton did +not remain at Framley, but was nevertheless in the county, hunting +with the hounds of both divisions, and staying at various houses. Two +or three nights he spent at Chaldicotes; and one—let it only be told +in an under voice—at Gatherum Castle! Of this he said nothing to +Lady Lufton. “Why make her unhappy?” as he said to Mark. But Lady +Lufton knew it, though she said not a word to him—knew it, and was +unhappy. “If he would only marry Griselda, there would be an end of +that danger,” she said to herself.</p> + +<p>But now we must go back for a while to the vicar and his little bill. +It will be remembered, that his first idea with reference to that +trouble, after the reading of his father’s will, was to borrow the +money from his brother John. John was down at Exeter at the time, and +was to stay one night at the parsonage on his way to London. Mark +would broach the matter to him on the journey, painful though it +would be to him to tell the story of his own folly to a brother so +much younger than himself, and who had always looked up to him, +clergyman and full-blown vicar as he was, with a deference greater +than that which such difference in age required.</p> + +<p>The story was told, however; but was told all in vain, as Mark found +out before he reached Framley. His brother John immediately declared +that he would lend him the money, of course—eight hundred, if his +brother wanted it. He, John, confessed that, as regarded the +remaining two, he should like to feel the pleasure of immediate +possession. As for interest, he would not take any—take interest +from a brother! of course not. Well, if Mark made such a fuss about +it, he supposed he must take it; but would rather not. Mark should +have his own way, and do just what he liked.</p> + +<p>This was all very well, and Mark had fully made up his mind that his +brother should not be kept long out of his money. But then arose the +question, how was that money to be reached? He, Mark, was executor, +or one of the executors under his father’s will, and, therefore, no +doubt, could put his hand upon it; but his brother wanted five months +of being of age, and could not therefore as yet be put legally in +possession of the legacy.</p> + +<p>“That’s a bore,” said the assistant private secretary to the Lord +Petty Bag, thinking, perhaps, as much of his own immediate wish for +ready cash as he did of his brother’s necessities. Mark felt that it +was a bore, but there was nothing more to be done in that direction. +He must now find out how far the bankers could assist him.</p> + +<p>Some week or two after his return to Framley he went over to +Barchester, and called there on a certain Mr. Forrest, the manager of +one of the banks, with whom he was acquainted; and with many +injunctions as to secrecy told this manager the whole of his story. +At first he concealed the name of his friend Sowerby, but it soon +appeared that no such concealment was of any avail. “That’s Sowerby, +of course,” said Mr. Forrest. “I know you are intimate with him; and +all his friends go through that, sooner or later.”</p> + +<p>It seemed to Mark as though Mr. Forrest made very light of the whole +transaction.</p> + +<p>“I cannot possibly pay the bill when it falls due,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, of course not,” said Mr. Forrest. “It’s never very +convenient to hand out four hundred pounds at a blow. Nobody will +expect you to pay it!”</p> + +<p>“But I suppose I shall have to do it sooner or later?”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s as may be. It will depend partly on how you manage with +Sowerby, and partly on the hands it gets into. As the bill has your +name on it, they’ll have patience as long as the interest is paid, +and the commissions on renewal. But no doubt it will have to be met +some day by somebody.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Forrest said that he was sure that the bill was not in +Barchester; Mr. Sowerby would not, he thought, have brought it to a +Barchester bank. The bill was probably in London, but doubtless would +be sent to Barchester for collection. “If it comes in my way,” said +Mr. Forrest, “I will give you plenty of time, so that you may manage +about the renewal with Sowerby. I suppose he’ll pay the expense of +doing that.”</p> + +<p>Mark’s heart was somewhat lighter as he left the bank. Mr. Forrest +had made so little of the whole transaction that he felt himself +justified in making little of it also. “It may be as well,” said he +to himself, as he drove home, “not to tell Fanny anything about it +till the three months have run round. I must make some arrangement +then.” And in this way his mind was easier during the last of those +three months than it had been during the two former. That feeling of +over-due bills, of bills coming due, of accounts overdrawn, of +tradesmen unpaid, of general money cares, is very dreadful at first; +but it is astonishing how soon men get used to it. A load which would +crush a man at first becomes, by habit, not only endurable, but easy +and comfortable to the bearer. The habitual debtor goes along jaunty +and with elastic step, almost enjoying the excitement of his +embarrassments. There was Mr. Sowerby himself; who ever saw a cloud +on his brow? It made one almost in love with ruin to be in his +company. And even now, already, Mark Robarts was thinking to himself +quite comfortably about this bill;—how very pleasantly those bankers +managed these things. Pay it! No; no one will be so unreasonable as +to expect you to do that! And then Mr. Sowerby certainly was a +pleasant fellow, and gave a man something in return for his money. It +was still a question with Mark whether Lord Lufton had not been too +hard on Sowerby. Had that gentleman fallen across his clerical friend +at the present moment, he might no doubt have gotten from him an +acceptance for another four hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>One is almost inclined to believe that there is something pleasurable +in the excitement of such embarrassments, as there is also in the +excitement of drink. But then, at last, the time does come when the +excitement is over, and when nothing but the misery is left. If there +be an existence of wretchedness on earth it must be that of the +elderly, worn-out <i>roué</i>, who has run this race of debt and bills of +accommodation and acceptances,—of what, if we were not in these days +somewhat afraid of good broad English, we might call lying and +swindling, falsehood and fraud—and who, having ruined all whom he +should have loved, having burnt up every one who would trust him +much, and scorched all who would trust him a little, is at last left +to finish his life with such bread and water as these men get, +without one honest thought to strengthen his sinking heart, or one +honest friend to hold his shivering hand! If a man could only think +of that, as he puts his name to the first little bill, as to which he +is so good-naturedly assured that it can easily be renewed!</p> + +<p>When the three months had nearly run out, it so happened that Robarts +met his friend Sowerby. Mark had once or twice ridden with Lord +Lufton as far as the meet of the hounds, and may, perhaps, have gone +a field or two farther on some occasions. The reader must not think +that he had taken to hunting, as some parsons do; and it is singular +enough that whenever they do so they always show a special aptitude +for the pursuit, as though hunting were an employment peculiarly +congenial with a cure of souls in the country. Such a thought would +do our vicar injustice. But when Lord Lufton would ask him what on +earth could be the harm of riding along the roads to look at the +hounds, he hardly knew what sensible answer to give his lordship. It +would be absurd to say that his time would be better employed at home +in clerical matters, for it was notorious that he had not clerical +pursuits for the employment of half his time. In this way, therefore, +he had got into a habit of looking at the hounds, and keeping up his +acquaintance in the county, meeting Lord Dumbello, Mr. Green Walker, +Harold Smith, and other such like sinners; and on one such occasion, +as the three months were nearly closing, he did meet Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Sowerby; I want to speak to you for half a moment. What +are you doing about that bill?”</p> + +<p>“Bill—bill! what bill?—which bill? The whole bill, and nothing but +the bill. That seems to be the conversation now-a-days of all men, +morning, noon, and night.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know the bill I signed for you for four hundred pounds?”</p> + +<p>“Did you, though? Was not that rather green of you?”</p> + +<p>This did seem strange to Mark. Could it really be the fact that Mr. +Sowerby had so many bills flying about that he had absolutely +forgotten that occurrence in the Gatherum Castle bedroom? And then to +be called green by the very man whom he had obliged!</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I was,” said Mark, in a tone that showed that he was +somewhat piqued. “But all the same I should be glad to know how it +will be taken up.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, what a ruffian you are to spoil my day’s sport in this +way. Any man but a parson would be too good a Christian for such +intense cruelty. But let me see—four hundred pounds? Oh, yes—Tozer +has it.”</p> + +<p>“And what will Tozer do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Make money of it; whatever way he may go to work he will do that.”</p> + +<p>“But will Tozer bring it to me on the 20th?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord, no! Upon my word, Mark, you are deliciously green. A cat +would as soon think of killing a mouse directly she got it into her +claws. But, joking apart, you need not trouble yourself. Maybe you +will hear no more about it; or, perhaps, which no doubt is more +probable, I may have to send it to you to be renewed. But you need do +nothing till you hear from me or somebody else.”</p> + +<p>“Only do not let any one come down upon me for the money.”</p> + +<p>“There is not the slightest fear of that. Tally-ho, old fellow! He’s +away. Tally-ho! right over by Gossetts’ barn. Come along, and never +mind Tozer—‘Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.’” And away +they both went together, parson and member of Parliament.</p> + +<p>And then again on that occasion Mark went home with a sort of feeling +that the bill did not matter. Tozer would manage it somehow; and it +was quite clear that it would not do to tell his wife of it just at +present.</p> + +<p>On the 21st of that month of February, however, he did receive a +reminder that the bill and all concerning it had not merely been a +farce. This was a letter from Mr. Sowerby, dated from Chaldicotes, +though not bearing the Barchester post-mark, in which that gentleman +suggested a renewal—not exactly of the old bill, but of a new one. +It seemed to Mark that the letter had been posted in London. If I +give it entire, I shall, perhaps, most quickly explain its +purport:<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Chaldicotes,—20th February, 185—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Mark</span>,—“Lend not thy name to the money-dealers, +for the same is a destruction and a snare.” If that be not +in the Proverbs, it ought to be. Tozer has given me +certain signs of his being alive and strong this cold +weather. As we can neither of us take up that bill for +£400 at the moment, we must renew it, and pay him his +commission and interest, with all the rest of his +perquisites, and pickings, and stealings—from all which, +I can assure you, Tozer does not keep his hands as he +should do.</p> + +<p>To cover this and some other little outstanding trifles, I +have filled in the new bill for £500, making it due 23rd +of May next. Before that time, a certain accident will, I +trust, have occurred to your impoverished friend. +By-the-by, I never told you how she went off from Gatherum +Castle, the morning after you left us, with the Greshams. +Cart-ropes would not hold her, even though the duke held +them; which he did, with all the strength of his ducal +hands. She would go to meet some doctor of theirs, and so +I was put off for that time; but I think that the matter +stands in a good train.</p> + +<p>Do not lose a post in sending back the bill accepted, as +Tozer may annoy you—nay, undoubtedly will, if the matter +be not in his hand, duly signed by both of us, the day +after to-morrow. He is an ungrateful brute; he has lived +on me for these eight years, and would not let me off a +single squeeze now to save my life. But I am specially +anxious to save you from the annoyance and cost of +lawyers’ letters; and if delayed, it might get into the +papers.</p> + +<p>Put it under cover to me, at No. 7, Duke Street, St. +James’s. I shall be in town by that time.</p> + +<p>Good-bye, old fellow. That was a decent brush we had the +other day from Cobbold’s Ashes. I wish I could get that +brown horse from you. I would not mind going to a hundred +and thirty.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours ever,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">N. Sowerby</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When Mark had read it through he looked down on his table to see +whether the old bill had fallen from the letter; but no, there was no +enclosure, and had been no enclosure but the new bill. And then he +read the letter through again, and found that there was no word about +the old bill,—not a syllable, at least, as to its whereabouts. +Sowerby did not even say that it would remain in his own hands.</p> + +<p>Mark did not in truth know much about such things. It might be that +the very fact of his signing this second document would render that +first document null and void; and from Sowerby’s silence on the +subject, it might be argued that this was so well known to be the +case, that he had not thought of explaining it. But yet Mark could +not see how this should be so.</p> + +<p>But what was he to do? That threat of cost and lawyers, and specially +of the newspapers, did have its effect upon him—as no doubt it was +intended to do. And then he was utterly dumfounded by Sowerby’s +impudence in drawing on him for £500 instead of £400, “covering,” as +Sowerby so good-humouredly said, “sundry little outstanding trifles.”</p> + +<p>But at last he did sign the bill, and sent it off, as Sowerby had +directed. What else was he to do?</p> + +<p>Fool that he was. A man always can do right, even though he has done +wrong before. But that previous wrong adds so much difficulty to the +path—a difficulty which increases in tremendous ratio, till a man at +last is choked in his struggling, and is drowned beneath the waters.</p> + +<p>And then he put away Sowerby’s letter carefully, locking it up from +his wife’s sight. It was a letter that no parish clergyman should +have received. So much he acknowledged to himself. But nevertheless +it was necessary that he should keep it. And now again for a few +hours this affair made him very miserable.</p> + + +<p><a id="c13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2></div> +<h3>DELICATE HINTS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Lady Lufton had been greatly rejoiced at that good deed which her son +did in giving up his Leicestershire hunting, and coming to reside for +the winter at Framley. It was proper, and becoming, and comfortable +in the extreme. An English nobleman ought to hunt in the county where +he himself owns the fields over which he rides; he ought to receive +the respect and honour due to him from his own tenants; he ought to +sleep under a roof of his own, and he ought also—so Lady Lufton +thought—to fall in love with a young embryo bride of his own +mother’s choosing.</p> + +<p>And then it was so pleasant to have him there in the house. Lady +Lufton was not a woman who allowed her life to be what people in +common parlance call dull. She had too many duties, and thought too +much of them, to allow of her suffering from tedium and <i>ennui</i>. But +nevertheless the house was more joyous to her when he was there. +There was a reason for some little gaiety, which would never have +been attracted thither by herself, but which, nevertheless, she did +enjoy when it was brought about by his presence. She was younger and +brighter when he was there, thinking more of the future and less of +the past. She could look at him, and that alone was happiness to her. +And then he was pleasant-mannered with her; joking with her on her +little old-world prejudices in a tone that was musical to her ear as +coming from him; smiling on her, reminding her of those smiles which +she had loved so dearly when as yet he was all her own, lying there +in his little bed beside her chair. He was kind and gracious to her, +behaving like a good son, at any rate while he was there in her +presence. When we add, to this, her fears that he might not be so +perfect in his conduct when absent, we may well imagine that Lady +Lufton was pleased to have him there at Framley Court.</p> + +<p>She had hardly said a word to him as to that five thousand pounds. +Many a night, as she lay thinking on her pillow, she said to herself +that no money had ever been better expended, since it had brought him +back to his own house. He had thanked her for it in his own open way, +declaring that he would pay it back to her during the coming year, +and comforting her heart by his rejoicing that the property had not +been sold.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like the idea of parting with an acre of it,” he had said.</p> + +<p>“Of course not, Ludovic. Never let the estate decrease in your hands. +It is only by such resolutions as that that English noblemen and +English gentlemen can preserve their country. I cannot bear to see +property changing hands.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing to have land in the market +sometimes, so that the millionnaires may know what to do with their +money.”</p> + +<p>“God forbid that yours should be there!” And the widow made a little +mental prayer that her son’s acres might be protected from the +millionnaires and other Philistines.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes: I don’t exactly want to see a Jew tailor investing his +earnings at Lufton,” said the lord.</p> + +<p>“Heaven forbid!” said the widow.</p> + +<p>All this, as I have said, was very nice. It was manifest to her +ladyship, from his lordship’s way of talking, that no vital injury +had as yet been done: he had no cares on his mind, and spoke freely +about the property: but nevertheless there were clouds even now, at +this period of bliss, which somewhat obscured the brilliancy of Lady +Lufton’s sky. Why was Ludovic so slow in that affair of Griselda +Grantly? why so often in these latter winter days did he saunter over +to the parsonage? And then that terrible visit to Gatherum Castle!</p> + +<p>What actually did happen at Gatherum Castle, she never knew. We, +however, are more intrusive, less delicate in our inquiries, and we +can say. He had a very bad day’s sport with the West Barsetshire. The +county is altogether short of foxes, and some one who understands the +matter must take that point up before they can do any good. And after +that he had had rather a dull dinner with the duke. Sowerby had been +there, and in the evening he and Sowerby had played billiards. +Sowerby had won a pound or two, and that had been the extent of the +damage done.</p> + +<p>But those saunterings over to the parsonage might be more dangerous. +Not that it ever occurred to Lady Lufton as possible that her son +should fall in love with Lucy Robarts. Lucy’s personal attractions +were not of a nature to give ground for such a fear as that. But he +might turn the girl’s head with his chatter; she might be fool enough +to fancy any folly; and, moreover, people would talk. Why should he +go to the parsonage now more frequently than he had ever done before +Lucy came there?</p> + +<p>And then her ladyship, in reference to the same trouble, hardly knew +how to manage her invitations to the parsonage. These hitherto had +been very frequent, and she had been in the habit of thinking that +they could hardly be too much so; but now she was almost afraid to +continue the custom. She could not ask the parson and his wife +without Lucy; and when Lucy was there, her son would pass the greater +part of the evening in talking to her, or playing chess with her. Now +this did disturb Lady Lufton not a little.</p> + +<p>And then Lucy took it all so quietly. On her first arrival at Framley +she had been so shy, so silent, and so much awestruck by the grandeur +of Framley Court, that Lady Lufton had sympathized with her and +encouraged her. She had endeavoured to moderate the blaze of her own +splendour, in order that Lucy’s unaccustomed eyes might not be +dazzled. But all this was changed now. Lucy could listen to the young +lord’s voice by the hour together—without being dazzled in the +least.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances two things occurred to her. She would speak +either to her son or to Fanny Robarts, and by a little diplomacy have +this evil remedied. And then she had to determine on which step she +would take.</p> + +<p>“Nothing could be more reasonable than Ludovic.” So at least she said +to herself over and over again. But then Ludovic understood nothing +about such matters; and he had, moreover, a habit, inherited from his +father, of taking the bit between his teeth whenever he suspected +interference. Drive him gently without pulling his mouth about, and +you might take him anywhere, almost at any pace; but a smart touch, +let it be ever so slight, would bring him on his haunches, and then +it might be a question whether you could get him another mile that +day. So that on the whole Lady Lufton thought that the other plan +would be the best. I have no doubt that Lady Lufton was right.</p> + +<p>She got Fanny up into her own den one afternoon, and seated her +discreetly in an easy arm-chair, making her guest take off her +bonnet, and showing by various signs that the visit was regarded as +one of great moment.</p> + +<p>“Fanny,” she said, “I want to speak to you about something that is +important and necessary to mention, and yet it is a very delicate +affair to speak of.” Fanny opened her eyes, and said that she hoped +that nothing was wrong.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear, I think nothing is wrong: I hope so, and I think I may +say I’m sure of it; but then it’s always well to be on one’s guard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” said Fanny, who knew that something unpleasant was +coming—something as to which she might probably be called upon to +differ from her ladyship. Mrs. Robarts’ own fears, however, were +running entirely in the direction of her husband;—and, indeed, Lady +Lufton had a word or two to say on that subject also, only not +exactly now. A hunting parson was not at all to her taste; but that +matter might be allowed to remain in abeyance for a few days.</p> + +<p>“Now, Fanny, you know that we have all liked your sister-in-law, +Lucy, very much.” And then Mrs. Robarts’ mind was immediately opened, +and she knew the rest as well as though it had all been spoken. “I +need hardly tell you that, for I am sure we have shown it.”</p> + +<p>“You have, indeed, as you always do.”</p> + +<p>“And you must not think that I am going to complain,” continued Lady +Lufton.</p> + +<p>“I hope there is nothing to complain of,” said Fanny, speaking by no +means in a defiant tone, but humbly as it were, and deprecating her +ladyship’s wrath. Fanny had gained one signal victory over Lady +Lufton, and on that account, with a prudence equal to her generosity, +felt that she could afford to be submissive. It might, perhaps, not +be long before she would be equally anxious to conquer again.</p> + +<p>“Well, no; I don’t think there is,” said Lady Lufton. “Nothing to +complain of; but a little chat between you and me may, perhaps, set +matters right, which, otherwise, might become troublesome.”</p> + +<p>“Is it about Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear—about Lucy. She is a very nice, good girl, and a +credit to her <span class="nowrap">father—”</span></p> + +<p>“And a great comfort to us,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I am sure she is: she must be a very pleasant companion to you, and +so useful about the children; <span class="nowrap">but—”</span> And +then Lady Lufton paused for +a moment; for she, eloquent and discreet as she always was, felt +herself rather at a loss for words to express her exact meaning.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what I should do without her,” said Fanny, speaking +with the object of assisting her ladyship in her embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“But the truth is this: she and Lord Lufton are getting into the way +of being too much together—of talking to each other too exclusively. +I am sure you must have noticed it, Fanny. It is not that I suspect +any evil. I don’t think that I am suspicious by nature.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! no,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“But they will each of them get wrong ideas about the other, and +about themselves. Lucy will, perhaps, think that Ludovic means more +than he does, and Ludovic <span class="nowrap">will—”</span> But +it was not quite so easy to say +what Ludovic might do or think; but Lady Lufton went on: “I am sure +that you understand me, Fanny, with your excellent sense and tact. +Lucy is clever, and amusing, and all that; and Ludovic, like all +young men, is perhaps ignorant that his attentions may be taken to +mean more than he +<span class="nowrap">intends—”</span></p> + +<p>“You don’t think that Lucy is in love with him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, no—nothing of the kind. If I thought it had come to that, +I should recommend that she should be sent away altogether. I am sure +she is not so foolish as that.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think there is anything in it at all, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think there is, my dear, and therefore I would not for +worlds make any suggestion about it to Lord Lufton. I would not let +him suppose that I suspected Lucy of being so imprudent. But still, +it may be well that you should just say a word to her. A little +management now and then, in such matters, is so useful.”</p> + +<p>“But what shall I say to her?”</p> + +<p>“Just explain to her that any young lady who talks so much to the +same young gentleman will certainly be observed—that people will +accuse her of setting her cap at Lord Lufton. Not that I suspect +her—I give her credit for too much proper feeling: I know her +education has been good, and her principles are upright. But people +will talk of her. You must understand that, Fanny, as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>Fanny could not help meditating whether proper feeling, education, +and upright principles did forbid Lucy Robarts to fall in love with +Lord Lufton; but her doubts on this subject, if she held any, were +not communicated to her ladyship. It had never entered into her mind +that a match was possible between Lord Lufton and Lucy Robarts, nor +had she the slightest wish to encourage it now that the idea was +suggested to her. On such a matter she could sympathize with Lady +Lufton, though she did not completely agree with her as to the +expediency of any interference. Nevertheless, she at once offered to +speak to Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that Lucy has any idea in her head upon the subject,” +said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“I dare say not—I don’t suppose she has. But young ladies sometimes +allow themselves to fall in love, and then to think themselves very +ill-used, just because they have had no idea in their head.”</p> + +<p>“I will put her on her guard if you wish it, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, my dear; that is just it. Put her on her guard—that is all +that is necessary. She is a dear, good, clever girl, and it would be +very sad if anything were to interrupt our comfortable way of getting +on with her.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts knew to a nicety the exact meaning of this threat. If +Lucy would persist in securing to herself so much of Lord Lufton’s +time and attention, her visits to Framley Court must become less +frequent. Lady Lufton would do much, very much, indeed, for her +friends at the parsonage; but not even for them could she permit her +son’s prospects in life to be endangered.</p> + +<p>There was nothing more said between them, and Mrs. Robarts got up to +take her leave, having promised to speak to Lucy.</p> + +<p>“You manage everything so perfectly,” said Lady Lufton, as she +pressed Mrs. Robarts’ hand, “that I am quite at ease now that I find +you will agree with me.” Mrs. Robarts did not exactly agree with her +ladyship, but she hardly thought it worth her while to say so.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts immediately started off on her walk to her own home, and +when she had got out of the grounds into the road, where it makes a +turn towards the parsonage, nearly opposite to Podgens’ shop, she +saw Lord Lufton on horseback, and Lucy standing beside him. It was +already nearly five o’clock, and it was getting dusk; but as she +approached, or rather as she came suddenly within sight of them, she +could see that they were in close conversation. Lord Lufton’s face +was towards her, and his horse was standing still; he was leaning +over towards his companion, and the whip, which he held in his right +hand, hung almost over her arm and down her back, as though his hand +had touched and perhaps rested on her shoulder. She was standing by +his side, looking up into his face, with one gloved hand resting on +the horse’s neck. Mrs. Robarts, as she saw them, could not but own +that there might be cause for Lady Lufton’s fears.</p> + +<p>But then Lucy’s manner, as Mrs. Robarts approached, was calculated to +dissipate any such fears, and to prove that there was no ground for +them. She did not move from her position, or allow her hand to drop, +or show that she was in any way either confused or conscious. She +stood her ground, and when her sister-in-law came up was smiling and +at her ease.</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton wants me to learn to ride,” said she.</p> + +<p>“To learn to ride!” said Fanny, not knowing what answer to make to +such a proposition.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he. “This horse would carry her beautifully: he is as +quiet as a lamb, and I made Gregory go out with him yesterday with a +sheet hanging over him like a lady’s habit, and the man got up into a +lady’s saddle.”</p> + +<p>“I think Gregory would make a better hand of it than Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“The horse cantered with him as though he had carried a lady all his +life, and his mouth is like velvet; indeed, that is his fault—he is +too soft-mouthed.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that’s the same sort of thing as a man being +soft-hearted,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“Exactly: you ought to ride them both with a very light hand. They +are difficult cattle to manage, but very pleasant when you know how +to do it.”</p> + +<p>“But you see I don’t know how to do it,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“As regards the horse, you will learn in two days, and I do hope you +will try. Don’t you think it will be an excellent thing for her, Mrs. +Robarts?”</p> + +<p>“Lucy has got no habit,” said Mrs. Robarts, making use of the excuse +common on all such occasions.</p> + +<p>“There is one of Justinia’s in the house, I know. She always leaves +one here, in order that she may be able to ride when she comes.”</p> + +<p>“She would not think of taking such a liberty with Lady Meredith’s +things,” said Fanny, almost frightened at the proposal.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is out of the question, Fanny,” said Lucy, now speaking +rather seriously. “In the first place, I would not take Lord Lufton’s +horse; in the second place, I would not take Lady Meredith’s habit; +in the third place, I should be a great deal too much frightened; +and, lastly, it is quite out of the question for a great many other +very good reasons.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“A great deal of nonsense,” said Lucy, laughing, “but all of it of +Lord Lufton’s talking. But we are getting cold—are we not, +Fanny?—so we will wish you good-night.” And then the two ladies +shook hands with him, and walked on towards the parsonage.</p> + +<p>That which astonished Mrs. Robarts the most in all this was the +perfectly collected manner in which Lucy spoke and conducted herself. +This connected, as she could not but connect it, with the air of +chagrin with which Lord Lufton received Lucy’s decision, made it +manifest to Mrs. Robarts that Lord Lufton was annoyed because Lucy +would not consent to learn to ride; whereas she, Lucy herself, had +given her refusal in a firm and decided tone, as though resolved that +nothing more should be said about it.</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for a minute or two, till they reached the +parsonage gate, and then Lucy said, laughing, “Can’t you fancy me +sitting on that great big horse? I wonder what Lady Lufton would say +if she saw me there, and his lordship giving me my first lesson?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she would like it,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure she would not. But I will not try her temper in that +respect. Sometimes I fancy that she does not even like seeing Lord +Lufton talking to me.”</p> + +<p>“She does not like it, Lucy, when she sees him flirting with you.”</p> + +<p>This Mrs. Robarts said rather gravely, whereas Lucy had been speaking +in a half-bantering tone. As soon as even the word flirting was out +of Fanny’s mouth, she was conscious that she had been guilty of an +injustice in using it. She had wished to say something which would +convey to her sister-in-law an idea of what Lady Lufton would +dislike; but in doing so, she had unintentionally brought against her +an accusation.</p> + +<p>“Flirting, Fanny!” said Lucy, standing still in the path, and looking +up into her companion’s face with all her eyes. “Do you mean to say +that I have been flirting with Lord Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“I did not say that.”</p> + +<p>“Or that I have allowed him to flirt with me?”</p> + +<p>“I did not mean to shock you, Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“What did you mean, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>“Why, just this: that Lady Lufton would not be pleased if he paid you +marked attentions, and if you received them;—just like that affair +of the riding; it was better to decline it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I declined it; of course I never dreamt of accepting such +an offer. Go riding about the country on his horses! What have I +done, Fanny, that you should suppose such a thing?”</p> + +<p>“You have done nothing, dearest.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did you speak as you did just now?”</p> + +<p>“Because I wished to put you on your guard. You know, Lucy, that I do +not intend to find fault with you; but you may be sure, as a rule, +that intimate friendships between young gentlemen and young ladies +are dangerous things.”</p> + +<p>They then walked up to the hall-door in silence. When they had +reached it, Lucy stood in the doorway instead of entering it, and +said, “Fanny, let us take another turn together, if you are not +tired.”</p> + +<p>“No, I’m not tired.”</p> + +<p>“It will be better that I should understand you at once,”—and then +they again moved away from the house. “Tell me truly now, do you +think that Lord Lufton and I have been flirting?”</p> + +<p>“I do think that he is a little inclined to flirt with you.”</p> + +<p>“And Lady Lufton has been asking you to lecture me about it?”</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Robarts hardly knew what to say. She thought well of all +the persons concerned, and was very anxious to behave well by all of +them;—was particularly anxious to create no ill feeling, and wished +that everybody should be comfortable, and on good terms with +everybody else. But yet the truth was forced out of her when this +question was asked so suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Not to lecture you, Lucy,” she said at last.</p> + +<p>“Well, to preach to me, or to talk to me, or to give me a lesson; to +say something that shall drive me to put my back up against Lord +Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“To caution you, dearest. Had you heard what she said, you would +hardly have felt angry with Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Well, to caution me. It is such a pleasant thing for a girl to be +cautioned against falling in love with a gentleman, especially when +the gentleman is very rich, and a lord, and all that sort of thing!”</p> + +<p>“Nobody for a moment attributes anything wrong to you, Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong—no. I don’t know whether it would be anything wrong, +even if I were to fall in love with him. I wonder whether they +cautioned Griselda Grantly when she was here? I suppose when young +lords go about, all the girls are cautioned as a matter of course. +Why do they not label him ‘dangerous’?” And then again they were +silent for a moment, as Mrs. Robarts did not feel that she had +anything further to say on the matter.</p> + +<p>“‘Poison’ should be the word with any one so fatal as Lord Lufton; +and he ought to be made up of some particular colour, for fear he +should be swallowed in mistake.”</p> + +<p>“You will be safe, you see,” said Fanny, laughing, “as you have been +specially cautioned as to this individual bottle.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but what’s the use of that after I have had so many doses? It is +no good telling me about it now, when the mischief is done,—after I +have been taking it for I don’t know how long. Dear! dear! dear! and +I regarded it as a mere commonplace powder, good for the complexion. +I wonder whether it’s too late, or whether there’s any antidote?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts did not always quite understand her sister-in-law, and +now she was a little at a loss. “I don’t think there’s much harm done +yet on either side,” she said, cheerily.</p> + +<p>“Ah! you don’t know, Fanny. But I do think that if I die—as I +shall—I feel I shall;—and if so, I do think it ought to go very +hard with Lady Lufton. Why didn’t she label him ‘dangerous’ in time?” +And then they went into the house and up to their own rooms.</p> + +<p>It was difficult for any one to understand Lucy’s state of mind at +present, and it can hardly be said that she understood it herself. +She felt that she had received a severe blow in having been thus made +the subject of remark with reference to Lord Lufton. She knew that +her pleasant evenings at Framley Court were now over, and that she +could not again talk to him in an unrestrained tone and without +embarrassment. She had felt the air of the whole place to be very +cold before her intimacy with him, and now it must be cold again. Two +homes had been open to her, Framley Court and the parsonage; and now, +as far as comfort was concerned, she must confine herself to the +latter. She could not again be comfortable in Lady Lufton’s +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>But then she could not help asking herself whether Lady Lufton was +not right. She had had courage enough, and presence of mind, to joke +about the matter when her sister-in-law spoke to her, and yet she was +quite aware that it was no joking matter. Lord Lufton had not +absolutely made love to her, but he had latterly spoken to her in a +manner which she knew was not compatible with that ordinary +comfortable masculine friendship with the idea of which she had once +satisfied herself. Was not Fanny right when she said that intimate +friendships of that nature were dangerous things?</p> + +<p>Yes, Lucy, very dangerous. Lucy, before she went to bed that night, +had owned to herself that they were so; and lying there with +sleepless eyes and a moist pillow, she was driven to confess that the +label would in truth be now too late, that the caution had come to +her after the poison had been swallowed. Was there any antidote? That +was all that was left for her to consider. But, nevertheless, on the +following morning she could appear quite at her ease. And when Mark +had left the house after breakfast, she could still joke with Fanny +as to Lady Lufton’s poison cupboard.</p> + + +<p><a id="c14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2></div> +<h3>MR. CRAWLEY OF HOGGLESTOCK.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And then there was that other trouble in Lady Lufton’s mind, the +sins, namely, of her selected parson. She had selected him, and she +was by no means inclined to give him up, even though his sins against +parsondom were grievous. Indeed she was a woman not prone to give up +anything, and of all things not prone to give up a <i>protégé</i>. The +very fact that she herself had selected him was the strongest +argument in his favour.</p> + +<p>But his sins against parsondom were becoming very grievous in her +eyes, and she was at a loss to know what steps to take. She hardly +dared to take him to task, him himself. Were she to do so, and should +he then tell her to mind her own business—as he probably might do, +though not in those words—there would be a schism in the parish; and +almost anything would be better than that. The whole work of her life +would be upset, all the outlets of her energy would be impeded if not +absolutely closed, if a state of things were to come to pass in which +she and the parson of her parish should not be on good terms.</p> + +<p>But what was to be done? Early in the winter he had gone to +Chaldicotes and to Gatherum Castle, consorting with gamblers, Whigs, +atheists, men of loose pleasure, and Proudieites. That she had +condoned; and now he was turning out a hunting parson on her hands. +It was all very well for Fanny to say that he merely looked at the +hounds as he rode about his parish. Fanny might be deceived. Being +his wife, it might be her duty not to see her husband’s iniquities. +But Lady Lufton could not be deceived. She knew very well in what +part of the county Cobbold’s Ashes lay. It was not in Framley parish, +nor in the next parish to it. It was half-way across to +Chaldicotes—in the western division; and she had heard of that run +in which two horses had been killed, and in which Parson Robarts had +won such immortal glory among West Barsetshire sportsmen. It was not +easy to keep Lady Lufton in the dark as to matters occurring in her +own county.</p> + +<p>All these things she knew, but as yet had not noticed, grieving over +them in her own heart the more on that account. Spoken grief relieves +itself; and when one can give counsel, one always hopes at least that +that counsel will be effective. To her son she had said, more than +once, that it was a pity that Mr. Robarts should follow the +hounds.—“The world has agreed that it is unbecoming in a clergyman,” +she would urge, in her deprecatory tone. But her son would by no +means give her any comfort. “He doesn’t hunt, you know—not as I do,” +he would say. “And if he did, I really don’t see the harm of it. A +man must have some amusement, even if he be an archbishop.” “He has +amusement at home,” Lady Lufton would answer. “What does his wife +do—and his sister?” This allusion to Lucy, however, was very soon +dropped.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton would in no wise help her. He would not even passively +discourage the vicar, or refrain from offering to give him a seat in +going to the meets. Mark and Lord Lufton had been boys together, and +his lordship knew that Mark in his heart would enjoy a brush across +the country quite as well as he himself; and then what was the harm +of it?</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton’s best aid had been in Mark’s own conscience. He had +taken himself to task more than once, and had promised himself that +he would not become a sporting parson. Indeed, where would be his +hopes of ulterior promotion, if he allowed himself to degenerate so +far as that? It had been his intention, in reviewing what he +considered to be the necessary proprieties of clerical life, in +laying out his own future mode of living, to assume no peculiar +sacerdotal strictness; he would not be known as a denouncer of +dancing or of card-tables, of theatres or of novel-reading; he would +take the world around him as he found it, endeavouring by precept and +practice to lend a hand to the gradual amelioration which +Christianity is producing; but he would attempt no sudden or majestic +reforms. Cake and ale would still be popular, and ginger be hot in +the mouth, let him preach ever so—let him be never so solemn a +hermit; but a bright face, a true trusting heart, a strong arm, and +an humble mind, might do much in teaching those around him that men +may be gay and yet not profligate, that women may be devout and yet +not dead to the world.</p> + +<p>Such had been his ideas as to his own future life; and though many +would think that as a clergyman he should have gone about his work +with more serious devotion of thought, nevertheless there was some +wisdom in them;—some folly also, undoubtedly, as appeared by the +troubles into which they led him.</p> + +<p>“I will not affect to think that to be bad,” said he to himself, +“which in my heart of hearts does not seem to be bad.” And thus he +resolved that he might live without contamination among hunting +squires. And then, being a man only too prone by nature to do as +others did around him, he found by degrees that that could hardly be +wrong for him which he admitted to be right for others.</p> + +<p>But still his conscience upbraided him, and he declared to himself +more than once that after this year he would hunt no more. And then +his own Fanny would look at him on his return home on those days in a +manner that cut him to the heart. She would say nothing to him. She +never inquired in a sneering tone, and with angry eyes, whether he +had enjoyed his day’s sport; but when he spoke of it, she could not +answer him with enthusiasm; and in other matters which concerned him +she was always enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>After a while, too, he made matters worse, for about the end of March +he did another very foolish thing. He almost consented to buy an +expensive horse from Sowerby—an animal which he by no means wanted, +and which, if once possessed, would certainly lead him into further +trouble. A gentleman, when he has a good horse in his stable, does +not like to leave him there eating his head off. If he be a +gig-horse, the owner of him will be keen to drive a gig; if a hunter, +the happy possessor will wish to be with a pack of hounds.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” said Sowerby to him one day, when they were out together, +“this brute of mine is so fresh, I can hardly ride him; you are young +and strong; change with me for an hour or so.” And then they did +change, and the horse on which Robarts found himself mounted went +away with him beautifully.</p> + +<p>“He’s a splendid animal,” said Mark, when they again met.</p> + +<p>“Yes, for a man of your weight. He’s thrown away upon me;—too much +of a horse for my purposes. I don’t get along now quite as well as I +used to do. He is a nice sort of hunter; just rising six, you know.”</p> + +<p>How it came to pass that the price of the splendid animal was +mentioned between them, I need not describe with exactness. But it +did come to pass that Mr. Sowerby told the parson that the horse +should be his for £130.</p> + +<p>“And I really wish you’d take him,” said Sowerby. “It would be the +means of partially relieving my mind of a great weight.”</p> + +<p>Mark looked up into his friend’s face with an air of surprise, for he +did not at the moment understand how this should be the case.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid, you know, that you will have to put your hand into your +pocket sooner or later about that accursed +<span class="nowrap">bill—”</span> Mark shrank as the +profane word struck his ears—“and I should be glad to think that you +had got something in hand in the way of value.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that I shall have to pay the whole sum of £500?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! dear, no; nothing of the kind. But something I dare say you will +have to pay: if you like to take Dandy for a hundred and thirty, you +can be prepared for that amount when Tozer comes to you. The horse is +dog cheap, and you will have a long day for your money.”</p> + +<p>Mark at first declared, in a quiet, determined tone, that he did not +want the horse; but it afterwards appeared to him that if it were so +fated that he must pay a portion of Mr. Sowerby’s debts, he might as +well repay himself to any extent within his power. It would be as +well perhaps that he should take the horse and sell him. It did not +occur to him that by so doing he would put it in Mr. Sowerby’s power +to say that some valuable consideration had passed between them with +reference to this bill, and that he would be aiding that gentleman in +preparing an inextricable confusion of money-matters between them. +Mr. Sowerby well knew the value of this. It would enable him to make +a plausible story, as he had done in that other case of Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to have Dandy?” Sowerby said to him again.</p> + +<p>“I can’t say that I will just at present,” said the parson. “What +should I want of him now the season’s over?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, my dear fellow; and what do I want of him now the season’s +over? If it were the beginning of October instead of the end of +March, Dandy would be up at two hundred and thirty instead of one: in +six months’ time that horse will be worth anything you like to ask +for him. Look at his bone.”</p> + +<p>The vicar did look at his bones, examining the brute in a very +knowing and unclerical manner. He lifted the animal’s four feet, one +after another, handling the frogs, and measuring with his eye the +proportion of the parts; he passed his hand up and down the legs, +spanning the bones of the lower joint; he peered into his eyes, took +into consideration the width of his chest, the dip of his back, the +form of his ribs, the curve of his haunches, and his capabilities for +breathing when pressed by work. And then he stood away a little, +eyeing him from the side, and taking in a general idea of the form +and make of the whole. “He seems to stand over a little, I think,” +said the parson.</p> + +<p>“It’s the lie of the ground. Move him about, Bob. There now, let him +stand there.”</p> + +<p>“He’s not perfect,” said Mark. “I don’t quite like his heels; but no +doubt he’s a nicish cut of a horse.”</p> + +<p>“I rather think he is. If he were perfect, as you say, he would not +be going into your stables for a hundred and thirty. Do you ever +remember to have seen a perfect horse?”</p> + +<p>“Your mare Mrs. Gamp was as nearly perfect as possible.”</p> + +<p>“Even Mrs. Gamp had her faults. In the first place she was a bad +feeder. But one certainly doesn’t often come across anything much +better than Mrs. Gamp.” And thus the matter was talked over between +them with much stable conversation, all of which tended to make +Sowerby more and more oblivious of his friend’s sacred profession, +and perhaps to make the vicar himself too frequently oblivious of it +also. But no: he was not oblivious of it. He was even mindful of it; +but mindful of it in such a manner that his thoughts on the subject +were nowadays always painful.</p> + +<p>There is a parish called Hogglestock lying away quite in the northern +extremity of the eastern division of the county—lying also on the +borders of the western division. I almost fear that it will become +necessary, before this history be completed, to provide a map of +Barsetshire for the due explanation of all these localities. Framley +is also in the northern portion of the county, but just to the south +of the grand trunk line of railway from which the branch to +Barchester strikes off at a point some thirty miles nearer to London. +The station for Framley Court is Silverbridge, which is, however, in +the western division of the county. Hogglestock is to the north of +the railway, the line of which, however, runs through a portion of +the parish, and it adjoins Framley, though the churches are as much +as seven miles apart. Barsetshire, taken altogether, is a pleasant +green tree-becrowded county, with large bosky hedges, pretty damp +deep lanes, and roads with broad grass margins running along them. +Such is the general nature of the county; but just up in its northern +extremity this nature alters. There it is bleak and ugly, with low +artificial hedges and without wood; not uncultivated, as it is all +portioned out into new-looking large fields, bearing turnips and +wheat and mangel, all in due course of agricultural rotation; but it +has none of the special beauties of English cultivation. There is not +a gentleman’s house in the parish of Hogglestock besides that of the +clergyman; and this, though it is certainly the house of a gentleman, +can hardly be said to be fit to be so. It is ugly, and straight, and +small. There is a garden attached to the house, half in front of it +and half behind; but this garden, like the rest of the parish, is by +no means ornamental, though sufficiently useful. It produces +cabbages, but no trees: potatoes of, I believe, an excellent +description, but hardly any flowers, and nothing worthy of the name +of a shrub. Indeed the whole parish of Hogglestock should have been +in the adjoining county, which is by no means so attractive as +Barsetshire;—a fact well known to those few of my readers who are +well acquainted with their own country.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley, whose name has been mentioned in these pages, was the +incumbent of Hogglestock. On what principle the remuneration of our +parish clergymen was settled when the original settlement was made, +no deepest, keenest lover of middle-aged ecclesiastical black-letter +learning can, I take it, now say. That the priests were to be paid +from tithes of the parish produce, out of which tithes certain other +good things were to be bought and paid for, such as church repairs +and education, of so much the most of us have an inkling. That a +rector, being a big sort of parson, owned the tithes of his parish in +full,—or at any rate that part of them intended for the +clergyman,—and that a vicar was somebody’s deputy, and therefore +entitled only to little tithes, as being a little body: of so much we +that are simple in such matters have a general idea. But one cannot +conceive that even in this way any approximation could have been +made, even in those old mediæval days, towards a fair proportioning +of the pay to the work. At any rate, it is clear enough that there is +no such approximation now.</p> + +<p>And what a screech would there not be among the clergy of the Church, +even in these reforming days, if any over-bold reformer were to +suggest that such an approximation should be attempted? Let those who +know clergymen, and like them, and have lived with them, only fancy +it! Clergymen to be paid, not according to the temporalities of any +living which they may have acquired either by merit or favour, but in +accordance with the work to be done! O Doddington! and O Stanhope, +think of this, if an idea so sacrilegious can find entrance into your +warm ecclesiastical bosoms! Ecclesiastical work to be bought and paid +for according to its quantity and quality!</p> + +<p>But, nevertheless, one may prophesy that we Englishmen must come to +this, disagreeable as the idea undoubtedly is. Most pleasant-minded +churchmen feel, I think, on this subject pretty much in the same way. +Our present arrangement of parochial incomes is beloved as being +time-honoured, gentlemanlike, English, and picturesque. We would fain +adhere to it closely as long as we can, but we know that we do so by +the force of our prejudices, and not by that of our judgment. A +time-honoured, gentlemanlike, English, picturesque arrangement is so +far very delightful. But are there not other attributes very +desirable—nay, absolutely necessary—in respect to which this +time-honoured, picturesque arrangement is so very deficient?</p> + +<p>How pleasant it was, too, that one bishop should be getting fifteen +thousand a year and another with an equal cure of parsons only four! +That a certain prelate could get twenty thousand one year and his +successor in the same diocese only five the next! There was something +in it pleasant, and picturesque; it was an arrangement endowed with +feudal charms, and the change which they have made was distasteful to +many of us. A bishop with a regular salary, and no appanage of land +and land-bailiffs, is only half a bishop. Let any man prove to me the +contrary ever so thoroughly—let me prove it to my own self ever so +often—my heart in this matter is not thereby a whit altered. One +liked to know that there was a dean or two who got his three thousand +a year, and that old Dr. Purple held four stalls, one of which was +golden, and the other three silver-gilt! Such knowledge was always +pleasant to me! A golden stall! How sweet is the sound thereof to +church-loving ears!</p> + +<p>But bishops have been shorn of their beauty, and deans are in their +decadence. A utilitarian age requires the fatness of the +ecclesiastical land, in order that it may be divided out into small +portions of provender, on which necessary working clergymen may +live,—into portions so infinitesimally small that working clergymen +can hardly live. And the full-blown rectors and vicars, with +full-blown tithes—with tithes when too full-blown for strict +utilitarian principles—will necessarily follow. Stanhope and +Doddington must bow their heads, with such compensation for temporal +rights as may be extracted,—but probably without such compensation +as may be desired. In other trades, professions, and lines of life, +men are paid according to their work. Let it be so in the Church. +Such will sooner or later be the edict of a utilitarian, reforming, +matter-of-fact House of Parliament.</p> + +<p>I have a scheme of my own on the subject, which I will not introduce +here, seeing that neither men nor women would read it. And with +reference to this matter, I will only here further explain that all +these words have been brought about by the fact, necessary to be here +stated, that Mr. Crawley only received one hundred and thirty pounds +a year for performing the whole parochial duty of the parish of +Hogglestock. And Hogglestock is a large parish. It includes two +populous villages, abounding in brickmakers, a race of men very +troublesome to a zealous parson who won’t let men go rollicking to +the devil without interference. Hogglestock has full work for two +men; and yet all the funds therein applicable to parson’s work is +this miserable stipend of one hundred and thirty pounds a year. It is +a stipend neither picturesque, nor time-honoured, nor feudal, for +Hogglestock takes rank only as a perpetual curacy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley has been mentioned before as a clergyman of whom Mr. +Robarts said, that he almost thought it wrong to take a walk out of +his own parish. In so saying Mark Robarts of course burlesqued his +brother parson; but there can be no doubt that Mr. Crawley was a +strict man,—a strict, stern, unpleasant man, and one who feared God +and his own conscience. We must say a word or two of Mr. Crawley and +his concerns.</p> + +<p>He was now some forty years of age, but of these he had not been in +possession even of his present benefice for more than four or five. +The first ten years of his life as a clergyman had been passed in +performing the duties and struggling through the life of a curate in +a bleak, ugly, cold parish on the northern coast of Cornwall. It had +been a weary life and a fearful struggle, made up of duties ill +requited and not always satisfactorily performed, of love and +poverty, of increasing cares, of sickness, debt, and death. For Mr. +Crawley had married almost as soon as he was ordained, and children +had been born to him in that chill, comfortless Cornish cottage. He +had married a lady well educated and softly nurtured, but not dowered +with worldly wealth. They two had gone forth determined to fight +bravely together; to disregard the world and the world’s ways, +looking only to God and to each other for their comfort. They would +give up ideas of gentle living, of soft raiment, and delicate +feeding. Others,—those that work with their hands, even the +bettermost of such workers—could live in decency and health upon +even such provision as he could earn as a clergyman. In such manner +would they live, so poorly and so decently, working out their work, +not with their hands but with their hearts.</p> + +<p>And so they had established themselves, beginning the world with one +bare-footed little girl of fourteen to aid them in their small +household matters; and for a while they had both kept heart, loving +each other dearly, and prospering somewhat in their work. But a man +who has once walked the world as a gentleman knows not what it is to +change his position, and place himself lower down in the social rank. +Much less can he know what it is so to put down the woman whom he +loves. There are a thousand things, mean and trifling in themselves, +which a man despises when he thinks of them in his philosophy, but to +dispense with which puts his philosophy to so stern a proof. Let any +plainest man who reads this think of his usual mode of getting +himself into his matutinal garments, and confess how much such a +struggle would cost him.</p> + +<p>And then children had come. The wife of the labouring man does rear +her children, and often rears them in health, without even so many +appliances of comfort as found their way into Mrs. Crawley’s cottage; +but the task to her was almost more than she could accomplish. Not +that she ever fainted or gave way: she was made of the sterner metal +of the two, and could last on while he was prostrate.</p> + +<p>And sometimes he was prostrate—prostrate in soul and spirit. Then +would he complain with bitter voice, crying out that the world was +too hard for him, that his back was broken with his burden, that his +God had deserted him. For days and days, in such moods, he would stay +within his cottage, never darkening the door or seeing other face +than those of his own inmates. Those days were terrible both to him +and her. He would sit there unwashed, with his unshorn face resting +on his hand, with an old dressing-gown hanging loose about him, +hardly tasting food, seldom speaking, striving to pray, but striving +so frequently in vain. And then he would rise from his chair, and, +with a burst of frenzy, call upon his Creator to remove him from this +misery.</p> + +<p>In these moments she never deserted him. At one period they had had +four children, and though the whole weight of this young brood rested +on her arms, on her muscles, on her strength of mind and body, she +never ceased in her efforts to comfort him. Then at length, falling +utterly upon the ground, he would pour forth piteous prayers for +mercy, and, after a night of sleep, would once more go forth to his +work.</p> + +<p>But she never yielded to despair: the struggle was never beyond her +powers of endurance. She had possessed her share of woman’s +loveliness, but that was now all gone. Her colour quickly faded, and +the fresh, soft tints soon deserted her face and forehead. She became +thin, and rough, and almost haggard: thin, till her cheek-bones were +nearly pressing through her skin, till her elbows were sharp, and her +finger-bones as those of a skeleton. Her eye did not lose its lustre, +but it became unnaturally bright, prominent, and too large for her +wan face. The soft brown locks which she had once loved to brush +back, scorning, as she would boast to herself, to care that they +should be seen, were now sparse enough and all untidy and unclean. It +was matter of little thought now whether they were seen or no. +Whether he could be made fit to go into his pulpit—whether they +might be fed—those four innocents—and their backs kept from the +cold wind—that was now the matter of her thought.</p> + +<p>And then two of them died, and she went forth herself to see them +laid under the frost-bound sod, lest he should faint in his work over +their graves. For he would ask aid from no man—such at least was his +boast through all.</p> + +<p>Two of them died, but their illness had been long; and then debts +came upon them. Debt, indeed, had been creeping on them with slow but +sure feet during the last five years. Who can see his children +hungry, and not take bread if it be offered? Who can see his wife +lying in sharpest want, and not seek a remedy if there be a remedy +within reach? So debt had come upon them, and rude men pressed for +small sums of money—for sums small to the world, but impossibly +large to them. And he would hide himself within there, in that cranny +of an inner chamber—hide himself with deep shame from the world, +with shame, and a sinking heart, and a broken spirit.</p> + +<p>But had such a man no friend? it will be said. Such men, I take it, +do not make many friends. But this man was not utterly friendless. +Almost every year one visit was paid to him in his Cornish curacy by +a brother clergyman, an old college friend, who, as far as might in +him lie, did give aid to the curate and his wife. This gentleman +would take up his abode for a week at a farmer’s in the +neighbourhood, and though he found Mr. Crawley in despair, he would +leave him with some drops of comfort in his soul. Nor were the +benefits in this respect all on one side. Mr. Crawley, though at some +periods weak enough for himself, could be strong for others; and, +more than once, was strong to the great advantage of this man whom he +loved. And then, too, pecuniary assistance was forthcoming—in those +earlier years not in great amount, for this friend was not then among +the rich ones of the earth—but in amount sufficient for that +moderate hearth, if only its acceptance could have been managed. But +in that matter there were difficulties without end. Of absolute money +tenders Mr. Crawley would accept none. But a bill here and there was +paid, the wife assisting; and shoes came for Kate—till Kate was +placed beyond the need of shoes; and cloth for Harry and Frank found +its way surreptitiously in beneath the cover of that wife’s solitary +trunk—cloth with which those lean fingers worked garments for the +two boys, to be worn—such was God’s will—only by the one.</p> + +<p>Such were Mr. and Mrs. Crawley in their Cornish curacy, and during +their severest struggles. To one who thinks that a fair day’s work is +worth a fair day’s wages, it seems hard enough that a man should work +so hard and receive so little. There will be those who think that the +fault was all his own in marrying so young. But still there remains +that question, Is not a fair day’s work worth a fair day’s wages? +This man did work hard—at a task perhaps the hardest of any that a +man may do; and for ten years he earned some seventy pounds a year. +Will any one say that he received fair wages for his fair work, let +him be married or single? And yet there are so many who would fain +pay their clergy, if they only knew how to apply their money! But +that is a long subject, as Mr. Robarts had told Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>Such was Mr. Crawley in his Cornish curacy.</p> + + +<p><a id="c15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2></div> +<h3>LADY LUFTON’S AMBASSADOR.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And then, in the days which followed, that friend of Mr. Crawley’s, +whose name, by-the-by, is yet to be mentioned, received quick and +great promotion. Mr. Arabin by name he was then;—Dr. Arabin +afterwards, when that quick and great promotion reached its climax. +He had been simply a Fellow of Lazarus in those former years. Then he +became Vicar of St. Ewold’s, in East Barsetshire, and had not yet got +himself settled there when he married the Widow Bold, a widow with +belongings in land and funded money, and with but one small baby as +an encumbrance. Nor had he even yet married her,—had only engaged +himself so to do, when they made him Dean of Barchester—all which +may be read in the diocesan and county chronicles.</p> + +<p>And now that he was wealthy, the new dean did contrive to pay the +debts of his poor friend, some lawyer of Camelford assisting him. It +was but a paltry schedule after all, amounting in the total to +something not much above a hundred pounds. And then, in the course of +eighteen months, this poor piece of preferment fell in the dean’s +way, this incumbency of Hogglestock with its stipend reaching one +hundred and thirty pounds a year. Even that was worth double the +Cornish curacy, and there was, moreover, a house attached to it. Poor +Mrs. Crawley, when she heard of it, thought that their struggles of +poverty were now well nigh over. What might not be done with a +hundred and thirty pounds by people who had lived for ten years on +seventy?</p> + +<p>And so they moved away out of that cold, bleak country, carrying with +them their humble household gods, and settled themselves in another +country, cold and bleak also, but less terribly so than the former. +They settled themselves, and again began their struggles against +man’s hardness and the devil’s zeal. I have said that Mr. Crawley was +a stern, unpleasant man; and it certainly was so. The man must be +made of very sterling stuff, whom continued and undeserved misfortune +does not make unpleasant. This man had so far succumbed to grief, +that it had left upon him its marks, palpable and not to be effaced. +He cared little for society, judging men to be doing evil who did +care for it. He knew as a fact, and believed with all his heart, that +these sorrows had come to him from the hand of God, and that they +would work for his weal in the long run; but not the less did they +make him morose, silent, and dogged. He had always at his heart a +feeling that he and his had been ill-used, and too often solaced +himself, at the devil’s bidding, with the conviction that eternity +would make equal that which life in this world had made so +unequal;—the last bait that with which the devil angles after those +who are struggling to elude his rod and line.</p> + +<p>The Framley property did not run into the parish of Hogglestock; but +nevertheless Lady Lufton did what she could in the way of kindness to +these new-comers. Providence had not supplied Hogglestock with a Lady +Lufton, or with any substitute in the shape of lord or lady, squire +or squiress. The Hogglestock farmers, male and female, were a rude, +rough set, not bordering in their social rank on the farmer gentle; +and Lady Lufton, knowing this, and hearing something of these +Crawleys from Mrs. Arabin, the dean’s wife, trimmed her lamps, so +that they should shed a wider light, and pour forth some of their +influence on that forlorn household.</p> + +<p>And as regards Mrs. Crawley, Lady Lufton by no means found that her +work and good-will were thrown away. Mrs. Crawley accepted her +kindness with thankfulness, and returned to some of the softnesses of +life under her hand. As for dining at Framley Court, that was out of +the question. Mr. Crawley, she knew, would not hear of it, even if +other things were fitting and appliances were at command. Indeed Mrs. +Crawley at once said that she felt herself unfit to go through such a +ceremony with anything like comfort. The dean, she said, would talk +of their going to stay at the deanery; but she thought it quite +impossible that either of them should endure even that. But, all the +same, Lady Lufton was a comfort to her; and the poor woman felt that +it was well to have a lady near her in case of need.</p> + +<p>The task was much harder with Mr. Crawley, but even with him it was +not altogether unsuccessful. Lady Lufton talked to him of his parish +and of her own; made Mark Robarts go to him, and by degrees did +something towards civilizing him. Between him and Robarts too there +grew up an intimacy rather than a friendship. Robarts would submit to +his opinion on matters of ecclesiastical and even theological law, +would listen to him with patience, would agree with him where he +could, and differ from him mildly when he could not. For Robarts was +a man who made himself pleasant to all men. And thus, under Lady +Lufton’s wing, there grew up a connection between Framley and +Hogglestock, in which Mrs. Robarts also assisted.</p> + +<p>And now that Lady Lufton was looking about her, to see how she might +best bring proper clerical influence to bear upon her own recreant +fox-hunting parson, it occurred to her that she might use Mr. Crawley +in the matter. Mr. Crawley would certainly be on her side as far as +opinion went, and would have no fear as to expressing his opinion to +his brother clergyman. So she sent for Mr. Crawley.</p> + +<p>In appearance he was the very opposite to Mark Robarts. He was a +lean, slim, meagre man, with shoulders slightly curved, and pale, +lank, long locks of ragged hair; his forehead was high, but his face +was narrow; his small grey eyes were deeply sunken in his head, his +nose was well-formed, his lips thin, and his mouth expressive. Nobody +could look at him without seeing that there was a purpose and a +meaning in his countenance. He always wore, in summer and winter, a +long dusky gray coat, which buttoned close up to his neck and +descended almost to his heels. He was full six feet high, but being +so slight in build, he looked as though he were taller.</p> + +<p>He came at once at Lady Lufton’s bidding, putting himself into the +gig beside the servant, to whom he spoke no single word during the +journey. And the man, looking into his face, was struck with +taciturnity. Now Mark Robarts would have talked with him the whole +way from Hogglestock to Framley Court; discoursing partly as to +horses and land, but partly also as to higher things.</p> + +<p>And then Lady Lufton opened her mind and told her griefs to Mr. +Crawley, urging, however, through the whole length of her narrative, +that Mr. Robarts was an excellent parish clergyman,—“just such a +clergyman in his church as I would wish him to be,” she explained, +with the view of saving herself from an expression of any of Mr. +Crawley’s special ideas as to church teaching, and of confining him +to the one subject-matter in hand; “but he got this living so young, +Mr. Crawley, that he is hardly quite as steady as I could wish him to +be. It has been as much my fault as his own in placing him in such a +position so early in life.”</p> + +<p>“I think it has,” said Mr. Crawley, who might perhaps be a little +sore on such a subject.</p> + +<p>“Quite so, quite so,” continued her ladyship, swallowing down with a +gulp a certain sense of anger. “But that is done now, and is past +cure. That Mr. Robarts will become a credit to his profession, I do +not doubt, for his heart is in the right place and his sentiments are +good; but I fear that at present he is succumbing to temptation.”</p> + +<p>“I am told that he hunts two or three times a week. Everybody round +us is talking about it.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Crawley; not two or three times a week; very seldom above +once, I think. And then I do believe he does it more with the view of +being with Lord Lufton than anything else.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot see that that would make the matter better,” said Mr. +Crawley.</p> + +<p>“It would show that he was not strongly imbued with a taste which I +cannot but regard as vicious in a clergyman.”</p> + +<p>“It must be vicious in all men,” said Mr. Crawley. “It is in itself +cruel, and leads to idleness and profligacy.”</p> + +<p>Again Lady Lufton made a gulp. She had called Mr. Crawley thither to +her aid, and felt that it would be inexpedient to quarrel with him. +But she did not like to be told that her son’s amusement was idle and +profligate. She had always regarded hunting as a proper pursuit for a +country gentleman. It was, indeed, in her eyes one of the peculiar +institutions of country life in England, and it may be almost said +that she looked upon the Barsetshire hunt as something sacred. She +could not endure to hear that a fox was trapped, and allowed her +turkeys to be purloined without a groan. Such being the case, she did +not like being told that it was vicious, and had by no means wished +to consult Mr. Crawley on that matter. But nevertheless, she +swallowed down her wrath.</p> + +<p>“It is at any rate unbecoming in a clergyman,” she said; “and as I +know that Mr. Robarts places a high value on your opinion, perhaps +you will not object to advise him to discontinue it. He might +possibly feel aggrieved were I to interfere personally on such a +question.”</p> + +<p>“I have no doubt he would,” said Mr. Crawley. “It is not within a +woman’s province to give counsel to a clergyman on such a subject, +unless she be very near and very dear to him—his wife, or mother, or +sister.”</p> + +<p>“As living in the same parish, you know, and being, +<span class="nowrap">perhaps—”</span> the +leading person in it, and the one who naturally rules the others. +Those would have been the fitting words for the expression of her +ladyship’s ideas; but she remembered herself, and did not use them. +She had made up her mind that, great as her influence ought to be, +she was not the proper person to speak to Mr. Robarts as to his +pernicious, unclerical habits, and she would not now depart from her +resolve by attempting to prove that she was the proper person.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Crawley, “just so. All that would entitle him to +offer you his counsel if he thought that your mode of life was such +as to require it, but could by no means justify you in addressing +yourself to him.”</p> + +<p>This was very hard upon Lady Lufton. She was endeavouring with all +her woman’s strength to do her best, and endeavouring so to do it +that the feelings of the sinner might be spared; and yet the ghostly +comforter whom she had evoked to her aid, treated her as though she +were arrogant and overbearing. She acknowledged the weakness of her +own position with reference to her parish clergyman by calling in the +aid of Mr. Crawley; and under such circumstances, he might, at any +rate, have abstained from throwing that weakness in her teeth.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir; I hope my mode of life may not require it; but that is +not exactly to the point: what I wish to know is, whether you will +speak to Mr. Robarts?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I will,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Then I shall be much obliged to you. But, Mr. Crawley, pray—pray, +remember this: I would not on any account wish that you should be +harsh with him. He is an excellent young man, +<span class="nowrap">and—”</span></p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton, if I do this, I can only do it in my own way, as best I +may, using such words as God may give me at the time. I hope that I +am harsh to no man; but it is worse than useless, in all cases, to +speak anything but the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Of course—of course.”</p> + +<p>“If the ears be too delicate to hear the truth, the mind will be too +perverse to profit by it.” And then Mr. Crawley got up to take his +leave.</p> + +<p>But Lady Lufton insisted that he should go with her to luncheon. He +hummed and ha’d and would fain have refused, but on this subject she +was peremptory. It might be that she was unfit to advise a clergyman +as to his duties, but in a matter of hospitality she did know what +she was about. Mr. Crawley should not leave the house without +refreshment. As to this, she carried her point; and Mr. Crawley—when +the matter before him was cold roast-beef and hot potatoes, instead +of the relative position of a parish priest and his +parishioner—became humble, submissive, and almost timid. Lady Lufton +recommended Madeira instead of Sherry, and Mr. Crawley obeyed at +once, and was, indeed, perfectly unconscious of the difference. Then +there was a basket of seakale in the gig for Mrs. Crawley; that he +would have left behind had he dared, but he did not dare. Not a word +was said to him as to the marmalade for the children which was hidden +under the seakale, Lady Lufton feeling well aware that that would +find its way to its proper destination without any necessity for his +co-operation. And then Mr. Crawley returned home in the Framley Court +gig.</p> + +<p>Three or four days after this he walked over to Framley Parsonage. +This he did on a Saturday, having learned that the hounds never +hunted on that day; and he started early, so that he might be sure to +catch Mr. Robarts before he went out on his parish business. He was +quite early enough to attain this object, for when he reached the +parsonage door at about half-past nine, the vicar, with his wife and +sister, were just sitting down to breakfast.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Crawley,” said Robarts, before the other had well spoken, “you +are a capital fellow;” and then he got him into a chair, and Mrs. +Robarts had poured him out tea, and Lucy had surrendered to him a +knife and plate, before he knew under what guise to excuse his coming +among them.</p> + +<p>“I hope you will excuse this intrusion,” at last he muttered; “but I +have a few words of business to which I will request your attention +presently.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said Robarts, conveying a broiled kidney on to the plate +before Mr. Crawley; “but there is no preparation for business like a +good breakfast. Lucy, hand Mr. Crawley the buttered toast. Eggs, +Fanny; where are the eggs?” And then John, in livery, brought in the +fresh eggs. “Now we shall do. I always eat my eggs while they’re hot, +Crawley, and I advise you to do the same.”</p> + +<p>To all this Mr. Crawley said very little, and he was not at all at +home under the circumstances. Perhaps a thought did pass across his +brain, as to the difference between the meal which he had left on his +own table, and that which he now saw before him; and as to any cause +which might exist for such difference. But, if so, it was a very +fleeting thought, for he had far other matter now fully occupying his +mind. And then the breakfast was over, and in a few minutes the two +clergymen found themselves together in the parsonage study.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robarts,” began the senior, when he had seated himself +uncomfortably on one of the ordinary chairs at the farther side of +the well-stored library table, while Mark was sitting at his ease in +his own arm-chair by the fire, “I have called upon you on an +unpleasant business.”</p> + +<p>Mark’s mind immediately flew off to Mr. Sowerby’s bill, but he could +not think it possible that Mr. Crawley could have had anything to do +with that.</p> + +<p>“But as a brother clergyman, and as one who esteems you much and +wishes you well, I have thought myself bound to take this matter in +hand.”</p> + +<p>“What matter is it, Crawley?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robarts, men say that your present mode of life is one that is +not befitting a soldier in Christ’s army.”</p> + +<p>“Men say so! what men?”</p> + +<p>“The men around you, of your own neighbourhood; those who watch your +life, and know all your doings; those who look to see you walking as +a lamp to guide their feet, but find you consorting with +horse-jockeys and hunters, galloping after hounds, and taking your +place among the vainest of worldly pleasure-seekers. Those who have a +right to expect an example of good living, and who think that they do +not see it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley had gone at once to the root of the matter, and in doing +so had certainly made his own task so much the easier. There is +nothing like going to the root of the matter at once when one has on +hand an unpleasant piece of business.</p> + +<p>“And have such men deputed you to come here?”</p> + +<p>“No one has or could depute me. I have come to speak my own mind, not +that of any other. But I refer to what those around you think and +say, because it is to them that your duties are due. You owe it to +those around you to live a godly, cleanly life;—as you owe it also, +in a much higher way, to your Father who is in heaven. I now make +bold to ask you whether you are doing your best to lead such a life +as that?” And then he remained silent, waiting for an answer.</p> + +<p>He was a singular man; so humble and meek, so unutterably inefficient +and awkward in the ordinary intercourse of life, but so bold and +enterprising, almost eloquent, on the one subject which was the work +of his mind! As he sat there, he looked into his companion’s face +from out his sunken grey eyes with a gaze which made his victim +quail. And then repeated his words: “I now make bold to ask you, Mr. +Robarts, whether you are doing your best to lead such a life as may +become a parish clergyman among his parishioners?” And again he +paused for an answer.</p> + +<p>“There are but few of us,” said Mark in a low tone, “who could safely +answer that question in the affirmative.”</p> + +<p>“But are there many, think you, among us who would find the question +so unanswerable as yourself? And even were there many, would you, +young, enterprising, and talented as you are, be content to be +numbered among them? Are you satisfied to be a castaway after you +have taken upon yourself Christ’s armour? If you will say so, I am +mistaken in you, and will go my way.” There was again a pause, and +then he went on. “Speak to me, my brother, and open your heart if it +be possible.” And rising from his chair, he walked across the room, +and laid his hand tenderly on Mark’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>Mark had been sitting lounging in his chair, and had at first, for a +moment only, thought to brazen it out. But all idea of brazening had +now left him. He had raised himself from his comfortable ease, and +was leaning forward with his elbow on the table; but now, when he +heard these words, he allowed his head to sink upon his arms, and he +buried his face between his hands.</p> + +<p>“It is a terrible falling off,” continued Crawley: “terrible in the +fall, but doubly terrible through that difficulty of returning. But +it cannot be that it should content you to place yourself as one +among those thoughtless sinners, for the crushing of whose sin you +have been placed here among them. You become a hunting parson, and +ride with a happy mind among blasphemers and mocking devils—you, +whose aspirations were so high, who have spoken so often and so well +of the duties of a minister of Christ; you, who can argue in your +pride as to the petty details of your Church, as though the broad +teachings of its great and simple lessons were not enough for your +energies! It cannot be that I have had a hypocrite beside me in all +those eager controversies!”</p> + +<p>“Not a hypocrite—not a hypocrite,” said Mark, in a tone which was +almost reduced to sobbing.</p> + +<p>“But a castaway! Is it so that I must call you? No, Mr. Robarts, not +a castaway; neither a hypocrite, nor a castaway; but one who in +walking has stumbled in the dark and bruised his feet among the +stones. Henceforth let him take a lantern in his hand, and look +warily to his path, and walk cautiously among the thorns and +rocks,—cautiously, but yet boldly, with manly courage, but Christian +meekness, as all men should walk on their pilgrimage through this +vale of tears.” And then without giving his companion time to stop +him he hurried out of the room, and from the house, and without again +seeing any others of the family, stalked back on his road to +Hogglestock, thus tramping fourteen miles through the deep mud in +performance of the mission on which he had been sent.</p> + +<p>It was some hours before Mr. Robarts left his room. As soon as he +found that Crawley was really gone, and that he should see him no +more, he turned the lock of his door, and sat himself down to think +over his present life. At about eleven his wife knocked, not knowing +whether that other strange clergyman were there or no, for none had +seen his departure. But Mark, answering cheerily, desired that he +might be left to his studies.</p> + +<p>Let us hope that his thoughts and mental resolves were then of +service to him.</p> + + +<p><a id="c16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2></div> +<h3>MRS. PODGENS’ BABY.<br> </h3> + + +<p>The hunting season had now nearly passed away, and the great ones of +the Barsetshire world were thinking of the glories of London. Of +these glories Lady Lufton always thought with much inquietude of +mind. She would fain have remained throughout the whole year at +Framley Court, did not certain grave considerations render such a +course on her part improper in her own estimation. All the Lady +Luftons of whom she had heard, dowager and ante-dowager, had always +had their seasons in London, till old age had incapacitated them for +such doings—sometimes for clearly long after the arrival of such +period. And then she had an idea, perhaps not altogether erroneous, +that she annually imported back with her into the country somewhat of +the passing civilization of the times:—may we not say an idea that +certainly was not erroneous? for how otherwise is it that the forms +of new caps and remodelled shapes for women’s waists find their way +down into agricultural parts, and that the rural eye learns to +appreciate grace and beauty? There are those who think that +remodelled waists and new caps had better be kept to the towns; but +such people, if they would follow out their own argument, would wish +to see ploughboys painted with ruddle and milkmaids covered with +skins.</p> + +<p>For these and other reasons Lady Lufton always went to London in +April, and stayed there till the beginning of June. But for her this +was usually a period of penance. In London she was no very great +personage. She had never laid herself out for greatness of that sort, +and did not shine as a lady-patroness or state secretary in the +female cabinet of fashion. She was dull and listless, and without +congenial pursuits in London, and spent her happiest moments in +reading accounts of what was being done at Framley, and in writing +orders for further local information of the same kind.</p> + +<p>But on this occasion there was a matter of vital import to give an +interest of its own to her visit to town. She was to entertain +Griselda Grantly, and as far as might be possible to induce her son +to remain in Griselda’s society. The plan of the campaign was to be +as follows:—Mrs. Grantly and the archdeacon were in the first place +to go up to London for a month, taking Griselda with them; and then, +when they returned to Plumstead, Griselda was to go to Lady Lufton. +This arrangement was not at all points agreeable to Lady Lufton, for +she knew that Mrs. Grantly did not turn her back on the Hartletop +people quite as cordially as she should do, considering the terms of +the Lufton-Grantly family treaty. But then Mrs. Grantly might have +alleged in excuse the slow manner in which Lord Lufton proceeded in +the making and declaring of his love, and the absolute necessity +which there is for two strings to one’s bow, when one string may be +in any way doubtful. Could it be possible that Mrs. Grantly had heard +anything of that unfortunate Platonic friendship with Lucy Robarts?</p> + +<p>There came a letter from Mrs. Grantly just about the end of March, +which added much to Lady Lufton’s uneasiness, and made her more than +ever anxious to be herself on the scene of action and to have +Griselda in her own hands. After some communications of mere ordinary +importance with reference to the London world in general and the +Lufton-Grantly world in particular, Mrs. Grantly wrote confidentially +about her daughter:</p> + +<p>“It would be useless to deny,” she said, with a mother’s pride and a +mother’s humility, “that she is very much admired. She is asked out a +great deal more than I can take her, and to houses to which I myself +by no means wish to go. I could not refuse her as to Lady Hartletop’s +first ball, for there will be nothing else this year like them; and +of course when with you, dear Lady Lufton, that house will be out of +the question. So indeed would it be with me, were I myself only +concerned. The duke was there, of course, and I really wonder Lady +Hartletop should not be more discreet in her own drawing-room when +all the world is there. It is clear to me that Lord Dumbello admires +Griselda much more than I could wish. She, dear girl, has such +excellent sense that I do not think it likely that her head should be +turned by it; but with how many girls would not the admiration of +such a man be irresistible? The marquis, you know, is very feeble, +and I am told that since this rage for building has come on, the +Lancashire property is over two hundred thousand a year!! I do not +think that Lord Dumbello has said much to her. Indeed it seems to me +that he never does say much to any one. But he always stands up to +dance with her, and I see that he is uneasy and fidgety when she +stands up with any other partner whom he could care about. It was +really embarrassing to see him the other night at Miss Dunstable’s, +when Griselda was dancing with a certain friend of ours. But she did +look very well that evening, and I have seldom seen her more +animated!”</p> + +<p>All this, and a great deal more of the same sort in the same letter, +tended to make Lady Lufton anxious to be in London. It was quite +certain—there was no doubt of that, at any rate—that Griselda would +see no more of Lady Hartletop’s meretricious grandeur when she had +been transferred to Lady Lufton’s guardianship. And she, Lady Lufton, +did wonder that Mrs. Grantly should have taken her daughter to such a +house. All about Lady Hartletop was known to all the world. It was +known that it was almost the only house in London at which the Duke +of Omnium was constantly to be met. Lady Lufton herself would almost +as soon think of taking a young girl to Gatherum Castle; and on these +accounts she did feel rather angry with her friend Mrs. Grantly. But +then perhaps she did not sufficiently calculate that Mrs. Grantly’s +letter had been written purposely to produce such feelings—with the +express view of awakening her ladyship to the necessity of action. +Indeed in such a matter as this Mrs. Grantly was a more able woman +than Lady Lufton—more able to see her way and to follow it out. The +Lufton-Grantly alliance was in her mind the best, seeing that she did +not regard money as everything. But failing that, the +Hartletop-Grantly alliance was not bad. Regarding it as a second +string to her bow, she thought that it was not at all bad.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton’s reply was very affectionate. She declared how happy she +was to know that Griselda was enjoying herself; she insinuated that +Lord Dumbello was known to the world as a fool, and his mother +as—being not a bit better than she ought to be; and then she added +that circumstances would bring herself up to town four days sooner +than she had expected, and that she hoped her dear Griselda would +come to her at once. Lord Lufton, she said, though he would not sleep +in Bruton Street—Lady Lufton lived in Bruton Street—had promised to +pass there as much of his time as his parliamentary duties would +permit.</p> + +<p>O Lady Lufton! Lady Lufton! did it not occur to you, when you wrote +those last words, intending that they should have so strong an effect +on the mind of your correspondent, that you were telling +a—tarradiddle? Was it not the case that you had said to your son, in +your own dear, kind, motherly way: “Ludovic, we shall see something +of you in Bruton Street this year, shall we not? Griselda Grantly +will be with me, and we must not let her be dull—must we?” And then +had he not answered, “Oh, of course, mother,” and sauntered out of +the room, not altogether graciously? Had he, or you, said a word +about his parliamentary duties? Not a word! O Lady Lufton! have you +not now written a tarradiddle to your friend?</p> + +<p>In these days we are becoming very strict about truth with our +children; terribly strict occasionally, when we consider the natural +weakness of the moral courage at the ages of ten, twelve, and +fourteen. But I do not know that we are at all increasing the measure +of strictness with which we, grown-up people, regulate our own truth +and falsehood. Heaven forbid that I should be thought to advocate +falsehood in children; but an untruth is more pardonable in them than +in their parents. Lady Lufton’s tarradiddle was of a nature that is +usually considered excusable—at least with grown people; but, +nevertheless, she would have been nearer to perfection could she have +confined herself to the truth. Let us suppose that a boy were to +write home from school, saying that another boy had promised to come +and stay with him, that other having given no such promise—what a +very naughty boy would that first boy be in the eyes of his pastors +and masters!</p> + +<p>That little conversation between Lord Lufton and his mother—in which +nothing was said about his lordship’s parliamentary duties—took +place on the evening before he started for London. On that occasion +he certainly was not in his best humour, nor did he behave to his +mother in his kindest manner. He had then left the room when she +began to talk about Miss Grantly; and once again in the course of the +evening, when his mother, not very judiciously, said a word or two +about Griselda’s beauty, he had remarked that she was no conjuror, +and would hardly set the Thames on fire.</p> + +<p>“If she were a conjuror!” said Lady Lufton, rather piqued, “I should +not now be going to take her out in London. I know many of those sort +of girls whom you call conjurors; they can talk for ever, and always +talk either loudly or in a whisper. I don’t like them, and I am sure +that you do not in your heart.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, as to liking them in my heart—that is being very particular.”</p> + +<p>“Griselda Grantly is a lady, and as such I shall be happy to have her +with me in town. She is just the girl that Justinia will like to have +with her.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said Lord Lufton. “She will do exceedingly well for +Justinia.”</p> + +<p>Now this was not good-natured on the part of Lord Lufton; and his +mother felt it the more strongly, inasmuch as it seemed to signify +that he was setting his back up against the Lufton-Grantly alliance. +She had been pretty sure that he would do so in the event of his +suspecting that a plot was being laid to catch him; and now it almost +appeared that he did suspect such a plot. Why else that sarcasm as to +Griselda doing very well for his sister?</p> + +<p>And now we must go back and describe a little scene at Framley which +will account for his lordship’s ill-humour and suspicions, and +explain how it came to pass that he so snubbed his mother. This scene +took place about ten days after the evening on which Mrs. Robarts and +Lucy were walking together in the parsonage garden, and during those +ten days Lucy had not once allowed herself to be entrapped into any +special conversation with the young peer. She had dined at Framley +Court during that interval, and had spent a second evening there; +Lord Lufton had also been up at the parsonage on three or four +occasions, and had looked for her in her usual walks; but, +nevertheless, they had never come together in their old familiar way, +since the day on which Lady Lufton had hinted her fears to Mrs. +Robarts.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton had very much missed her. At first he had not attributed +this change to a purposed scheme of action on the part of any one; +nor, indeed, had he much thought about it, although he had felt +himself to be annoyed. But as the period fixed for his departure grew +near, it did occur to him as very odd that he should never hear +Lucy’s voice unless when she said a few words to his mother, or to +her sister-in-law. And then he made up his mind that he would speak +to her before he went, and that the mystery should be explained to +him.</p> + +<p>And he carried out his purpose, calling at the parsonage on one +special afternoon; and it was on the evening of the same day that his +mother sang the praises of Griselda Grantly so inopportunely. +Robarts, he knew, was then absent from home, and Mrs. Robarts was +with his mother down at the house, preparing lists of the poor people +to be specially attended to in Lady Lufton’s approaching absence. +Taking advantage of this, he walked boldly in through the parsonage +garden; asked the gardener, with an indifferent voice, whether either +of the ladies were at home, and then caught poor Lucy exactly on the +doorstep of the house.</p> + +<p>“Were you going in or out, Miss Robarts?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I was going out,” said Lucy; and she began to consider how +best she might get quit of any prolonged encounter.</p> + +<p>“Oh, going out, were you? I don’t know whether I may offer +<span class="nowrap">to—”</span></p> + +<p>“Well, Lord Lufton, not exactly, seeing that I am about to pay a +visit to our near neighbour, Mrs. Podgens. Perhaps you have no +particular call towards Mrs. Podgens’ just at present, or to her new +baby?”</p> + +<p>“And have you any very particular call that way?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and especially to Baby Podgens. Baby Podgens is a real little +duck—only just two days old.” And Lucy, as she spoke, progressed a +step or two, as though she were determined not to remain there +talking on the doorstep.</p> + +<p>A slight cloud came across his brow as he saw this, and made him +resolve that she should not gain her purpose. He was not going to be +foiled in that way by such a girl as Lucy Robarts. He had come there +to speak to her, and speak to her he would. There had been enough of +intimacy between them to justify him in demanding, at any rate, as +much as that.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts,” he said, “I am starting for London to-morrow, and if +I do not say good-bye to you now, I shall not be able to do so at +all.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Lord Lufton,” she said, giving him her hand, and smiling +on him with her old genial, good-humoured, racy smile. “And mind you +bring into Parliament that law which you promised me for defending my +young chickens.”</p> + +<p>He took her hand, but that was not all that he wanted. “Surely Mrs. +Podgens and her baby can wait ten minutes. I shall not see you again +for months to come, and yet you seem to begrudge me two words.”</p> + +<p>“Not two hundred if they can be of any service to you,” said she, +walking cheerily back into the drawing-room; “only I did not think it +worth while to waste your time, as Fanny is not here.”</p> + +<p>She was infinitely more collected, more master of herself than he +was. Inwardly, she did tremble at the idea of what was coming, but +outwardly she showed no agitation—none as yet; if only she could so +possess herself as to refrain from doing so, when she heard what he +might have to say to her.</p> + +<p>He hardly knew what it was for the saying of which he had so +resolutely come thither. He had by no means made up his mind that he +loved Lucy Robarts; nor had he made up his mind that, loving her, he +would, or that, loving her, he would not, make her his wife. He had +never used his mind in the matter in any way, either for good or +evil. He had learned to like her and to think that she was very +pretty. He had found out that it was very pleasant to talk to her; +whereas, talking to Griselda Grantly, and, indeed, to some other +young ladies of his acquaintance, was often hard work. The half-hours +which he had spent with Lucy had always been satisfactory to him. He +had found himself to be more bright with her than with other people, +and more apt to discuss subjects worth discussing; and thus it had +come about that he thoroughly liked Lucy Robarts. As to whether his +affection was Platonic or anti-Platonic he had never asked himself; +but he had spoken words to her, shortly before that sudden cessation +of their intimacy, which might have been taken as anti-Platonic by +any girl so disposed to regard them. He had not thrown himself at her +feet, and declared himself to be devoured by a consuming passion; but +he had touched her hand as lovers touch those of women whom they +love; he had had his confidences with her, talking to her of his own +mother, of his sister, and of his friends; and he had called her his +own dear friend Lucy.</p> + +<p>All this had been very sweet to her, but very poisonous also. She had +declared to herself very frequently that her liking for this young +nobleman was as purely a feeling of mere friendship as was that of +her brother; and she had professed to herself that she would give the +lie to the world’s cold sarcasms on such subjects. But she had now +acknowledged that the sarcasms of the world on that matter, cold +though they may be, are not the less true; and having so +acknowledged, she had resolved that all close alliance between +herself and Lord Lufton must be at an end. She had come to a +conclusion, but he had come to none; and in this frame of mind he was +now there with the object of reopening that dangerous friendship +which she had had the sense to close.</p> + +<p>“And so you are going to-morrow?” she said, as soon as they were both +within the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“Yes: I’m off by the early train to-morrow morning, and Heaven knows +when we may meet again.”</p> + +<p>“Next winter, shall we not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, for a day or two, I suppose. I do not know whether I shall pass +another winter here. Indeed, one can never say where one will be.”</p> + +<p>“No, one can’t; such as you, at least, cannot. I am not of a +migratory tribe myself.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you were.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not a bit obliged to you. Your nomade life does not agree with +young ladies.”</p> + +<p>“I think they are taking to it pretty freely, then. We have +unprotected young women all about the world.”</p> + +<p>“And great bores you find them, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“No; I like it. The more we can get out of old-fashioned grooves the +better I am pleased. I should be a radical to-morrow—a regular man +of the people,—only I should break my mother’s heart.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever you do, Lord Lufton, do not do that.”</p> + +<p>“That is why I have liked you so much,” he continued, “because you +get out of the grooves.”</p> + +<p>“Do I?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and go along by yourself, guiding your own footsteps; not +carried hither and thither, just as your grandmother’s old tramway +may chance to take you.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know I have a strong idea that my grandmother’s old tramway +will be the safest and the best after all? I have not left it very +far, and I certainly mean to go back to it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s impossible! An army of old women, with coils of ropes made +out of time-honoured prejudices, could not drag you back.”</p> + +<p>“No, Lord Lufton, that is true. But one—” and then she stopped +herself. She could not tell him that one loving mother, anxious for +her only son, had sufficed to do it. She could not explain to him +that this departure from the established tramway had already broken +her own rest, and turned her peaceful happy life into a grievous +battle.</p> + +<p>“I know that you are trying to go back,” he said. “Do you think that +I have eyes and cannot see? Come, Lucy, you and I have been friends, +and we must not part in this way. My mother is a paragon among women. +I say it in earnest;—a paragon among women: and her love for me is +the perfection of motherly love.”</p> + +<p>“It is, it is; and I am so glad that you acknowledge it.”</p> + +<p>“I should be worse than a brute did I not do so; but, nevertheless, I +cannot allow her to lead me in all things. Were I to do so, I should +cease to be a man.”</p> + +<p>“Where can you find any one who will counsel you so truly?”</p> + +<p>“But, nevertheless, I must rule myself. I do not know whether my +suspicions may be perfectly just, but I fancy that she has created +this estrangement between you and me. Has it not been so?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not by speaking to me,” said Lucy, blushing ruby-red +through every vein of her deep-tinted face. But though she could not +command her blood, her voice was still under her control—her voice +and her manner.</p> + +<p>“But has she not done so? You, I know, will tell me nothing but the +truth.”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you nothing on this matter, Lord Lufton, whether true or +false. It is a subject on which it does not concern me to speak.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! I understand,” he said; and rising from his chair, he stood +against the chimney-piece with his back to the fire. “She cannot +leave me alone to choose for myself my own friends, and my own—;” +but he did not fill up the void.</p> + +<p>“But why tell me this, Lord Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“No! I am not to choose my own friends, though they be among the best +and purest of God’s creatures. Lucy, I cannot think that you have +ceased to have a regard for me. That you had a regard for me, I am +sure.”</p> + +<p>She felt that it was almost unmanly of him thus to seek her out, and +hunt her down, and then throw upon her the whole weight of the +explanation that his coming thither made necessary. But, +nevertheless, the truth must be told, and with God’s help she would +find strength for the telling of it.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Lord Lufton, I had a regard for you—and have. By that word you +mean something more than the customary feeling of acquaintance which +may ordinarily prevail between a gentleman and lady of different +families, who have known each other so short a time as we have done.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, something much more,” said he, with energy.</p> + +<p>“Well, I will not define the much—something closer than that.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and warmer, and dearer, and more worthy of two human creatures +who value each other’s minds and hearts.”</p> + +<p>“Some such closer regard I have felt for you—very foolishly. Stop! +You have made me speak, and do not interrupt me now. Does not your +conscience tell you that in doing so I have unwisely deserted those +wise old grandmother’s tramways of which you spoke just now? It has +been pleasant to me to do so. I have liked the feeling of +independence with which I have thought that I might indulge in an +open friendship with such as you are. And your rank, so different +from my own, has doubtless made this more attractive.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but it has. I know it now. But what will the world say of me as +to such an alliance?”</p> + +<p>“The world!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the world! I am not such a philosopher as to disregard it, +though you may afford to do so. The world will say that I, the +parson’s sister, set my cap at the young lord, and that the young +lord had made a fool of me.”</p> + +<p>“The world shall say no such thing!” said Lord Lufton, very +imperiously.</p> + +<p>“Ah! but it will. You can no more stop it, than King Canute could the +waters. Your mother has interfered wisely to spare me from this; and +the only favour that I can ask you is, that you will spare me also.” +And then she got up as though she intended at once to walk forth to +her visit to Mrs. Podgens’ baby.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Lucy!” he said, putting himself between her and the door.</p> + +<p>“It must not be Lucy any longer, Lord Lufton; I was madly foolish +when I first allowed it.”</p> + +<p>“By heavens! but it shall be Lucy—Lucy before all the world. My +Lucy, my own Lucy—my heart’s best friend, and chosen love. Lucy, +there is my hand. How long you may have had my heart, it matters not +to say now.”</p> + +<p>The game was at her feet now, and no doubt she felt her triumph. Her +ready wit and speaking lip, not her beauty, had brought him to her +side; and now he was forced to acknowledge that her power over him +had been supreme. Sooner than leave her he would risk all. She did +feel her triumph; but there was nothing in her face to tell him that +she did so.</p> + +<p>As to what she would now do she did not for a moment doubt. He had +been precipitated into the declaration he had made, not by his love, +but by his embarrassment. She had thrown in his teeth the injury +which he had done her, and he had then been moved by his generosity +to repair that injury by the noblest sacrifice which he could make. +But Lucy Robarts was not the girl to accept a sacrifice.</p> + +<p>He had stepped forward as though he were going to clasp her round the +waist, but she receded, and got beyond the reach of his hand. “Lord +Lufton!” she said, “when you are more cool you will know that this is +wrong. The best thing for both of us now is to part.”</p> + +<p>“Not the best thing, but the very worst, till we perfectly understand +each other.”</p> + +<p>“Then perfectly understand me, that I cannot be your wife.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy! do you mean that you cannot learn to love me?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that I shall not try. Do not persevere in this, or you will +have to hate yourself for your own folly.”</p> + +<p>“But I will persevere till you accept my love, or say with your hand +on your heart that you cannot and will not love me.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must beg you to let me go,” and having so said, she paused +while he walked once or twice hurriedly up and down the room. “And, +Lord Lufton,” she continued, “if you will leave me now, the words +that you have spoken shall be as though they had never been uttered.”</p> + +<p>“I care not who knows that they have been uttered. The sooner that +they are known to all the world, the better I shall be pleased, +unless <span class="nowrap">indeed—”</span></p> + +<p>“Think of your mother, Lord Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“What can I do better than give her as a daughter the best and +sweetest girl I have ever met? When my mother really knows you, she +will love you as I do. Lucy, say one word to me of comfort.”</p> + +<p>“I will say no word to you that shall injure your future comfort. It +is impossible that I should be your wife.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that you cannot love me?”</p> + +<p>“You have no right to press me any further,” she said; and sat down +upon the sofa, with an angry frown upon her forehead.</p> + +<p>“By heavens,” he said, “I will take no such answer from you till you +put your hand upon your heart, and say that you cannot love me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, why should you press me so, Lord Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“Why! because my happiness depends upon it; because it behoves me to +know the very truth. It has come to this, that I love you with my +whole heart, and I must know how your heart stands towards me.”</p> + +<p>She had now again risen from the sofa, and was looking steadily in +his face.</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton,” she said, “I cannot love you,” and as she spoke she +did put her hand, as he had desired, upon her heart.</p> + +<p>“Then God help me! for I am very wretched. Good-bye, Lucy,” and he +stretched out his hand to her.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, my lord. Do not be angry with me.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no!” and without further speech he left the room and the +house, and hurried home. It was hardly surprising that he should that +evening tell his mother that Griselda Grantly would be a companion +sufficiently good for his sister. He wanted no such companion.</p> + +<p>And when he was well gone—absolutely out of sight from the +window—Lucy walked steadily up to her room, locked the door, and +then threw herself on the bed. Why—oh! why had she told such a +falsehood? Could anything justify her in a lie? Was it not a +lie—knowing as she did that she loved him with all her loving heart?</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill02"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill02.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill02-t.jpg" height="500" alt='"Was it not a lie?"'></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">“Was + it not a lie?”</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill02.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>But, then, his mother! and the sneers of the world, which would have +declared that she had set her trap, and caught the foolish young +lord! Her pride would not have submitted to that. Strong as her love +was, yet her pride was, perhaps, stronger—stronger at any rate +during that interview.</p> + +<p>But how was she to forgive herself the falsehood she had told?</p> + + +<p><a id="c17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2></div> +<h3>MRS. PROUDIE’S CONVERSAZIONE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It was grievous to think of the mischief and danger into which +Griselda Grantly was brought by the worldliness of her mother in +those few weeks previous to Lady Lufton’s arrival in town—very +grievous, at least, to her ladyship, as from time to time she heard +of what was done in London. Lady Hartletop’s was not the only +objectionable house at which Griselda was allowed to reap fresh +fashionable laurels. It had been stated openly in the <i>Morning Post</i> +that that young lady had been the most admired among the beautiful at +one of Miss Dunstable’s celebrated <i>soirées</i>, and then she was heard +of as gracing the drawing-room at Mrs. Proudie’s conversazione.</p> + +<p>Of Miss Dunstable herself Lady Lufton was not able openly to allege +any evil. She was acquainted, Lady Lufton knew, with very many people +of the right sort, and was the dear friend of Lady Lufton’s highly +conservative and not very distant neighbours, the Greshams. But then +she was also acquainted with so many people of the bad sort. Indeed, +she was intimate with everybody, from the Duke of Omnium to old +Dowager Lady Goodygaffer, who had represented all the cardinal +virtues for the last quarter of a century. She smiled with equal +sweetness on treacle and on brimstone; was quite at home at Exeter +Hall, having been consulted—so the world said, probably not with +exact truth—as to the selection of more than one disagreeably Low +Church bishop; and was not less frequent in her attendance at the +ecclesiastical doings of a certain terrible prelate in the Midland +counties, who was supposed to favour stoles and vespers, and to have +no proper Protestant hatred for auricular confession and fish on +Fridays. Lady Lufton, who was very staunch, did not like this, and +would say of Miss Dunstable that it was impossible to serve both God +and Mammon.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Proudie was much more objectionable to her. Seeing how sharp +was the feud between the Proudies and the Grantlys down in +Barsetshire, how absolutely unable they had always been to carry a +decent face towards each other in church matters, how they headed two +parties in the diocese, which were, when brought together, as oil and +vinegar, in which battles the whole Lufton influence had always been +brought to bear on the Grantly side;—seeing all this, I say, Lady +Lufton was surprised to hear that Griselda had been taken to Mrs. +Proudie’s evening exhibition. “Had the archdeacon been consulted +about it,” she said to herself, “this would never have happened.” But +there she was wrong, for in matters concerning his daughter’s +introduction to the world the archdeacon never interfered.</p> + +<p>On the whole, I am inclined to think that Mrs. Grantly understood the +world better than did Lady Lufton. In her heart of hearts Mrs. +Grantly hated Mrs. Proudie—that is, with that sort of hatred one +Christian lady allows herself to feel towards another. Of course Mrs. +Grantly forgave Mrs. Proudie all her offences, and wished her well, +and was at peace with her, in the Christian sense of the word, as +with all other women. But under this forbearance and meekness, and +perhaps, we may say, wholly unconnected with it, there was certainly +a current of antagonistic feeling which, in the ordinary unconsidered +language of every day, men and women do call hatred. This raged and +was strong throughout the whole year in Barsetshire, before the eyes +of all mankind. But, nevertheless, Mrs. Grantly took Griselda to Mrs. +Proudie’s evening parties in London.</p> + +<p>In these days Mrs. Proudie considered herself to be by no means the +least among bishops’ wives. She had opened the season this year in a +new house in Gloucester Place, at which the reception rooms, at any +rate, were all that a lady bishop could desire. Here she had a front +drawing-room of very noble dimensions, a second drawing-room rather +noble also, though it had lost one of its back corners awkwardly +enough, apparently in a jostle with the neighbouring house; and then +there was a third—shall we say drawing-room, or closet?—in which +Mrs. Proudie delighted to be seen sitting, in order that the world +might know that there was a third room; altogether a noble suite, as +Mrs. Proudie herself said in confidence to more than one clergyman’s +wife from Barsetshire. “A noble suite, indeed, Mrs. Proudie!” the +clergymen’s wives from Barsetshire would usually answer.</p> + +<p>For some time Mrs. Proudie was much at a loss to know by what sort of +party or entertainment she would make herself famous. Balls and +suppers were of course out of the question. She did not object to her +daughters dancing all night at other houses—at least, of late she +had not objected, for the fashionable world required it, and the +young ladies had perhaps a will of their own—but dancing at her +house—absolutely under the shade of the bishop’s apron—would be a +sin and a scandal. And then as to suppers—of all modes in which one +may extend one’s hospitality to a large acquaintance, they are the +most costly.</p> + +<p>“It is horrid to think that we should go out among our friends for +the mere sake of eating and drinking,” Mrs. Proudie would say to the +clergymen’s wives from Barsetshire. “It shows such a sensual +propensity.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed it does, Mrs. Proudie; and is so vulgar too!” those ladies +would reply.</p> + +<p>But the elder among them would remember with regret the unsparing, +open-handed hospitality of Barchester palace in the good old days of +Bishop Grantly—God rest his soul! One old vicar’s wife there was +whose answer had not been so +<span class="nowrap">courteous—</span></p> + +<p>“When we are hungry, Mrs. Proudie,” she had said, “we do all have +sensual propensities.”</p> + +<p>“It would be much better, Mrs. Athill, if the world would provide for +all that at home,” Mrs. Proudie had rapidly replied; with which +opinion I must here profess that I cannot by any means bring myself +to coincide.</p> + +<p>But a conversazione would give play to no sensual propensity, nor +occasion that intolerable expense which the gratification of sensual +propensities too often produces. Mrs. Proudie felt that the word was +not all that she could have desired. It was a little faded by old use +and present oblivion, and seemed to address itself to that portion of +the London world that is considered blue, rather than fashionable. +But, nevertheless, there was a spirituality about it which suited +her, and one may also say an economy. And then as regarded fashion, +it might perhaps not be beyond the power of a Mrs. Proudie to regild +the word with a newly burnished gilding. Some leading person must +produce fashion at first hand, and why not Mrs. Proudie?</p> + +<p>Her plan was to set the people by the ears talking, if talk they +would, or to induce them to show themselves there inert if no more +could be got from them. To accommodate with chairs and sofas as many +as the furniture of her noble suite of rooms would allow, especially +with the two chairs and padded bench against the wall in the back +closet—the small inner drawing-room, as she would call it to the +clergymen’s wives from Barsetshire—and to let the others stand about +upright, or “group themselves,” as she described it. Then four times +during the two hours’ period of her conversazione tea and cake were +to be handed round on salvers. It is astonishing how far a very +little cake will go in this way, particularly if administered +tolerably early after dinner. The men can’t eat it, and the women, +having no plates and no table, are obliged to abstain. Mrs. Jones +knows that she cannot hold a piece of crumbly cake in her hand till +it be consumed without doing serious injury to her best dress. When +Mrs. Proudie, with her weekly books before her, looked into the +financial upshot of her conversazione, her conscience told her that +she had done the right thing.</p> + +<p>Going out to tea is not a bad thing, if one can contrive to dine +early, and then be allowed to sit round a big table with a tea urn in +the middle. I would, however, suggest that breakfast cups should +always be provided for the gentlemen. And then with pleasant +neighbours,—or more especially with a pleasant neighbour,—the +affair is not, according to my taste, by any means the worst phase of +society. But I do dislike that handing round, unless it be of a +subsidiary thimbleful when the business of the social intercourse has +been dinner.</p> + +<p>And indeed this handing round has become a vulgar and an intolerable +nuisance among us second-class gentry with our eight hundred a +year—there or thereabouts;—doubly intolerable as being destructive +of our natural comforts, and a wretchedly vulgar aping of men with +large incomes. The Duke of Omnium and Lady Hartletop are undoubtedly +wise to have everything handed round. Friends of mine who +occasionally dine at such houses tell me that they get their wine +quite as quickly as they can drink it, that their mutton is brought +to them without delay, and that the potato-bearer follows quick upon +the heels of carnifer. Nothing can be more comfortable, and we may no +doubt acknowledge that these first-class grandees do understand their +material comforts. But we of the eight hundred can no more come up to +them in this than we can in their opera-boxes and equipages. May I +not say that the usual tether of this class, in the way of carnifers, +cup-bearers, and the rest, does not reach beyond neat-handed Phyllis +and the greengrocer? and that Phyllis, neat-handed as she probably +is, and the greengrocer, though he be ever so active, cannot +administer a dinner to twelve people who are prohibited by a +Medo-Persian law from all self-administration whatever? And may I not +further say that the lamentable consequence to us eight hundreders +dining out among each other is this, that we too often get no dinner +at all. Phyllis, with the potatoes, cannot reach us till our mutton +is devoured, or in a lukewarm state past our power of managing; and +Ganymede, the greengrocer, though we admire the skill of his necktie +and the whiteness of his unexceptionable gloves, fails to keep us +going in Sherry.</p> + +<p>Seeing a lady the other day in this strait, left without a small +modicum of stimulus which was no doubt necessary for her good +digestion, I ventured to ask her to drink wine with me. But when I +bowed my head at her, she looked at me with all her eyes, struck with +amazement. Had I suggested that she should join me in a wild Indian +war-dance, with nothing on but my paint, her face could not have +shown greater astonishment. And yet I should have thought she might +have remembered the days when Christian men and women used to drink +wine with each other.</p> + +<p>God be with the good old days when I could hobnob with my friend over +the table as often as I was inclined to lift my glass to my lips, and +make a long arm for a hot potato whenever the exigencies of my plate +required it.</p> + +<p>I think it may be laid down as a rule in affairs of hospitality, that +whatever extra luxury or grandeur we introduce at our tables when +guests are with us, should be introduced for the advantage of the +guest and not for our own. If, for instance, our dinner be served in +a manner different from that usual to us, it should be so served in +order that our friends may with more satisfaction eat our repast than +our everyday practice would produce on them. But the change should by +no means be made to their material detriment in order that our +fashion may be acknowledged. Again, if I decorate my sideboard and +table, wishing that the eyes of my visitors may rest on that which is +elegant and pleasant to the sight, I act in that matter with a +becoming sense of hospitality; but if my object be to kill Mrs. Jones +with envy at the sight of all my silver trinkets, I am a very +mean-spirited fellow. This, in a broad way, will be acknowledged; but +if we would bear in mind the same idea at all times,—on occasions +when the way perhaps may not be so broad, when more thinking may be +required to ascertain what is true hospitality,—I think we of the +eight hundred would make a greater advance towards really +entertaining our own friends than by any rearrangement of the actual +meats and dishes which we set before them.</p> + +<p>Knowing as we do, that the terms of the Lufton-Grantly alliance had +been so solemnly ratified between the two mothers, it is perhaps +hardly open to us to suppose that Mrs. Grantly was induced to take +her daughter to Mrs. Proudie’s by any knowledge which she may have +acquired that Lord Dumbello had promised to grace the bishop’s +assembly. It is certainly the fact that high contracting parties do +sometimes allow themselves a latitude which would be considered +dishonest by contractors of a lower sort; and it may be possible that +the archdeacon’s wife did think of that second string with which her +bow was furnished. Be that as it may, Lord Dumbello was at Mrs. +Proudie’s, and it did so come to pass that Griselda was seated at the +corner of a sofa close to which was a vacant space in which his +lordship could—“group himself.”</p> + +<p>They had not been long there before Lord Dumbello did group himself. +“Fine day,” he said, coming up and occupying the vacant position by +Miss Grantly’s elbow.</p> + +<p>“We were driving to-day, and we thought it rather cold,” said +Griselda.</p> + +<p>“Deuced cold,” said Lord Dumbello, and then he adjusted his white +cravat and touched up his whiskers. Having got so far, he did not +proceed to any other immediate conversational efforts; nor did +Griselda. But he grouped himself again as became a marquis, and gave +very intense satisfaction to Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“This is so kind of you, Lord Dumbello,” said that lady, coming up to +him and shaking his hand warmly; “so very kind of you to come to my +poor little tea-party.”</p> + +<p>“Uncommonly pleasant, I call it,” said his lordship. “I like this +sort of thing—no trouble, you know.”</p> + +<p>“No; that is the charm of it: isn’t it? no trouble, or fuss, or +parade. That’s what I always say. According to my ideas, society +consists in giving people facility for an interchange of +thoughts—what we call conversation.”</p> + +<p>“Aw, yes, exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Not in eating and drinking together—eh, Lord Dumbello? And yet the +practice of our lives would seem to show that the indulgence of those +animal propensities can alone suffice to bring people together. The +world in this has surely made a great mistake.”</p> + +<p>“I like a good dinner all the same,” said Lord Dumbello.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, of course—of course. I am by no means one of those who +would pretend to preach that our tastes have not been given to us for +our enjoyment. Why should things be nice if we are not to like them?”</p> + +<p>“A man who can really give a good dinner has learned a great deal,” +said Lord Dumbello, with unusual animation.</p> + +<p>“An immense deal. It is quite an art in itself; and one which I, at +any rate, by no means despise. But we cannot always be eating—can +we?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Lord Dumbello, “not always.” And he looked as though he +lamented that his powers should be so circumscribed.</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Proudie passed on to Mrs. Grantly. The two ladies were +quite friendly in London; though down in their own neighbourhood they +waged a war so internecine in its nature. But nevertheless Mrs. +Proudie’s manner might have showed to a very close observer that she +knew the difference between a bishop and an archdeacon. “I am so +delighted to see you,” said she. “No, don’t mind moving; I won’t sit +down just at present. But why didn’t the archdeacon come?”</p> + +<p>“It was quite impossible; it was indeed,” said Mrs. Grantly. “The +archdeacon never has a moment in London that he can call his own.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t stay up very long, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“A good deal longer than we either of us like, I can assure you. +London life is a perfect nuisance to me.”</p> + +<p>“But people in a certain position must go through with it, you know,” +said Mrs. Proudie. “The bishop, for instance, must attend the House.”</p> + +<p>“Must he?” asked Mrs. Grantly, as though she were not at all well +informed with reference to this branch of a bishop’s business. “I am +very glad that archdeacons are under no such liability.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; there’s nothing of that sort,” said Mrs. Proudie, very +seriously. “But how uncommonly well Miss Grantly is looking! I do +hear that she has quite been admired.”</p> + +<p>This phrase certainly was a little hard for the mother to bear. All +the world had acknowledged, so Mrs. Grantly had taught herself to +believe, that Griselda was undoubtedly the beauty of the season. +Marquises and lords were already contending for her smiles, and +paragraphs had been written in newspapers as to her profile. It was +too hard to be told, after that, that her daughter had been “quite +admired.” Such a phrase might suit a pretty little red-cheeked +milkmaid of a girl.</p> + +<p>“She cannot, of course, come near your girls in that respect,” said +Mrs. Grantly, very quietly. Now the Miss Proudies had not elicited +from the fashionable world any very loud encomiums on their beauty. +Their mother felt the taunt in its fullest force, but she would not +essay to do battle on the present arena. She jotted down the item in +her mind, and kept it over for Barchester and the chapter. Such debts +as those she usually paid on some day, if the means of doing so were +at all within her power.</p> + +<p>“But there is Miss Dunstable, I declare,” she said, seeing that that +lady had entered the room; and away went Mrs. Proudie to welcome her +distinguished guest.</p> + +<p>“And so this is a conversazione, is it?” said that lady, speaking, as +usual, not in a suppressed voice. “Well, I declare, it’s very nice. +It means conversation, don’t it, Mrs. Proudie?”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha! Miss Dunstable, there is nobody like you, I declare.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but don’t it? and tea and cake? and then, when we’re tired of +talking, we go away,—isn’t that it?”</p> + +<p>“But you must not be tired for these three hours yet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m never tired of talking; all the world knows that. How do, +bishop? A very nice sort of thing this conversazione, isn’t it now?”</p> + +<p>The bishop rubbed his hands together and smiled, and said that he +thought it was rather nice.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie is so fortunate in all her little arrangements,” said +Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the bishop. “I think she is happy in these matters. +I do flatter myself that she is so. Of course, Miss Dunstable, you +are accustomed to things on a much grander scale.”</p> + +<p>“I! Lord bless you, no! Nobody hates grandeur so much as I do. Of +course I must do as I am told. I must live in a big House, and have +three footmen six feet high. I must have a coachman with a top-heavy +wig, and horses so big that they frighten me. If I did not, I should +be made out a lunatic and declared unable to manage my own affairs. +But as for grandeur, I hate it. I certainly think that I shall have +some of these conversaziones. I wonder whether Mrs. Proudie will come +and put me up to a wrinkle or two.”</p> + +<p>The bishop again rubbed his hands, and said that he was sure she +would. He never felt quite at his ease with Miss Dunstable, as he +rarely could ascertain whether or no she was earnest in what she was +saying. So he trotted off, muttering some excuse as he went, and Miss +Dunstable chuckled with an inward chuckle at his too evident +bewilderment. Miss Dunstable was by nature kind, generous, and +open-hearted; but she was living now very much with people on whom +kindness, generosity, and open-heartedness were thrown away. She was +clever also, and could be sarcastic; and she found that those +qualities told better in the world around her than generosity and an +open heart. And so she went on from month to month, and year to year, +not progressing in a good spirit as she might have done, but still +carrying within her bosom a warm affection for those she could really +love. And she knew that she was hardly living as she should +live,—that the wealth which she affected to despise was eating into +the soundness of her character, not by its splendour, but by the +style of life which it had seemed to produce as a necessity. She knew +that she was gradually becoming irreverent, scornful, and prone to +ridicule; but yet, knowing this and hating it, she hardly knew how to +break from it.</p> + +<p>She had seen so much of the blacker side of human nature that +blackness no longer startled her as it should do. She had been the +prize at which so many ruined spendthrifts had aimed; so many pirates +had endeavoured to run her down while sailing in the open waters of +life, that she had ceased to regard such attempts on her money-bags +as unmanly or over-covetous. She was content to fight her own battle +with her own weapons, feeling secure in her own strength of purpose +and strength of wit.</p> + +<p>Some few friends she had whom she really loved,—among whom her inner +self could come out and speak boldly what it had to say with its own +true voice. And the woman who thus so spoke was very different from +that Miss Dunstable whom Mrs. Proudie courted, and the Duke of Omnium +fêted, and Mrs. Harold Smith claimed as her bosom friend. If only she +could find among such one special companion on whom her heart might +rest, who would help her to bear the heavy burdens of her world! But +where was she to find such a friend?—she with her keen wit, her +untold money, and loud laughing voice. Everything about her was +calculated to attract those whom she could not value, and to scare +from her the sort of friend to whom she would fain have linked her +lot.</p> + +<p>And then she met Mrs. Harold Smith, who had taken Mrs. Proudie’s +noble suite of rooms in her tour for the evening, and was devoting to +them a period of twenty minutes. “And so I may congratulate you,” +Miss Dunstable said eagerly to her friend.</p> + +<p>“No, in mercy’s name do no such thing, or you may too probably have +to uncongratulate me again; and that will be so unpleasant.”</p> + +<p>“But they told me that Lord Brock had sent for him yesterday.” Now at +this period Lord Brock was Prime Minister.</p> + +<p>“So he did, and Harold was with him backwards and forwards all the +day. But he can’t shut his eyes and open his mouth, and see what God +will send him, as a wise and prudent man should do. He is always for +bargaining, and no Prime Minister likes that.”</p> + +<p>“I would not be in his shoes if, after all, he has to come home and +say that the bargain is off.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha! Well, I should not take it very quietly. But what can we +poor women do, you know? When it is settled, my dear, I’ll send you a +line at once.” And then Mrs. Harold Smith finished her course round +the rooms, and regained her carriage within the twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>“Beautiful profile, has she not?” said Miss Dunstable, somewhat later +in the evening, to Mrs. Proudie. Of course, the profile spoken of +belonged to Miss Grantly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is beautiful, certainly,” said Mrs. Proudie. “The pity is +that it means nothing.”</p> + +<p>“The gentlemen seem to think that it means a good deal.”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure of that. She has no conversation, you see; not a word. +She has been sitting there with Lord Dumbello at her elbow for the +last hour, and yet she has hardly opened her mouth three times.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Mrs. Proudie, who on earth could talk to Lord +Dumbello?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie thought that her own daughter Olivia would undoubtedly +be able to do so, if only she could get the opportunity. But, then, +Olivia had so much conversation.</p> + +<p>And while the two ladies were yet looking at the youthful pair, Lord +Dumbello did speak again. “I think I have had enough of this now,” +said he, addressing himself to Griselda.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you have other engagements,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; and I believe I shall go to Lady Clantelbrocks.” And then +he took his departure. No other word was spoken that evening between +him and Miss Grantly beyond those given in this chronicle, and yet +the world declared that he and that young lady had passed the evening +in so close a flirtation as to make the matter more than ordinarily +particular; and Mrs. Grantly, as she was driven home to her lodgings, +began to have doubts in her mind whether it would be wise to +discountenance so great an alliance as that which the head of the +great Hartletop family now seemed so desirous to establish. The +prudent mother had not yet spoken a word to her daughter on these +subjects, but it might soon become necessary to do so. It was all +very well for Lady Lufton to hurry up to town, but of what service +would that be, if Lord Lufton were not to be found in Bruton Street?</p> + + +<p><a id="c18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2></div> +<h3>THE NEW MINISTER’S PATRONAGE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>At that time, just as Lady Lufton was about to leave Framley for +London, Mark Robarts received a pressing letter, inviting him also to +go up to the metropolis for a day or two—not for pleasure, but on +business. The letter was from his indefatigable friend Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“My dear Robarts,” the letter ran:—<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I have just heard that poor little Burslem, the +Barsetshire prebendary, is dead. We must all die some day, +you know,—as you have told your parishioners from the +Framley pulpit more than once, no doubt. The stall must be +filled up, and why should not you have it as well as +another? It is six hundred a year and a house. Little +Burslem had nine, but the good old times are gone. Whether +the house is letable or not under the present +ecclesiastical régime, I do not know. It used to be so, +for I remember Mrs. Wiggins, the tallow-chandler’s widow, +living in old Stanhope’s house.</p> + +<p>Harold Smith has just joined the Government as Lord Petty +Bag, and could, I think, at the present moment get this +for asking. He cannot well refuse me, and, if you will say +the word, I will speak to him. You had better come up +yourself; but say the word “Yes,” or “No,” by the wires.</p> + +<p>If you say “Yes,” as of course you will, do not fail to +come up. You will find me at the “Travellers,” or at the +House. The stall will just suit you,—will give you no +trouble, improve your position, and give some little +assistance towards bed and board, and rack and manger.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours ever faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">N. Sowerby</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Singularly enough, I hear +that your brother is private +secretary to the new Lord Petty Bag. I am told that his +chief duty will consist in desiring the servants to call +my sister’s carriage. I have only seen Harold once since +he accepted office; but my Lady Petty Bag says that he has +certainly grown an inch since that occurrence.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This was certainly very good-natured on the part of Mr. Sowerby, and +showed that he had a feeling within his bosom that he owed something +to his friend the parson for the injury he had done him. And such was +in truth the case. A more reckless being than the member for West +Barsetshire could not exist. He was reckless for himself, and +reckless for all others with whom he might be concerned. He could +ruin his friends with as little remorse as he had ruined himself. All +was fair game that came in the way of his net. But, nevertheless, he +was good-natured, and willing to move heaven and earth to do a friend +a good turn, if it came in his way to do so.</p> + +<p>He did really love Mark Robarts as much as it was given him to love +any among his acquaintance. He knew that he had already done him an +almost irreparable injury, and might very probably injure him still +deeper before he had done with him. That he would undoubtedly do so, +if it came in his way, was very certain. But then, if it also came in +his way to repay his friend by any side blow, he would also +undoubtedly do that. Such an occasion had now come, and he had +desired his sister to give the new Lord Petty Bag no rest till he +should have promised to use all his influence in getting the vacant +prebend for Mark Robarts.</p> + +<p>This letter of Sowerby’s Mark immediately showed to his wife. How +lucky, thought he to himself, that not a word was said in it about +those accursed money transactions! Had he understood Sowerby better +he would have known that that gentleman never said anything about +money transactions until it became absolutely necessary. “I know you +don’t like Mr. Sowerby,” he said; “but you must own that this is very +good-natured.”</p> + +<p>“It is the character I hear of him that I don’t like,” said Mrs. +Robarts.</p> + +<p>“But what shall I do now, Fanny? As he says, why should not I have +the stall as well as another?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it would not interfere with your parish?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Not in the least, at the distance at which we are. I did think of +giving up old Jones; but if I take this, of course I must keep a +curate.”</p> + +<p>His wife could not find it in her heart to dissuade him from +accepting promotion when it came in his way—what vicar’s wife would +have so persuaded her husband? But yet she did not altogether like +it. She feared that Greek from Chaldicotes, even when he came with +the present of a prebendal stall in his hands. And then what would +Lady Lufton say?</p> + +<p>“And do you think that you must go up to London, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly; that is, if I intend to accept Harold Smith’s kind +offices in the matter.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will be better to accept them,” said Fanny, feeling +perhaps that it would be useless in her to hope that they should not +be accepted.</p> + +<p>“Prebendal stalls, Fanny, don’t generally go begging long among +parish clergymen. How could I reconcile it to the duty I owe to my +children to refuse such an increase to my income?” And so it was +settled that he should at once drive to Silverbridge and send off a +message by telegraph, and that he should himself proceed to London on +the following day. “But you must see Lady Lufton first, of course,” +said Fanny, as soon as all this was settled.</p> + +<p>Mark would have avoided this if he could have decently done so, but +he felt that it would be impolitic, as well as indecent. And why +should he be afraid to tell Lady Lufton that he hoped to receive this +piece of promotion from the present government? There was nothing +disgraceful in a clergyman becoming a prebendary of Barchester. Lady +Lufton herself had always been very civil to the prebendaries, and +especially to little Dr. Burslem, the meagre little man who had just +now paid the debt of nature. She had always been very fond of the +chapter, and her original dislike to Bishop Proudie had been chiefly +founded on his interference with the cathedral clergy,—on his +interference, or on that of his wife or chaplain. Considering these +things Mark Robarts tried to make himself believe that Lady Lufton +would be delighted at his good fortune. But yet he did not believe +it. She at any rate would revolt from the gift of the Greek of +Chaldicotes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed,” she said, when the vicar had with some difficulty +explained to her all the circumstances of the case. “Well, I +congratulate you, Mr. Robarts, on your powerful new patron.”</p> + +<p>“You will probably feel with me, Lady Lufton, that the benefice is +one which I can hold without any detriment to me in my position here +at Framley,” said he, prudently resolving to let the slur upon his +friends pass by unheeded.</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope so. Of course, you are a very young man, Mr. Robarts, +and these things have generally been given to clergymen more advanced +in life.”</p> + +<p>“But you do not mean to say that you think I ought to refuse it?”</p> + +<p>“What my advice to you might be if you really came to me for advice, +I am hardly prepared to say at so very short a notice. You seem to +have made up your mind, and therefore I need not consider it. As it +is, I wish you joy, and hope that it may turn out to your advantage +in every way.”</p> + +<p>“You understand, Lady Lufton, that I have by no means got it as yet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I thought it had been offered to you: I thought you spoke of +this new minister as having all that in his own hand.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no. What may be the amount of his influence in that +respect I do not at all know. But my correspondent assures +<span class="nowrap">me—”</span></p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby, you mean. Why don’t you call him by his name?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby assures me that Mr. Smith will ask for it; and thinks it +most probable that his request will be successful.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course. Mr. Sowerby and Mr. Harold Smith together would no +doubt be successful in anything. They are the sort of men who are +successful nowadays. Well, Mr. Robarts, I wish you joy.” And she gave +him her hand in token of her sincerity.</p> + +<p>Mark took her hand, resolving to say nothing further on that +occasion. That Lady Lufton was not now cordial with him, as she used +to be, he was well aware; and sooner or later he was determined to +have the matter out with her. He would ask her why she now so +constantly met him with a taunt, and so seldom greeted him with that +kind old affectionate smile which he knew and appreciated so well. +That she was honest and true, he was quite sure. If he asked her the +question plainly, she would answer him openly. And if he could induce +her to say that she would return to her old ways, return to them she +would in a hearty manner. But he could not do this just at present. +It was but a day or two since Mr. Crawley had been with him; and was +it not probable that Mr. Crawley had been sent thither by Lady +Lufton? His own hands were not clean enough for a remonstrance at the +present moment. He would cleanse them, and then he would remonstrate.</p> + +<p>“Would you like to live part of the year in Barchester?” he said to +his wife and sister that evening.</p> + +<p>“I think that two houses are only a trouble,” said his wife. “And we +have been very happy here.”</p> + +<p>“I have always liked a cathedral town,” said Lucy; “and I am +particularly fond of the close.”</p> + +<p>“And Barchester-close is the closest of all closes,” said Mark. +“There is not a single house within the gateways that does not belong +to the chapter.”</p> + +<p>“But if we are to keep up two houses, the additional income will soon +be wasted,” said Fanny prudently.</p> + +<p>“The thing would be, to let the house furnished every summer,” said +Lucy.</p> + +<p>“But I must take my residence as the terms come,” said the vicar; +“and I certainly should not like to be away from Framley all the +winter; I should never see anything of Lufton.” And perhaps he +thought of his hunting, and then thought again of that cleansing of +his hands.</p> + +<p>“I should not a bit mind being away during the winter,” said Lucy, +thinking of what the last winter had done for her.</p> + +<p>“But where on earth should we find money to furnish one of those +large, old-fashioned houses? Pray, Mark, do not do anything rash.” +And the wife laid her hand affectionately on her husband’s arm. In +this manner the question of the prebend was discussed between them on +the evening before he started for London.</p> + +<p>Success had at last crowned the earnest effort with which Harold +Smith had carried on the political battle of his life for the last +ten years. The late Lord Petty Bag had resigned in disgust, having +been unable to digest the Prime Minister’s ideas on Indian Reform, +and Mr. Harold Smith, after sundry hitches in the business, was +installed in his place. It was said that Harold Smith was not exactly +the man whom the Premier would himself have chosen for that high +office; but the Premier’s hands were a good deal tied by +circumstances. The last great appointment he had made had been +terribly unpopular,—so much so as to subject him, popular as he +undoubtedly was himself, to a screech from the whole nation. The +<i>Jupiter</i>, with withering scorn, had asked whether vice of every kind +was to be considered, in these days of Queen Victoria, as a passport +to the cabinet. Adverse members of both Houses had arrayed themselves +in a pure panoply of morality, and thundered forth their sarcasms +with the indignant virtue and keen discontent of political Juvenals; +and even his own friends had held up their hands in dismay. Under +these circumstances he had thought himself obliged in the present +instance to select a man who would not be especially objectionable to +any party. Now Harold Smith lived with his wife, and his +circumstances were not more than ordinarily embarrassed. He kept no +race-horses; and, as Lord Brock now heard for the first time, gave +lectures in provincial towns on popular subjects. He had a seat which +was tolerably secure, and could talk to the House by the yard if +required to do so. Moreover, Lord Brock had a great idea that the +whole machinery of his own ministry would break to pieces very +speedily. His own reputation was not bad, but it was insufficient for +himself and that lately selected friend of his. Under all these +circumstances combined, he chose Harold Smith to fill the vacant +office of Lord Petty Bag.</p> + +<p>And very proud the Lord Petty Bag was. For the last three or four +months, he and Mr. Supplehouse had been agreeing to consign the +ministry to speedy perdition. “This sort of dictatorship will never +do,” Harold Smith had himself said, justifying that future vote of +his as to want of confidence in the Queen’s government. And Mr. +Supplehouse in this matter had fully agreed with him. He was a Juno +whose form that wicked old Paris had utterly despised, and he, too, +had quite made up his mind as to the lobby in which he would be found +when that day of vengeance should arrive. But now things were much +altered in Harold Smith’s views. The Premier had shown his wisdom in +seeking for new strength where strength ought to be sought, and +introducing new blood into the body of his ministry. The people would +now feel fresh confidence, and probably the House also. As to Mr. +Supplehouse—he would use all his influence on Supplehouse. But, +after all, Mr. Supplehouse was not everything.</p> + +<p>On the morning after our vicar’s arrival in London he attended at the +Petty Bag office. It was situated in the close neighbourhood of +Downing Street and the higher governmental gods; and though the +building itself was not much, seeing that it was shored up on one +side, that it bulged out in the front, was foul with smoke, dingy +with dirt, and was devoid of any single architectural grace or modern +scientific improvement, nevertheless its position gave it a status in +the world which made the clerks in the Lord Petty Bag’s office quite +respectable in their walk in life. Mark had seen his friend Sowerby +on the previous evening, and had then made an appointment with him +for the following morning at the new minister’s office. And now he +was there a little before his time, in order that he might have a few +moments’ chat with his brother.</p> + +<p>When Mark found himself in the private secretary’s room he was quite +astonished to see the change in his brother’s appearance which the +change in his official rank had produced. Jack Robarts had been a +well-built, straight-legged, lissome young fellow, pleasant to the +eye because of his natural advantages, but rather given to a +harum-skarum style of gait, and occasionally careless, not to say +slovenly, in his dress. But now he was the very pink of perfection. +His jaunty frock-coat fitted him to perfection; not a hair of his +head was out of place; his waistcoat and trousers were glossy and +new, and his umbrella, which stood in the umbrella-stand in the +corner, was tight, and neat, and small, and natty.</p> + +<p>“Well, John, you’ve become quite a great man,” said his brother.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know much about that,” said John; “but I find that I have an +enormous deal of fagging to go through.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean work? I thought you had about the easiest berth in the +whole Civil Service.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that’s just the mistake that people make. Because we don’t cover +whole reams of foolscap paper at the rate of fifteen lines to a page, +and five words to a line, people think that we private secretaries +have got nothing to do. Look here,” and he tossed over scornfully a +dozen or so of little notes. “I tell you what, Mark; it is no easy +matter to manage the patronage of a cabinet minister. Now I am bound +to write to every one of these fellows a letter that will please him; +and yet I shall refuse to every one of them the request which he +asks.”</p> + +<p>“That must be difficult.”</p> + +<p>“Difficult is no word for it. But, after all, it consists chiefly in +the knack of the thing. One must have the wit ‘from such a sharp and +waspish word as No to pluck the sting.’ I do it every day, and I +really think that the people like it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps your refusals are better than other people’s acquiescences.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean that at all. We private secretaries have all to do the +same thing. Now, would you believe it? I have used up three lifts of +note-paper already in telling people that there is no vacancy for a +lobby messenger in the Petty Bag office. Seven peeresses have asked +for it for their favourite footmen. But there—there’s the Lord Petty +Bag!”</p> + +<p>A bell rang and the private secretary, jumping up from his +note-paper, tripped away quickly to the great man’s room.</p> + +<p>“He’ll see you at once,” said he, returning. “Buggins, show the +Reverend Mr. Robarts to the Lord Petty Bag.”</p> + +<p>Buggins was the messenger for whose not vacant place all the +peeresses were striving with so much animation. And then Mark, +following Buggins for two steps, was ushered into the next room.</p> + +<p>If a man be altered by becoming a private secretary, he is much more +altered by being made a cabinet minister. Robarts, as he entered the +room, could hardly believe that this was the same Harold Smith whom +Mrs. Proudie bothered so cruelly in the lecture-room at Barchester. +Then he was cross, and touchy, and uneasy, and insignificant. Now, as +he stood smiling on the hearthrug of his official fireplace, it was +quite pleasant to see the kind, patronizing smile which lighted up +his features. He delighted to stand there, with his hands in his +trousers’ pocket, the great man of the place, conscious of his +lordship, and feeling himself every inch a minister. Sowerby had come +with him, and was standing a little in the background, from which +position he winked occasionally at the parson over the minister’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Robarts, delighted to see you. How odd, by-the-by, that your +brother should be my private secretary!” Mark said that it was a +singular coincidence.</p> + +<p>“A very smart young fellow, and, if he minds himself, he’ll do well.”</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sure he’ll do well,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“Ah! well, yes; I think he will. And now, what can I do for you, +Robarts?”</p> + +<p>Hereupon Mr. Sowerby struck in, making it apparent by his explanation +that Mr. Robarts himself by no means intended to ask for anything; +but that, as his friends had thought that this stall at Barchester +might be put into his hands with more fitness than in those of any +other clergyman of the day, he was willing to accept the piece of +preferment from a man whom he respected so much as he did the new +Lord Petty Bag.</p> + +<p>The minister did not quite like this, as it restricted him from much +of his condescension, and robbed him of the incense of a petition +which he had expected Mark Robarts would make to him. But, +nevertheless, he was very gracious.</p> + +<p>“He could not take upon himself to declare,” he said, “what might be +Lord Brock’s pleasure with reference to the preferment at Barchester +which was vacant. He had certainly already spoken to his lordship on +the subject, and had perhaps some reason to believe that his own +wishes would be consulted. No distinct promise had been made, but he +might perhaps go so far as to say that he expected such result. If +so, it would give him the greatest pleasure in the world to +congratulate Mr. Robarts on the possession of the stall—a stall +which he was sure Mr. Robarts would fill with dignity, piety, and +brotherly love.” And then, when he had finished, Mr. Sowerby gave a +final wink, and said that he regarded the matter as settled.</p> + +<p>“No, not settled, Nathaniel,” said the cautious minister.</p> + +<p>“It’s the same thing,” rejoined Sowerby. “We all know what all that +flummery means. Men in office, Mark, never do make a distinct +promise,—not even to themselves of the leg of mutton which is +roasting before their kitchen fires. It is so necessary in these days +to be safe; is it not, Harold?”</p> + +<p>“Most expedient,” said Harold Smith, shaking his head wisely. “Well, +Robarts, who is it now?” This he said to his private secretary, who +came to notice the arrival of some bigwig. “Well, yes. I will say +good morning, with your leave, for I am a little hurried. And +remember, Mr. Robarts, I will do what I can for you; but you must +distinctly understand that there is no promise.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no promise at all,” said Sowerby—“of course not.” And then, as +he sauntered up Whitehall towards Charing Cross, with Robarts on his +arm, he again pressed upon him the sale of that invaluable hunter, +who was eating his head off his shoulders in the stable at +Chaldicotes.</p> + + +<p><a id="c19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2></div> +<h3>MONEY DEALINGS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Sowerby, in his resolution to obtain this good gift for the Vicar +of Framley, did not depend quite alone on the influence of his near +connection with the Lord Petty Bag. He felt the occasion to be one on +which he might endeavour to move even higher powers than that, and +therefore he had opened the matter to the duke—not by direct +application, but through Mr. Fothergill. No man who understood +matters ever thought of going direct to the duke in such an affair as +that. If one wanted to speak about a woman or a horse or a picture +the duke could, on occasions, be affable enough.</p> + +<p>But through Mr. Fothergill the duke was approached. It was +represented, with some cunning, that this buying over of the Framley +clergyman from the Lufton side would be a praiseworthy spoiling of +the Amalekites. The doing so would give the Omnium interest a hold +even in the cathedral close. And then it was known to all men that +Mr. Robarts had considerable influence over Lord Lufton himself. So +guided, the Duke of Omnium did say two words to the Prime Minister, +and two words from the duke went a great way, even with Lord Brock. +The upshot of all this was, that Mark Robarts did get the stall; but +he did not hear the tidings of his success till some days after his +return to Framley.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby did not forget to tell him of the great effort—the +unusual effort, as he of Chaldicotes called it—which the duke had +made on the subject. “I don’t know when he has done such a thing +before,” said Sowerby; “and you may be quite sure of this, he would +not have done it now, had you not gone to Gatherum Castle when he +asked you: indeed, Fothergill would have known that it was vain to +attempt it. And I’ll tell you what, Mark—it does not do for me to +make little of my own nest, but I truly believe the duke’s word will +be more efficacious than the Lord Petty Bag’s solemn adjuration.”</p> + +<p>Mark, of course, expressed his gratitude in proper terms, and did buy +the horse for a hundred and thirty pounds. “He’s as well worth it,” +said Sowerby, “as any animal that ever stood on four legs; and my +only reason for pressing him on you is, that when Tozer’s day does +come round, I know you will have to stand to us to something about +that tune.” It did not occur to Mark to ask him why the horse should +not be sold to some one else, and the money forthcoming in the +regular way. But this would not have suited Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>Mark knew that the beast was good, and as he walked to his lodgings +was half proud of his new possession. But then, how would he justify +it to his wife, or how introduce the animal into his stables without +attempting any justification in the matter? And yet, looking to the +absolute amount of his income, surely he might feel himself entitled +to buy a new horse when it suited him. He wondered what Mr. Crawley +would say when he heard of the new purchase. He had lately fallen +into a state of much wondering as to what his friends and neighbours +would say about him.</p> + +<p>He had now been two days in town, and was to go down after breakfast +on the following morning so that he might reach home by Friday +afternoon. But on that evening, just as he was going to bed, he was +surprised by Lord Lufton coming into the coffee-room at his hotel. He +walked in with a hurried step, his face was red, and it was clear +that he was very angry.</p> + +<p>“Robarts,” said he, walking up to his friend and taking the hand that +was extended to him, “do you know anything about this man, Tozer?”</p> + +<p>“Tozer—what Tozer? I have heard Sowerby speak of such a man.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you have. If I do not mistake you have written to me about +him yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Very probably. I remember Sowerby mentioning the man with reference +to your affairs. But why do you ask me?”</p> + +<p>“This man has not only written to me, but has absolutely forced his +way into my rooms when I was dressing for dinner; and absolutely had +the impudence to tell me that if I did not honour some bill which he +holds for eight hundred pounds he would proceed against me.”</p> + +<p>“But you settled all that matter with Sowerby?”</p> + +<p>“I did settle it at a very great cost to me. Sooner than have a fuss +I paid him through the nose—like a fool that I was—everything that +he claimed. This is an absolute swindle, and if it goes on I will +expose it as such.”</p> + +<p>Robarts looked round the room, but luckily there was not a soul in it +but themselves. “You do not mean to say that Sowerby is swindling +you?” said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>“It looks very like it,” said Lord Lufton; “and I tell you fairly +that I am not in a humour to endure any more of this sort of thing. +Some years ago I made an ass of myself through that man’s fault. But +four thousand pounds should have covered the whole of what I really +lost. I have now paid more than three times that sum; and, by +heavens! I will not pay more without exposing the whole affair.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lufton, I do not understand. What is this bill?—has it your +name to it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it has: I’ll not deny my name, and if there be absolute need I +will pay it; but if I do so, my lawyer shall sift it, and it shall go +before a jury.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought all those bills were paid?”</p> + +<p>“I left it to Sowerby to get up the old bills when they were renewed, +and now one of them that has in truth been already honoured is +brought against me.”</p> + +<p>Mark could not but think of the two documents which he himself had +signed, and both of which were now undoubtedly in the hands of Tozer, +or of some other gentleman of the same profession;—which both might +be brought against him, the second as soon as he should have +satisfied the first. And then he remembered that Sowerby had said +something to him about an outstanding bill, for the filling up of +which some trifle must be paid, and of this he reminded Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“And do you call eight hundred pounds a trifle? If so, I do not.”</p> + +<p>“They will probably make no such demand as that.”</p> + +<p>“But I tell you they do make such a demand, and have made it. The man +whom I saw, and who told me that he was Tozer’s friend, but who was +probably Tozer himself, positively swore to me that he would be +obliged to take legal proceedings if the money were not forthcoming +within a week or ten days. When I explained to him that it was an old +bill that had been renewed, he declared that his friend had given +full value for it.”</p> + +<p>“Sowerby said that you would probably have to pay ten pounds to +redeem it. I should offer the man some such sum as that.”</p> + +<p>“My intention is to offer the man nothing, but to leave the affair in +the hands of my lawyer with instructions to him to spare +none;—neither myself nor any one else. I am not going to allow such +a man as Sowerby to squeeze me like an orange.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lufton, you seem as though you were angry with me.”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not. But I think it is as well to caution you about this +man; my transactions with him lately have chiefly been through you, +and <span class="nowrap">therefore—”</span></p> + +<p>“But they have only been so through his and your wish: because I have +been anxious to oblige you both. I hope you don’t mean to say that I +am concerned in these bills.”</p> + +<p>“I know that you are concerned in bills with him.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Lufton, am I to understand, then, that you are accusing me of +having any interest in these transactions which you have called +swindling?”</p> + +<p>“As far as I am concerned there has been swindling, and there is +swindling going on now.”</p> + +<p>“But you do not answer my question. Do you bring any accusation +against me? If so, I agree with you that you had better go to your +lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“I think that is what I shall do.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. But upon the whole, I never heard of a more unreasonable +man, or of one whose thoughts are more unjust than yours. Solely with +the view of assisting you, and solely at your request, I spoke to +Sowerby about these money transactions of yours. Then at his request, +which originated out of your request, he using me as his ambassador +to you, as you had used me as yours to him, I wrote and spoke to you. +And now this is the upshot.”</p> + +<p>“I bring no accusation against you, Robarts; but I know you have +dealings with this man. You have told me so yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, at his request to accommodate him, I have put my name to a +bill.”</p> + +<p>“Only to one?”</p> + +<p>“Only to one; and then to that same renewed, or not exactly to that +same, but to one which stands for it. The first was for four hundred +pounds; the last for five hundred.”</p> + +<p>“All which you will have to make good, and the world will of course +tell you that you have paid that price for this stall at Barchester.”</p> + +<p>This was terrible to be borne. He had heard much lately which had +frightened and scared him, but nothing so terrible as this; nothing +which so stunned him, or conveyed to his mind so frightful a reality +of misery and ruin. He made no immediate answer, but standing on the +hearthrug with his back to the fire, looked up the whole length of +the room. Hitherto his eyes had been fixed upon Lord Lufton’s face, +but now it seemed to him as though he had but little more to do with +Lord Lufton. Lord Lufton and Lord Lufton’s mother were neither now to +be counted among those who wished him well. Upon whom indeed could he +now count, except that wife of his bosom upon whom he was bringing +all this wretchedness?</p> + +<p>In that moment of agony ideas ran quickly through his brain. He would +immediately abandon this preferment at Barchester, of which it might +be said with so much colour that he had bought it. He would go to +Harold Smith, and say positively that he declined it. Then he would +return home and tell his wife all that had occurred;—tell the whole +also to Lady Lufton, if that might still be of any service. He would +make arrangement for the payment of both those bills as they might be +presented, asking no questions as to the justice of the claim, making +no complaint to any one, not even to Sowerby. He would put half his +income, if half were necessary, into the hands of Forrest the banker, +till all was paid. He would sell every horse he had. He would part +with his footman and groom, and at any rate strive like a man to get +again a firm footing on good ground. Then, at that moment, he loathed +with his whole soul the position in which he found himself placed, +and his own folly which had placed him there. How could he reconcile +it to his conscience that he was there in London with Sowerby and +Harold Smith, petitioning for Church preferment to a man who should +have been altogether powerless in such a matter, buying horses, and +arranging about past due bills? He did not reconcile it to his +conscience. Mr. Crawley had been right when he told him that he was a +castaway.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton, whose anger during the whole interview had been extreme, +and who had become more angry the more he talked, had now walked once +or twice up and down the room; and as he so walked the idea did occur +to him that he had been unjust. He had come there with the intention +of exclaiming against Sowerby, and of inducing Robarts to convey to +that gentleman, that if he, Lord Lufton, were made to undergo any +further annoyance about this bill, the whole affair should be thrown +into the lawyer’s hands; but instead of doing this, he had brought an +accusation against Robarts. That Robarts had latterly become +Sowerby’s friend rather than his own in all these horrid money +dealings, had galled him; and now he had expressed himself in terms +much stronger than he had intended to use.</p> + +<p>“As to you personally, Mark,” he said, coming back to the spot on +which Robarts was standing, “I do not wish to say anything that shall +annoy you.”</p> + +<p>“You have said quite enough, Lord Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot be surprised that I should be angry and indignant at the +treatment I have received.”</p> + +<p>“You might, I think, have separated in your mind those who have +wronged you, if there has been such wrong, from those who have only +endeavoured to do your will and pleasure for you. That I, as a +clergyman, have been very wrong in taking any part whatsoever in +these matters, I am well aware. That as a man I have been +outrageously foolish in lending my name to Mr. Sowerby, I also know +well enough: it is perhaps as well that I should be told of this +somewhat rudely; but I certainly did not expect the lesson to come +from you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there has been mischief enough. The question is, what we had +better now both do?”</p> + +<p>“You have said what you mean to do. You will put the affair into the +hands of your lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“Not with any object of exposing you.”</p> + +<p>“Exposing me, Lord Lufton! Why, one would think that I had had the +handling of your money.”</p> + +<p>“You will misunderstand me. I think no such thing. But do you not +know yourself that if legal steps be taken in this wretched affair, +your arrangements with Sowerby will be brought to light?”</p> + +<p>“My arrangements with Sowerby will consist in paying or having to +pay, on his account, a large sum of money, for which I have never had +and shall never have any consideration whatever.”</p> + +<p>“And what will be said about this stall at Barchester?”</p> + +<p>“After the charge which you brought against me just now, I shall +decline to accept it.”</p> + +<p>At this moment three or four other gentlemen entered the room, and +the conversation between our two friends was stopped. They still +remained standing near the fire, but for a few minutes neither of +them said anything. Robarts was waiting till Lord Lufton should go +away, and Lord Lufton had not yet said that which he had come to say. +At last he spoke again, almost in a whisper: “I think it will be best +to ask Sowerby to come to my rooms to-morrow, and I think also that +you should meet him there.”</p> + +<p>“I do not see any necessity for my presence,” said Robarts. “It seems +probable that I shall suffer enough for meddling with your affairs, +and I will do so no more.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I cannot make you come; but I think it will be only just +to Sowerby, and it will be a favour to me.”</p> + +<p>Robarts again walked up and down the room for half-a-dozen times, +trying to resolve what it would most become him to do in the present +emergency. If his name were dragged before the courts,—if he should +be shown up in the public papers as having been engaged in +accommodation bills, that would certainly be ruinous to him. He had +already learned from Lord Lufton’s innuendoes what he might expect to +hear as the public version of his share in these transactions! And +then his wife,—how would she bear such exposure?</p> + +<p>“I will meet Mr. Sowerby at your rooms to-morrow, on one condition,” +he at last said.</p> + +<p>“And what is that?”</p> + +<p>“That I receive your positive assurance that I am not suspected by +you of having had any pecuniary interest whatever in any money +matters with Mr. Sowerby, either as concerns your affairs or those of +anybody else.”</p> + +<p>“I have never suspected you of any such thing. But I have thought +that you were compromised with him.”</p> + +<p>“And so I am—I am liable for these bills. But you ought to have +known, and do know, that I have never received a shilling on account +of such liability. I have endeavoured to oblige a man whom I regarded +first as your friend, and then as my own; and this has been the +result.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton did at last give him the assurance that he desired, as +they sat with their heads together over one of the coffee-room +tables; and then Robarts promised that he would postpone his return +to Framley till the Saturday, so that he might meet Sowerby at Lord +Lufton’s chambers in the Albany on the following afternoon. As soon +as this was arranged, Lord Lufton took his leave and went his way.</p> + +<p>After that poor Mark had a very uneasy night of it. It was clear +enough that Lord Lufton had thought, if he did not still think, that +the stall at Barchester was to be given as pecuniary recompense in +return for certain money accommodation to be afforded by the nominee +to the dispenser of this patronage. Nothing on earth could be worse +than this. In the first place it would be simony; and then it would +be simony beyond all description mean and simoniacal. The very +thought of it filled Mark’s soul with horror and dismay. It might be +that Lord Lufton’s suspicions were now at rest; but others would +think the same thing, and their suspicions it would be impossible to +allay; those others would consist of the outer world, which is always +so eager to gloat over the detected vice of a clergyman.</p> + +<p>And then that wretched horse which he had purchased, and the purchase +of which should have prohibited him from saying that nothing of value +had accrued to him in these transactions with Mr. Sowerby! what was +he to do about that? And then of late he had been spending, and had +continued to spend, more money than he could well afford. This very +journey of his up to London would be most imprudent, if it should +become necessary for him to give up all hope of holding the prebend. +As to that he had made up his mind; but then again he unmade it, as +men always do in such troubles. That line of conduct which he had +laid down for himself in the first moments of his indignation against +Lord Lufton, by adopting which he would have to encounter poverty, +and ridicule, and discomfort, the annihilation of his high hopes, and +the ruin of his ambition—that, he said to himself over and over +again, would now be the best for him. But it is so hard for us to +give up our high hopes, and willingly encounter poverty, ridicule, +and discomfort!</p> + +<p>On the following morning, however, he boldly walked down to the Petty +Bag office, determined to let Harold Smith know that he was no longer +desirous of the Barchester stall. He found his brother there, still +writing artistic notes to anxious peeresses on the subject of +Buggins’ non-vacant situation; but the great man of the place, the +Lord Petty Bag himself, was not there. He might probably look in when +the House was beginning to sit, perhaps at four or a little after; +but he certainly would not be at the office in the morning. The +functions of the Lord Petty Bag he was no doubt performing elsewhere. +Perhaps he had carried his work home with him—a practice which the +world should know is not uncommon with civil servants of exceeding +zeal.</p> + +<p>Mark did think of opening his heart to his brother, and of leaving +his message with him. But his courage failed him, or perhaps it might +be more correct to say that his prudence prevented him. It would be +better for him, he thought, to tell his wife before he told any one +else. So he merely chatted with his brother for half an hour and then +left him.</p> + +<p>The day was very tedious till the hour came at which he was to attend +at Lord Lufton’s rooms; but at last it did come, and just as the +clock struck, he turned out of Piccadilly into the Albany. As he was +going across the court before he entered the building, he was greeted +by a voice just behind him.</p> + +<p>“As punctual as the big clock on Barchester tower,” said Mr. Sowerby. +“See what it is to have a summons from a great man, Mr. Prebendary.”</p> + +<p>He turned round and extended his hand mechanically to Mr. Sowerby, +and as he looked at him he thought he had never before seen him so +pleasant in appearance, so free from care, and so joyous in +demeanour.</p> + +<p>“You have heard from Lord Lufton,” said Mark in a voice that was +certainly very lugubrious.</p> + +<p>“Heard from him! oh, yes, of course I have heard from him. I’ll tell +you what it is, Mark,” and he now spoke almost in a whisper as they +walked together along the Albany passage, “Lufton is a child in money +matters—a perfect child. The dearest, finest fellow in the world, +you know; but a very baby in money matters.” And then they entered +his lordship’s rooms.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton’s countenance also was lugubrious enough, but this did +not in the least abash Sowerby, who walked quickly up to the young +lord with his gait perfectly self-possessed and his face radiant with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Well, Lufton, how are you?” said he. “It seems that my worthy friend +Tozer has been giving you some trouble?”</p> + +<p>Then Lord Lufton with a face by no means radiant with satisfaction +again began the story of Tozer’s fraudulent demand upon him. Sowerby +did not interrupt him, but listened patiently to the end;—quite +patiently, although Lord Lufton, as he made himself more and more +angry by the history of his own wrongs, did not hesitate to pronounce +certain threats against Mr. Sowerby, as he had pronounced them before +against Mark Robarts. He would not, he said, pay a shilling, except +through his lawyer; and he would instruct his lawyer, that before he +paid anything, the whole matter should be exposed openly in court. He +did not care, he said, what might be the effect on himself or any one +else. He was determined that the whole case should go to a jury.</p> + +<p>“To grand jury, and special jury, and common jury, and Old Jewry, if +you like,” said Sowerby. “The truth is, Lufton, you lost some money, +and as there was some delay in paying it, you have been harassed.”</p> + +<p>“I have paid more than I lost three times over,” said Lord Lufton, +stamping his foot.</p> + +<p>“I will not go into that question now. It was settled, as I thought, +some time ago by persons to whom you yourself referred it. But will +you tell me this: Why on earth should Robarts be troubled in this +matter? What has he done?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know. He arranged the matter with you.”</p> + +<p>“No such thing. He was kind enough to carry a message from you to me, +and to convey back a return message from me to you. That has been his +part in it.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t suppose that I want to implicate him: do you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you want to implicate any one, but you are hot-headed +and difficult to deal with, and very irrational into the bargain. +And, what is worse, I must say you are a little suspicious. In all +this matter I have harassed myself greatly to oblige you, and in +return I have got more kicks than halfpence.”</p> + +<p>“Did not you give this bill to Tozer—the bill which he now holds?”</p> + +<p>“In the first place he does not hold it; and in the next place I did +not give it to him. These things pass through scores of hands before +they reach the man who makes the application for payment.”</p> + +<p>“And who came to me the other day?”</p> + +<p>“That, I take it, was Tom Tozer, a brother of our Tozer’s.”</p> + +<p>“Then he holds the bill, for I saw it with him.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment; that is very likely. I sent you word that you would +have to pay for taking it up. Of course they don’t abandon those sort +of things without some consideration.”</p> + +<p>“Ten pounds, you said,” observed Mark.</p> + +<p>“Ten or twenty; some such sum as that. But you were hardly so soft as +to suppose that the man would ask for such a sum. Of course he would +demand the full payment. There is the bill, Lord Lufton,” and +Sowerby, producing a document, handed it across the table to his +lordship. “I gave five-and-twenty pounds for it this morning.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton took the paper and looked at it. “Yes,” said he, “that’s +the bill. What am I to do with it now?”</p> + +<p>“Put it with the family archives,” said Sowerby,—“or behind the +fire, just which you please.”</p> + +<p>“And is this the last of them? Can no other be brought up?”</p> + +<p>“You know better than I do what paper you may have put your hand to. +I know of no other. At the last renewal that was the only outstanding +bill of which I was aware.”</p> + +<p>“And you have paid five-and-twenty pounds for it?”</p> + +<p>“I have. Only that you have been in such a tantrum about it, and +would have made such a noise this afternoon if I had not brought it, +I might have had it for fifteen or twenty. In three or four days they +would have taken fifteen.”</p> + +<p>“The odd ten pounds does not signify, and I’ll pay you the +twenty-five, of course,” said Lord Lufton, who now began to feel a +little ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>“You may do as you please about that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! it’s my affair, as a matter of course. Any amount of that kind I +don’t mind,” and he sat down to fill in a cheque for the money.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Lufton, let me say a few words to you,” said Sowerby, +standing with his back against the fireplace, and playing with a +small cane which he held in his hand. “For heaven’s sake try and be a +little more charitable to those around you. When you become fidgety +about anything, you indulge in language which the world won’t stand, +though men who know you as well as Robarts and I may consent to put +up with it. You have accused me, since I have been here, of all +manner of <span class="nowrap">iniquity—”</span></p> + +<p>“Now, Sowerby—”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, let me have my say out. You have accused me, I say, +and I believe that you have accused him. But it has never occurred to +you, I daresay, to accuse yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed it has.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you have been wrong in having to do with such men as +Tozer. I have also been very wrong. It wants no great moral authority +to tell us that. Pattern gentlemen don’t have dealings with Tozer, +and very much the better they are for not having them. But a man +should have back enough to bear the weight which he himself puts on +it. Keep away from Tozer, if you can, for the future; but if you do +deal with him, for heaven’s sake keep your temper.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all very fine, Sowerby; but you know as well as I +<span class="nowrap">do—”</span></p> + +<p>“I know this,” said the devil, quoting Scripture, as he folded up the +check for twenty-five pounds, and put it in his pocket, “that when a +man sows tares, he won’t reap wheat, and it’s no use to expect it. I +am tough in these matters, and can bear a great deal—that is, if I +be not pushed too far,” and he looked full into Lord Lufton’s face as +he spoke; “but I think you have been very hard upon Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind me, Sowerby; Lord Lufton and I are very old friends.”</p> + +<p>“And may therefore take a liberty with each other. Very well. And now +I’ve done my sermon. My dear dignitary, allow me to congratulate you. +I hear from Fothergill that that little affair of yours has been +definitely settled.”</p> + +<p>Mark’s face again became clouded. “I rather think,” said he, “that I +shall decline the presentation.”</p> + +<p>“Decline it!” said Sowerby, who, having used his utmost efforts to +obtain it, would have been more absolutely offended by such +vacillation on the vicar’s part than by any personal abuse which +either he or Lord Lufton could heap upon him.</p> + +<p>“I think I shall,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“And why?”</p> + +<p>Mark looked up at Lord Lufton, and then remained silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>“There can be no occasion for such a sacrifice under the present +circumstances,” said his lordship.</p> + +<p>“And under what circumstances could there be occasion for it?” asked +Sowerby. “The Duke of Omnium has used some little influence to get +the place for you as a parish clergyman belonging to his county, and +I should think it monstrous if you were now to reject it.”</p> + +<p>And then Robarts openly stated the whole of his reasons, explaining +exactly what Lord Lufton had said with reference to the bill +transactions, and to the allegation which would be made as to the +stall having been given in payment for the accommodation.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word that’s too bad,” said Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“Now, Sowerby, I won’t be lectured,” said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“I have done my lecture,” said he, aware, perhaps, that it would not +do for him to push his friend too far, “and I shall not give a +second. But, Robarts, let me tell you this: as far as I know, Harold +Smith has had little or nothing to do with the appointment. The duke +has told the Prime Minister that he was very anxious that a parish +clergyman from the county should go into the chapter, and then, at +Lord Brock’s request, he named you. If under those circumstances you +talk of giving it up, I shall believe you to be insane. As for the +bill which you accepted for me, you need have no uneasiness about it. +The money will be ready; but of course, when that time comes, you +will let me have the hundred and thirty +<span class="nowrap">for—”</span></p> + +<p>And then Mr. Sowerby took his leave, having certainly made himself +master of the occasion. If a man of fifty have his wits about him, +and be not too prosy, he can generally make himself master of the +occasion, when his companions are under thirty.</p> + +<p>Robarts did not stay at the Albany long after him, but took his +leave, having received some assurances of Lord Lufton’s regret for +what had passed and many promises of his friendship for the future. +Indeed Lord Lufton was a little ashamed of himself. “And as for the +prebend, after what has passed, of course you must accept it.” +Nevertheless his lordship had not omitted to notice Mr. Sowerby’s +hint about the horse and the hundred and thirty pounds.</p> + +<p>Robarts, as he walked back to his hotel, thought that he certainly +would accept the Barchester promotion, and was very glad that he had +said nothing on the subject to his brother. On the whole his spirits +were much raised. That assurance of Sowerby’s about the bill was very +comforting to him; and strange to say, he absolutely believed it. In +truth Sowerby had been so completely the winning horse at the late +meeting, that both Lord Lufton and Robarts were inclined to believe +almost anything he said;—which was not always the case with either +of them.</p> + + +<p><a id="c20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2></div> +<h3>HAROLD SMITH IN THE CABINET.<br> </h3> + + +<p>For a few days the whole Harold Smith party held their heads very +high. It was not only that their man had been made a cabinet +minister; but a rumour had got abroad that Lord Brock, in selecting +him, had amazingly strengthened his party, and done much to cure the +wounds which his own arrogance and lack of judgment had inflicted on +the body politic of his government. So said the Harold-Smithians, +much elated. And when we consider what Harold had himself achieved, +we need not be surprised that he himself was somewhat elated also.</p> + +<p>It must be a proud day for any man when he first walks into a +cabinet. But when a humble-minded man thinks of such a phase of life, +his mind becomes lost in wondering what a cabinet is. Are they gods +that attend there or men? Do they sit on chairs, or hang about on +clouds? When they speak, is the music of the spheres audible in their +Olympian mansion, making heaven drowsy with its harmony? In what way +do they congregate? In what order do they address each other? Are the +voices of all the deities free and equal? Is plodding Themis from the +Home Department, or Ceres from the Colonies, heard with as rapt +attention as powerful Pallas of the Foreign Office, the goddess that +is never seen without her lance and helmet? Does our Whitehall Mars +make eyes there at bright young Venus of the Privy Seal, disgusting +that quaint tinkering Vulcan, who is blowing his bellows at our +Exchequer, not altogether unsuccessfully? Old Saturn of the Woolsack +sits there mute, we will say, a relic of other days, as seated in +this divan. The hall in which he rules is now elsewhere. Is our +Mercury of the Post Office ever ready to fly nimbly from globe to +globe, as great Jove may order him, while Neptune, unaccustomed to +the waves, offers needful assistance to the Apollo of the India +Board? How Juno sits apart, glum and huffy, uncared for, Council +President though she be, great in name, but despised among gods—that +we can guess. If Bacchus and Cupid share Trade and the Board of Works +between them, the fitness of things will have been as fully consulted +as is usual. And modest Diana of the Petty Bag, latest summoned to +these banquets of ambrosia,—does she not cling retiring near the +doors, hardly able as yet to make her low voice heard among her +brother deities? But Jove, great Jove—old Jove, the King of Olympus, +hero among gods and men, how does he carry himself in these councils +summoned by his voice? Does he lie there at his ease, with his purple +cloak cut from the firmament around his shoulders? Is his thunderbolt +ever at his hand to reduce a recreant god to order? Can he proclaim +silence in that immortal hall? Is it not there, as elsewhere, in all +places, and among all nations, that a king of gods and a king of men +is and will be king, rules and will rule, over those who are smaller +than himself?</p> + +<p>Harold Smith, when he was summoned to the august hall of divine +councils, did feel himself to be a proud man; but we may perhaps +conclude that at the first meeting or two he did not attempt to take +a very leading part. Some of my readers may have sat at vestries, and +will remember how mild, and for the most part, mute, is a new-comer +at their board. He agrees generally, with abated enthusiasm; but +should he differ, he apologizes for the liberty. But anon, when the +voices of his colleagues have become habitual in his ears—when the +strangeness of the room is gone, and the table before him is known +and trusted—he throws off his awe and dismay, and electrifies his +brotherhood by the vehemence of his declamation and the violence of +his thumping. So let us suppose it will be with Harold Smith, perhaps +in the second or third season of his cabinet practice. Alas! alas! +that such pleasures should be so fleeting!</p> + +<p>And then, too, there came upon him a blow which somewhat modified his +triumph—a cruel, dastard blow, from a hand which should have been +friendly to him, from one to whom he had fondly looked to buoy him up +in the great course that was before him. It had been said by his +friends that in obtaining Harold Smith’s services the Prime Minister +had infused new young healthy blood into his body. Harold himself had +liked the phrase, and had seen at a glance how it might have been +made to tell by some friendly Supplehouse or the like. But why should +a Supplehouse out of Elysium be friendly to a Harold Smith within it? +Men lapped in Elysium, steeped to the neck in bliss, must expect to +see their friends fall off from them. Human nature cannot stand it. +If I want to get anything from my old friend Jones, I like to see him +shoved up into a high place. But if Jones, even in his high place, +can do nothing for me, then his exaltation above my head is an insult +and an injury. Who ever believes his own dear intimate companion to +be fit for the highest promotion? Mr. Supplehouse had known Mr. Smith +too closely to think much of his young blood.</p> + +<p>Consequently, there appeared an article in the <i>Jupiter</i>, which was +by no means complimentary to the ministry in general. It harped a +good deal on the young blood view of the question, and seemed to +insinuate that Harold Smith was not much better than diluted water. +“The Prime Minister,” the article said, “having lately recruited his +impaired vigour by a new infusion of aristocratic influence of the +highest moral tone, had again added to himself another tower of +strength chosen from among the people. What might he not hope, now +that he possessed the services of Lord Brittleback and Mr. Harold +Smith! Renovated in a Medea’s caldron of such potency, all his effete +limbs—and it must be acknowledged that some of them had become very +effete—would come forth young and round and robust. A new energy +would diffuse itself through every department; India would be saved +and quieted; the ambition of France would be tamed; even-handed +reform would remodel our courts of law and parliamentary elections; +and Utopia would be realized. Such, it seems, is the result expected +in the ministry from Mr. Harold Smith’s young blood!”</p> + +<p>This was cruel enough, but even this was hardly so cruel as the words +with which the article ended. By that time irony had been dropped, +and the writer spoke out earnestly his opinion upon the matter. “We +beg to assure Lord Brock,” said the article, “that such alliances as +these will not save him from the speedy fall with which his arrogance +and want of judgment threaten to overwhelm it. As regards himself we +shall be sorry to hear of his resignation. He is in many respects the +best statesman that we possess for the emergencies of the present +period. But if he be so ill-judged as to rest on such men as Mr. +Harold Smith and Lord Brittleback for his assistants in the work +which is before him, he must not expect that the country will support +him. Mr. Harold Smith is not made of the stuff from which cabinet +ministers should be formed.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Harold Smith, as he read this, seated at his breakfast-table, +recognized, or said that he recognized, the hand of Mr. Supplehouse +in every touch. That phrase about the effete limbs was Supplehouse +all over, as was also the realization of Utopia. “When he wants to be +witty, he always talks about Utopia,” said Mr. Harold Smith—to +himself: for Mrs. Harold was not usually present in the flesh at +these matutinal meals.</p> + +<p>And then he went down to his office, and saw in the glance of every +man that he met an announcement that that article in the <i>Jupiter</i> +had been read. His private secretary tittered in evident allusion to +the article, and the way in which Buggins took his coat made it clear +that it was well known in the messengers’ lobby. “He won’t have to +fill up my vacancy when I go,” Buggins was saying to himself. And +then in the course of the morning came the cabinet council, the +second that he had attended, and he read in the countenance of every +god and goddess there assembled that their chief was thought to have +made another mistake. If Mr. Supplehouse could have been induced to +write in another strain, then indeed that new blood might have been +felt to have been efficacious.</p> + +<p>All this was a great drawback to his happiness, but still it could +not rob him of the fact of his position. Lord Brock could not ask him +to resign because the <i>Jupiter</i> had written against him; nor was Lord +Brock the man to desert a new colleague for such a reason. So Harold +Smith girded his loins, and went about the duties of the Petty Bag +with new zeal. “Upon my word, the <i>Jupiter</i> is right,” said young +Robarts to himself, as he finished his fourth dozen of private notes +explanatory of everything in and about the Petty Bag Office. Harold +Smith required that his private secretary’s notes should be so +terribly precise.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless, in spite of his drawbacks, Harold Smith was happy +in his new honours, and Mrs. Harold Smith enjoyed them also. She +certainly, among her acquaintance, did quiz the new cabinet minister +not a little, and it may be a question whether she was not as hard +upon him as the writer in the <i>Jupiter</i>. She whispered a great deal +to Miss Dunstable about new blood, and talked of going down to +Westminster Bridge to see whether the Thames were really on fire. But +though she laughed, she triumphed, and though she flattered herself +that she bore her honours without any outward sign, the world knew +that she was triumphing, and ridiculed her elation.</p> + +<p>About this time she also gave a party—not a pure-minded +conversazione like Mrs. Proudie, but a downright wicked worldly +dance, at which there were fiddles, ices, and champagne sufficient to +run away with the first quarter’s salary accruing to Harold from the +Petty Bag Office. To us this ball is chiefly memorable from the fact +that Lady Lufton was among the guests. Immediately on her arrival in +town she received cards from Mrs. H. Smith for herself and Griselda, +and was about to send back a reply at once declining the honour. What +had she to do at the house of Mr. Sowerby’s sister? But it so +happened that at that moment her son was with her, and as he +expressed a wish that she should go, she yielded. Had there been +nothing in his tone of persuasion more than ordinary,—had it merely +had reference to herself,—she would have smiled on him for his kind +solicitude, have made out some occasion for kissing his forehead as +she thanked him, and would still have declined. But he had reminded +her both of himself and Griselda. “You might as well go, mother, for +the sake of meeting me,” he said; “Mrs. Harold caught me the other +day, and would not liberate me till I had given her a promise.”</p> + +<p>“That is an attraction certainly,” said Lady Lufton. “I do like going +to a house when I know that you will be there.”</p> + +<p>“And now that Miss Grantly is with you—you owe it to her to do the +best you can for her.”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do, Ludovic; and I have to thank you for reminding me of +my duty so gallantly.” And so she said that she would go to Mrs. +Harold Smith’s. Poor lady! She gave much more weight to those few +words about Miss Grantly than they deserved. It rejoiced her heart to +think that her son was anxious to meet Griselda—that he should +perpetrate this little <i>ruse</i> in order to gain his wish. But he had +spoken out of the mere emptiness of his mind, without thought of what +he was saying, excepting that he wished to please his mother.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless he went to Mrs. Harold Smith’s, and when there he +did dance more than once with Griselda Grantly—to the manifest +discomfiture of Lord Dumbello. He came in late, and at the moment +Lord Dumbello was moving slowly up the room, with Griselda on his +arm, while Lady Lufton was sitting near looking on with unhappy eyes. +And then Griselda sat down, and Lord Dumbello stood mute at her +elbow.</p> + +<p>“Ludovic,” whispered his mother, “Griselda is absolutely bored by +that man, who follows her like a ghost. Do go and rescue her.”</p> + +<p>He did go and rescue her, and afterwards danced with her for the best +part of an hour consecutively. He knew that the world gave Lord +Dumbello the credit of admiring the young lady, and was quite alive +to the pleasure of filling his brother nobleman’s heart with jealousy +and anger. Moreover, Griselda was in his eyes very beautiful, and had +she been one whit more animated, or had his mother’s tactics been but +a thought better concealed, Griselda might have been asked that night +to share the vacant throne at Lufton, in spite of all that had been +said and sworn in the drawing-room of Framley Parsonage.</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that our gallant, gay Lothario had passed some +considerable number of days with Miss Grantly in his mother’s house, +and the danger of such contiguity must be remembered also. Lord +Lufton was by no means a man capable of seeing beauty unmoved or of +spending hours with a young lady without some approach to tenderness. +Had there been no such approach, it is probable that Lady Lufton +would not have pursued the matter. But, according to her ideas on +such subjects, her son Ludovic had on some occasions shown quite +sufficient partiality for Miss Grantly to justify her in her hopes, +and to lead her to think that nothing but opportunity was wanted. +Now, at this ball of Mrs. Smith’s, he did, for a while, seem to be +taking advantage of such opportunity, and his mother’s heart was +glad. If things should turn out well on this evening she would +forgive Mrs. Harold Smith all her sins.</p> + +<p>And for a while it looked as though things would turn out well. Not +that it must be supposed that Lord Lufton had come there with any +intention of making love to Griselda, or that he ever had any fixed +thought that he was doing so. Young men in such matters are so often +without any fixed thoughts! They are such absolute moths. They amuse +themselves with the light of the beautiful candle, fluttering about, +on and off, in and out of the flame with dazzled eyes, till in a rash +moment they rush in too near the wick, and then fall with singed +wings and crippled legs, burnt up and reduced to tinder by the +consuming fire of matrimony. Happy marriages, men say, are made in +heaven, and I believe it. Most marriages are fairly happy, in spite +of Sir Cresswell Cresswell; and yet how little care is taken on earth +towards such a result!</p> + +<p>“I hope my mother is using you well?” said Lord Lufton to Griselda, +as they were standing together in a doorway between the dances.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes: she is very kind.”</p> + +<p>“You have been rash to trust yourself in the hands of so very staid +and demure a person. And, indeed, you owe your presence here at Mrs. +Harold Smith’s first cabinet ball altogether to me. I don’t know +whether you are aware of that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes: Lady Lufton told me.”</p> + +<p>“And are you grateful or otherwise? Have I done you an injury or a +benefit? Which do you find best, sitting with a novel in the corner +of a sofa in Bruton Street, or pretending to dance polkas here with +Lord Dumbello?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t stood up with Lord Dumbello +all the evening. We were going to dance a quadrille, but we didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; just what I say;—pretending to do it. Even that’s a good +deal for Lord Dumbello; isn’t it?” And then Lord Lufton, not being a +pretender himself, put his arm round her waist, and away they went up +and down the room, and across and about, with an energy which showed +that what Griselda lacked in her tongue she made up with her feet. +Lord Dumbello, in the meantime, stood by, observant, thinking to +himself that Lord Lufton was a glib-tongued, empty-headed ass, and +reflecting that if his rival were to break the tendons of his leg in +one of those rapid evolutions, or suddenly come by any other dreadful +misfortune, such as the loss of all his property, absolute blindness, +or chronic lumbago, it would only serve him right. And in that frame +of mind he went to bed, in spite of the prayer which no doubt he said +as to his forgiveness of other people’s trespasses.</p> + +<p>And then, when they were again standing, Lord Lufton, in the little +intervals between his violent gasps for fresh breath, asked Griselda +if she liked London. “Pretty well,” said Griselda, gasping also a +little herself.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid—you were very dull—down at Framley.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no;—I liked it—particularly.”</p> + +<p>“It was a great bore when you went—away, I know. There wasn’t a +soul—about the house worth speaking to.” And they remained silent +for a minute till their lungs had become quiescent.</p> + +<p>“Not a soul,” he continued—not of falsehood prepense, for he was not +in fact thinking of what he was saying. It did not occur to him at +the moment that he had truly found Griselda’s going a great relief, +and that he had been able to do more in the way of conversation with +Lucy Robarts in one hour than with Miss Grantly during a month of +intercourse in the same house. But, nevertheless, we should not be +hard upon him. All is fair in love and war; and if this was not love, +it was the usual thing that stands as a counterpart for it.</p> + +<p>“Not a soul,” said Lord Lufton. “I was very nearly hanging myself in +the park next morning;—only it rained.”</p> + +<p>“What nonsense! You had your mother to talk to.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my mother,—yes; and you may tell me too, if you please, that +Captain Culpepper was there. I do love my mother dearly; but do you +think that she could make up for your absence?” And his voice was +very tender, and so were his eyes.</p> + +<p>“And Miss Robarts; I thought you admired her very much?”</p> + +<p>“What, Lucy Robarts?” said Lord Lufton, feeling that Lucy’s name was +more than he at present knew how to manage. Indeed that name +destroyed all the life there was in that little flirtation. “I do +like Lucy Robarts, certainly. She is very clever; but it so happened +that I saw little or nothing of her after you were gone.”</p> + +<p>To this Griselda made no answer, but drew herself up, and looked as +cold as Diana when she froze Orion in the cave. Nor could she be got +to give more than monosyllabic answers to the three or four +succeeding attempts at conversation which Lord Lufton made. And then +they danced again, but Griselda’s steps were by no means so lively as +before.</p> + +<p>What took place between them on that occasion was very little more +than what has been here related. There may have been an ice or a +glass of lemonade into the bargain, and perhaps the faintest possible +attempt at hand-pressing. But if so, it was all on one side. To such +overtures as that Griselda Grantly was as cold as any Diana.</p> + +<p>But little as all this was, it was sufficient to fill Lady Lufton’s +mind and heart. No mother with six daughters was ever more anxious to +get them off her hands, than Lady Lufton was to see her son +married,—married, that is, to some girl of the right sort. And now +it really did seem as though he were actually going to comply with +her wishes. She had watched him during the whole evening, painfully +endeavouring not to be observed in doing so. She had seen Lord +Dumbello’s failure and wrath, and she had seen her son’s victory and +pride. Could it be the case that he had already said something, which +was still allowed to be indecisive only through Griselda’s coldness? +Might it not be the case, that by some judicious aid on her part, +that indecision might be turned into certainty, and that coldness +into warmth? But then any such interference requires so delicate a +touch,—as Lady Lufton was well aware.</p> + +<p>“Have you had a pleasant evening?” Lady Lufton said, when she and +Griselda were seated together with their feet on the fender of her +ladyship’s dressing-room. Lady Lufton had especially invited her +guest into this, her most private sanctum, to which as a rule none +had admittance but her daughter, and sometimes Fanny Robarts. But to +what sanctum might not such a daughter-in-law as Griselda have +admittance?</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes—very,” said Griselda.</p> + +<p>“It seemed to me that you bestowed most of your smiles upon Ludovic.” +And Lady Lufton put on a look of good pleasure that such should have +been the case.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I don’t know,” said Griselda: “I did dance with him two or three +times.”</p> + +<p>“Not once too often to please me, my dear. I like to see Ludovic +dancing with my friends.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, my dear. I don’t know where he could get so nice a +partner.” And then she paused a moment, not feeling how far she might +go. In the meantime Griselda sat still, staring at the hot coals. +“Indeed, I know that he admires you very much,” continued Lady +Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Oh! no, I am sure he doesn’t,” said Griselda; and then there was +another pause.</p> + +<p>“I can only say this,” said Lady Lufton, “that if he does do so—and +I believe he does—it would give me very great pleasure. For you +know, my dear, that I am very fond of you myself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! thank you,” said Griselda, and stared at the coals more +perseveringly than before.</p> + +<p>“He is a young man of a most excellent disposition—though he is my +own son, I will say that—and if there should be anything between you +and <span class="nowrap">him—”</span></p> + +<p>“There isn’t, indeed, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“But if there ever should be, I should be delighted to think that +Ludovic had made so good a choice.”</p> + +<p>“But there will never be anything of the sort, I’m sure, Lady Lufton. +He is not thinking of such a thing in the least.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps he may, some day. And now, good-night, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Lady Lufton.” And Griselda kissed her with the utmost +composure, and betook herself to her own bedroom. Before she retired +to sleep she looked carefully to her different articles of dress, +discovering what amount of damage the evening’s wear and tear might +have inflicted.</p> + + +<p><a id="c21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2></div> +<h3>WHY PUCK, THE PONY, WAS BEATEN.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Mark Robarts returned home the day after the scene at the Albany, +considerably relieved in spirit. He now felt that he might accept the +stall without discredit to himself as a clergyman in doing so. +Indeed, after what Mr. Sowerby had said, and after Lord Lufton’s +assent to it, it would have been madness, he considered, to decline +it. And then, too, Mr. Sowerby’s promise about the bills was very +comfortable to him. After all, might it not be possible that he might +get rid of all these troubles with no other drawback than that of +having to pay £130 for a horse that was well worth the money?</p> + +<p>On the day after his return he received proper authentic tidings of +his presentation to the prebend. He was, in fact, already prebendary, +or would be as soon as the dean and chapter had gone through the form +of instituting him in his stall. The income was already his own; and +the house also would be given up to him in a week’s time—a part of +the arrangement with which he would most willingly have dispensed had +it been at all possible to do so. His wife congratulated him nicely, +with open affection, and apparent satisfaction at the arrangement. +The enjoyment of one’s own happiness at such windfalls depends so +much on the free and freely expressed enjoyment of others! Lady +Lufton’s congratulations had nearly made him throw up the whole +thing; but his wife’s smiles re-encouraged him; and Lucy’s warm and +eager joy made him feel quite delighted with Mr. Sowerby and the Duke +of Omnium. And then that splendid animal, Dandy, came home to the +parsonage stables, much to the delight of the groom and gardener, and +of the assistant stable boy who had been allowed to creep into the +establishment, unawares as it were, since “master” had taken so +keenly to hunting. But this satisfaction was not shared in the +drawing-room. The horse was seen on his first journey round to the +stable gate, and questions were immediately asked. It was a horse, +Mark said, “which he had bought from Mr. Sowerby some little time +since with the object of obliging him. He, Mark, intended to sell him +again, as soon as he could do so judiciously.” This, as I have said +above, was not satisfactory. Neither of the two ladies at Framley +Parsonage knew much about horses, or of the manner in which one +gentleman might think it proper to oblige another by purchasing the +superfluities of his stable; but they did both feel that there were +horses enough in the parsonage stable without Dandy, and that the +purchasing of a hunter with the view of immediately selling him +again, was, to say the least of it, an operation hardly congenial +with the usual tastes and pursuits of a clergyman.</p> + +<p>“I hope you did not give very much money for him, Mark,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“Not more than I shall get again,” said Mark; and Fanny saw from the +form of his countenance that she had better not pursue the subject +any further at that moment.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I shall have to go into residence almost immediately,” +said Mark, recurring to the more agreeable subject of the stall.</p> + +<p>“And shall we all have to go and live at Barchester at once?” asked +Lucy.</p> + +<p>“The house will not be furnished, will it, Mark?” said his wife. “I +don’t know how we shall get on.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t frighten yourselves. I shall take lodgings in Barchester.”</p> + +<p>“And we shall not see you all the time,” said Mrs. Robarts with +dismay. But the prebendary explained that he would be backwards and +forwards at Framley every week, and that in all probability he would +only sleep at Barchester on the Saturdays and Sundays—and, perhaps, +not always then.</p> + +<p>“It does not seem very hard work, that of a prebendary,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“But it is very dignified,” said Fanny. “Prebendaries are dignitaries +of the Church—are they not, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“Decidedly,” said he; “and their wives also, by special canon law. +The worst of it is that both of them are obliged to wear wigs.”</p> + +<p>“Shall you have a hat, Mark, with curly things at the side, and +strings through to hold them up?” asked Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I fear that does not come within my perquisites.”</p> + +<p>“Nor a rosette? Then I shall never believe that you are a dignitary. +Do you mean to say that you will wear a hat like a common +parson—like Mr. Crawley, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“Well—I believe I may give a twist to the leaf; but I am by no means +sure till I shall have consulted the dean in chapter.”</p> + +<p>And thus at the parsonage they talked over the good things that were +coming to them, and endeavoured to forget the new horse, and the +hunting boots that had been used so often during the last winter, and +Lady Lufton’s altered countenance. It might be that the evils would +vanish away, and the good things alone remain to them.</p> + +<p>It was now the month of April, and the fields were beginning to look +green, and the wind had got itself out of the east and was soft and +genial, and the early spring flowers were showing their bright +colours in the parsonage garden, and all things were sweet and +pleasant. This was a period of the year that was usually dear to Mrs. +Robarts. Her husband was always a better parson when the warm months +came than he had been during the winter. The distant county friends +whom she did not know and of whom she did not approve went away when +the spring came, leaving their houses innocent and empty. The parish +duty was better attended to, and perhaps domestic duties also. At +such period he was a pattern parson and a pattern husband, atoning to +his own conscience for past shortcomings by present zeal. And then, +though she had never acknowledged it to herself, the absence of her +dear friend Lady Lufton was perhaps in itself not disagreeable. Mrs. +Robarts did love Lady Lufton heartily; but it must be acknowledged of +her ladyship, that, with all her good qualities, she was inclined to +be masterful. She liked to rule, and she made people feel that she +liked it. Mrs. Robarts would never have confessed that she laboured +under a sense of thraldom; but perhaps she was mouse enough to enjoy +the temporary absence of her kind-hearted cat. When Lady Lufton was +away Mrs. Robarts herself had more play in the parish.</p> + +<p>And Mark also was not unhappy, though he did not find it practicable +immediately to turn Dandy into money. Indeed, just at this moment, +when he was a good deal over at Barchester, going through those deep +mysteries and rigid ecclesiastical examinations which are necessary +before a clergyman can become one of a chapter, Dandy was rather a +thorn in his side. Those wretched bills were to come due early in +May, and before the end of April Sowerby wrote to him saying that he +was doing his utmost to provide for the evil day; but that if the +price of Dandy could be remitted to him <i>at once</i>, it would greatly +facilitate his object. Nothing could be more different than Mr. +Sowerby’s tone about money at different times. When he wanted to +raise the wind, everything was so important; haste and superhuman +efforts, and men running to and fro with blank acceptances in their +hands, could alone stave off the crack of doom; but at other times, +when retaliatory applications were made to him, he could prove with +the easiest voice and most jaunty manner that everything was quite +serene. Now, at this period, he was in that mood of superhuman +efforts, and he called loudly for the hundred and thirty pounds for +Dandy. After what had passed, Mark could not bring himself to say +that he would pay nothing till the bills were safe; and therefore +with the assistance of Mr. Forrest of the Bank, he did remit the +price of Dandy to his friend Sowerby in London.</p> + +<p>And Lucy Robarts—we must now say a word of her. We have seen how, on +that occasion, when the world was at her feet, she had sent her noble +suitor away, not only dismissed, but so dismissed that he might be +taught never again to offer to her the sweet incense of his vows. She +had declared to him plainly that she did not love him and could not +love him, and had thus thrown away not only riches and honour and +high station, but more than that—much worse than that—she had flung +away from her the lover to whose love her warm heart clung. That her +love did cling to him, she knew even then, and owned more thoroughly +as soon as he was gone. So much her pride had done for her, and that +strong resolve that Lady Lufton should not scowl on her and tell her +that she had entrapped her son.</p> + +<p>I know it will be said of Lord Lufton himself that, putting aside his +peerage and broad acres, and handsome, sonsy face, he was not worth a +girl’s care and love. That will be said because people think that +heroes in books should be so much better than heroes got up for the +world’s common wear and tear. I may as well confess that of absolute, +true heroism there was only a moderate admixture in Lord Lufton’s +composition; but what would the world come to if none but absolute +true heroes were to be thought worthy of women’s love? What would the +men do? and what—oh! what would become of the women? Lucy Robarts in +her heart did not give her dismissed lover credit for much more +heroism than did truly appertain to him;—did not, perhaps, give him +full credit for a certain amount of heroism which did really +appertain to him; but, nevertheless, she would have been very glad to +take him could she have done so without wounding her pride.</p> + +<p>That girls should not marry for money we are all agreed. A lady who +can sell herself for a title or an estate, for an income or a set of +family diamonds, treats herself as a farmer treats his sheep and +oxen—makes hardly more of herself, of her own inner self, in which +are comprised a mind and soul, than the poor wretch of her own sex +who earns her bread in the lowest stage of degradation. But a title, +and an estate, and an income, are matters which will weigh in the +balance with all Eve’s daughters—as they do with all Adam’s sons. +Pride of place, and the power of living well in front of the world’s +eye, are dear to us all;—are, doubtless, intended to be dear. Only +in acknowledging so much, let us remember that there are prices at +which these good things may be too costly. Therefore, being desirous, +too, of telling the truth in this matter, I must confess that Lucy +did speculate with some regret on what it would have been to be Lady +Lufton. To have been the wife of such a man, the owner of such a +heart, the mistress of such a destiny—what more or what better could +the world have done for her? And now she had thrown all that aside +because she would not endure that Lady Lufton should call her a +scheming, artful girl! Actuated by that fear she had repulsed him +with a falsehood, though the matter was one on which it was so +terribly expedient that she should tell the truth.</p> + +<p>And yet she was cheerful with her brother and sister-in-law. It was +when she was quite alone, at night in her own room, or in her +solitary walks, that a single silent tear would gather in the corner +of her eye and gradually moisten her eyelids. “She never told her +love,” nor did she allow concealment to “feed on her damask cheek.” +In all her employments, in her ways about the house, and her +accustomed quiet mirth, she was the same as ever. In this she showed +the peculiar strength which God had given her. But not the less did +she in truth mourn for her lost love and spoiled ambition.</p> + +<p>“We are going to drive over to Hogglestock this morning,” Fanny said +one day at breakfast. “I suppose, Mark, you won’t go with us?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no; I think not. The pony-carriage is wretched for three.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, as for that, I should have thought the new horse might have been +able to carry you as far as that. I heard you say you wanted to see +Mr. Crawley.”</p> + +<p>“So I do; and the new horse, as you call him, shall carry me there +to-morrow. Will you say that I’ll be over about twelve o’clock?”</p> + +<p>“You had better say earlier, as he is always out about the parish.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, say eleven. It is parish business about which I am going, +so it need not irk his conscience to stay in for me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Lucy, we must drive ourselves, that’s all. You shall be +charioteer going, and then we’ll change coming back.” To all which +Lucy agreed, and as soon as their work in the school was over they +started.</p> + +<p>Not a word had been spoken between them about Lord Lufton since that +evening, now more than a month ago, on which they had been walking +together in the garden. Lucy had so demeaned herself on that occasion +as to make her sister-in-law quite sure that there had been no love +passages up to that time; and nothing had since occurred which had +created any suspicion in Mrs. Robarts’ mind. She had seen at once +that all the close intimacy between them was over, and thought that +everything was as it should be.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, I have an idea,” she said in the pony-carriage that +day, “that Lord Lufton will marry Griselda Grantly.” Lucy could not +refrain from giving a little check at the reins which she was +holding, and she felt that the blood rushed quickly to her heart. But +she did not betray herself. “Perhaps he may,” she said, and then gave +the pony a little touch with her whip.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lucy, I won’t have Puck beaten. He was going very nicely.”</p> + +<p>“I beg Puck’s pardon. But you see when one is trusted with a whip one +feels such a longing to use it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you should keep it still. I feel almost certain that Lady +Lufton would like such a match.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay she might. Miss Grantly will have a large fortune, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“It is not that altogether: but she is the sort of young lady that +Lady Lufton likes. She is ladylike and very +<span class="nowrap">beautiful—”</span></p> + +<p>“Come, Fanny!”</p> + +<p>“I really think she is; not what I should call lovely, you know, but +very beautiful. And then she is quiet and reserved; she does not +require excitement, and I am sure is conscientious in the performance +of her duties.”</p> + +<p>“Very conscientious, I have no doubt,” said Lucy, with something like +a sneer in her tone. “But the question, I suppose, is, whether Lord +Lufton likes her.”</p> + +<p>“I think he does,—in a sort of way. He did not talk to her so much +as he did to +<span class="nowrap">you—”</span></p> + +<p>“Ah! that was all Lady Lufton’s fault, because she didn’t have him +properly labelled.”</p> + +<p>“There does not seem to have been much harm done?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! by God’s mercy, very little. As for me, I shall get over it in +three or four years I don’t doubt—that’s if I can get ass’s milk and +change of air.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll take you to Barchester for that. But as I was saying, I really +do think Lord Lufton likes Griselda Grantly.”</p> + +<p>“Then I really do think that he has uncommon bad taste,” said Lucy, +with a reality in her voice differing much from the tone of banter +she had hitherto used.</p> + +<p>“What, Lucy!” said her sister-in-law, looking at her. “Then I fear we +shall really want the ass’s milk.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, considering my position, I ought to know nothing of Lord +Lufton, for you say that it is very dangerous for young ladies to +know young gentlemen. But I do know enough of him to understand that +he ought not to like such a girl as Griselda Grantly. He ought to +know that she is a mere automaton, cold, lifeless, spiritless, and +even vapid. There is, I believe, nothing in her mentally, whatever +may be her moral excellences. To me she is more absolutely like a +statue than any other human being I ever saw. To sit still and be +admired is all that she desires; and if she cannot get that, to sit +still and not be admired would almost suffice for her. I do not +worship Lady Lufton as you do; but I think quite well enough of her +to wonder that she should choose such a girl as that for her son’s +wife. That she does wish it, I do not doubt. But I shall indeed be +surprised if he wishes it also.” And then as she finished her speech, +Lucy again flogged the pony. This she did in vexation, because she +felt that the tell-tale blood had suffused her face.</p> + +<p>“Why, Lucy, if he were your brother you could not be more eager about +it.”</p> + +<p>“No, I could not. He is the only man friend with whom I was ever +intimate, and I cannot bear to think that he should throw himself +away. It’s horridly improper to care about such a thing, I have no +doubt.”</p> + +<p>“I think we might acknowledge that if he and his mother are both +satisfied, we may be satisfied also.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not be satisfied. It’s no use your looking at me, Fanny. You +will make me talk of it, and I won’t tell a lie on the subject. I do +like Lord Lufton very much; and I do dislike Griselda Grantly almost +as much. Therefore I shall not be satisfied if they become man and +wife. However, I do not suppose that either of them will ask my +consent; nor is it probable that Lady Lufton will do so.” And then +they went on for perhaps a quarter of a mile without speaking.</p> + +<p>“Poor Puck!” at last Lucy said. “He shan’t be whipped any more, shall +he, because Miss Grantly looks like a statue? And, Fanny, don’t tell +Mark to put me into a lunatic asylum. I also know a hawk from a +heron, and that’s why I don’t like to see such a very unfitting +marriage.” There was then nothing more said on the subject, and in +two minutes they arrived at the house of the Hogglestock clergyman.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Crawley had brought two children with her when she came from the +Cornish curacy to Hogglestock, and two other babies had been added to +her cares since then. One of these was now ill with croup, and it was +with the object of offering to the mother some comfort and solace, +that the present visit was made. The two ladies got down from their +carriage, having obtained the services of a boy to hold Puck, and +soon found themselves in Mrs. Crawley’s single sitting-room. She was +sitting there with her foot on the board of a child’s cradle, rocking +it, while an infant about three months old was lying in her lap. For +the elder one, who was the sufferer, had in her illness usurped the +baby’s place. Two other children, considerably older, were also in +the room. The eldest was a girl, perhaps nine years of age, and the +other a boy three years her junior. These were standing at their +father’s elbow, who was studiously endeavouring to initiate them in +the early mysteries of grammar. To tell the truth Mrs. Robarts would +much have preferred that Mr. Crawley had not been there, for she had +with her and about her certain contraband articles, presents for the +children, as they were to be called, but in truth relief for that +poor, much-tasked mother, which they knew it would be impossible to +introduce in Mr. Crawley’s presence.</p> + +<p>She, as we have said, was not quite so gaunt, not altogether so +haggard as in the latter of those dreadful Cornish days. Lady Lufton +and Mrs. Arabin between them, and the scanty comfort of their +improved, though still wretched income, had done something towards +bringing her back to the world in which she had lived in the soft +days of her childhood. But even the liberal stipend of a hundred and +thirty pounds a-year—liberal according to the scale by which the +incomes of clergymen in some of our new districts are now +apportioned—would not admit of a gentleman with his wife and four +children living with the ordinary comforts of an artisan’s family. As +regards the mere eating and drinking, the amounts of butcher’s meat +and tea and butter, they of course were used in quantities which any +artisan would have regarded as compatible only with demi-starvation. +Better clothing for her children was necessary, and better clothing +for him. As for her own raiment, the wives of few artisans would have +been content to put up with Mrs. Crawley’s best gown. The stuff of +which it was made had been paid for by her mother when she with much +difficulty bestowed upon her daughter her modest wedding <i>trousseau</i>.</p> + +<p>Lucy had never seen Mrs. Crawley. These visits to Hogglestock were +not frequent, and had generally been made by Lady Lufton and Mrs. +Robarts together. It was known that they were distasteful to Mr. +Crawley, who felt a savage satisfaction in being left to himself. It +may almost be said of him that he felt angry with those who relieved +him, and he had certainly never as yet forgiven the Dean of +Barchester for paying his debts. The dean had also given him his +present living; and consequently his old friend was not now so dear +to him as when in old days he would come down to that farm-house, +almost as penniless as the curate himself. Then they would walk +together for hours along the rock-bound shore, listening to the +waves, discussing deep polemical mysteries, sometimes with hot fury, +then again with tender, loving charity, but always with a mutual +acknowledgment of each other’s truth. Now they lived comparatively +near together, but no opportunities arose for such discussions. At +any rate once a quarter Mr. Crawley was pressed by his old friend to +visit him at the deanery, and Dr. Arabin had promised that no one +else should be in the house if Mr. Crawley objected to society. But +this was not what he wanted. The finery and grandeur of the deanery, +and the comfort of that warm, snug library, would silence him at +once. Why did not Dr. Arabin come out there to Hogglestock, and tramp +with him through the dirty lanes as they used to tramp? Then he could +have enjoyed himself; then he could have talked; then old days would +have come back to them. But now!—“Arabin always rides on a sleek, +fine horse, now-a-days,” he once said to his wife with a sneer. His +poverty had been so terrible to himself that it was not in his heart +to love a rich friend.</p> + + +<p><a id="c22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2></div> +<h3>HOGGLESTOCK PARSONAGE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>At the end of the last chapter, we left Lucy Robarts waiting for an +introduction to Mrs. Crawley, who was sitting with one baby in her +lap while she was rocking another who lay in a cradle at her feet. +Mr. Crawley, in the meanwhile, had risen from his seat with his +finger between the leaves of an old grammar out of which he had been +teaching his two elder children. The whole Crawley family was thus +before them when Mrs. Robarts and Lucy entered the sitting-room.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill03"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill03.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill03-t.jpg" height="500" alt="The Crawley Family."></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The + Crawley Family.</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill03.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“This is my sister-in-law, Lucy,” said Mrs. Robarts. “Pray don’t move +now, Mrs. Crawley; or if you do, let me take baby.” And she put out +her arms and took the infant into them, making him quite at home +there; for she had work of this kind of her own, at home, which she +by no means neglected, though the attendance of nurses was more +plentiful with her than at Hogglestock.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Crawley did get up, and told Lucy that she was glad to see her, +and Mr. Crawley came forward, grammar in hand, looking humble and +meek. Could we have looked into the innermost spirit of him and his +life’s partner, we should have seen that mixed with the pride of his +poverty there was some feeling of disgrace that he was poor, but that +with her, regarding this matter, there was neither pride nor shame. +The realities of life had become so stern to her that the outward +aspects of them were as nothing. She would have liked a new gown +because it would have been useful; but it would have been nothing to +her if all the county knew that the one in which she went to church +had been turned three times. It galled him, however, to think that he +and his were so poorly dressed.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you can hardly find a chair, Miss Robarts,” said Mr. +Crawley.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; there is nothing here but this young gentleman’s library,” +said Lucy, moving a pile of ragged, coverless books on to the table. +“I hope he’ll forgive me for moving them.”</p> + +<p>“They are not Bob’s,—at least, not the most of them,—but mine,” +said the girl.</p> + +<p>“But some of them are mine,” said the boy; “ain’t they, Grace?”</p> + +<p>“And are you a great scholar?” asked Lucy, drawing the child to her.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Grace, with a sheepish face. “I am in Greek +Delectus and the irregular verbs.”</p> + +<p>“Greek Delectus and the irregular verbs!” And Lucy put up her hands +with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“And she knows an ode of Horace all by heart,” said Bob.</p> + +<p>“An ode of Horace!” said Lucy, still holding the young shamefaced +female prodigy close to her knees.</p> + +<p>“It is all that I can give them,” said Mr. Crawley, apologetically. +“A little scholarship is the only fortune that has come in my way, +and I endeavour to share that with my children.”</p> + +<p>“I believe men say that it is the best fortune any of us can have,” +said Lucy, thinking, however, in her own mind, that Horace and the +irregular Greek verbs savoured too much of precocious forcing in a +young lady of nine years old. But, nevertheless, Grace was a pretty, +simple-looking girl, and clung to her ally closely, and seemed to +like being fondled. So that Lucy anxiously wished that Mr. Crawley +could be got rid of and the presents produced.</p> + +<p>“I hope you have left Mr. Robarts quite well,” said Mr. Crawley, with +a stiff, ceremonial voice, differing very much from that in which he +had so energetically addressed his brother clergyman when they were +alone together in the study at Framley.</p> + +<p>“He is quite well, thank you. I suppose you have heard of his good +fortune?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I have heard of it,” said Mr. Crawley, gravely. “I hope that +his promotion may tend in every way to his advantage here and +hereafter.”</p> + +<p>It seemed, however, to be manifest from the manner in which he +expressed his kind wishes, that his hopes and expectations did not go +hand-in-hand together.</p> + +<p>“By-the-by, he desired us to say that he will call here to-morrow; at +about eleven, didn’t he say, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; he wishes to see you about some parish business, I think,” said +Mrs. Robarts, looking up for a moment from the anxious discussion in +which she was already engaged with Mrs. Crawley on nursery matters.</p> + +<p>“Pray tell him,” said Mr. Crawley, “that I shall be happy to see him; +though, perhaps, now that new duties have been thrown upon him, it +will be better that I should visit him at Framley.”</p> + +<p>“His new duties do not disturb him much as yet,” said Lucy. “And his +riding over here will be no trouble to him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; there he has the advantage over me. I unfortunately have no +horse.”</p> + +<p>And then Lucy began petting the little boy, and by degrees slipped a +small bag of gingerbread-nuts out of her muff into his hands. She had +not the patience necessary for waiting, as had her sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>The boy took the bag, peeped into it, and then looked up into her +face.</p> + +<p>“What is that, Bob?” said Mr. Crawley.</p> + +<p>“Gingerbread,” faltered Bobby, feeling that a sin had been committed, +though, probably, feeling also that he himself could hardly as yet be +accounted as deeply guilty.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts,” said the father, “we are very much obliged to you; +but our children are hardly used to such things.”</p> + +<p>“I am a lady with a weak mind, Mr. Crawley, and always carry things +of this sort about with me when I go to visit children; so you must +forgive me, and allow your little boy to accept them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly. Bob, my child, give the bag to your mamma, and she +will let you and Grace have them, one at a time.” And then the bag in +a solemn manner was carried over to their mother, who, taking it from +her son’s hands, laid it high on a bookshelf.</p> + +<p>“And not one now?” said Lucy Robarts, very piteously. “Don’t be so +hard, Mr. Crawley,—not upon them, but upon me. May I not learn +whether they are good of their kind?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure they are very good; but I think their mamma will prefer +their being put by for the present.”</p> + +<p>This was very discouraging to Lucy. If one small bag of +gingerbread-nuts created so great a difficulty, how was she to +dispose of the pot of guava jelly and box of bonbons, which were +still in her muff; or how distribute the packet of oranges with which +the pony-carriage was laden? And there was jelly for the sick child, +and chicken broth, which was, indeed, another jelly; and, to tell the +truth openly, there was also a joint of fresh pork and a basket of +eggs from the Framley Parsonage farmyard, which Mrs. Robarts was to +introduce, should she find herself capable of doing so; but which +would certainly be cast out with utter scorn by Mr. Crawley, if +tendered in his immediate presence. There had also been a suggestion +as to adding two or three bottles of port; but the courage of the +ladies had failed them on that head, and the wine was not now added +to their difficulties.</p> + +<p>Lucy found it very difficult to keep up a conversation with Mr. +Crawley—the more so, as Mrs. Robarts and Mrs. Crawley presently +withdrew into a bedroom, taking the two younger children with them. +“How unlucky,” thought Lucy, “that she has not got my muff with her!” +But the muff lay in her lap, ponderous with its rich enclosures.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you will live in Barchester for a portion of the year +now,” said Mr. Crawley.</p> + +<p>“I really do not know as yet; Mark talks of taking lodgings for his +first month’s residence.”</p> + +<p>“But he will have the house, will he not?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I suppose so.”</p> + +<p>“I fear he will find it interfere with his own parish—with his +general utility there: the schools, for instance.”</p> + +<p>“Mark thinks that, as he is so near, he need not be much absent from +Framley, even during his residence. And then Lady Lufton is so good +about the schools.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes; but Lady Lufton is not a clergyman, Miss Robarts.”</p> + +<p>It was on Lucy’s tongue to say that her ladyship was pretty nearly as +bad, but she stopped herself.</p> + +<p>At this moment Providence sent great relief to Miss Robarts in the +shape of Mrs. Crawley’s red-armed maid-of-all-work, who, walking up +to her master, whispered into his ear that he was wanted. It was the +time of day at which his attendance was always required in his parish +school; and that attendance being so punctually given, those who +wanted him looked for him there at this hour, and if he were absent, +did not scruple to send for him.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts, I am afraid you must excuse me,” said he, getting up +and taking his hat and stick. Lucy begged that she might not be at +all in the way, and already began to speculate how she might best +unload her treasures. “Will you make my compliments to Mrs. Robarts, +and say that I am sorry to miss the pleasure of wishing her good-bye? +But I shall probably see her as she passes the school-house.” And +then, stick in hand, he walked forth, and Lucy fancied that Bobby’s +eyes immediately rested on the bag of gingerbread-nuts.</p> + +<p>“Bob,” said she, almost in a whisper, “do you like sugar-plums?”</p> + +<p>“Very much indeed,” said Bob, with exceeding gravity, and with his +eye upon the window to see whether his father had passed.</p> + +<p>“Then come here,” said Lucy. But as she spoke the door again opened, +and Mr. Crawley reappeared. “I have left a book behind me,” he said; +and, coming back through the room, he took up the well-worn +prayer-book which accompanied him in all his wanderings through the +parish. Bobby, when he saw his father, had retreated a few steps +back, as also did Grace, who, to confess the truth, had been +attracted by the sound of sugar-plums, in spite of the irregular +verbs. And Lucy withdrew her hand from her muff, and looked guilty. +Was she not deceiving the good man—nay, teaching his own children to +deceive him? But there are men made of such stuff that an angel could +hardly live with them without some deceit.</p> + +<p>“Papa’s gone now,” whispered Bobby; “I saw him turn round the +corner.” He, at any rate, had learned his lesson—as it was natural +that he should do.</p> + +<p>Some one else, also, had learned that papa was gone; for while Bob +and Grace were still counting the big lumps of sugar-candy, each +employed the while for inward solace with an inch of barley-sugar, +the front-door opened, and a big basket, and a bundle done up in a +kitchen-cloth, made surreptitious entrance into the house, and were +quickly unpacked by Mrs. Robarts herself on the table in Mrs. +Crawley’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>“I did venture to bring them,” said Fanny, with a look of shame, “for +I know how a sick child occupies the whole house.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! my friend,” said Mrs. Crawley, taking hold of Mrs. Robarts’ arm +and looking into her face, “that sort of shame is over with me. God +has tried us with want, and for my children’s sake I am glad of such +relief.”</p> + +<p>“But will he be angry?”</p> + +<p>“I will manage it. Dear Mrs. Robarts, you must not be surprised at +him. His lot is sometimes very hard to bear: such things are so much +worse for a man than for a woman.”</p> + +<p>Fanny was not quite prepared to admit this in her own heart, but she +made no reply on that head. “I am sure I hope we may be able to be of +use to you,” she said, “if you will only look upon me as an old +friend, and write to me if you want me. I hesitate to come frequently +for fear that I should offend him.”</p> + +<p>And then, by degrees, there was confidence between them, and the +poverty-stricken helpmate of the perpetual curate was able to speak +of the weight of her burden to the well-to-do young wife of the +Barchester prebendary. “It was hard,” the former said, “to feel +herself so different from the wives of other clergymen around her—to +know that they lived softly, while she, with all the work of her +hands, and unceasing struggle of her energies, could hardly manage to +place wholesome food before her husband and children. It was a +terrible thing—a grievous thing to think of, that all the work of +her mind should be given up to such subjects as these. But, +nevertheless, she could bear it,” she said, “as long as he would +carry himself like a man, and face his lot boldly before the world.” +And then she told how he had been better there at Hogglestock than in +their former residence down in Cornwall, and in warm language she +expressed her thanks to the friend who had done so much for them.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Arabin told me that she was so anxious you should go to them,” +said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes; but that I fear is impossible. The children, you know, Mrs. +Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“I would take care of two of them for you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; I could not punish you for your goodness in that way. But he +would not go. He could go and leave me at home. Sometimes I have +thought that it might be so, and I have done all in my power to +persuade him. I have told him that if he could mix once more with the +world, with the clerical world, you know, that he would be better +fitted for the performance of his own duties. But he answers me +angrily, that it is impossible—that his coat is not fit for the +dean’s table,” and Mrs. Crawley almost blushed as she spoke of such a +reason.</p> + +<p>“What! with an old friend like Dr. Arabin? Surely that must be +nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“I know that it is. The dean would be glad to see him with any coat. +But the fact is that he cannot bear to enter the house of a rich man +unless his duty calls him there.”</p> + +<p>“But surely that is a mistake?”</p> + +<p>“It is a mistake. But what can I do? I fear that he regards the rich +as his enemies. He is pining for the solace of some friend to whom he +could talk—for some equal, with a mind educated like his own, to +whose thoughts he could listen, and to whom he could speak his own +thoughts. But such a friend must be equal, not only in mind, but in +purse; and where can he ever find such a man as that?”</p> + +<p>“But you may get better preferment.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, no; and if he did, we are hardly fit for it now. If I could +think that I could educate my children; if I could only do something +for my poor <span class="nowrap">Grace—”</span></p> + +<p>In answer to this Mrs. Robarts said a word or two, but not much. She +resolved, however, that if she could get her husband’s leave, +something should be done for Grace. Would it not be a good work? and +was it not incumbent on her to make some kindly use of all the goods +with which Providence had blessed herself?</p> + +<p>And then they went back to the sitting-room, each again with a young +child in her arms, Mrs. Crawley having stowed away in the kitchen the +chicken broth and the leg of pork and the supply of eggs. Lucy had +been engaged the while with the children, and when the two married +ladies entered, they found that a shop had been opened at which all +manner of luxuries were being readily sold and purchased at +marvellously easy prices; the guava jelly was there, and the oranges, +and the sugar-plums, red and yellow and striped; and, moreover, the +gingerbread had been taken down in the audacity of their commercial +speculations, and the nuts were spread out upon a board, behind which +Lucy stood as shop-girl, disposing of them for kisses.</p> + +<p>“Mamma, mamma,” said Bobby, running up to his mother, “you must buy +something of her,” and he pointed with his fingers at the shop-girl. +“You must give her two kisses for that heap of barley-sugar.” Looking +at Bobby’s mouth at the time, one would have said that his kisses +might be dispensed with.</p> + +<p>When they were again in the pony-carriage, behind the impatient Puck, +and were well away from the door, Fanny was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>“How very different those two are,” she said; “different in their +minds and in their spirit!”</p> + +<p>“But how much higher toned is her mind than his! How weak he is in +many things, and how strong she is in everything! How false is his +pride, and how false his shame!”</p> + +<p>“But we must remember what he has to bear. It is not every one that +can endure such a life as his without false pride and false shame.”</p> + +<p>“But she has neither,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“Because you have one hero in a family, does that give you a right to +expect another?” said Mrs. Robarts. “Of all my own acquaintance, Mrs. +Crawley, I think, comes nearest to heroism.”</p> + +<p>And then they passed by the Hogglestock school, and Mr. Crawley, when +he heard the noise of the wheels, came out.</p> + +<p>“You have been very kind,” said he, “to remain so long with my poor +wife.”</p> + +<p>“We had a great many things to talk about, after you went.”</p> + +<p>“It is very kind of you, for she does not often see a friend, +now-a-days. Will you have the goodness to tell Mr. Robarts that I +shall be here at the school, at eleven o’clock to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>And then he bowed, taking off his hat to them, and they drove on.</p> + +<p>“If he really does care about her comfort, I shall not think so badly +of him,” said Lucy.</p> + + +<p><a id="c23"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2></div> +<h3>THE TRIUMPH OF THE GIANTS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now about the end of April news arrived almost simultaneously in +all quarters of the habitable globe that was terrible in its import +to one of the chief persons of our history;—some may think to the +chief person in it. All high parliamentary people will doubtless so +think, and the wives and daughters of such. The Titans warring +against the gods had been for awhile successful. Typhœus and +Mimas, Porphyrion and Rhœcus, the giant brood of old, steeped in +ignorance and wedded to corruption, had scaled the heights of +Olympus, assisted by that audacious flinger of deadly ponderous +missiles, who stands ever ready armed with his terrific +sling—Supplehouse, the Enceladus of the press. And in this universal +cataclasm of the starry councils, what could a poor Diana do, Diana +of the Petty Bag, but abandon her pride of place to some rude Orion? +In other words, the ministry had been compelled to resign, and with +them Mr. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“And so poor Harold is out, before he has well tasted the sweets of +office,” said Sowerby, writing to his friend the parson; “and as far +as I know, the only piece of Church patronage which has fallen in the +way of the ministry since he joined it, has made its way down to +Framley—to my great joy and contentment.” But it hardly tended to +Mark’s joy and contentment on the same subject that he should be so +often reminded of the benefit conferred upon him.</p> + +<p>Terrible was this break-down of the ministry, and especially to +Harold Smith, who to the last had had confidence in that theory of +new blood. He could hardly believe that a large majority of the House +should vote against a government which he had only just joined. “If +we are to go on in this way,” he said to his young friend Green +Walker, “the Queen’s government cannot be carried on.” That alleged +difficulty as to carrying on the Queen’s government has been +frequently mooted in late years since a certain great man first +introduced the idea. Nevertheless, the Queen’s government is carried +on, and the propensity and aptitude of men for this work seems to be +not at all on the decrease. If we have but few young statesmen, it is +because the old stagers are so fond of the rattle of their harness.</p> + +<p>“I really do not see how the Queen’s government is to be carried on,” +said Harold Smith to Green Walker, standing in a corner of one of the +lobbies of the House of Commons on the first of those days of awful +interest, in which the Queen was sending for one crack statesman +after another; and some anxious men were beginning to doubt whether +or no we should, in truth, be able to obtain the blessing of another +cabinet. The gods had all vanished from their places. Would the +giants be good enough to do anything for us or no? There were men who +seemed to think that the giants would refuse to do anything for us. +“The House will now be adjourned over till Monday, and I would not be +in her Majesty’s shoes for something,” said Mr. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! no,” said Green Walker, who in these days was a stanch +Harold Smithian, having felt a pride in joining himself on as a +substantial support to a cabinet minister. Had he contented himself +with being merely a Brockite, he would have counted as nobody. “By +Jove! no,” and Green Walker opened his eyes and shook his head, as he +thought of the perilous condition in which her Majesty must be +placed. “I happen to know that Lord +<span class="nowrap">——</span> won’t join them unless he +has the Foreign Office,” and he mentioned some hundred-handed Gyas +supposed to be of the utmost importance to the counsels of the +Titans.</p> + +<p>“And that, of course, is impossible. I don’t see what on earth they +are to do. There’s Sidonia; they do say that he’s making some +difficulty now.” Now Sidonia was another giant, supposed to be very +powerful.</p> + +<p>“We all know that the Queen won’t see him,” said Green Walker, who, +being a member of Parliament for the Crewe Junction, and nephew to +Lady Hartletop, of course had perfectly correct means of ascertaining +what the Queen would do, and what she would not.</p> + +<p>“The fact is,” said Harold Smith, recurring again to his own +situation as an ejected god, “that the House does not in the least +understand what it is about;—doesn’t know what it wants. The +question I should like to ask them is this: do they intend that the +Queen shall have a government, or do they not? Are they prepared to +support such men as Sidonia and Lord De Terrier? If so, I am their +obedient humble servant; but I shall be very much surprised, that’s +all.” Lord De Terrier was at this time recognized by all men as the +leader of the giants.</p> + +<p>“And so shall I,—deucedly surprised. They can’t do it, you know. +There are the Manchester men. I ought to know something about them +down in my country; and I say they can’t support Lord De Terrier. It +wouldn’t be natural.”</p> + +<p>“Natural! Human nature has come to an end, I think,” said Harold +Smith, who could hardly understand that the world should conspire to +throw over a government which he had joined, and that, too, before +the world had waited to see how much he would do for it; “the fact is +this, Walker, we have no longer among us any strong feeling of +party.”</p> + +<p>“No, not a d——,” said Green Walker, who was very energetic in his +present political aspirations.</p> + +<p>“And till we can recover that, we shall never be able to have a +government firm-seated and sure-handed. Nobody can count on men from +one week to another. The very members who in one month place a +minister in power, are the very first to vote against him in the +next.”</p> + +<p>“We must put a stop to that sort of thing, otherwise we shall never +do any good.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean to deny that Brock was wrong with reference to Lord +Brittleback. I think that he was wrong, and I said so all through. +But, heavens on <span class="nowrap">earth—!”</span> and +instead of completing his speech Harold +Smith turned away his head, and struck his hands together in token of +his astonishment at the fatuity of the age. What he probably meant to +express was this: that if such a good deed as that late appointment +made at the Petty Bag Office were not held sufficient to atone for +that other evil deed to which he had alluded, there would be an end +of all justice in sublunary matters. Was no offence to be forgiven, +even when so great virtue had been displayed?</p> + +<p>“I attribute it all to Supplehouse,” said Green Walker, trying to +console his friend.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Harold Smith, now verging on the bounds of parliamentary +eloquence, although he still spoke with bated breath, and to one +solitary hearer. “Yes; we are becoming the slaves of a mercenary and +irresponsible press—of one single newspaper. There is a man endowed +with no great talent, enjoying no public confidence, untrusted as a +politician, and unheard of even as a writer by the world at large, +and yet, because he is on the staff of the <i>Jupiter</i>, he is able to +overturn the government and throw the whole country into dismay. It +is astonishing to me that a man like Lord Brock should allow himself +to be so timid.” And nevertheless it was not yet a month since Harold +Smith had been counselling with Supplehouse how a series of strong +articles in the <i>Jupiter</i>, together with the expected support of the +Manchester men, might probably be effective in hurling the minister +from his seat. But at that time the minister had not revigorated +himself with young blood. “How the Queen’s government is to be +carried on, that is the question now,” Harold Smith repeated. A +difficulty which had not caused him much dismay at that period, about +a month since, to which we have alluded.</p> + +<p>At this moment Sowerby and Supplehouse together joined them, having +come out of the House, in which some unimportant business had been +completed after the minister’s notice of adjournment.</p> + +<p>“Well, Harold,” said Sowerby, “what do you say to your governor’s +statement?”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to say to it,” said Harold Smith, looking up very +solemnly from under the penthouse of his hat, and, perhaps, rather +savagely. Sowerby had supported the government at the late crisis; +but why was he now seen herding with such a one as Supplehouse?</p> + +<p>“He did it pretty well, I think,” said Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“Very well, indeed,” said Supplehouse; “as he always does those sort +of things. No man makes so good an explanation of circumstances, or +comes out with so telling a personal statement. He ought to keep +himself in reserve for those sort of things.”</p> + +<p>“And who in the meantime is to carry on the Queen’s government?” said +Harold Smith, looking very stern.</p> + +<p>“That should be left to men of lesser mark,” said he of the +<i>Jupiter</i>. “The points as to which one really listens to a minister, +the subjects about which men really care, are always personal. How +many of us are truly interested as to the best mode of governing +India? But in a question touching the character of a prime minister +we all muster together like bees round a sounding cymbal.”</p> + +<p>“That arises from envy, malice, and all uncharitableness,” said +Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“Yes; and from picking and stealing, evil speaking, lying, and +slandering,” said Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“We are so prone to desire and covet other men’s places,” said +Supplehouse.</p> + +<p>“Some men are so,” said Sowerby; “but it is the evil speaking, lying, +and slandering, which does the mischief. Is it not, Harold?”</p> + +<p>“And in the meantime how is the Queen’s government to be carried on?” +said Mr. Green Walker.</p> + +<p>On the following morning it was known that Lord De Terrier was with +the Queen at Buckingham Palace, and at about twelve a list of the new +ministry was published, which must have been in the highest degree +satisfactory to the whole brood of giants. Every son of Tellus was +included in it, as were also very many of the daughters. But then, +late in the afternoon, Lord Brock was again summoned to the palace, +and it was thought in the West End among the clubs that the gods had +again a chance. “If only,” said the <i>Purist</i>, an evening paper which +was supposed to be very much in the interest of Mr. Harold Smith, “if +only Lord Brock can have the wisdom to place the right men in the +right places. It was only the other day that he introduced Mr. Smith +into his government. That this was a step in the right direction +every one has acknowledged, though unfortunately it was made too late +to prevent the disturbance which has since occurred. It now appears +probable that his lordship will again have an opportunity of +selecting a list of statesmen with the view of carrying on the +Queen’s government; and it is to be hoped that such men as Mr. Smith +may be placed in situations in which their talents, industry, and +acknowledged official aptitudes, may be of permanent service to the +country.”</p> + +<p>Supplehouse, when he read this at the club with Mr. Sowerby at his +elbow, declared that the style was too well marked to leave any doubt +as to the author; but we ourselves are not inclined to think that Mr. +Harold Smith wrote the article himself, although it may be probable +that he saw it in type.</p> + +<p>But the <i>Jupiter</i> the next morning settled the whole question, and +made it known to the world that, in spite of all the sendings and +re-sendings, Lord Brock and the gods were permanently out, and Lord +De Terrier and the giants permanently in. That fractious giant who +would only go to the Foreign Office had, in fact, gone to some sphere +of much less important duty, and Sidonia, in spite of the whispered +dislike of an illustrious personage, opened the campaign with all the +full appanages of a giant of the highest standing. “We hope,” said +the <i>Jupiter</i>, “that Lord Brock may not yet be too old to take a +lesson. If so, the present decision of the House of Commons, and we +may say of the country also, may teach him not to put his trust in +such princes as Lord Brittleback, or such broken reeds as Mr. Harold +Smith.” Now this parting blow we always thought to be exceedingly +unkind, and altogether unnecessary, on the part of Mr. Supplehouse.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Harold, when she first met Miss Dunstable after +the catastrophe was known, “how am I possibly to endure this +degradation?” And she put her deeply-laced handkerchief up to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Christian resignation,” suggested Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“Fiddlestick!” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “You millionnaires always talk +of Christian resignation, because you never are called on to resign +anything. If I had any Christian resignation, I shouldn’t have cared +for such pomps and vanities. Think of it, my dear; a cabinet +minister’s wife for only three weeks!”</p> + +<p>“How does poor Mr. Smith endure it?”</p> + +<p>“What? Harold? He only lives on the hope of vengeance. When he has +put an end to Mr. Supplehouse, he will be content to die.”</p> + +<p>And then there were further explanations in both Houses of +Parliament, which were altogether satisfactory. The high-bred, +courteous giants assured the gods that they had piled Pelion on Ossa +and thus climbed up into power, very much in opposition to their own +good-wills; for they, the giants themselves, preferred the sweets of +dignified retirement. But the voice of the people had been too strong +for them; the effort had been made, not by themselves, but by others, +who were determined that the giants should be at the head of affairs. +Indeed, the spirit of the times was so clearly in favour of giants +that there had been no alternative. So said Briareus to the Lords, +and Orion to the Commons. And then the gods were absolutely happy in +ceding their places; and so far were they from any uncelestial envy +or malice which might not be divine, that they promised to give the +giants all the assistance in their power in carrying on the work of +government; upon which the giants declared how deeply indebted they +would be for such valuable counsel and friendly assistance. All this +was delightful in the extreme; but not the less did ordinary men seem +to expect that the usual battle would go on in the old customary way. +It is easy to love one’s enemy when one is making fine speeches; but +so difficult to do so in the actual everyday work of life.</p> + +<p>But there was and always has been this peculiar good point about the +giants, that they are never too proud to follow in the footsteps of +the gods. If the gods, deliberating painfully together, have +elaborated any skilful project, the giants are always willing to +adopt it as their own, not treating the bantling as a foster-child, +but praising it and pushing it so that men should regard it as the +undoubted offspring of their own brains. Now just at this time there +had been a plan much thought of for increasing the number of the +bishops. Good active bishops were very desirable, and there was a +strong feeling among certain excellent churchmen that there could +hardly be too many of them. Lord Brock had his measure cut and dry. +There should be a Bishop of Westminster to share the Herculean toils +of the metropolitan prelate, and another up in the North to +Christianize the mining interests and wash white the blackamoors of +Newcastle: Bishop of Beverley he should be called. But, in opposition +to this, the giants, it was known, had intended to put forth the +whole measure of their brute force. More curates, they said, were +wanting, and district incumbents; not more bishops rolling in +carriages. That bishops should roll in carriages was very good; but +of such blessings the English world for the present had enough. And +therefore Lord Brock and the gods had had much fear as to their +little project.</p> + +<p>But now, immediately on the accession of the giants, it was known +that the bishop bill was to be gone on with immediately. Some small +changes would be effected so that the bill should be gigantic rather +than divine; but the result would be altogether the same. It must, +however, be admitted that bishops appointed by ourselves may be very +good things, whereas those appointed by our adversaries will be +anything but good. And, no doubt, this feeling went a long way with +the giants. Be that as it may, the new bishop bill was to be their +first work of government, and it was to be brought forward and +carried, and the new prelates selected and put into their chairs all +at once,—before the grouse should begin to crow and put an end to +the doings of gods as well as giants.</p> + +<p>Among other minor effects arising from this decision was the +following, that Archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly returned to London, and +again took the lodgings in which they had before been staying. On +various occasions also during the first week of this second sojourn, +Dr. Grantly might be seen entering the official chambers of the First +Lord of the Treasury. Much counsel was necessary among high churchmen +of great repute before any fixed resolution could wisely be made in +such a matter as this; and few churchmen stood in higher repute than +the Archdeacon of Barchester. And then it began to be rumoured in the +world that the minister had disposed at any rate of the see of +Westminster.</p> + +<p>This present time was a very nervous one for Mrs. Grantly. What might +be the aspirations of the archdeacon himself, we will not stop to +inquire. It may be that time and experience had taught him the +futility of earthly honours, and made him content with the +comfortable opulence of his Barsetshire rectory. But there is no +theory of church discipline which makes it necessary that a +clergyman’s wife should have an objection to a bishopric. The +archdeacon probably was only anxious to give a disinterested aid to +the minister, but Mrs. Grantly did long to sit in high places, and be +at any rate equal to Mrs. Proudie. It was for her children, she said +to herself, that she was thus anxious,—that they should have a good +position before the world, and the means of making the best of +themselves. “One is able to do nothing, you know, shut up there, down +at Plumstead,” she had remarked to Lady Lufton on the occasion of her +first visit to London, and yet the time was not long past when she +had thought that rectory house at Plumstead to be by no means +insufficient or contemptible.</p> + +<p>And then there came a question whether or no Griselda should go back +to her mother; but this idea was very strongly opposed by Lady +Lufton, and ultimately with success. “I really think the dear girl is +very happy with me,” said Lady Lufton; “and if ever she is to belong +to me more closely, it will be so well that we should know and love +one another.”</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, Lady Lufton had been trying hard to know and love +Griselda, but hitherto she had scarcely succeeded to the full extent +of her wishes. That she loved Griselda was certain,—with that sort +of love which springs from a person’s volition and not from the +judgment. She had said all along to herself and others that she did +love Griselda Grantly. She had admired the young lady’s face, liked +her manner, approved of her fortune and family, and had selected her +for a daughter-in-law in a somewhat impetuous manner. Therefore she +loved her. But it was by no means clear to Lady Lufton that she did +as yet know her young friend. The match was a plan of her own, and +therefore she stuck to it as warmly as ever, but she began to have +some misgivings whether or no the dear girl would be to her herself +all that she had dreamed of in a daughter-in-law.</p> + +<p>“But, dear Lady Lufton,” said Mrs. Grantly, “is it not possible that +we may put her affections to too severe a test? What, if she should +learn to regard him, and +<span class="nowrap">then—”</span></p> + +<p>“Ah! if she did, I should have no fear of the result. If she showed +anything like love for Ludovic, he would be at her feet in a moment. +He is impulsive, but she is not.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, Lady Lufton. It is his privilege to be impulsive and to sue +for her affection, and hers to have her love sought for without +making any demonstration. It is perhaps the fault of young ladies of +the present day that they are too impulsive. They assume privileges +which are not their own, and thus lose those which are.”</p> + +<p>“Quite true! I quite agree with you. It is probably that very feeling +that has made me think so highly of Griselda. But +<span class="nowrap">then—”</span> But then a +young lady, though she need not jump down a gentleman’s throat, or +throw herself into his face, may give some signs that she is made of +flesh and blood; especially when her papa and mamma and all belonging +to her are so anxious to make the path of her love run smooth. That +was what was passing through Lady Lufton’s mind; but she did not say +it all; she merely looked it.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she will ever allow herself to indulge in an +unauthorized passion,” said Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>“I am sure she will not,” said Lady Lufton, with ready agreement, +fearing perhaps in her heart that Griselda would never indulge in any +passion, authorized or unauthorized.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether Lord Lufton sees much of her now,” said Mrs. +Grantly, thinking perhaps of that promise of Lady Lufton’s with +reference to his lordship’s spare time.</p> + +<p>“Just lately, during these changes, you know, everybody has been so +much engaged. Ludovic has been constantly at the House, and then men +find it so necessary to be at their clubs just now.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs. Grantly, who was not at all disposed +to think little of the importance of the present crisis, or to wonder +that men should congregate together when such deeds were to be done +as those which now occupied the breasts of the Queen’s advisers. At +last, however, the two mothers perfectly understood each other. +Griselda was still to remain with Lady Lufton; and was to accept her +ladyship’s son, if he could only be induced to exercise his privilege +of asking her; but in the meantime, as this seemed to be doubtful, +Griselda was not to be debarred from her privilege of making what use +she could of any other string which she might have to her bow.</p> + +<p>“But, mamma,” said Griselda, in a moment of unwatched intercourse +between the mother and daughter, “is it really true that they are +going to make papa a bishop?”</p> + +<p>“We can tell nothing as yet, my dear. People in the world are talking +about it. Your papa has been a good deal with Lord De Terrier.”</p> + +<p>“And isn’t he prime minister?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I am happy to say that he is.”</p> + +<p>“I thought the prime minister could make any one a bishop that he +chooses,—any clergyman, that is.”</p> + +<p>“But there is no see vacant,” said Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>“Then there isn’t any chance,” said Griselda, looking very glum.</p> + +<p>“They are going to have an Act of Parliament for making two more +bishops. That’s what they are talking about at least. And if they +<span class="nowrap">do—”</span></p> + +<p>“Papa will be Bishop of Westminster—won’t he? And we shall live in +London?”</p> + +<p>“But you must not talk about it, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t. But, mamma, a Bishop of Westminster will be higher than +a Bishop of Barchester; won’t he? I shall so like to be able to snub +those Miss Proudies.” It will therefore be seen that there were +matters on which even Griselda Grantly could be animated. Like the +rest of her family she was devoted to the Church.</p> + +<p>Late on that afternoon the archdeacon returned home to dine in Mount +Street, having spent the whole of the day between the Treasury +chambers, a meeting of Convocation, and his club. And when he did get +home it was soon manifest to his wife that he was not laden with good +news.</p> + +<p>“It is almost incredible,” he said, standing with his back to the +drawing-room fire.</p> + +<p>“What is incredible?” said his wife, sharing her husband’s anxiety to +the full.</p> + +<p>“If I had not learned it as fact, I would not have believed it, even +of Lord Brock,” said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>“Learned what?” said the anxious wife.</p> + +<p>“After all, they are going to oppose the bill.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” said Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>“But they are.”</p> + +<p>“The bill for the two new bishops, archdeacon? oppose their own +bill!”</p> + +<p>“Yes—oppose their own bill. It is almost incredible; but so it is. +Some changes have been forced upon us; little things which they had +forgotten—quite minor matters; and they now say that they will be +obliged to divide against us on these twopenny-halfpenny, +hair-splitting points. It is Lord Brock’s own doing too, after all +that he said about abstaining from factious opposition to the +government.”</p> + +<p>“I believe there is nothing too bad or too false for that man,” said +Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>“After all they said, too, when they were in power themselves, as to +the present government opposing the cause of religion! They declare +now that Lord De Terrier cannot be very anxious about it, as he had +so many good reasons against it a few weeks ago. Is it not dreadful +that there should be such double-dealing in men in such positions?”</p> + +<p>“It is sickening,” said Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>And then there was a pause between them as each thought of the injury +that was done to them.</p> + +<p>“But, archdeacon—”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Could you not give up those small points and shame them into +compliance?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing would shame them.”</p> + +<p>“But would it not be well to try?”</p> + +<p>The game was so good a one, and the stake so important, that Mrs. +Grantly felt that it would be worth playing for to the last.</p> + +<p>“It is no good.”</p> + +<p>“But I certainly would suggest it to Lord De Terrier. I am sure the +country would go along with him; at any rate the Church would.”</p> + +<p>“It is impossible,” said the archdeacon. “To tell the truth, it did +occur to me. But some of them down there seemed to think that it +would not do.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly sat awhile on the sofa, still meditating in her mind +whether there might not yet be some escape from so terrible a +downfall.</p> + +<p>“But, archdeacon—”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go upstairs and dress,” said he, in despondency.</p> + +<p>“But, archdeacon, surely the present ministry may have a majority on +such a subject as that; I thought they were sure of a majority now.”</p> + +<p>“No; not sure.”</p> + +<p>“But at any rate the chances are in their favour? I do hope they’ll +do their duty, and exert themselves to keep their members together.”</p> + +<p>And then the archdeacon told out the whole of the truth.</p> + +<p>“Lord De Terrier says that under the present circumstances he will +not bring the matter forward this session at all. So we had better go +back to Plumstead.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly then felt that there was nothing further to be said, and +it will be proper that the historian should drop a veil over their +sufferings.</p> + + +<p><a id="c24"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2></div> +<h3>MAGNA EST VERITAS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It was made known to the reader that in the early part of the winter +Mr. Sowerby had a scheme for retrieving his lost fortunes, and +setting himself right in the world, by marrying that rich heiress, +Miss Dunstable. I fear my friend Sowerby does not, at present, stand +high in the estimation of those who have come on with me thus far in +this narrative. He has been described as a spendthrift and gambler, +and as one scarcely honest in his extravagance and gambling. But +nevertheless there are worse men than Mr. Sowerby, and I am not +prepared to say that, should he be successful with Miss Dunstable, +that lady would choose by any means the worst of the suitors who are +continually throwing themselves at her feet. Reckless as this man +always appeared to be, reckless as he absolutely was, there was still +within his heart a desire for better things, and in his mind an +understanding that he had hitherto missed the career of an honest +English gentleman. He was proud of his position as member for his +county, though hitherto he had done so little to grace it; he was +proud of his domain at Chaldicotes, though the possession of it had +so nearly passed out of his own hands; he was proud of the old blood +that flowed in his veins; and he was proud also of that easy, +comfortable, gay manner, which went so far in the world’s judgment to +atone for his extravagance and evil practices. If only he could get +another chance, as he now said to himself, things should go very +differently with him. He would utterly forswear the whole company of +Tozers. He would cease to deal in bills, and to pay heaven only knows +how many hundred per cent. for his moneys. He would no longer prey +upon his friends, and would redeem his title-deeds from the clutches +of the Duke of Omnium. If only he could get another chance!</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable’s fortune would do all this and ever so much more, and +then, moreover, Miss Dunstable was a woman whom he really liked. She +was not soft, feminine, or pretty, nor was she very young; but she +was clever, self-possessed, and quite able to hold her own in any +class; and as to age, Mr. Sowerby was not very young himself. In +making such a match he would have no cause of shame. He could speak +of it before his friends without fear of their grimaces, and ask them +to his house, with the full assurance that the head of his table +would not disgrace him. And then as the scheme grew clearer and +clearer to him, he declared to himself that if he should be +successful, he would use her well, and not rob her of her +money—beyond what was absolutely necessary.</p> + +<p>He had intended to have laid his fortunes at her feet at Chaldicotes; +but the lady had been coy. Then the deed was to have been done at +Gatherum Castle, but the lady ran away from Gatherum Castle just at +the time on which he had fixed. And since that, one circumstance +after another had postponed the affair in London, till now at last he +was resolved that he would know his fate, let it be what it might. If +he could not contrive that things should speedily be arranged, it +might come to pass that he would be altogether debarred from +presenting himself to the lady as Mr. Sowerby of Chaldicotes. Tidings +had reached him, through Mr. Fothergill, that the duke would be glad +to have matters arranged; and Mr. Sowerby well knew the meaning of +that message.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby was not fighting this campaign alone, without the aid of +any ally. Indeed, no man ever had a more trusty ally in any campaign +than he had in this. And it was this ally, the only faithful comrade +that clung to him through good and ill during his whole life, who +first put it into his head that Miss Dunstable was a woman and might +be married.</p> + +<p>“A hundred needy adventurers have attempted it, and failed already,” +Mr. Sowerby had said, when the plan was first proposed to him.</p> + +<p>“But, nevertheless, she will some day marry some one; and why not you +as well as another?” his sister had answered. For Mrs. Harold Smith +was the ally of whom I have spoken.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith, whatever may have been her faults, could boast of +this virtue—that she loved her brother. He was probably the only +human being that she did love. Children she had none; and as for her +husband, it had never occurred to her to love him. She had married +him for a position; and being a clever woman, with a good digestion +and command of her temper, had managed to get through the world +without much of that unhappiness which usually follows ill-assorted +marriages. At home she managed to keep the upper hand, but she did so +in an easy, good-humoured way that made her rule bearable; and away +from home she assisted her lord’s political standing, though she +laughed more keenly than any one else at his foibles. But the lord of +her heart was her brother; and in all his scrapes, all his +extravagances, and all his recklessness, she had ever been willing to +assist him. With the view of doing this she had sought the intimacy +of Miss Dunstable, and for the last year past had indulged every +caprice of that lady. Or rather, she had had the wit to learn that +Miss Dunstable was to be won, not by the indulgence of caprices, but +by free and easy intercourse, with a dash of fun, and, at any rate, a +semblance of honesty. Mrs. Harold Smith was not, perhaps, herself +very honest by disposition; but in these latter days she had taken up +a theory of honesty for the sake of Miss Dunstable—not altogether in +vain, for Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Harold Smith were certainly very +intimate.</p> + +<p>“If I am to do it at all, I must not wait any longer,” said Mr. +Sowerby to his sister a day or two after the final break-down of the +gods. The affection of the sister for the brother may be imagined +from the fact that at such a time she could give up her mind to such +a subject. But, in truth, her husband’s position as a cabinet +minister was as nothing to her compared with her brother’s position +as a county gentleman.</p> + +<p>“One time is as good as another,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“You mean that you would advise me to ask her at once.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. But you must remember, Nat, that you will have no easy +task. It will not do for you to kneel down and swear that you love +her.”</p> + +<p>“If I do it at all, I shall certainly do it without kneeling—you may +be sure of that, Harriet.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and without swearing that you love her. There is only one way +in which you can be successful with Miss Dunstable—you must tell her +the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What!—tell her that I am ruined, horse, foot, and dragoons, and +then bid her help me out of the mire?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly: that will be your only chance, strange as it may appear.”</p> + +<p>“This is very different from what you used to say, down at +Chaldicotes.”</p> + +<p>“So it is; but I know her much better than I did when we were there. +Since then I have done but little else than study the freaks of her +character. If she really likes you—and I think she does—she could +forgive you any other crime but that of swearing that you loved her.”</p> + +<p>“I should hardly know how to propose without saying something about +it.”</p> + +<p>“But you must say nothing—not a word; you must tell her that you are +a gentleman of good blood and high station, but sadly out at elbows.”</p> + +<p>“She knows that already.”</p> + +<p>“Of course she does; but she must know it as coming directly from +your own mouth. And then tell her that you propose to set yourself +right by marrying her—by marrying her for the sake of her money.”</p> + +<p>“That will hardly win her, I should say.”</p> + +<p>“If it does not, no other way, that I know of, will do so. As I told +you before, it will be no easy task. Of course you must make her +understand that her happiness shall be cared for; but that must not +be put prominently forward as your object. Your first object is her +money, and your only chance for success is in telling the truth.”</p> + +<p>“It is very seldom that a man finds himself in such a position as +that,” said Sowerby, walking up and down his sister’s room; “and, +upon my word, I don’t think I am up to the task. I should certainly +break down. I don’t believe there’s a man in London could go to a +woman with such a story as that, and then ask her to marry him.”</p> + +<p>“If you cannot, you may as well give it up,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. +“But if you can do it—if you can go through with it in that +manner—my own opinion is that your chance of success would not be +bad. The fact is,” added the sister after awhile, during which her +brother was continuing his walk and meditating on the difficulties of +his position—“the fact is, you men never understand a woman; you +give her credit neither for her strength, nor for her weakness. You +are too bold, and too timid: you think she is a fool and tell her so, +and yet never can trust her to do a kind action. Why should she not +marry you with the intention of doing you a good turn? After all, she +would lose very little: there is the estate, and if she redeemed it, +it would belong to her as well as to you.”</p> + +<p>“It would be a good turn, indeed. I fear I should be too modest to +put it to her in that way.”</p> + +<p>“Her position would be much better as your wife than it is at +present. You are good-humoured and good-tempered, you would intend to +treat her well, and, on the whole, she would be much happier as Mrs. +Sowerby, of Chaldicotes, than she can be in her present position.”</p> + +<p>“If she cared about being married, I suppose she could be a peer’s +wife to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t think she cares about being a peer’s wife. A needy peer +might perhaps win her in the way that I propose to you; but then a +needy peer would not know how to set about it. Needy peers have +tried—half a dozen I have no doubt—and have failed, because they +have pretended that they were in love with her. It may be difficult, +but your only chance is to tell her the truth.”</p> + +<p>“And where shall I do it?”</p> + +<p>“Here if you choose; but her own house will be better.”</p> + +<p>“But I never can see her there—at least, not alone. I believe that +she never is alone. She always keeps a lot of people round her in +order to stave off her lovers. Upon my word, Harriet, I think I’ll +give it up. It is impossible that I should make such a declaration to +her as that you propose.”</p> + +<p>“Faint heart, Nat—you know the rest.”</p> + +<p>“But the poet never alluded to such wooing as that you have +suggested. I suppose I had better begin with a schedule of my debts, +and make reference, if she doubts me, to Fothergill, the sheriff’s +officers, and the Tozer family.”</p> + +<p>“She will not doubt you, on that head; nor will she be a bit +surprised.”</p> + +<p>Then there was again a pause, during which Mr. Sowerby still walked +up and down the room, thinking whether or no he might possibly have +any chance of success in so hazardous an enterprise.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what, Harriet,” at last he said; “I wish you’d do it for +me.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she, “if you really mean it, I will make the attempt.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of this, that I shall never make it myself. I positively +should not have the courage to tell her in so many words, that I +wanted to marry her for her money.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Nat, I will attempt it. At any rate, I am not afraid of her. +She and I are excellent friends, and, to tell the truth, I think I +like her better than any other woman that I know; but I never should +have been intimate with her, had it not been for your sake.”</p> + +<p>“And now you will have to quarrel with her, also for my sake?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. You’ll find that whether she accedes to my proposition +or not, we shall continue friends. I do not think that she would die +for me—nor I for her. But as the world goes we suit each other. Such +a little trifle as this will not break our loves.”</p> + +<p>And so it was settled. On the following day Mrs. Harold Smith was to +find an opportunity of explaining the whole matter to Miss Dunstable, +and was to ask that lady to share her fortune—some incredible number +of thousands of pounds—with the bankrupt member for West +Barsetshire, who in return was to bestow on her—himself and his +debts.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith had spoken no more than the truth in saying that +she and Miss Dunstable suited one another. And she had not improperly +described their friendship. They were not prepared to die, one for +the sake of the other. They had said nothing to each other of mutual +love and affection. They never kissed, or cried, or made speeches, +when they met or when they parted. There was no great benefit for +which either had to be grateful to the other; no terrible injury +which either had forgiven. But they suited each other; and this, I +take it, is the secret of most of our pleasantest intercourse in the +world.</p> + +<p>And it was almost grievous that they should suit each other, for Miss +Dunstable was much the worthier of the two, had she but known it +herself. It was almost to be lamented that she should have found +herself able to live with Mrs. Harold Smith on terms that were +perfectly satisfactory to herself. Mrs. Harold Smith was worldly, +heartless—to all the world but her brother—and, as has been above +hinted, almost dishonest. Miss Dunstable was not worldly, though it +was possible that her present style of life might make her so; she +was affectionate, fond of truth, and prone to honesty, if those +around would but allow her to exercise it. But she was fond of ease +and humour, sometimes of wit that might almost be called broad, and +she had a thorough love of ridiculing the world’s humbugs. In all +these propensities Mrs. Harold Smith indulged her.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances they were now together almost every day. It +had become quite a habit with Mrs. Harold Smith to have herself +driven early in the forenoon to Miss Dunstable’s house; and that +lady, though she could never be found alone by Mr. Sowerby, was +habitually so found by his sister. And after that they would go out +together, or each separately, as fancy or the business of the day +might direct them. Each was easy to the other in this alliance, and +they so managed that they never trod on each other’s corns.</p> + +<p>On the day following the agreement made between Mr. Sowerby and Mrs. +Harold Smith, that lady as usual called on Miss Dunstable, and soon +found herself alone with her friend in a small room which the heiress +kept solely for her own purposes. On special occasions persons of +various sorts were there admitted; occasionally a parson who had a +church to build, or a dowager laden with the last morsel of town +slander, or a poor author who could not get due payment for the +efforts of his brain, or a poor governess on whose feeble stamina the +weight of the world had borne too hardly. But men who by possibility +could be lovers did not make their way thither, nor women who could +be bores. In these latter days, that is, during the present London +season, the doors of it had been oftener opened to Mrs. Harold Smith +than to any other person.</p> + +<p>And now the effort was to be made with the object of which all this +intimacy had been effected. As she came thither in her carriage, Mrs. +Harold Smith herself was not altogether devoid of that sinking of the +heart which is so frequently the forerunner of any difficult and +hazardous undertaking. She had declared that she would feel no fear +in making the little proposition. But she did feel something very +like it; and when she made her entrance into the little room she +certainly wished that the work was done and over.</p> + +<p>“How is poor Mr. Smith to-day?” asked Miss Dunstable, with an air of +mock condolence, as her friend seated herself in her accustomed +easy-chair. The downfall of the gods was as yet a history hardly +three days old, and it might well be supposed that the late lord of +the Petty Bag had hardly recovered from his misfortune.</p> + +<p>“Well, he is better, I think, this morning; at least I should judge +so from the manner in which he confronted his eggs. But still I don’t +like the way he handles the carving-knife. I am sure he is always +thinking of Mr. Supplehouse at those moments.”</p> + +<p>“Poor man! I mean Supplehouse. After all, why shouldn’t he follow his +trade as well as another? Live and let live, that’s what I say.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, but it’s kill and let kill with him. That is what Horace says. +However, I am tired of all that now, and I came here to-day to talk +about something else.”</p> + +<p>“I rather like Mr. Supplehouse myself,” exclaimed Miss Dunstable. “He +never makes any bones about the matter. He has a certain work to do, +and a certain cause to serve—namely, his own; and in order to do +that work, and serve that cause, he uses such weapons as God has +placed in his hands.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what the wild beasts do.”</p> + +<p>“And where will you find men honester than they? The tiger tears you +up because he is hungry and wants to eat you. That’s what Supplehouse +does. But there are so many among us tearing up one another without +any excuse of hunger. The mere pleasure of destroying is reason +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, my mission to you to-day is certainly not one of +destruction, as you will admit when you hear it. It is one, rather, +very absolutely of salvation. I have come to make love to you.”</p> + +<p>“Then the salvation, I suppose, is not for myself,” said Miss +Dunstable.</p> + +<p>It was quite clear to Mrs. Harold Smith that Miss Dunstable had +immediately understood the whole purport of this visit, and that she +was not in any great measure surprised. It did not seem from the tone +of the heiress’s voice, or from the serious look which at once +settled on her face, that she would be prepared to give a very ready +compliance. But then great objects can only be won with great +efforts.</p> + +<p>“That’s as may be,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “For you and another +also, I hope. But I trust, at any rate, that I may not offend you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, laws, no; nothing of that kind ever offends me now.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose you’re used to it.”</p> + +<p>“Like the eels, my dear. I don’t mind it the least in the world—only +sometimes, you know, it is a little tedious.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll endeavour to avoid that, so I may as well break the ice at +once. You know enough of Nathaniel’s affairs to be aware that he is +not a very rich man.”</p> + +<p>“Since you do ask me about it, I suppose there’s no harm in saying +that I believe him to be a very poor man.”</p> + +<p>“Not the least harm in the world, but just the reverse. Whatever may +come of this, my wish is that the truth should be told scrupulously +on all sides; the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Magna est veritas</i>,” said Miss Dunstable. “The Bishop of Barchester +taught me as much Latin as that at Chaldicotes; and he did add some +more, but there was a long word, and I forgot it.”</p> + +<p>“The bishop was quite right, my dear, I’m sure. But if you go to your +Latin, I’m lost. As we were just now saying, my brother’s pecuniary +affairs are in a very bad state. He has a beautiful property of his +own, which has been in the family for I can’t say how many +centuries—long before the Conquest, I know.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder what my ancestors were then?”</p> + +<p>“It does not much signify to any of us,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, with +a moral shake of her head, “what our ancestors were; but it’s a sad +thing to see an old property go to ruin.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed; we none of us like to see our property going to ruin, +whether it be old or new. I have some of that sort of feeling +already, although mine was only made the other day out of an +apothecary’s shop.”</p> + +<p>“God forbid that I should ever help you to ruin it,” said Mrs. Harold +Smith. “I should be sorry to be the means of your losing a ten-pound +note.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Magna est veritas</i>, as the dear bishop said,” exclaimed Miss +Dunstable. “Let us have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but +the truth, as we agreed just now.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith did begin to find that the task before her was +difficult. There was a hardness about Miss Dunstable when matters of +business were concerned on which it seemed almost impossible to make +any impression. It was not that she had evinced any determination to +refuse the tender of Mr. Sowerby’s hand; but she was so painfully +resolute not to have dust thrown in her eyes! Mrs. Harold Smith had +commenced with a mind fixed upon avoiding what she called humbug; but +this sort of humbug had become so prominent a part of her usual +rhetoric, that she found it very hard to abandon it.</p> + +<p>“And that’s what I wish,” said she. “Of course my chief object is to +secure my brother’s happiness.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very unkind to poor Mr. Harold Smith.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, well—you know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think I do know what you mean. Your brother is a gentleman of +good family, but of no means.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite so bad as that.”</p> + +<p>“Of embarrassed means, then, or anything that you will; whereas I am +a lady of no family, but of sufficient wealth. You think that if you +brought us together and made a match of it, it would be a very good +thing for—for whom?” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“Yes, exactly,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“For which of us? Remember the bishop now and his nice little bit of +Latin.”</p> + +<p>“For Nathaniel then,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, boldly. “It would be a +very good thing for him.” And a slight smile came across her face as +she said it. “Now that’s honest, or the mischief is in it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s honest enough. And did he send you here to tell me +this?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he did that, and something else.”</p> + +<p>“And now let’s have the something else. The really important part, I +have no doubt, has been spoken.”</p> + +<p>“No, by no means, by no means all of it. But you are so hard on one, +my dear, with your running after honesty, that one is not able to +tell the real facts as they are. You make one speak in such a bald, +naked way.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you think that anything naked must be indecent; even truth.”</p> + +<p>“I think it is more proper-looking, and better suited, too, for the +world’s work, when it goes about with some sort of a garment on it. +We are so used to a leaven of falsehood in all we hear and say, +now-a-days, that nothing is more likely to deceive us than the +absolute truth. If a shopkeeper told me that his wares were simply +middling, of course, I should think that they were not worth a +farthing. But all that has nothing to do with my poor brother. Well, +what was I saying?”</p> + +<p>“You were going to tell me how well he would use me, no doubt.”</p> + +<p>“Something of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“That he wouldn’t beat me; or spend all my money if I managed to have +it tied up out of his power; or look down on me with contempt because +my father was an apothecary! Was not that what you were going to +say?”</p> + +<p>“I was going to tell you that you might be more happy as Mrs. Sowerby +of Chaldicotes than you can be as Miss +<span class="nowrap">Dunstable—”</span></p> + +<p>“Of Mount Lebanon. And had Mr. Sowerby no other message to +send?—nothing about love, or anything of that sort? I should like, +you know, to understand what his feelings are before I take such a +leap.”</p> + +<p>“I do believe he has as true a regard for you as any man of his age +ever does <span class="nowrap">have—”</span></p> + +<p>“For any woman of mine. That is not putting it in a very devoted way +certainly; but I am glad to see that you remember the bishop’s +maxim.”</p> + +<p>“What would you have me say? If I told you that he was dying for +love, you would say, I was trying to cheat you; and now because I +don’t tell you so, you say that he is wanting in devotion. I must say +you are hard to please.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I am, and very unreasonable into the bargain. I ought to ask +no questions of the kind when your brother proposes to do me so much +honour. As for my expecting the love of a man who condescends to wish +to be my husband, that, of course, would be monstrous. What right can +I have to think that any man should love me? It ought to be enough +for me to know that as I am rich, I can get a husband. What business +can such as I have to inquire whether the gentleman who would so +honour me really would like my company, or would only deign to put up +with my presence in his household?”</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear Miss Dunstable—”</p> + +<p>“Of course I am not such an ass as to expect that any gentleman +should love me; and I feel that I ought to be obliged to your brother +for sparing me the string of complimentary declarations which are +usual on such occasions. He, at any rate, is not tedious—or rather +you on his behalf; for no doubt his own time is so occupied with his +parliamentary duties that he cannot attend to this little matter +himself. I do feel grateful to him; and perhaps nothing more will be +necessary than to give him a schedule of the property, and name an +early day for putting him in possession.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Smith did feel that she was rather badly used. This Miss +Dunstable, in their mutual confidences, had so often ridiculed the +love-making grimaces of her mercenary suitors—had spoken so fiercely +against those who had persecuted her, not because they had desired +her money, but on account of their ill-judgment in thinking her to be +a fool—that Mrs. Smith had a right to expect that the method she had +adopted for opening the negotiation would be taken in a better +spirit. Could it be possible, after all, thought Mrs. Smith to +herself, that Miss Dunstable was like other women, and that she did +like to have men kneeling at her feet? Could it be the case that she +had advised her brother badly, and that it would have been better for +him to have gone about his work in the old-fashioned way? “They are +very hard to manage,” said Mrs. Harold Smith to herself, thinking of +her own sex.</p> + +<p>“He was coming here himself,” said she, “but I advised him not to do +so.”</p> + +<p>“That was so kind of you.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that I could explain to you more openly and more freely, +what his intentions really are.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I have no doubt that they are honourable,” said Miss Dunstable. +“He does not want to deceive me in that way, I am quite sure.”</p> + +<p>It was impossible to help laughing, and Mrs. Harold Smith did laugh. +“Upon my word, you would provoke a saint,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I am not likely to get into any such company by the alliance that +you are now suggesting to me. There are not many saints usually at +Chaldicotes, I believe;—always excepting my dear bishop and his +wife.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear, what am I to say to Nathaniel?”</p> + +<p>“Tell him, of course, how much obliged to him I am.”</p> + +<p>“Do listen to me one moment. I daresay that I have done wrong to +speak to you in such a bold, unromantic way.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. +That’s what we agreed upon. But one’s first efforts in any line are +always apt to be a little uncouth.”</p> + +<p>“I will send Nathaniel to you himself.”</p> + +<p>“No, do not do so. Why torment either him or me? I do like your +brother; in a certain way I like him much. But no earthly +consideration would induce me to marry him. Is it not so glaringly +plain that he would marry me for my money only, that you have not +even dared to suggest any other reason?”</p> + +<p>“Of course it would have been nonsense to say that he had no regard +whatever towards your money.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it would—absolute nonsense. He is a poor man with a good +position, and he wants to marry me because I have got that which he +wants. But, my dear, I do not want that which he has got, and +therefore the bargain would not be a fair one.”</p> + +<p>“But he would do his very best to make you happy.”</p> + +<p>“I am so much obliged to him; but you see, I am very happy as I am. +What should I gain?”</p> + +<p>“A companion whom you confess that you like.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but I don’t know that I should like too much even of such a +companion as your brother. No, my dear—it won’t do. Believe me when +I tell you, once for all, that it won’t do.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean, then, Miss Dunstable, that you’ll never marry?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow—if I met any one that I fancied, and he would have me. +But I rather think that any that I may fancy won’t have me. In the +first place, if I marry any one, the man must be quite indifferent to +money.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll not find him in this world, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Very possibly not,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>All that was further said upon the subject need not be here repeated. +Mrs. Harold Smith did not give up her cause quite at once, although +Miss Dunstable had spoken so plainly. She tried to explain how +eligible would be her friend’s situation as mistress of Chaldicotes, +when Chaldicotes should owe no penny to any man: and went so far as +to hint that the master of Chaldicotes, if relieved of his +embarrassments and known as a rich man, might in all probability be +found worthy of a peerage when the gods should return to Olympus. Mr. +Harold Smith, as a cabinet minister, would, of course, do his best. +But it was all of no use. “It’s not my destiny,” said Miss Dunstable, +“and therefore do not press it any longer.”</p> + +<p>“But we shall not quarrel,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, almost tenderly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no—why should we quarrel?”</p> + +<p>“And you won’t look glum at my brother?”</p> + +<p>“Why should I look glum at him? But, Mrs. Smith, I’ll do more than +not looking glum at him. I do like you, and I do like your brother, +and if I can in any moderate way assist him in his difficulties, let +him tell me so.”</p> + +<p>Soon after this, Mrs. Harold Smith went her way. Of course, she +declared in a very strong manner that her brother could not think of +accepting from Miss Dunstable any such pecuniary assistance as that +offered—and, to give her her due, such was the feeling of her mind +at the moment; but as she went to meet her brother and gave him an +account of this interview, it did occur to her that possibly Miss +Dunstable might be a better creditor than the Duke of Omnium for the +Chaldicotes property.</p> + + +<p><a id="c25"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2></div> +<h3>NON-IMPULSIVE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It cannot be held as astonishing, that that last decision on the part +of the giants in the matter of the two bishoprics should have +disgusted Archdeacon Grantly. He was a politician, but not a +politician as they were. As is the case with all exoteric men, his +political eyes saw a short way only, and his political aspirations +were as limited. When his friends came into office, that bishop bill, +which as the original product of his enemies had been regarded by him +as being so pernicious—for was it not about to be made law in order +that other Proudies and such like might be hoisted up into high +places and large incomes, to the terrible detriment of the +Church?—that bishop bill, I say, in the hands of his friends, had +appeared to him to be a means of almost national salvation. And then, +how great had been the good fortune of the giants in this matter! Had +they been the originators of such a measure they would not have had a +chance of success; but now—now that the two bishops were falling +into their mouths out of the weak hands of the gods, was not their +success ensured? So Dr. Grantly had girded up his loins and marched +up to the fight, almost regretting that the triumph would be so easy. +The subsequent failure was very trying to his temper as a party man.</p> + +<p>It always strikes me that the supporters of the Titans are in this +respect much to be pitied. The giants themselves, those who are +actually handling Pelion and breaking their shins over the lower +rocks of Ossa, are always advancing in some sort towards the councils +of Olympus. Their highest policy is to snatch some ray from heaven. +Why else put Pelion on Ossa, unless it be that a furtive hand, making +its way through Jove’s windows, may pluck forth a thunderbolt or two, +or some article less destructive, but of manufacture equally divine? +And in this consists the wisdom of the higher giants—that, in spite +of their mundane antecedents, theories, and predilections, they can +see that articles of divine manufacture are necessary. But then they +never carry their supporters with them. Their whole army is an army +of martyrs. “For twenty years I have stuck to them, and see how they +have treated me!” Is not that always the plaint of an old +giant-slave? “I have been true to my party all my life, and where am +I now?” he says. Where, indeed, my friend? Looking about you, you +begin to learn that you cannot describe your whereabouts. I do not +marvel at that. No one finds himself planted at last in so terribly +foul a morass, as he would fain stand still for ever on dry ground.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly was disgusted; and although he was himself too true and +thorough in all his feelings, to be able to say aloud that any Giant +was wrong, still he had a sad feeling within his heart that the world +was sinking from under him. He was still sufficiently exoteric to +think that a good stand-up fight in a good cause was a good thing. No +doubt he did wish to be Bishop of Westminster, and was anxious to +compass that preferment by any means that might appear to him to be +fair. And why not? But this was not the end of his aspirations. He +wished that the giants might prevail in everything, in bishoprics as +in all other matters; and he could not understand that they should +give way on the very first appearance of a skirmish. In his open talk +he was loud against many a god; but in his heart of hearts he was +bitter enough against both Porphyrion and Orion.</p> + +<p>“My dear doctor, it would not do;—not in this session; it would not +indeed.” So had spoken to him a half-fledged but especially esoteric +young monster-cub at the Treasury, who considered himself as up to +all the dodges of his party, and regarded the army of martyrs who +supported it as a rather heavy, but very useful collection of fogeys. +Dr. Grantly had not cared to discuss the matter with the half-fledged +monster-cub. The best licked of all the monsters, the Giant most like +a god of them all, had said a word or two to him; and he also had +said a word or two to that Giant. Porphyrion had told him that the +bishop bill would not do; and he, in return, speaking with warm face, +and blood in his cheeks, had told Porphyrion that he saw no reason +why the bill should not do. The courteous Giant had smiled as he +shook his ponderous head, and then the archdeacon had left him, +unconsciously shaking some dust from his shoes, as he paced the +passages of the Treasury chambers for the last time. As he walked +back to his lodgings in Mount Street, many thoughts, not altogether +bad in their nature, passed through his mind. Why should he trouble +himself about a bishopric? Was he not well as he was, in his rectory +down at Plumstead? Might it not be ill for him at his age to +transplant himself into new soil, to engage in new duties, and live +among new people? Was he not useful at Barchester, and respected +also; and might it not be possible, that up there at Westminster, he +might be regarded merely as a tool with which other men could work? +He had not quite liked the tone of that specially esoteric young +monster-cub, who had clearly regarded him as a distinguished fogey +from the army of martyrs. He would take his wife back to Barsetshire, +and there live contented with the good things which Providence had +given him.</p> + +<p>Those high political grapes had become sour, my sneering friends will +say. Well? Is it not a good thing that grapes should become sour +which hang out of reach? Is he not wise who can regard all grapes as +sour which are manifestly too high for his hand? Those grapes of the +Treasury bench, for which gods and giants fight, suffering so much +when they are forced to abstain from eating, and so much more when +they do eat,—those grapes are very sour to me. I am sure that they +are indigestible, and that those who eat them undergo all the ills +which the Revalenta Arabica is prepared to cure. And so it was now +with the archdeacon. He thought of the strain which would have been +put on his conscience had he come up there to sit in London as Bishop +of Westminster; and in this frame of mind he walked home to his wife.</p> + +<p>During the first few moments of his interview with her all his +regrets had come back upon him. Indeed, it would have hardly suited +for him then to have preached this new doctrine of rural contentment. +The wife of his bosom, whom he so fully trusted—had so fully +loved—wished for grapes that hung high upon the wall, and he knew +that it was past his power to teach her at the moment to drop her +ambition. Any teaching that he might effect in that way, must come by +degrees. But before many minutes were over he had told her of her +fate and of his own decision. “So we had better go back to +Plumstead,” he said; and she had not dissented.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for poor Griselda’s sake,” Mrs. Grantly had remarked +later in the evening, when they were again together.</p> + +<p>“But I thought she was to remain with Lady Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“Well; so she will, for a little time. There is no one with whom I +would so soon trust her out of my own care as with Lady Lufton. She +is all that one can desire.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; and as far as Griselda is concerned, I cannot say that I +think she is to be pitied.”</p> + +<p>“Not to be pitied, perhaps,” said Mrs. Grantly. “But, you see, +archdeacon, Lady Lufton, of course, has her own views.”</p> + +<p>“Her own views?”</p> + +<p>“It is hardly any secret that she is very anxious to make a match +between Lord Lufton and Griselda. And though that might be a very +proper arrangement if it were +<span class="nowrap">fixed—”</span></p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton marry Griselda!” said the archdeacon, speaking quick and +raising his eyebrows. His mind had as yet been troubled by but few +thoughts respecting his child’s future establishment. “I had never +dreamt of such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“But other people have done more than dream of it, archdeacon. As +regards the match itself, it would, I think, be unobjectionable. Lord +Lufton will not be a very rich man, but his property is respectable, +and as far as I can learn his character is on the whole good. If they +like each other, I should be contented with such a marriage. But, I +must own, I am not quite satisfied at the idea of leaving her all +alone with Lady Lufton. People will look on it as a settled thing, +when it is not settled—and very probably may not be settled; and +that will do the poor girl harm. She is very much admired; there can +be no doubt of that; and Lord +<span class="nowrap">Dumbello—”</span></p> + +<p>The archdeacon opened his eyes still wider. He had had no idea that +such a choice of sons-in-law was being prepared for him; and, to tell +the truth, was almost bewildered by the height of his wife’s +ambition. Lord Lufton, with his barony and twenty thousand a year, +might be accepted as just good enough; but failing him there was an +embryo marquis, whose fortune would be more than ten times as great, +all ready to accept his child! And then he thought, as husbands +sometimes will think, of Susan Harding as she was when he had gone +a-courting to her under the elms before the house in the warden’s +garden at Barchester, and of dear old Mr. Harding, his wife’s father, +who still lived in humble lodgings in that city; and as he thought, +he wondered at and admired the greatness of that lady’s mind.</p> + +<p>“I never can forgive Lord De Terrier,” said the lady, connecting +various points together in her own mind.</p> + +<p>“That’s nonsense,” said the archdeacon. “You must forgive him.”</p> + +<p>“And I must confess that it annoys me to leave London at present.”</p> + +<p>“It can’t be helped,” said the archdeacon, somewhat gruffly; for he +was a man who, on certain points, chose to have his own way—and had +it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no: I know it can’t be helped,” said Mrs. Grantly, in a tone +which implied a deep injury. “I know it can’t be helped. Poor +Griselda!” And then they went to bed.</p> + +<p>On the next morning Griselda came to her, and in an interview that +was strictly private, her mother said more to her than she had ever +yet spoken, as to the prospects of her future life. Hitherto, on this +subject, Mrs. Grantly had said little or nothing. She would have been +well pleased that her daughter should have received the incense of +Lord Lufton’s vows—or, perhaps, as well pleased had it been the +incense of Lord Dumbello’s vows—without any interference on her +part. In such case her child, she knew, would have told her with +quite sufficient eagerness, and the matter in either case would have +been arranged as a very pretty love match. She had no fear of any +impropriety or of any rashness on Griselda’s part. She had thoroughly +known her daughter when she boasted that Griselda would never indulge +in an unauthorized passion. But as matters now stood, with those two +strings to her bow, and with that Lufton-Grantly alliance treaty in +existence—of which she, Griselda herself, knew nothing—might it not +be possible that the poor child should stumble through want of +adequate direction? Guided by these thoughts, Mrs. Grantly had +resolved to say a few words before she left London. So she wrote a +line to her daughter, and Griselda reached Mount Street at two +o’clock in Lady Lufton’s carriage, which, during the interview, +waited for her at the beer-shop round the corner.</p> + +<p>“And papa won’t be Bishop of Westminster?” said the young lady, when +the doings of the giants had been sufficiently explained to make her +understand that all those hopes were over.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear; at any rate not now.”</p> + +<p>“What a shame! I thought it was all settled. What’s the good, mamma, +of Lord De Terrier being prime minister, if he can’t make whom he +likes a bishop?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that Lord De Terrier has behaved at all well to your +father. However, that’s a long question, and we can’t go into it +now.”</p> + +<p>“How glad those Proudies will be!”</p> + +<p>Griselda would have talked by the hour on this subject had her mother +allowed her, but it was necessary that Mrs. Grantly should go to +other matters. She began about Lady Lufton, saying what a dear woman +her ladyship was; and then went on to say that Griselda was to remain +in London as long as it suited her friend and hostess to stay there +with her; but added, that this might probably not be very long, as it +was notorious that Lady Lufton, when in London, was always in a hurry +to get back to Framley.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t think she is in such a hurry this year, mamma,” said +Griselda, who in the month of May preferred Bruton Street to +Plumstead, and had no objection whatever to the coronet on the panels +of Lady Lufton’s coach.</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Grantly commenced her explanation—very cautiously. +“No, my dear, I daresay she is not in such a hurry this year,—that +is, as long as you remain with her.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure she is very kind.”</p> + +<p>“She is very kind, and you ought to love her very much. I know I do. +I have no friend in the world for whom I have a greater regard than +for Lady Lufton. It is that which makes me so happy to leave you with +her.”</p> + +<p>“All the same, I wish that you and papa had remained up; that is, if +they had made papa a bishop.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no good thinking of that now, my dear. What I particularly +wanted to say to you was this: I think you should know what are the +ideas which Lady Lufton entertains.”</p> + +<p>“Her ideas!” said Griselda, who had never troubled herself much in +thinking about other people’s thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Griselda. While you were staying down at Framley Court, and +also, I suppose, since you have been up here in Bruton Street, you +must have seen a good deal of—Lord Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t come very often to Bruton Street,—that is to say, not +<i>very</i> often.”</p> + +<p>“H-m,” ejaculated Mrs. Grantly, very gently. She would willingly have +repressed the sound altogether, but it had been too much for her. If +she found reason to think that Lady Lufton was playing her false, she +would immediately take her daughter away, break up the treaty, and +prepare for the Hartletop alliance. Such were the thoughts that ran +through her mind. But she knew all the while that Lady Lufton was not +false. The fault was not with Lady Lufton; nor, perhaps, altogether +with Lord Lufton. Mrs. Grantly had understood the full force of the +complaint which Lady Lufton had made against her daughter; and though +she had of course defended her child, and on the whole had defended +her successfully, yet she confessed to herself that Griselda’s chance +of a first-rate establishment would be better if she were a little +more impulsive. A man does not wish to marry a statue, let the statue +be ever so statuesque. She could not teach her daughter to be +impulsive, any more than she could teach her to be six feet high; but +might it not be possible to teach her to seem so? The task was a very +delicate one, even for a mother’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Of course he cannot be at home now as much as he was down in the +country, when he was living in the same house,” said Mrs. Grantly, +whose business it was to take Lord Lufton’s part at the present +moment. “He must be at his club, and at the House of Lords, and in +twenty places.”</p> + +<p>“He is very fond of going to parties, and he dances beautifully.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure he does. I have seen as much as that myself, and I think I +know some one with whom he likes to dance.” And the mother gave her +daughter a loving little squeeze.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean me, mamma?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do mean you, my dear. And is it not true? Lady Lufton says +that he likes dancing with you better than with any one else in +London.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Griselda, looking down upon the ground.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly thought that this upon the whole was rather a good +opening. It might have been better. Some point of interest more +serious in its nature than that of a waltz might have been found on +which to connect her daughter’s sympathies with those of her future +husband. But any point of interest was better than none; and it is so +difficult to find points of interest in persons who by their nature +are not impulsive.</p> + +<p>“Lady Lufton says so, at any rate,” continued Mrs. Grantly, ever so +cautiously. “She thinks that Lord Lufton likes no partner better. +What do you think yourself, Griselda?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“But young ladies must think of such things, must they not?”</p> + +<p>“Must they, mamma?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they do, don’t they? The truth is, Griselda, that Lady +Lufton thinks that <span class="nowrap">if— </span>Can +you guess what it is she thinks?”</p> + +<p>“No, mamma.” But that was a fib on Griselda’s part.</p> + +<p>“She thinks that my Griselda would make the best possible wife in the +world for her son; and I think so too. I think that her son will be a +very fortunate man if he can get such a wife. And now what do you +think, Griselda?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think anything, mamma.”</p> + +<p>But that would not do. It was absolutely necessary that she should +think, and absolutely necessary that her mother should tell her so. +Such a degree of unimpulsiveness as this would lead to—heaven knows +what results! Lufton-Grantly treaties and Hartletop interests would +be all thrown away upon a young lady who would not think anything of +a noble suitor sighing for her smiles. Besides, it was not natural. +Griselda, as her mother knew, had never been a girl of headlong +feeling; but still she had had her likes and her dislikes. In that +matter of the bishopric she was keen enough; and no one could evince +a deeper interest in the subject of a well-made new dress than +Griselda Grantly. It was not possible that she should be indifferent +as to her future prospects, and she must know that those prospects +depended mainly on her marriage. Her mother was almost angry with +her, but nevertheless she went on very gently:</p> + +<p>“You don’t think anything! But, my darling, you must think. You must +make up your mind what would be your answer if Lord Lufton were to +propose to you. That is what Lady Lufton wishes him to do.”</p> + +<p>“But he never will, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“And if he did?”</p> + +<p>“But I’m sure he never will. He doesn’t think of such a thing at +all—and—<span class="nowrap">and—”</span></p> + +<p>“And what, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“Surely you can speak out to me, dearest! All I care about is your +happiness. Both Lady Lufton and I think that it would be a happy +marriage if you both cared for each other enough. She thinks that he +is fond of you. But if he were ten times Lord Lufton I would not +tease you about it if I thought that you could not learn to care +about him. What was it you were going to say, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton thinks a great deal more of Lucy Robarts than he does +of—of—of any one else, I believe,” said Griselda, showing now some +little animation by her manner, “dumpy little black thing that she +is.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy Robarts!” said Mrs. Grantly, taken by surprise at finding that +her daughter was moved by such a passion as jealousy, and feeling +also perfectly assured that there could not be any possible ground +for jealousy in such a direction as that. “Lucy Robarts, my dear! I +don’t suppose Lord Lufton ever thought of speaking to her, except in +the way of civility.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did, mamma! Don’t you remember at Framley?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly began to look back in her mind, and she thought she did +remember having once observed Lord Lufton talking in rather a +confidential manner with the parson’s sister. But she was sure that +there was nothing in it. If that was the reason why Griselda was so +cold to her proposed lover, it would be a thousand pities that it +should not be removed.</p> + +<p>“Now you mention her, I do remember the young lady,” said Mrs. +Grantly, “a dark girl, very low, and without much figure. She seemed +to me to keep very much in the background.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know much about that, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“As far as I saw her, she did. But, my dear Griselda, you should not +allow yourself to think of such a thing. Lord Lufton, of course, is +bound to be civil to any young lady in his mother’s house, and I am +quite sure that he has no other idea whatever with regard to Miss +Robarts. I certainly cannot speak as to her intellect, for I do not +think she opened her mouth in my presence; +<span class="nowrap">but—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh! she has plenty to say for herself, when she pleases. She’s a sly +little thing.”</p> + +<p>“But, at any rate, my dear, she has no personal attractions whatever, +and I do not at all think that Lord Lufton is a man to be taken +by—by—by anything that Miss Robarts might do or say.”</p> + +<p>As those words “personal attractions” were uttered, Griselda managed +so to turn her neck as to catch a side view of herself in one of the +mirrors on the wall, and then she bridled herself up, and made a +little play with her eyes, and looked, as her mother thought, very +well. “It is all nothing to me, mamma, of course,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, perhaps not. I don’t say that it is. I do not wish to +put the slightest constraint upon your feelings. If I did not have +the most thorough dependence on your good sense and high principles, +I should not speak to you in this way. But as I have, I thought it +best to tell you that both Lady Lufton and I should be well pleased +if we thought that you and Lord Lufton were fond of each other.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure he never thinks of such a thing, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“And as for Lucy Robarts, pray get that idea out of your head; if not +for your sake, then for his. You should give him credit for better +taste.”</p> + +<p>But it was not so easy to take anything out of Griselda’s head that +she had once taken into it. “As for tastes, mamma, there is no +accounting for them,” she said; and then the colloquy on that subject +was over. The result of it on Mrs. Grantly’s mind was a feeling +amounting almost to a conviction in favour of the Dumbello interest.</p> + + +<p><a id="c26"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2></div> +<h3>IMPULSIVE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>I trust my readers will all remember how Puck the pony was beaten +during that drive to Hogglestock. It may be presumed that Puck +himself on that occasion did not suffer much. His skin was not so +soft as Mrs. Robarts’s heart. The little beast was full of oats and +all the good things of this world, and therefore, when the whip +touched him, he would dance about and shake his little ears, and run +on at a tremendous pace for twenty yards, making his mistress think +that he had endured terrible things. But, in truth, during those +whippings Puck was not the chief sufferer.</p> + +<p>Lucy had been forced to declare—forced by the strength of her own +feelings, and by the impossibility of assenting to the propriety of a +marriage between Lord Lufton and Miss Grantly—, she had been forced +to declare that she did care about Lord Lufton as much as though he +were her brother. She had said all this to herself,—nay, much more +than this—very often. But now she had said it out loud to her +sister-in-law; and she knew that what she had said was remembered, +considered, and had, to a certain extent, become the cause of altered +conduct. Fanny alluded very seldom to the Luftons in casual +conversation, and never spoke about Lord Lufton, unless when her +husband made it impossible that she should not speak of him. Lucy had +attempted on more than one occasion to remedy this, by talking about +the young lord in a laughing and, perhaps, half-jeering way; she had +been sarcastic as to his hunting and shooting, and had boldly +attempted to say a word in joke about his love for Griselda. But she +felt that she had failed; that she had failed altogether as regarded +Fanny; and that as to her brother, she would more probably be the +means of opening his eyes, than have any effect in keeping them +closed. So she gave up her efforts and spoke no further word about +Lord Lufton. Her secret had been told, and she knew that it had been +told.</p> + +<p>At this time the two ladies were left a great deal alone together in +the drawing-room at the parsonage; more, perhaps, than had ever yet +been the case since Lucy had been there. Lady Lufton was away, and +therefore the almost daily visit to Framley Court was not made; and +Mark in these days was a great deal at Barchester, having, no doubt, +very onerous duties to perform before he could be admitted as one of +that chapter. He went into, what he was pleased to call residence, +almost at once. That is, he took his month of preaching, aiding also +in some slight and very dignified way, in the general Sunday morning +services. He did not exactly live at Barchester, because the house +was not ready. That at least was the assumed reason. The chattels of +Dr. Stanhope, the late prebendary, had not been as yet removed, and +there was likely to be some little delay, creditors asserting their +right to them. This might have been very inconvenient to a gentleman +anxiously expecting the excellent house which the liberality of past +ages had provided for his use; but it was not so felt by Mr. Robarts. +If Dr. Stanhope’s family or creditors would keep the house for the +next twelve months, he would be well pleased. And by this arrangement +he was enabled to get through his first month of absence from the +church of Framley without any notice from Lady Lufton, seeing that +Lady Lufton was in London all the time. This also was convenient, and +taught our young prebendary to look on his new preferment more +favourably than he had hitherto done.</p> + +<p>Fanny and Lucy were thus left much alone: and as out of the full head +the mouth speaks, so is the full heart more prone to speak at such +periods of confidence as these. Lucy, when she first thought of her +own state, determined to endow herself with a powerful gift of +reticence. She would never tell her love, certainly; but neither +would she let concealment feed on her damask cheek, nor would she +ever be found for a moment sitting like Patience on a monument. She +would fight her own fight bravely within her own bosom, and conquer +her enemy altogether. She would either preach, or starve, or weary +her love into subjection, and no one should be a bit the wiser. She +would teach herself to shake hands with Lord Lufton without a quiver, +and would be prepared to like his wife amazingly—unless indeed that +wife should be Griselda Grantly. Such were her resolutions; but at +the end of the first week they were broken into shivers and scattered +to the winds.</p> + +<p>They had been sitting in the house together the whole of one wet day; +and as Mark was to dine in Barchester with the dean, they had had +dinner early, eating with the children almost in their laps. It is so +that ladies do, when their husbands leave them to themselves. It was +getting dusk towards evening, and they were still sitting in the +drawing-room, the children now having retired, when Mrs. Robarts for +the fifth time since her visit to Hogglestock began to express her +wish that she could do some good to the Crawleys,—to Grace Crawley +in particular, who, standing up there at her father’s elbow, learning +Greek irregular verbs, had appeared to Mrs. Robarts to be an especial +object of pity.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how to set about it,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>Now any allusion to that visit to Hogglestock always drove Lucy’s +mind back to the consideration of the subject which had most occupied +it at the time. She at such moments remembered how she had beaten +Puck, and how in her half-bantering but still too serious manner she +had apologized for doing so, and had explained the reason. And +therefore she could not interest herself about Grace Crawley as +vividly as she should have done.</p> + +<p>“No; one never does,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking about it all that day as I drove home,” said Fanny. +“The difficulty is this: What can we do with her?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said Lucy, remembering the very point of the road at which +she had declared that she did like Lord Lufton very much.</p> + +<p>“If we could have her here for a month or so and then send her to +school;—but I know Mr. Crawley would not allow us to pay for her +schooling.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he would,” said Lucy, with her thoughts far removed +from Mr. Crawley and his daughter Grace.</p> + +<p>“And then we should not know what to do with her; should we?”</p> + +<p>“No; you would not.”</p> + +<p>“It would never do to have the poor girl about the house here, with +no one to teach her anything. Mark would not teach her Greek verbs, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose not.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, you are not attending to a word I say to you, and I don’t +think you have for the last hour. I don’t believe you know what I am +talking about.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I do—Grace Crawley; I’ll try and teach her if you like, +only I don’t know anything myself.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not what I mean at all, and you know I would not ask you to +take such a task as that on yourself. But I do think you might talk +it over with me.”</p> + +<p>“Might I? very well; I will. What is it? Oh, Grace Crawley—you want +to know who is to teach her the irregular Greek verbs. Oh dear, +Fanny, my head does ache so: pray don’t be angry with me.” And then +Lucy, throwing herself back on the sofa, put one hand up painfully to +her forehead, and altogether gave up the battle.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts was by her side in a moment. “Dearest Lucy, what is it +makes your head ache so often now? you used not to have those +headaches.”</p> + +<p>“It’s because I’m growing stupid: never mind. We will go on about +poor Grace. It would not do to have a governess, would it?”</p> + +<p>“I can see that you are not well, Lucy,” said Mrs. Robarts, with a +look of deep concern. “What is it, dearest? I can see that something +is the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Something the matter! No, there’s not; nothing worth talking of. +Sometimes I think I’ll go back to Devonshire and live there. I could +stay with Blanche for a time, and then get a lodging in Exeter.”</p> + +<p>“Go back to Devonshire!” and Mrs. Robarts looked as though she +thought that her sister-in-law was going mad. “Why do you want to go +away from us? This is to be your own, own home, always now.”</p> + +<p>“Is it? Then I am in a bad way. Oh dear, oh dear, what a fool I am! +What an idiot I’ve been! Fanny, I don’t think I can stay here; and I +do so wish I’d never come. I do—I do—I do, though you look at me so +horribly,” and jumping up she threw herself into her sister-in-law’s +arms and began kissing her violently. “Don’t pretend to be wounded, +for you know that I love you. You know that I could live with you all +my life, and think you were perfect—as you are; +<span class="nowrap">but—”</span></p> + +<p>“Has Mark said anything?”</p> + +<p>“Not a word,—not a ghost of a syllable. It is not Mark; oh, Fanny!”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I know what you mean,” said Mrs. Robarts in a low +tremulous voice, and with deep sorrow painted on her face.</p> + +<p>“Of course you do; of course you know; you have known it all along: +since that day in the pony-carriage. I knew that you knew it. You do +not dare to mention his name: would not that tell me that you know +it? And I, I am hypocrite enough for Mark; but my hypocrisy won’t +pass muster before you. And, now, had I not better go to Devonshire?”</p> + +<p>“Dearest, dearest Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Was I not right about that labelling? O heavens! what idiots we +girls are! That a dozen soft words should have bowled me over like a +ninepin, and left me without an inch of ground to call my own. And I +was so proud of my own strength; so sure that I should never be +missish, and spoony, and sentimental! I was so determined to like him +as Mark does, or +<span class="nowrap">you—”</span></p> + +<p>“I shall not like him at all if he has spoken words to you that he +should not have spoken.”</p> + +<p>“But he has not.” And then she stopped a moment to consider. “No, he +has not. He never said a word to me that would make you angry with +him if you knew of it. Except, perhaps, that he called me Lucy; and +that was my fault, not his.”</p> + +<p>“Because you talked of soft words.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny, you have no idea what an absolute fool I am, what an +unutterable ass. The soft words of which I tell you were of the kind +which he speaks to you when he asks you how the cow gets on which he +sent you from Ireland, or to Mark about Ponto’s shoulder. He told me +that he knew papa, and that he was at school with Mark, and that as +he was such good friends with you here at the parsonage, he must be +good friends with me too. No; it has not been his fault. The soft +words which did the mischief were such as those. But how well his +mother understood the world! In order to have been safe, I should not +have dared to look at him.”</p> + +<p>“But, dearest Lucy—”</p> + +<p>“I know what you are going to say, and I admit it all. He is no hero. +There is nothing on earth wonderful about him. I never heard him say +a single word of wisdom, or utter a thought that was akin to poetry. +He devotes all his energies to riding after a fox or killing poor +birds, and I never heard of his doing a single great action in my +life. And <span class="nowrap">yet—”</span></p> + +<p>Fanny was so astounded by the way her sister-in-law went on, that she +hardly knew how to speak. “He is an excellent son, I believe,” at +last she said.</p> + +<p>“Except when he goes to Gatherum Castle. I’ll tell you what he has: +he has fine straight legs, and a smooth forehead, and a good-humoured +eye, and white teeth. Was it possible to see such a catalogue of +perfections, and not fall down, stricken to the very bone? But it was +not that that did it all, Fanny. I could have stood against that. I +think I could at least. It was his title that killed me. I had never +spoken to a lord before. Oh, me! what a fool, what a beast I have +been!” And then she burst out into tears.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts, to tell the truth, could hardly understand poor Lucy’s +ailment. It was evident enough that her misery was real; but yet she +spoke of herself and her sufferings with so much irony, with so near +an approach to joking, that it was very hard to tell how far she was +in earnest. Lucy, too, was so much given to a species of badinage +which Mrs. Robarts did not always quite understand, that the latter +was afraid sometimes to speak out what came uppermost to her tongue. +But now that Lucy was absolutely in tears, and was almost breathless +with excitement, she could not remain silent any longer. “Dearest +Lucy, pray do not speak in that way; it will all come right. Things +always do come right when no one has acted wrongly.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, when nobody has done wrongly. That’s what papa used to call +begging the question. But I’ll tell you what, Fanny; I will not be +beaten. I will either kill myself or get through it. I am so heartily +self-ashamed that I owe it to myself to fight the battle out.”</p> + +<p>“To fight what battle, dearest?”</p> + +<p>“This battle. Here, now, at the present moment, I could not meet Lord +Lufton. I should have to run like a scared fowl if he were to show +himself within the gate; and I should not dare to go out of the +house, if I knew that he was in the parish.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see that, for I am sure you have not betrayed yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no; as for myself, I believe I have done the lying and the +hypocrisy pretty well. But, dearest Fanny, you don’t know half; and +you cannot and must not know.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought you said there had been nothing whatever between you.”</p> + +<p>“Did I? Well, to you I have not said a word that was not true. I said +that he had spoken nothing that it was wrong for him to say. It could +not be <span class="nowrap">wrong—.</span> But +never mind. I’ll tell you what I mean to do. I +have been thinking of it for the last week—only I shall have to tell +Mark.”</p> + +<p>“If I were you I would tell him all.”</p> + +<p>“What, Mark! If you do, Fanny, I’ll never, never, never speak to you +again. Would you—when I have given you all my heart in true sisterly +love?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts had to explain that she had not proposed to tell +anything to Mark herself, and was persuaded, moreover, to give a +solemn promise that she would not tell anything to him unless +specially authorized to do so.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go into a home, I think,” continued Lucy. “You know what those +homes are?” Mrs. Robarts assured her that she knew very well, and +then Lucy went on: “A year ago I should have said that I was the last +girl in England to think of such a life, but I do believe now that it +would be the best thing for me. And then I’ll starve myself, and flog +myself, and in that way I’ll get back my own mind and my own soul.”</p> + +<p>“Your own soul, Lucy!” said Mrs. Robarts, in a tone of horror.</p> + +<p>“Well, my own heart, if you like it better; but I hate to hear myself +talking about hearts. I don’t care for my heart. I’d let it go—with +this young popinjay lord or anyone else, so that I could read, and +talk, and walk, and sleep, and eat, without always feeling that I was +wrong here—here—here,” and she pressed her hand vehemently against +her side. “What is it that I feel, Fanny? Why am I so weak in body +that I cannot take exercise? Why cannot I keep my mind on a book for +one moment? Why can I not write two sentences together? Why should +every mouthful that I eat stick in my throat? Oh, Fanny, is it his +legs, think you, or is it his title?”</p> + +<p>Through all her sorrow,—and she was very sorrowful,—Mrs. Robarts +could not help smiling. And, indeed, there was every now and then +something even in Lucy’s look that was almost comic. She acted the +irony so well with which she strove to throw ridicule on herself! “Do +laugh at me,” she said. “Nothing on earth will do me so much good as +that; nothing, unless it be starvation and a whip. If you would only +tell me that I must be a sneak and an idiot to care for a man because +he is good-looking and a lord!”</p> + +<p>“But that has not been the reason. There is a great deal more in Lord +Lufton than that; and since I must speak, dear Lucy, I cannot but say +that I should not wonder at your being in love with him, only—only +<span class="nowrap">that—”</span></p> + +<p>“Only what? Come, out with it. Do not mince matters, or think that I +shall be angry with you because you scold me.”</p> + +<p>“Only that I should have thought that you would have been too guarded +to have—have cared for any gentleman till—till he had shown that he +cared for you.”</p> + +<p>“Guarded! Yes, that’s it; that’s just the word. But it’s he that +should have been guarded. He should have had a fire-guard hung before +him—or a love-guard, if you will. Guarded! Was I not guarded, till +you all would drag me out? Did I want to go there? And when I was +there, did I not make a fool of myself, sitting in a corner, and +thinking how much better placed I should have been down in the +servants’ hall. Lady Lufton—she dragged me out, and then cautioned +me, and then, <span class="nowrap">then—</span> Why +is Lady Lufton to have it all her own way? +Why am I to be sacrificed for her? I did not want to know Lady +Lufton, or any one belonging to her.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot think that you have any cause to blame Lady Lufton, nor, +perhaps, to blame anybody very much.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no, it has been all my own fault; though for the life of me, +Fanny, going back and back, I cannot see where I took the first false +step. I do not know where I went wrong. One wrong thing I did, and it +is the only thing that I do not regret.”</p> + +<p>“What was that, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“I told him a lie.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts was altogether in the dark, and feeling that she was so, +she knew that she could not give counsel as a friend or a sister. +Lucy had begun by declaring—so Mrs. Robarts thought—that nothing +had passed between her and Lord Lufton but words of most trivial +import, and yet she now accused herself of falsehood, and declared +that that falsehood was the only thing which she did not regret!</p> + +<p>“I hope not,” said Mrs. Robarts. “If you did, you were very unlike +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“But I did, and were he here again, speaking to me in the same way, I +should repeat it. I know I should. If I did not, I should have all +the world on me. You would frown on me, and be cold. My darling +Fanny, how would you look if I really displeasured you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you will do that, Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“But if I told him the truth I should, should I not? Speak now. But +no, Fanny, you need not speak. It was not the fear of you; no, nor +even of her: though Heaven knows that her terrible glumness would be +quite unendurable.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand you, Lucy. What truth or what untruth can you +have told him if, as you say, there has been nothing between you but +ordinary conversation?”</p> + +<p>Lucy then got up from the sofa, and walked twice the length of the +room before she spoke. Mrs. Robarts had all the ordinary curiosity—I +was going to say, of a woman, but I mean to say, of humanity; and she +had, moreover, all the love of a sister. She was both curious and +anxious, and remained sitting where she was, silent, and with her +eyes fixed on her companion.</p> + +<p>“Did I say so?” Lucy said at last. “No, Fanny; you have mistaken me: +I did not say that. Ah, yes, about the cow and the dog. All that was +true. I was telling you of what his soft words had been while I was +becoming such a fool. Since that he has said more.”</p> + +<p>“What more has he said, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“I yearn to tell you, if only I can trust you;” and Lucy knelt down +at the feet of Mrs. Robarts, looking up into her face and smiling +through the remaining drops of her tears. “I would fain tell you, but +I do not know you yet,—whether you are quite true. I could be +true,—true against all the world, if my friend told me. I will tell +you, Fanny, if you say that you can be true. But if you doubt +yourself, if you must whisper all to Mark—then let us be silent.”</p> + +<p>There was something almost awful in this to Mrs. Robarts. Hitherto, +since their marriage, hardly a thought had passed through her mind +which she had not shared with her husband. But now all this had come +upon her so suddenly, that she was unable to think whether it would +be well that she should become the depositary of such a secret,—not +to be mentioned to Lucy’s brother, not to be mentioned to her own +husband. But who ever yet was offered a secret and declined it? Who +at least ever declined a love secret? What sister could do so? Mrs. +Robarts therefore gave the promise, smoothing Lucy’s hair as she did +so, and kissing her forehead and looking into her eyes, which, like a +rainbow, were the brighter for her tears. “And what has he said to +you, Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“What? Only this, that he asked me to be his wife.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton proposed to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; proposed to me. It is not credible, is it? You cannot bring +yourself to believe that such a thing happened, can you?” And Lucy +rose again to her feet, as the idea of the scorn with which she felt +that others would treat her—with which she herself treated +herself—made the blood rise to her cheek. “And yet it is not a +dream. I think that it is not a dream. I think that he really did.”</p> + +<p>“Think, Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I may say that I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“A gentleman would not make you a formal proposal, and leave you in +doubt as to what he meant.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, no. There was no doubt at all of that kind; none in the +least. Mr. Smith in asking Miss Jones to do him the honour of +becoming Mrs. Smith never spoke more plainly. I was alluding to the +possibility of having dreamt it all.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was not a dream. Here, standing here, on this very spot—on +that flower of the carpet—he begged me a dozen times to be his wife. +I wonder whether you and Mark would let me cut it out and keep it.”</p> + +<p>“And what answer did you make to him?”</p> + +<p>“I lied to him and told him that I did not love him.”</p> + +<p>“You refused him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I refused a live lord. There is some satisfaction in having +that to think of, is there not? Fanny, was I wicked to tell that +falsehood?”</p> + +<p>“And why did you refuse him?”</p> + +<p>“Why? Can you ask? Think what it would have been to go down to +Framley Court, and to tell her ladyship in the course of conversation +that I was engaged to her son. Think of Lady Lufton. But yet it was +not that, Fanny. Had I thought that it was good for him, that he +would not have repented, I would have braved anything—for his sake. +Even your frown, for you would have frowned. You would have thought +it sacrilege for me to marry Lord Lufton! You know you would.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts hardly knew how to say what she thought, or indeed what +she ought to think. It was a matter on which much meditation would be +required before she could give advice, and there was Lucy expecting +counsel from her at that very moment. If Lord Lufton really loved +Lucy Robarts, and was loved by Lucy Robarts, why should not they two +become man and wife? And yet she did feel that it would be—perhaps +not sacrilege, as Lucy had said, but something almost as troublesome. +What would Lady Lufton say, or think, or feel? What would she say, +and think, and feel as to that parsonage from which so deadly a blow +would fall upon her? Would she not accuse the vicar and the vicar’s +wife of the blackest ingratitude? Would life be endurable at Framley +under such circumstances as those?</p> + +<p>“What you tell me so surprises me, that I hardly as yet know how to +speak about it,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“It was amazing, was it not? He must have been insane at the time; +there can be no other excuse made for him. I wonder whether there is +anything of that sort in the family?”</p> + +<p>“What; madness?” said Mrs. Robarts, quite in earnest.</p> + +<p>“Well, don’t you think he must have been mad when such an idea as +that came into his head? But you don’t believe it; I can see that. +And yet it is as true as heaven. Standing exactly here, on this spot, +he said that he would persevere till I accepted his love. I wonder +what made me specially observe that both his feet were within the +lines of that division.”</p> + +<p>“And you would not accept his love?”</p> + +<p>“No; I would have nothing to say to it. Look you, I stood here, and +putting my hand upon my heart,—for he bade me to do that,—I said +that I could not love him.”</p> + +<p>“And what then?”</p> + +<p>“He went away,—with a look as though he were heart-broken. He crept +away slowly, saying that he was the most wretched soul alive. For a +minute I believed him, and could almost have called him back. But, +no, Fanny; do not think that I am over proud, or conceited about my +conquest. He had not reached the gate before he was thanking God for +his escape.”</p> + +<p>“That I do not believe.”</p> + +<p>“But I do; and I thought of Lady Lufton too. How could I bear that +she should scorn me, and accuse me of stealing her son’s heart? I +know that it is better as it is; but tell me—is a falsehood always +wrong, or can it be possible that the end should justify the means? +Ought I to have told him the truth, and to have let him know that I +could almost kiss the ground on which he stood?”</p> + +<p>This was a question for the doctors which Mrs. Robarts would not take +upon herself to answer. She would not make that falsehood matter of +accusation, but neither would she pronounce for it any absolution. In +that matter Lucy must regulate her own conscience. “And what shall I +do next?” said Lucy, still speaking in a tone that was half tragic +and half jeering.</p> + +<p>“Do?” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Yes, something must be done. If I were a man I should go to +Switzerland, of course; or, as the case is a bad one, perhaps as far +as Hungary. What is it that girls do? they don’t die now-a-days, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, I do not believe that you care for him one jot. If you were in +love you would not speak of it like that.”</p> + +<p>“There, there. That’s my only hope. If I could laugh at myself till +it had become incredible to you, I also, by degrees, should cease to +believe that I had cared for him. But, Fanny, it is very hard. If I +were to starve, and rise before daybreak, and pinch myself, or do +some nasty work,—clean the pots and pans and the candlesticks; that +I think would do the most good. I have got a piece of sack-cloth, and +I mean to wear that, when I have made it up.”</p> + +<p>“You are joking now, Lucy, I know.”</p> + +<p>“No, by my word; not in the spirit of what I am saying. How shall I +act upon my heart, if I do not do it through the blood and the +flesh?”</p> + +<p>“Do you not pray that God will give you strength to bear these +troubles?”</p> + +<p>“But how is one to word one’s prayer, or how even to word one’s +wishes? I do not know what is the wrong that I have done. I say it +boldly; in this matter I cannot see my own fault. I have simply found +that I have been a fool.”</p> + +<p>It was now quite dark in the room, or would have been so to any one +entering it afresh. They had remained there talking till their eyes +had become accustomed to the gloom, and would still have remained, +had they not suddenly been disturbed by the sound of a horse’s feet.</p> + +<p>“There is Mark,” said Fanny, jumping up and running to the bell, that +lights might be ready when he should enter.</p> + +<p>“I thought he remained in Barchester to-night.”</p> + +<p>“And so did I; but he said it might be doubtful. What shall we do if +he has not dined?”</p> + +<p>That, I believe, is always the first thought in the mind of a good +wife when her husband returns home. Has he had his dinner? What can I +give him for dinner? Will he like his dinner? Oh dear, oh dear! there +is nothing in the house but cold mutton. But on this occasion the +lord of the mansion had dined, and came home radiant with +good-humour, and owing, perhaps, a little of his radiance to the +dean’s claret. “I have told them,” said he, “that they may keep +possession of the house for the next two months, and they have agreed +to that arrangement.”</p> + +<p>“That is very pleasant,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“And I don’t think we shall have so much trouble about the +dilapidations after all.”</p> + +<p>“I am very glad of that,” said Mrs. Robarts. But nevertheless she was +thinking much more of Lucy than of the house in Barchester Close.</p> + +<p>“You won’t betray me,” said Lucy, as she gave her sister-in-law a +parting kiss at night.</p> + +<p>“No; not unless you give me permission.”</p> + +<p>“Ah; I shall never do that.”</p> + + +<p><a id="c27"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2></div> +<h3>SOUTH AUDLEY STREET.<br> </h3> + + +<p>The Duke of Omnium had notified to Mr. Fothergill his wish that some +arrangement should be made about the Chaldicotes mortgages, and Mr. +Fothergill had understood what the duke meant as well as though his +instructions had been written down with all a lawyer’s verbosity. The +duke’s meaning was this, that Chaldicotes was to be swept up and +garnered, and made part and parcel of the Gatherum property. It had +seemed to the duke that that affair between his friend and Miss +Dunstable was hanging fire, and, therefore, it would be well that +Chaldicotes should be swept up and garnered. And, moreover, tidings +had come into the western division of the county that young Frank +Gresham of Boxall Hill was in treaty with the Government for the +purchase of all that Crown property called the Chace of Chaldicotes. +It had been offered to the duke, but the duke had given no definite +answer. Had he got his money back from Mr. Sowerby, he could have +forestalled Mr. Gresham; but now that did not seem to be probable, +and his grace was resolved that either the one property or the other +should be duly garnered. Therefore Mr. Fothergill went up to town, +and therefore Mr. Sowerby was, most unwillingly, compelled to have a +business interview with Mr. Fothergill. In the meantime, since last +we saw him, Mr. Sowerby had learned from his sister the answer which +Miss Dunstable had given to his proposition, and knew that he had no +further hope in that direction.</p> + +<p>There was no further hope thence of absolute deliverance, but there +had been a tender of money services. To give Mr. Sowerby his due, he +had at once declared that it would be quite out of the question that +he should now receive any assistance of that sort from Miss +Dunstable; but his sister had explained to him that it would be a +mere business transaction; that Miss Dunstable would receive her +interest; and that, if she would be content with four per cent., +whereas the duke received five, and other creditors six, seven, +eight, ten, and heaven only knows how much more, it might be well for +all parties. He, himself, understood, as well as Fothergill had done, +what was the meaning of the duke’s message. Chaldicotes was to be +gathered up and garnered, as had been done with so many another fair +property lying in those regions. It was to be swallowed whole, and +the master was to walk out from his old family hall, to leave the old +woods that he loved, to give up utterly to another the parks and +paddocks and pleasant places which he had known from his earliest +infancy, and owned from his earliest manhood.</p> + +<p>There can be nothing more bitter to a man than such a surrender. +What, compared to this, can be the loss of wealth to one who has +himself made it, and brought it together, but has never actually seen +it with his bodily eyes? Such wealth has come by one chance, and goes +by another: the loss of it is part of the game which the man is +playing; and if he cannot lose as well as win, he is a poor, weak, +cowardly creature. Such men, as a rule, do know how to bear a mind +fairly equal to adversity. But to have squandered the acres which +have descended from generation to generation; to be the member of +one’s family that has ruined that family; to have swallowed up in +one’s own maw all that should have graced one’s children, and one’s +grandchildren! It seems to me that the misfortunes of this world can +hardly go beyond that!</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby, in spite of his recklessness and that dare-devil gaiety +which he knew so well how to wear and use, felt all this as keenly as +any man could feel it. It had been absolutely his own fault. The +acres had come to him all his own, and now, before his death, every +one of them would have gone bodily into that greedy maw. The duke had +bought up nearly all the debts which had been secured upon the +property, and now could make a clean sweep of it. Sowerby, when he +received that message from Mr. Fothergill, knew well that this was +intended; and he knew well also, that when once he should cease to be +Mr. Sowerby of Chaldicotes, he need never again hope to be returned +as member for West Barsetshire. This world would for him be all over. +And what must such a man feel when he reflects that this world is for +him all over?</p> + +<p>On the morning in question he went to his appointment, still bearing +a cheerful countenance. Mr. Fothergill, when in town on such business +as this, always had a room at his service in the house of Messrs. +Gumption and Gagebee, the duke’s London law agents, and it was +thither that Mr. Sowerby had been summoned. The house of business of +Messrs. Gumption and Gagebee was in South Audley Street; and it may +be said that there was no spot on the whole earth which Mr. Sowerby +so hated as he did the gloomy, dingy back sitting-room up-stairs in +that house. He had been there very often, but had never been there +without annoyance. It was a horrid torture-chamber, kept for such +dread purposes as these, and no doubt had been furnished, and +papered, and curtained with the express object of finally breaking +down the spirits of such poor country gentlemen as chanced to be +involved. Everything was of a brown crimson,—of a crimson that had +become brown. Sunlight, real genial light of the sun, never made its +way there, and no amount of candles could illumine the gloom of that +brownness. The windows were never washed; the ceiling was of a dark +brown; the old Turkey carpet was thick with dust, and brown withal. +The ungainly office-table, in the middle of the room, had been +covered with black leather, but that was now brown. There was a +bookcase full of dingy brown law books in a recess on one side of the +fireplace, but no one had touched them for years, and over the +chimney-piece hung some old legal pedigree table, black with soot. +Such was the room which Mr. Fothergill always used in the business +house of Messrs. Gumption and Gagebee, in South Audley Street, near +to Park Lane.</p> + +<p>I once heard this room spoken of by an old friend of mine, one Mr. +Gresham of Greshamsbury, the father of Frank Gresham, who was now +about to purchase that part of the Chace of Chaldicotes which +belonged to the Crown. He also had had evil days, though now happily +they were past and gone; and he, too, had sat in that room, and +listened to the voice of men who were powerful over his property, and +intended to use that power. The idea which he left on my mind was +much the same as that which I had entertained, when a boy, of a +certain room in the castle of Udolpho. There was a chair in that +Udolpho room in which those who sat were dragged out limb by limb, +the head one way and the legs another; the fingers were dragged off +from the hands, and the teeth out from the jaws, and the hair off the +head, and the flesh from the bones, and the joints from their +sockets, till there was nothing left but a lifeless trunk seated in +the chair. Mr. Gresham, as he told me, always sat in the same seat, +and the tortures he suffered when so seated, the dislocations of his +property which he was forced to discuss, the operations on his very +self which he was forced to witness, made me regard that room as +worse than the chamber of Udolpho. He, luckily—a rare instance of +good fortune—had lived to see all his bones and joints put together +again, and flourishing soundly; but he never could speak of the room +without horror.</p> + +<p>“No consideration on earth,” he once said to me, very solemnly,—“I +say none, should make me again enter that room.” And indeed this +feeling was so strong with him, that from the day when his affairs +took a turn he would never even walk down South Audley Street. On the +morning in question into this torture-chamber Mr. Sowerby went, and +there, after some two or three minutes, he was joined by Mr. +Fothergill.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fothergill was, in one respect, like to his friend Sowerby. He +enacted two altogether different persons on occasions which were +altogether different. Generally speaking, with the world at large, he +was a jolly, rollicking, popular man, fond of eating and drinking, +known to be devoted to the duke’s interests, and supposed to be +somewhat unscrupulous, or at any rate hard, when they were concerned; +but in other respects a good-natured fellow; and there was a report +about that he had once lent somebody money, without charging him +interest or taking security. On the present occasion Sowerby saw at a +glance that he had come thither with all the aptitudes and +appurtenances of his business about him. He walked into the room with +a short, quick step; there was no smile on his face as he shook hands +with his old friend; he brought with him a box laden with papers and +parchments, and he had not been a minute in the room before he was +seated in one of the old dingy chairs.</p> + +<p>“How long have you been in town, Fothergill?” said Sowerby, still +standing with his back against the chimney. He had resolved on only +one thing—that nothing should induce him to touch, look at, or +listen to any of those papers. He knew well enough that no good would +come of that. He also had his own lawyer, to see that he was pilfered +according to rule.</p> + +<p>“How long? Since the day before yesterday. I never was so busy in my +life. The duke, as usual, wants to have everything done at once.”</p> + +<p>“If he wants to have all that I owe him paid at once, he is like to +be out in his reckoning.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well; I’m glad you are ready to come quickly to business, +because it’s always best. Won’t you come and sit down here?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you; I’ll stand.”</p> + +<p>“But we shall have to go through these figures, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Not a figure, Fothergill. What good would it do? None to me, and +none to you either, as I take it; if there is anything wrong, +Potter’s fellows will find it out. What is it the duke wants?”</p> + +<p>“Well; to tell the truth, he wants his money.”</p> + +<p>“In one sense, and that the main sense, he has got it. He gets his +interest regularly, does not he?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty well for that, seeing how times are. But, Sowerby, that’s +nonsense. You understand the duke as well as I do, and you know very +well what he wants. He has given you time, and if you had taken any +steps towards getting the money, you might have saved the property.”</p> + +<p>“A hundred and eighty thousand pounds! What steps could I take to get +that? Fly a bill, and let Tozer have it to get cash on it in the +City!”</p> + +<p>“We hoped you were going to marry.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all off.”</p> + +<p>“Then I don’t think you can blame the duke for looking for his own. +It does not suit him to have so large a sum standing out any longer. +You see, he wants land, and will have it. Had you paid off what you +owed him, he would have purchased the Crown property; and now, it +seems, young Gresham has bid against him, and is to have it. This has +riled him, and I may as well tell you fairly, that he is determined +to have either money or marbles.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that I am to be dispossessed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes; if you choose to call it so. My instructions are to +foreclose at once.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must say the duke is treating me most uncommonly ill.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Sowerby, I can’t see it.”</p> + +<p>“I can, though. He has his money like clock-work; and he has bought +up these debts from persons who would have never disturbed me as long +as they got their interest.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you had the seat?”</p> + +<p>“The seat! and is it expected that I am to pay for that?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see that any one is asking you to pay for it. You are like a +great many other people that I know. You want to eat your cake and +have it. You have been eating it for the last twenty years, and now +you think yourself very ill-used because the duke wants to have his +turn.”</p> + +<p>“I shall think myself very ill-used if he sells me out—worse than +ill-used. I do not want to use strong language, but it will be more +than ill-usage. I can hardly believe that he really means to treat me +in that way.”</p> + +<p>“It is very hard that he should want his own money!”</p> + +<p>“It is not his money that he wants. It is my property.”</p> + +<p>“And has he not paid for it? Have you not had the price of your +property? Now, Sowerby, it is of no use for you to be angry; you have +known for the last three years what was coming on you as well as I +did. Why should the duke lend you money without an object? Of course +he has his own views. But I do say this; he has not hurried you; and +had you been able to do anything to save the place you might have +done it. You have had time enough to look about you.”</p> + +<p>Sowerby still stood in the place in which he had first fixed himself, +and now for awhile he remained silent. His face was very stern, and +there was in his countenance none of those winning looks which often +told so powerfully with his young friends,—which had caught Lord +Lufton and had charmed Mark Robarts. The world was going against him, +and things around him were coming to an end. He was beginning to +perceive that he had in truth eaten his cake, and that there was now +little left for him to do,—unless he chose to blow out his brains. +He had said to Lord Lufton that a man’s back should be broad enough +for any burden with which he himself might load it. Could he now +boast that his back was broad enough and strong enough for this +burden? But he had even then, at that bitter moment, a strong +remembrance that it behoved him still to be a man. His final ruin was +coming on him, and he would soon be swept away out of the knowledge +and memory of those with whom he had lived. But, nevertheless, he +would bear himself well to the last. It was true that he had made his +own bed, and he understood the justice which required him to lie upon +it.</p> + +<p>During all this time Fothergill occupied himself with the papers. He +continued to turn over one sheet after another, as though he were +deeply engaged in money considerations and calculations. But, in +truth, during all that time he did not read a word. There was nothing +there for him to read. The reading and the writing, and the +arithmetic in such matters, are done by underlings—not by such big +men as Mr. Fothergill. His business was to tell Sowerby that he was +to go. All those records there were of very little use. The duke had +the power; Sowerby knew that the duke had the power; and Fothergill’s +business was to explain that the duke meant to exercise his power. He +was used to the work, and went on turning over the papers and +pretending to read them, as though his doing so were of the greatest +moment.</p> + +<p>“I shall see the duke myself,” Mr. Sowerby said at last, and there +was something almost dreadful in the sound of his voice.</p> + +<p>“You know that the duke won’t see you on a matter of this kind. He +never speaks to anyone about money; you know that as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“By ——, but he shall speak to me. Never speak to anyone about +money! Why is he ashamed to speak of it when he loves it so dearly? +He shall see me.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing further to say, Sowerby. Of course I shan’t ask his +grace to see you; and if you force your way in on him you know what +will happen. It won’t be my doing if he is set against you. Nothing +that you say to me in that way,—nothing that anybody ever +says,—goes beyond myself.”</p> + +<p>“I shall manage the matter through my own lawyer,” said Sowerby; and +then he took his hat, and, without uttering another word, left the +room.</p> + +<p>We know not what may be the nature of that eternal punishment to +which those will be doomed who shall be judged to have been evil at +the last; but methinks that no more terrible torment can be devised +than the memory of self-imposed ruin. What wretchedness can exceed +that of remembering from day to day that the race has been all run, +and has been altogether lost; that the last chance has gone, and has +gone in vain; that the end has come, and with it disgrace, contempt, +and self-scorn—disgrace that never can be redeemed, contempt that +never can be removed, and self-scorn that will eat into one’s vitals +for ever?</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby was now fifty; he had enjoyed his chances in life; and as +he walked back, up South Audley Street, he could not but think of the +uses he had made of them. He had fallen into the possession of a fine +property on the attainment of his manhood; he had been endowed with +more than average gifts of intellect; never-failing health had been +given to him, and a vision fairly clear in discerning good from evil; +and now to what a pass had he brought himself!</p> + +<p>And that man Fothergill had put all this before him in so terribly +clear a light! Now that the day for his final demolishment had +arrived, the necessity that he should be demolished—finished away at +once, out of sight and out of mind—had not been softened, or, as it +were, half hidden, by any ambiguous phrase. “You have had your cake, +and eaten it—eaten it greedily. Is not that sufficient for you? +Would you eat your cake twice? Would you have a succession of cakes? +No, my friend; there is no succession of these cakes for those who +eat them greedily. Your proposition is not a fair one, and we who +have the whip-hand of you will not listen to it. Be good enough to +vanish. Permit yourself to be swept quietly into the dunghill. All +that there was about you of value has departed from you; and allow me +to say that you are now—rubbish.” And then the ruthless besom comes +with irresistible rush, and the rubbish is swept into the pit, there +to be hidden for ever from the sight.</p> + +<p>And the pity of it is this—that a man, if he will only restrain his +greed, may eat his cake and yet have it; ay, and in so doing will +have twice more the flavour of the cake than he who with +gourmandizing maw will devour his dainty all at once. Cakes in this +world will grow by being fed on, if only the feeder be not too +insatiate. On all which wisdom Mr. Sowerby pondered with sad heart +and very melancholy mind as he walked away from the premises of +Messrs. Gumption and Gagebee.</p> + +<p>His intention had been to go down to the House after leaving Mr. +Fothergill, but the prospect of immediate ruin had been too much for +him, and he knew that he was not fit to be seen at once among the +haunts of men. And he had intended also to go down to Barchester +early on the following morning—only for a few hours, that he might +make further arrangements respecting that bill which Robarts had +accepted for him. That bill—the second one—had now become due, and +Mr. Tozer had been with him.</p> + +<p>“Now it ain’t no use in life, Mr. Sowerby,” Tozer had said. “I ain’t +got the paper myself, nor didn’t ’old it, not two hours. It went away +through Tom Tozer; you knows that, Mr. Sowerby, as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>Now, whenever Tozer, Mr. Sowerby’s Tozer, spoke of Tom Tozer, Mr. +Sowerby knew that seven devils were being evoked, each worse than the +first devil. Mr. Sowerby did feel something like sincere regard, or +rather love, for that poor parson whom he had inveigled into +mischief, and would fain save him, if it were possible, from the +Tozer fang. Mr. Forrest, of the Barchester bank, would probably take +up that last five hundred pound bill, on behalf of Mr. Robarts,—only +it would be needful that he, Sowerby, should run down and see that +this was properly done. As to the other bill—the former and lesser +one—as to that, Mr. Tozer would probably be quiet for a while.</p> + +<p>Such had been Sowerby’s programme for these two days; but now—what +further possibility was there now that he should care for Robarts, or +any other human being; he that was to be swept at once into the +dung-heap?</p> + +<p>In this frame of mind he walked up South Audley Street, and crossed +one side of Grosvenor Square, and went almost mechanically into Green +Street. At the farther end of Green Street, near to Park Lane, lived +Mr. and Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + + +<p><a id="c28"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2></div> +<h3>DR. THORNE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>When Miss Dunstable met her friends, the Greshams—young Frank +Gresham and his wife—at Gatherum Castle, she immediately asked after +one Dr. Thorne, who was Mrs. Gresham’s uncle. Dr. Thorne was an old +bachelor, in whom both as a man and a doctor Miss Dunstable was +inclined to place much confidence. Not that she had ever entrusted +the cure of her bodily ailments to Dr. Thorne—for she kept a doctor +of her own, Dr. Easyman, for this purpose—and it may moreover be +said that she rarely had bodily ailments requiring the care of any +doctor. But she always spoke of Dr. Thorne among her friends as a man +of wonderful erudition and judgment; and had once or twice asked and +acted on his advice in matters of much moment. Dr. Thorne was not a +man accustomed to the London world; he kept no house there, and +seldom even visited the metropolis; but Miss Dunstable had known him +at Greshamsbury, where he lived, and there had for some months past +grown up a considerable intimacy between them. He was now staying at +the house of his niece, Mrs. Gresham; but the chief reason of his +coming up had been a desire expressed by Miss Dunstable, that he +should do so. She had wished for his advice; and at the instigation +of his niece he had visited London and given it.</p> + +<p>The special piece of business as to which Dr. Thorne had thus been +summoned from the bedsides of his country patients, and especially +from the bedside of Lady Arabella Gresham, to whose son his niece was +married, related to certain large money interests, as to which one +might have imagined that Dr. Thorne’s advice would not be peculiarly +valuable. He had never been much versed in such matters on his own +account, and was knowing neither in the ways of the share market, nor +in the prices of land. But Miss Dunstable was a lady accustomed to +have her own way, and to be indulged in her own wishes without being +called on to give adequate reasons for them.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she had said to young Mrs. Gresham, “if your uncle don’t +come up to London now, when I make such a point of it, I shall think +that he is a bear and a savage; and I certainly will never speak to +him again,—or to Frank—or to you; so you had better see to it.” +Mrs. Gresham had not probably taken her friend’s threat as meaning +quite all that it threatened. Miss Dunstable habitually used strong +language; and those who knew her well, generally understood when she +was to be taken as expressing her thoughts by figures of speech. In +this instance she had not meant it all; but, nevertheless, Mrs. +Gresham had used violent influence in bringing the poor doctor up to +London.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” said Miss Dunstable, “I have resolved on having the doctor +at my conversazione, and if he won’t come of himself, I shall go down +and fetch him. I have set my heart on trumping my dear friend Mrs. +Proudie’s best card; so I mean to get everybody!”</p> + +<p>The upshot of all this was, that the doctor did come up to town, and +remained the best part of a week at his niece’s house in Portman +Square—to the great disgust of the Lady Arabella, who conceived that +she must die if neglected for three days. As to the matter of +business, I have no doubt but that he was of great use. He was +possessed of common sense and an honest purpose; and I am inclined to +think that they are often a sufficient counterpoise to a considerable +amount of worldly experience. If one could have the worldly +experience <span class="nowrap">also—!</span> True! +but then it is so difficult to get +everything. But with that special matter of business we need not have +any further concern. We will presume it to have been discussed and +completed, and will now dress ourselves for Miss Dunstable’s +conversazione.</p> + +<p>But it must not be supposed that she was so poor in genius as to call +her party openly by a name borrowed for the nonce from Mrs. Proudie. +It was only among her specially intimate friends, Mrs. Harold Smith +and some few dozen others, that she indulged in this little joke. +There had been nothing in the least pretentious about the card with +which she summoned her friends to her house on this occasion. She had +merely signified in some ordinary way, that she would be glad to see +them as soon after nine o’clock on Thursday evening, +the <span class="nowrap">——</span> instant, +as might be convenient. But all the world understood that +all the world was to be gathered together at Miss Dunstable’s house +on the night in question,—that an effort was to be made to bring +together people of all classes, gods and giants, saints and sinners, +those rabid through the strength of their morality, such as our dear +friend Lady Lufton, and those who were rabid in the opposite +direction, such as Lady Hartletop, the Duke of Omnium, and Mr. +Sowerby. An orthodox martyr had been caught from the East, and an +oily latter-day St. Paul from the other side of the water—to the +horror and amazement of Archdeacon Grantly, who had come up all the +way from Plumstead to be present on the occasion. Mrs. Grantly also +had hankered to be there; but when she heard of the presence of the +latter-day St. Paul, she triumphed loudly over her husband, who had +made no offer to take her. That Lords Brock and De Terrier were to be +at the gathering was nothing. The pleasant king of the gods and the +courtly chief of the giants could shake hands with each other in any +house with the greatest pleasure; but men were to meet who, in +reference to each other, could shake nothing but their heads or their +fists. Supplehouse was to be there, and Harold Smith, who now hated +his enemy with a hatred surpassing that of women—or even of +politicians. The minor gods, it was thought, would congregate +together in one room, very bitter in their present state of +banishment; and the minor giants in another, terribly loud in their +triumph. That is the fault of the giants, who, otherwise, are not bad +fellows; they are unable to endure the weight of any temporary +success. When attempting Olympus—and this work of attempting is +doubtless their natural condition—they scratch and scramble, +diligently using both toes and fingers, with a mixture of +good-humoured virulence and self-satisfied industry that is +gratifying to all parties. But whenever their efforts are +unexpectedly, and for themselves unfortunately successful, they are +so taken aback that they lose the power of behaving themselves with +even gigantesque propriety.</p> + +<p>Such, so great and so various, was to be the intended gathering at +Miss Dunstable’s house. She herself laughed, and quizzed +herself—speaking of the affair to Mrs. Harold Smith as though it +were an excellent joke, and to Mrs. Proudie as though she were simply +emulous of rivalling those world-famous assemblies in Gloucester +Place; but the town at large knew that an effort was being made, and +it was supposed that even Miss Dunstable was somewhat nervous. In +spite of her excellent joking it was presumed that she would be +unhappy if she failed.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Frank Gresham she did speak with some little seriousness. +“But why on earth should you give yourself all this trouble?” that +lady had said, when Miss Dunstable owned that she was doubtful, and +unhappy in her doubts, as to the coming of one of the great +colleagues of Mr. Supplehouse. “When such hundreds are coming, big +wigs and little wigs of all shades, what can it matter whether Mr. +Towers be there or not?”</p> + +<p>But Miss Dunstable had answered almost with a screech,—“My dear, it +will be nothing without him. You don’t understand; but the fact is, +that Tom Towers is everybody and everything at present.”</p> + +<p>And then, by no means for the first time, Mrs. Gresham began to +lecture her friend as to her vanity; in answer to which lecture Miss +Dunstable mysteriously hinted, that if she were only allowed her full +swing on this occasion,—if all the world would now indulge her, she +<span class="nowrap">would—</span> She did +not quite say what she would do, but the inference +drawn by Mrs. Gresham was this: that if the incense now offered on +the altar of Fashion were accepted, Miss Dunstable would at once +abandon the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and all the +sinful lusts of the flesh.</p> + +<p>“But the doctor will stay, my dear? I hope I may look on that as +fixed.”</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable, in making this demand on the doctor’s time, showed an +energy quite equal to that with which she invoked the gods that Tom +Towers might not be absent. Now, to tell the truth, Dr. Thorne had at +first thought it very unreasonable that he should be asked to remain +up in London in order that he might be present at an evening party, +and had for a while pertinaciously refused; but when he learned that +three or four prime ministers were expected, and that it was possible +that even Tom Towers might be there in the flesh, his philosophy also +had become weak, and he had written to Lady Arabella to say that his +prolonged absence for two days further must be endured, and that the +mild tonics, morning and evening, might be continued.</p> + +<p>But why should Miss Dunstable be so anxious that Dr. Thorne should be +present on this grand occasion? Why, indeed, should she be so +frequently inclined to summon him away from his country practice, his +compounding board, and his useful ministrations to rural ailments? +The doctor was connected with her by no ties of blood. Their +friendship, intimate as it was, had as yet been but of short date. +She was a very rich woman, capable of purchasing all manner of advice +and good counsel, whereas he was so far from being rich, that any +continued disturbance to his practice might be inconvenient to him. +Nevertheless, Miss Dunstable seemed to have no more compunction in +making calls upon his time, than she might have felt had he been her +brother. No ideas on this matter suggested themselves to the doctor +himself. He was a simple-minded man, taking things as they came, and +especially so taking things that came pleasantly. He liked Miss +Dunstable, and was gratified by her friendship, and did not think of +asking himself whether she had a right to put him to trouble and +inconvenience. But such ideas did occur to Mrs. Gresham, the doctor’s +niece. Had Miss Dunstable any object, and if so, what object? Was it +simply veneration for the doctor, or was it caprice? Was it +eccentricity—or could it possibly be love?</p> + +<p>In speaking of the ages of these two friends it may be said in round +terms that the lady was well past forty, and that the gentleman was +well past fifty. Under such circumstances could it be love? The lady, +too, was one who had had offers almost by the dozen,—offers from men +of rank, from men of fashion, and from men of power; from men endowed +with personal attractions, with pleasant manners, with cultivated +tastes, and with eloquent tongues. Not only had she loved none such, +but by none such had she been cajoled into an idea that it was +possible that she could love them. That Dr. Thorne’s tastes were +cultivated, and his manners pleasant, might probably be admitted by +three or four old friends in the country who valued him; but the +world in London, that world to which Miss Dunstable was accustomed, +and which was apparently becoming dearer to her day by day, would not +have regarded the doctor as a man likely to become the object of a +lady’s passion.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless the idea did occur to Mrs. Gresham. She had been +brought up at the elbow of this country practitioner; she had lived +with him as though she had been his daughter; she had been for years +the ministering angel of his household; and, till her heart had +opened to the natural love of womanhood, all her closest sympathies +had been with him. In her eyes the doctor was all but perfect; and it +did not seem to her to be out of the question that Miss Dunstable +should have fallen in love with her uncle.</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable once said to Mrs. Harold Smith that it was possible +that she might marry, the only condition then expressed being this, +that the man elected should be one who was quite indifferent as to +money. Mrs. Harold Smith, who, by her friends, was presumed to know +the world with tolerable accuracy, had replied that such a man Miss +Dunstable would never find in this world. All this had passed in that +half comic vein of banter which Miss Dunstable so commonly used when +conversing with such friends as Mrs. Harold Smith; but she had spoken +words of the same import more than once to Mrs. Gresham; and Mrs. +Gresham, putting two and two together as women do, had made four of +the little sum; and, as the final result of the calculation, +determined that Miss Dunstable would marry Dr. Thorne if Dr. Thorne +would ask her.</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Gresham began to bethink herself of two other +questions. Would it be well that her uncle should marry Miss +Dunstable? and if so, would it be possible to induce him to make such +a proposition? After the consideration of many pros and cons, and the +balancing of very various arguments, Mrs. Gresham thought that the +arrangement on the whole might not be a bad one. For Miss Dunstable +she herself had a sincere affection, which was shared by her husband. +She had often grieved at the sacrifices Miss Dunstable made to the +world, thinking that her friend was falling into vanity, +indifference, and an ill mode of life; but such a marriage as this +would probably cure all that. And then as to Dr. Thorne himself, to +whose benefit were of course applied Mrs. Gresham’s most earnest +thoughts in this matter, she could not but think that he would be +happier married than he was single. In point of temper, no woman +could stand higher than Miss Dunstable; no one had ever heard of her +being in an ill humour; and then though Mrs. Gresham was gifted with +a mind which was far removed from being mercenary, it was impossible +not to feel that some benefit must accrue from the bride’s wealth. +Mary Thorne, the present Mrs. Frank Gresham, had herself been a great +heiress. Circumstances had weighted her hand with enormous +possessions, and hitherto she had not realized the truth of that +lesson which would teach us to believe that happiness and riches are +incompatible. Therefore she resolved that it might be well if the +doctor and Miss Dunstable were brought together.</p> + +<p>But could the doctor be induced to make such an offer? Mrs. Gresham +acknowledged a terrible difficulty in looking at the matter from that +point of view. Her uncle was fond of Miss Dunstable; but she was sure +that an idea of such a marriage had never entered his head; that it +would be very difficult—almost impossible—to create such an idea; +and that if the idea were there, the doctor could hardly be +instigated to make the proposition. Looking at the matter as a whole, +she feared that the match was not practicable.</p> + +<p>On the day of Miss Dunstable’s party, Mrs. Gresham and her uncle +dined together alone in Portman Square. Mr. Gresham was not yet in +Parliament, but an almost immediate vacancy was expected in his +division of the county, and it was known that no one could stand +against him with any chance of success. This threw him much among the +politicians of his party—those giants, namely, whom it would be his +business to support—and on this account he was a good deal away from +his own house at the present moment.</p> + +<p>“Politics make a terrible demand on a man’s time,” he said to his +wife; and then went down to dine at his club in Pall Mall with sundry +other young philogeants. On men of that class politics do make a +great demand—at the hour of dinner and thereabouts.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of Miss Dunstable?” said Mrs. Gresham to her +uncle, as they sat together over their coffee. She added nothing to +the question, but asked it in all its baldness.</p> + +<p>“Think about her!” said the doctor. “Well, Mary; what do you think +about her? I dare say we think the same.”</p> + +<p>“But that’s not the question. What do you think about her? Do you +think she’s honest?”</p> + +<p>“Honest? Oh, yes, certainly—very honest, I should say.”</p> + +<p>“And good-tempered?”</p> + +<p>“Uncommonly good-tempered.”</p> + +<p>“And affectionate?”</p> + +<p>“Well; yes,—and affectionate. I should certainly say that she is +affectionate.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure she’s clever.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think she’s clever.”</p> + +<p>“And, and—and womanly in her feelings.” Mrs. Gresham felt that she +could not quite say lady-like, though she would fain have done so had +she dared.</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly,” said the doctor. “But, Mary, why are you dissecting +Miss Dunstable’s character with so much ingenuity?”</p> + +<p>“Well, uncle, I will tell you why; because—” and Mrs. Gresham, while +she was speaking, got up from her chair, and going round the table to +her uncle’s side, put her arm round his neck till her face was close +to his, and then continued speaking as she stood behind him out of +his sight—“because—I think that Miss Dunstable is—is very fond of +you; and that it would make her happy if you would—ask her to be +your wife.”</p> + +<p>“Mary!” said the doctor, turning round with an endeavour to look his +niece in the face.</p> + +<p>“I am quite in earnest, uncle—quite in earnest. From little things +that she has said, and little things that I have seen, I do believe +what I now tell you.”</p> + +<p>“And you want me to—”</p> + +<p>“Dear uncle; my own one darling uncle, I want you only to do that +which will make you—make you happy. What is Miss Dunstable to me +compared to you?” And then she stooped down and kissed him.</p> + +<p>The doctor was apparently too much astounded by the intimation given +him to make any further immediate reply. His niece, seeing this, left +him that she might go and dress; and when they met again in the +drawing-room Frank Gresham was with them.</p> + + +<p><a id="c29"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2></div> +<h3>MISS DUNSTABLE AT HOME.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Miss Dunstable did not look like a love-lorn maiden, as she stood in +a small ante-chamber at the top of her drawing-room stairs receiving +her guests. Her house was one of those abnormal mansions, which are +to be seen here and there in London, built in compliance rather with +the rules of rural architecture, than with those which usually govern +the erection of city streets and town terraces. It stood back from +its brethren, and alone, so that its owner could walk round it. It +was approached by a short carriageway; the chief door was in the back +of the building; and the front of the house looked on to one of the +parks. Miss Dunstable in procuring it had had her usual luck. It had +been built by an eccentric millionnaire at an enormous cost; and the +eccentric millionnaire, after living in it for twelve months, had +declared that it did not possess a single comfort, and that it was +deficient in most of those details which, in point of house +accommodation, are necessary to the very existence of man. +Consequently the mansion was sold, and Miss Dunstable was the +purchaser. Cranbourn House it had been named, and its present owner +had made no change in this respect; but the world at large very +generally called it Ointment Hall, and Miss Dunstable herself as +frequently used that name for it as any other. It was impossible to +quiz Miss Dunstable with any success, because she always joined in +the joke herself.</p> + +<p>Not a word further had passed between Mrs. Gresham and Dr. Thorne on +the subject of their last conversation; but the doctor as he entered +the lady’s portals amongst a tribe of servants and in a glare of +light, and saw the crowd before him and the crowd behind him, felt +that it was quite impossible that he should ever be at home there. It +might be all right that a Miss Dunstable should live in this way, but +it could not be right that the wife of Dr. Thorne should so live. But +all this was a matter of the merest speculation, for he was well +aware—as he said to himself a dozen times—that his niece had +blundered strangely in her reading of Miss Dunstable’s character.</p> + +<p>When the Gresham party entered the ante-room into which the staircase +opened, they found Miss Dunstable standing there surrounded by a few +of her most intimate allies. Mrs. Harold Smith was sitting quite +close to her; Dr. Easyman was reclining on a sofa against the wall, +and the lady who habitually lived with Miss Dunstable was by his +side. One or two others were there also, so that a little running +conversation was kept up, in order to relieve Miss Dunstable of the +tedium which might otherwise be engendered by the work she had in +hand. As Mrs. Gresham, leaning on her husband’s arm, entered the +room, she saw the back of Mrs. Proudie, as that lady made her way +through the opposite door, leaning on the arm of the bishop.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith had apparently recovered from the annoyance which +she must no doubt have felt when Miss Dunstable so utterly rejected +her suit on behalf of her brother. If any feeling had existed, even +for a day, calculated to put a stop to the intimacy between the two +ladies, that feeling had altogether died away, for Mrs. Harold Smith +was conversing with her friend, quite in the old way. She made some +remark on each of the guests as they passed by, and apparently did so +in a manner satisfactory to the owner of the house, for Miss +Dunstable answered with her kindest smiles, and in that genial, happy +tone of voice which gave its peculiar character to her good humour:</p> + +<p>“She is quite convinced that you are a mere plagiarist in what you +are doing,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, speaking of Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“And so I am. I don’t suppose there can be anything very original +now-a-days about an evening party.”</p> + +<p>“But she thinks you are copying her.”</p> + +<p>“And why not? I copy everybody that I see, more or less. You did not +at first begin to wear big petticoats out of your own head? If Mrs. +Proudie has any such pride as that, pray don’t rob her of it. Here’s +the doctor and the Greshams. Mary, my darling, how are you?” and in +spite of all her grandeur of apparel, Miss Dunstable took hold of +Mrs. Gresham and kissed her—to the disgust of the dozen-and-a-half +of the distinguished fashionable world who were passing up the stairs +behind.</p> + +<p>The doctor was somewhat repressed in his mode of address by the +communication which had so lately been made to him. Miss Dunstable +was now standing on the very top of the pinnacle of wealth, and +seemed to him to be not only so much above his reach, but also so far +removed from his track in life, that he could not in any way put +himself on a level with her. He could neither aspire so high nor +descend so low; and thinking of this he spoke to Miss Dunstable as +though there were some great distance between them,—as though there +had been no hours of intimate friendship down at Greshamsbury. There +had been such hours, during which Miss Dunstable and Dr. Thorne had +lived as though they belonged to the same world: and this at any rate +may be said of Miss Dunstable, that she had no idea of forgetting +them.</p> + +<p>Dr. Thorne merely gave her his hand, and then prepared to pass on.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go, doctor,” she said; “for heaven’s sake, don’t go yet. I +don’t know when I may catch you if you get in there. I shan’t be able +to follow you for the next two hours. Lady Meredith, I am so much +obliged to you for coming—your mother will be here, I hope. Oh, I am +so glad! From her you know that is quite a favour. You, Sir George, +are half a sinner yourself, so I don’t think so much about it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite so,” said Sir George; “perhaps rather the largest half.”</p> + +<p>“The men divide the world into gods and giants,” said Miss Dunstable. +“We women have our divisions also. We are saints or sinners according +to our party. The worst of it is, that we rat almost as often as you +do.” Whereupon Sir George laughed and passed on.</p> + +<p>“I know, doctor, you don’t like this kind of thing,” she continued, +“but there is no reason why you should indulge yourself altogether in +your own way, more than another—is there, Frank?”</p> + +<p>“I am not so sure but he does like it,” said Mr. Gresham. “There are +some of your reputed friends whom he owns that he is anxious to see.”</p> + +<p>“Are there? Then there is some hope of his ratting too. But he’ll +never make a good staunch sinner; will he, Mary? You’re too old to +learn new tricks; eh, doctor?”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I am,” said the doctor, with a faint laugh.</p> + +<p>“Does Dr. Thorne rank himself among the army of saints?” asked Mrs. +Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“Decidedly,” said Miss Dunstable. “But you must always remember that +there are saints of different orders; are there not, Mary? and nobody +supposes that the Franciscans and the Dominicans agree very well +together. Dr. Thorne does not belong to the school of St. Proudie, of +Barchester; he would prefer the priestess whom I see coming round the +corner of the staircase, with a very famous young novice at her +elbow.”</p> + +<p>“From all that I can hear, you will have to reckon Miss Grantly among +the sinners,” said Mrs. Harold Smith—seeing that Lady Lufton with +her young friend was approaching—“unless, indeed, you can make a +saint of Lady Hartletop.”</p> + +<p>And then Lady Lufton entered the room, and Miss Dunstable came +forward to meet her with more quiet respect in her manner than she +had as yet shown to many of her guests. “I am much obliged to you for +coming, Lady Lufton,” she said, “and the more so, for bringing Miss +Grantly with you.”</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton uttered some pretty little speech, during which Dr. +Thorne came up and shook hands with her; as did also Frank Gresham +and his wife. There was a county acquaintance between the Framley +people and the Greshamsbury people, and therefore there was a little +general conversation before Lady Lufton passed out of the small room +into what Mrs. Proudie would have called the noble suite of +apartments. “Papa will be here,” said Miss Grantly; “at least so I +understand. I have not seen him yet myself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he has promised me,” said Miss Dunstable; “and the +archdeacon, I know, will keep his word. I should by no means have the +proper ecclesiastical balance without him.”</p> + +<p>“Papa always does keep his word,” said Miss Grantly, in a tone that +was almost severe. She had not at all understood poor Miss +Dunstable’s little joke, or at any rate she was too dignified to +respond to it.</p> + +<p>“I understand that old Sir John is to accept the Chiltern Hundreds at +once,” said Lady Lufton, in a half whisper to Frank Gresham. Lady +Lufton had always taken a keen interest in the politics of East +Barsetshire, and was now desirous of expressing her satisfaction that +a Gresham should again sit for the county. The Greshams had been old +county members in Barsetshire, time out of mind.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I believe so,” said Frank, blushing. He was still young +enough to feel almost ashamed of putting himself forward for such +high honours.</p> + +<p>“There will be no contest, of course,” said Lady Lufton, +confidentially. “There seldom is in East Barsetshire, I am happy to +say. But if there were, every tenant at Framley would vote on the +right side; I can assure you of that. Lord Lufton was saying so to me +only this morning.”</p> + +<p>Frank Gresham made a pretty little speech in reply, such as young +sucking politicians are expected to make; and this, with sundry other +small courteous murmurings, detained the Lufton party for a minute or +two in the ante-chamber. In the meantime the world was pressing on +and passing through to the four or five large reception-rooms—the +noble suite, which was already piercing poor Mrs. Proudie’s heart +with envy to the very core. “These are the sort of rooms,” she said +to herself unconsciously, “which ought to be provided by the country +for the use of its bishops.”</p> + +<p>“But the people are not brought enough together,” she said to her +lord.</p> + +<p>“No, no; I don’t think they are,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“And that is so essential for a conversazione,” continued Mrs. +Proudie. “Now in Gloucester <span class="nowrap">Place—.”</span> But +we will not record all her +adverse criticisms, as Lady Lufton is waiting for us in the +ante-room.</p> + +<p>And now another arrival of moment had taken place;—an arrival indeed +of very great moment. To tell the truth, Miss Dunstable’s heart had +been set upon having two special persons; and though no stone had +been left unturned,—no stone which could be turned with +discretion,—she was still left in doubt as to both these two +wondrous potentates. At the very moment of which we are now speaking, +light and airy as she appeared to be—for it was her character to be +light and airy—her mind was torn with doubts. If the wished-for two +would come, her evening would be thoroughly successful; but if not, +all her trouble would have been thrown away, and the thing would have +been a failure; and there were circumstances connected with the +present assembly which made Miss Dunstable very anxious that she +should not fail. That the two great ones of the earth were Tom Towers +of the <i>Jupiter</i>, and the Duke of Omnium, need hardly be expressed in +words.</p> + +<p>And now, at this very moment, as Lady Lufton was making her civil +speeches to young Gresham, apparently in no hurry to move on, and +while Miss Dunstable was endeavouring to whisper something into the +doctor’s ear, which would make him feel himself at home in this new +world, a sound was heard which made that lady know that half her wish +had at any rate been granted to her. A sound was heard—but only by +her own and one other attentive pair of ears. Mrs. Harold Smith had +also caught the name, and knew that the duke was approaching.</p> + +<p>There was great glory and triumph in this; but why had his grace come +at so unchancy a moment? Miss Dunstable had been fully aware of the +impropriety of bringing Lady Lufton and the Duke of Omnium into the +same house at the same time; but when she had asked Lady Lufton, she +had been led to believe that there was no hope of obtaining the duke; +and then, when that hope had dawned upon her, she had comforted +herself with the reflection that the two suns, though they might for +some few minutes be in the same hemisphere, could hardly be expected +to clash, or come across each other’s orbits. Her rooms were large +and would be crowded; the duke would probably do little more than +walk through them once, and Lady Lufton would certainly be surrounded +by persons of her own class. Thus Miss Dunstable had comforted +herself. But now all things were going wrong, and Lady Lufton would +find herself in close contiguity to the nearest representative of +Satanic agency, which, according to her ideas, was allowed to walk +this nether English world of ours. Would she scream? or indignantly +retreat out of the house?—or would she proudly raise her head, and +with outstretched hand and audible voice, boldly defy the devil and +all his works? In thinking of these things as the duke approached +Miss Dunstable almost lost her presence of mind.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Harold Smith did not lose hers. “So here at last is the +duke,” she said, in a tone intended to catch the express attention of +Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Smith had calculated that there might still be time for her +ladyship to pass on and avoid the interview. But Lady Lufton, if she +heard the words, did not completely understand them. At any rate they +did not convey to her mind at the moment the meaning they were +intended to convey. She paused to whisper a last little speech to +Frank Gresham, and then looking round, found that the gentleman who +was pressing against her dress was—the Duke of Omnium!</p> + +<p>On this great occasion, when the misfortune could no longer be +avoided, Miss Dunstable was by no means beneath herself or her +character. She deplored the calamity, but she now saw that it was +only left to her to make the best of it. The duke had honoured her by +coming to her house, and she was bound to welcome him, though in +doing so she should bring Lady Lufton to her last gasp.</p> + +<p>“Duke,” she said, “I am greatly honoured by this kindness on the part +of your grace. I hardly expected that you would be so good to me.”</p> + +<p>“The goodness is all on the other side,” said the duke, bowing over +her hand.</p> + +<p>And then in the usual course of things this would have been all. The +duke would have walked on and shown himself, would have said a word +or two to Lady Hartletop, to the bishop, to Mr. Gresham, and such +like, and would then have left the rooms by another way, and quietly +escaped. This was the duty expected from him, and this he would have +done, and the value of the party would have been increased thirty per +cent. by such doing; but now, as it was, the news-mongers of the West +End were likely to get much more out of him.</p> + +<p>Circumstances had so turned out that he had absolutely been pressed +close against Lady Lufton, and she, when she heard the voice, and was +made positively acquainted with the fact of the great man’s presence +by Miss Dunstable’s words, turned round quickly, but still with much +feminine dignity, removing her dress from the contact. In doing this +she was brought absolutely face to face with the duke, so that each +could not but look full at the other. “I beg your pardon,” said the +duke. They were the only words that had ever passed between them, nor +have they spoken to each other since; but simple as they were, +accompanied by the little by-play of the speakers, they gave rise to +a considerable amount of ferment in the fashionable world. Lady +Lufton, as she retreated back on to Dr. Easyman, curtseyed low; she +curtseyed low and slowly, and with a haughty arrangement of her +drapery that was all her own; but the curtsey, though it was +eloquent, did not say half so much,—did not reprobate the habitual +iniquities of the duke with a voice nearly as potent as that which +was expressed in the gradual fall of her eye and the gradual pressure +of her lips. When she commenced her curtsey she was looking full in +her foe’s face. By the time that she had completed it her eyes were +turned upon the ground, but there was an ineffable amount of scorn +expressed in the lines of her mouth. She spoke no word, and +retreated, as modest virtue and feminine weakness must ever retreat, +before barefaced vice and virile power; but nevertheless she was held +by all the world to have had the best of the encounter. The duke, as +he begged her pardon, wore in his countenance that expression of +modified sorrow which is common to any gentleman who is supposed by +himself to have incommoded a lady. But over and above this,—or +rather under it,—there was a slight smile of derision, as though it +were impossible for him to look upon the bearing of Lady Lufton +without some amount of ridicule. All this was legible to eyes so keen +as those of Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Harold Smith, and the duke was +known to be a master of this silent inward sarcasm; but even by +them,—by Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Harold Smith,—it was admitted that +Lady Lufton had conquered. When her ladyship again looked up, the +duke had passed on; she then resumed the care of Miss Grantly’s hand, +and followed in among the company.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill04"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill04.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill04-t.jpg" height="500" alt="Lady Lufton and the Duke of Omnium."></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Lady + Lufton and the Duke of Omnium.</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill04.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“That is what I call unfortunate,” said Miss Dunstable, as soon as +both belligerents had departed from the field of battle. “The fates +sometimes will be against one.”</p> + +<p>“But they have not been at all against you here,” said Mrs. Harold +Smith. “If you could arrive at her ladyship’s private thoughts +to-morrow morning, you would find her to be quite happy in having met +the duke. It will be years before she has done boasting of her +triumph, and it will be talked of by the young ladies of Framley for +the next three generations.”</p> + +<p>The Gresham party, including Dr. Thorne, had remained in the +ante-chamber during the battle. The whole combat did not occupy above +two minutes, and the three of them were hemmed off from escape by +Lady Lufton’s retreat into Dr. Easyman’s lap; but now they, too, +essayed to pass on.</p> + +<p>“What, you will desert me,” said Miss Dunstable. “Very well; but I +shall find you out by-and-by. Frank, there is to be some dancing in +one of the rooms,—just to distinguish the affair from Mrs. Proudie’s +conversazione. It would be stupid, you know, if all conversaziones +were alike; wouldn’t it? So I hope you will go and dance.”</p> + +<p>“There will, I presume, be another variation at feeding time,” said +Mrs. Harold Smith.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; certainly; I am the most vulgar of all wretches in that +respect. I do love to set people eating and drinking.—Mr. +Supplehouse, I am delighted to see you; but do tell +<span class="nowrap">me—”</span> and then +she whispered with great energy into the ear of Mr. Supplehouse, and +Mr. Supplehouse again whispered into her ear. “You think he will, +then?” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Supplehouse assented; he did think so; but he had no warrant for +stating the circumstance as a fact. And then he passed on, hardly +looking at Mrs. Harold Smith as he passed.</p> + +<p>“What a hang-dog countenance he has,” said that lady.</p> + +<p>“Ah! you’re prejudiced, my dear, and no wonder; as for myself I +always liked Supplehouse. He means mischief; but then mischief is his +trade, and he does not conceal it. If I were a politician I should as +soon think of being angry with Mr. Supplehouse for turning against me +as I am now with a pin for pricking me. It’s my own awkwardness, and +I ought to have known how to use the pin more craftily.”</p> + +<p>“But you must detest a man who professes to stand by his party, and +then does his best to ruin it.”</p> + +<p>“So many have done that, my dear; and with much more success than Mr. +Supplehouse! All is fair in love and war,—why not add politics to +the list? If we could only agree to do that, it would save us from +such a deal of heartburning, and would make none of us a bit the +worse.”</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable’s rooms, large as they were—“a noble suite of rooms +certainly, though perhaps a little too—too—too scattered, we will +say, eh, bishop?”—were now nearly full, and would have been +inconveniently crowded, were it not that many who came only remained +for half-an-hour or so. Space, however, had been kept for the +dancers—much to Mrs. Proudie’s consternation. Not that she +disapproved of dancing in London, as a rule; but she was indignant +that the laws of a conversazione, as re-established by herself in the +fashionable world, should be so violently infringed.</p> + +<p>“Conversaziones will come to mean nothing,” she said to the bishop, +putting great stress on the latter word, “nothing at all, if they are +to be treated in this way.”</p> + +<p>“No, they won’t; nothing in the least,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“Dancing may be very well in its place,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“I have never objected to it myself; that is, for the laity,” said +the bishop.</p> + +<p>“But when people profess to assemble for higher objects,” said Mrs. +Proudie, “they ought to act up to their professions.”</p> + +<p>“Otherwise they are no better than hypocrites,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“A spade should be called a spade,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“Decidedly,” said the bishop, assenting.</p> + +<p>“And when I undertook the trouble and expense of introducing +conversaziones,” continued Mrs. Proudie, with an evident feeling that +she had been ill-used, “I had no idea of seeing the word so—so—so +misinterpreted;” and then observing certain desirable acquaintances +at the other side of the room, she went across, leaving the bishop to +fend for himself.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton, having achieved her success, passed on to the dancing, +whither it was not probable that her enemy would follow her, and she +had not been there very long before she was joined by her son. Her +heart at the present moment was not quite satisfied at the state of +affairs with reference to Griselda. She had gone so far as to tell +her young friend what were her own wishes; she had declared her +desire that Griselda should become her daughter-in-law; but in answer +to this Griselda herself had declared nothing. It was, to be sure, no +more than natural that a young lady so well brought up as Miss +Grantly should show no signs of a passion till she was warranted in +showing them by the proceedings of the gentleman; but notwithstanding +this—fully aware as she was of the propriety of such reticence—Lady +Lufton did think that to her Griselda might have spoken some word +evincing that the alliance would be satisfactory to her. Griselda, +however, had spoken no such word, nor had she uttered a syllable to +show that she would accept Lord Lufton if he did offer. Then again +she had uttered no syllable to show that she would not accept him; +but, nevertheless, although she knew that the world had been talking +about her and Lord Dumbello, she stood up to dance with the future +marquess on every possible occasion. All this did give annoyance to +Lady Lufton, who began to bethink herself that if she could not +quickly bring her little plan to a favourable issue, it might be well +for her to wash her hands of it. She was still anxious for the match +on her son’s account. Griselda would, she did not doubt, make a good +wife; but Lady Lufton was not so sure as she once had been that she +herself would be able to keep up so strong a feeling for her +daughter-in-law as she had hitherto hoped to do.</p> + +<p>“Ludovic, have you been here long?” she said, smiling as she always +did smile when her eyes fell upon her son’s face.</p> + +<p>“This instant arrived; and I hurried on after you, as Miss Dunstable +told me that you were here. What a crowd she has! Did you see Lord +Brock?”</p> + +<p>“I did not observe him.”</p> + +<p>“Or Lord De Terrier? I saw them both in the centre room.”</p> + +<p>“Lord De Terrier did me the honour of shaking hands with me as I +passed through.”</p> + +<p>“I never saw such a mixture of people. There is Mrs. Proudie going +out of her mind because you are all going to dance.”</p> + +<p>“The Miss Proudies dance,” said Griselda Grantly.</p> + +<p>“But not at conversaziones. You don’t see the difference. And I saw +Spermoil there, looking as pleased as Punch. He had quite a circle of +his own round him, and was chattering away as though he were quite +accustomed to the wickednesses of the world.”</p> + +<p>“There certainly are people here whom one would not have wished to +meet, had one thought of it,” said Lady Lufton, mindful of her late +engagement.</p> + +<p>“But it must be all right, for I walked up the stairs with the +archdeacon. That is an absolute proof, is it not, Miss Grantly?”</p> + +<p>“I have no fears. When I am with your mother I know I must be safe.”</p> + +<p>“I am not so sure of that,” said Lord Lufton, laughing. “Mother, you +hardly know the worst of it yet. Who is here, do you think?”</p> + +<p>“I know whom you mean; I have seen him,” said Lady Lufton, very +quietly.</p> + +<p>“We came across him just at the top of the stairs,” said Griselda, +with more animation in her face than ever Lord Lufton had seen there +before.</p> + +<p>“What; the duke?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the duke,” said Lady Lufton. “I certainly should not have come +had I expected to be brought in contact with that man. But it was an +accident, and on such an occasion as this it could not be helped.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton at once perceived, by the tone of his mother’s voice and +by the shades of her countenance that she had absolutely endured some +personal encounter with the duke, and also that she was by no means +so indignant at the occurrence as might have been expected. There she +was, still in Miss Dunstable’s house, and expressing no anger as to +Miss Dunstable’s conduct. Lord Lufton could hardly have been more +surprised had he seen the duke handing his mother down to supper; he +said, however, nothing further on the subject.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to dance, Ludovic?” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am not sure that I do not agree with Mrs. Proudie in +thinking that dancing would contaminate a conversazione. What are +your ideas, Miss Grantly?”</p> + +<p>Griselda was never very good at a joke, and imagined that Lord Lufton +wanted to escape the trouble of dancing with her. This angered her. +For the only species of love-making, or flirtation, or sociability +between herself as a young lady, and any other self as a young +gentleman, which recommended itself to her taste, was to be found in +the amusement of dancing. She was altogether at variance with Mrs. +Proudie on this matter, and gave Miss Dunstable great credit for her +innovation. In society Griselda’s toes were more serviceable to her +than her tongue, and she was to be won by a rapid twirl much more +probably than by a soft word. The offer of which she would approve +would be conveyed by two all but breathless words during a spasmodic +pause in a waltz; and then as she lifted up her arm to receive the +accustomed support at her back, she might just find power enough to +say, “You—must ask—papa.” After that she would not care to have the +affair mentioned till everything was properly settled.</p> + +<p>“I have not thought about it,” said Griselda, turning her face away +from Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>It must not, however, be supposed that Miss Grantly had not thought +about Lord Lufton, or that she had not considered how great might be +the advantage of having Lady Lufton on her side if she made up her +mind that she did wish to become Lord Lufton’s wife. She knew well +that now was her time for a triumph, now in this very first season of +her acknowledged beauty; and she knew also that young, good-looking +bachelor lords do not grow on hedges like blackberries. Had Lord +Lufton offered to her, she would have accepted him at once without +any remorse as to the greater glories which might appertain to a +future Marchioness of Hartletop. In that direction she was not +without sufficient wisdom. But then Lord Lufton had not offered to +her, nor given any signs that he intended to do so; and to give +Griselda Grantly her due, she was not a girl to make a first +overture. Neither had Lord Dumbello offered; but he had given +signs,—dumb signs, such as birds give to each other, quite as +intelligible as verbal signs to a girl who preferred the use of her +toes to that of her tongue.</p> + +<p>“I have not thought about it,” said Griselda, very coldly, and at +that moment a gentleman stood before her and asked her hand for the +next dance. It was Lord Dumbello; and Griselda, making no reply +except by a slight bow, got up and put her hand within her partner’s +arm.</p> + +<p>“Shall I find you here, Lady Lufton, when we have done?” she said; +and then started off among the dancers. When the work before one is +dancing the proper thing for a gentleman to do is, at any rate, to +ask a lady; this proper thing Lord Lufton had omitted, and now the +prize was taken away from under his very nose.</p> + +<p>There was clearly an air of triumph about Lord Dumbello as he walked +away with the beauty. The world had been saying that Lord Lufton was +to marry her, and the world had also been saying that Lord Dumbello +admired her. Now this had angered Lord Dumbello, and made him feel as +though he walked about, a mark of scorn, as a disappointed suitor. +Had it not been for Lord Lufton, perhaps he would not have cared so +much for Griselda Grantly; but circumstances had so turned out that +he did care for her, and felt it to be incumbent upon him as the heir +to a marquisate to obtain what he wanted, let who would have a +hankering after the same article. It is in this way that pictures are +so well sold at auctions; and Lord Dumbello regarded Miss Grantly as +being now subject to the auctioneer’s hammer, and conceived that Lord +Lufton was bidding against him. There was, therefore, an air of +triumph about him as he put his arm round Griselda’s waist and +whirled her up and down the room in obedience to the music.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton and her son were left together looking at each other. Of +course he had intended to ask Griselda to dance, but it cannot be +said that he very much regretted his disappointment. Of course also +Lady Lufton had expected that her son and Griselda would stand up +together, and she was a little inclined to be angry with her +<i>protégée</i>.</p> + +<p>“I think she might have waited a minute,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“But why, mother? There are certain things for which no one ever +waits: to give a friend, for instance, the first passage through a +gate out hunting, and such like. Miss Grantly was quite right to take +the first that offered.”</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton had determined to learn what was to be the end of this +scheme of hers. She could not have Griselda always with her, and if +anything were to be arranged it must be arranged now, while both of +them were in London. At the close of the season Griselda would return +to Plumstead, and Lord Lufton would go—nobody as yet knew where. It +would be useless to look forward to further opportunities. If they +did not contrive to love each other now, they would never do so. Lady +Lufton was beginning to fear that her plan would not work, but she +made up her mind that she would learn the truth then and there,—at +least as far as her son was concerned.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; quite so;—if it is equal to her with which she dances,” +said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Quite equal, I should think—unless it be that Dumbello is +longer-winded than I am.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hear you speak of her in that way, Ludovic.”</p> + +<p>“Why sorry, mother?”</p> + +<p>“Because I had hoped—that you and she would have liked each other.” +This she said in a serious tone of voice, tender and sad, looking up +into his face with a plaintive gaze, as though she knew that she were +asking of him some great favour.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother, I have known that you have wished that.”</p> + +<p>“You have known it, Ludovic!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, yes; you are not at all sharp at keeping your secrets from +me. And, mother, at one time, for a day or so, I thought that I could +oblige you. You have been so good to me, that I would almost do +anything for you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, deprecating his praise, and the sacrifice +which he seemed to offer of his own hopes and aspirations. “I would +not for worlds have you do so for my sake. No mother ever had a +better son, and my only ambition is for your happiness.”</p> + +<p>“But, mother, she would not make me happy. I was mad enough for a +moment to think that she could do so—for a moment I did think so. +There was one occasion on which I would have asked her to take me, +<span class="nowrap">but—”</span></p> + +<p>“But what, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind; it passed away; and now I shall never ask her. Indeed I +do not think she would have me. She is ambitious, and flying at +higher game than I am. And I must say this for her, that she knows +well what she is doing, and plays her cards as though she had been +born with them in her hand.”</p> + +<p>“You will never ask her?”</p> + +<p>“No, mother; had I done so, it would have been for love of you—only +for love of you.”</p> + +<p>“I would not for worlds that you should do that.”</p> + +<p>“Let her have Dumbello; she will make an excellent wife for him, just +the wife that he will want. And you, you will have been so good to +her in assisting her to such a matter.”</p> + +<p>“But, Ludovic, I am so anxious to see you settled.”</p> + +<p>“All in good time, mother!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but the good time is passing away. Years run so very quickly. I +hope you think about marrying, Ludovic.”</p> + +<p>“But, mother, what if I brought you a wife that you did not approve?”</p> + +<p>“I will approve of any one that you love; that +<span class="nowrap">is—”</span></p> + +<p>“That is, if you love her also; eh, mother?”</p> + +<p>“But I rely with such confidence on your taste. I know that you can +like no one that is not lady-like and good.”</p> + +<p>“Lady-like and good! Will that suffice?” said he, thinking of Lucy +Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Yes; it will suffice, if you love her. I don’t want you to care for +money. Griselda will have a fortune that would have been convenient; +but I do not wish you to care for that.” And thus, as they stood +together in Miss Dunstable’s crowded room, the mother and son settled +between themselves that the Lufton-Grantly alliance treaty was not to +be ratified. “I suppose I must let Mrs. Grantly know,” said Lady +Lufton to herself, as Griselda returned to her side. There had not +been above a dozen words spoken between Lord Dumbello and his +partner, but that young lady also had now fully made up her mind that +the treaty above mentioned should never be brought into operation.</p> + +<p>We must go back to our hostess, whom we should not have left for so +long a time, seeing that this chapter is written to show how well she +could conduct herself in great emergencies. She had declared that +after awhile she would be able to leave her position near the +entrance door, and find out her own peculiar friends among the crowd; +but the opportunity for doing so did not come till very late in the +evening. There was a continuation of arrivals; she was wearied to +death with making little speeches, and had more than once declared +that she must depute Mrs. Harold Smith to take her place.</p> + +<p>That lady stuck to her through all her labours with admirable +constancy, and made the work bearable. Without some such constancy on +a friend’s part, it would have been unbearable. And it must be +acknowledged that this was much to the credit of Mrs. Harold Smith. +Her own hopes with reference to the great heiress had all been +shattered, and her answer had been given to her in very plain +language. But, nevertheless, she was true to her friendship, and was +almost as willing to endure fatigue on the occasion as though she had +a sister-in-law’s right in the house.</p> + +<p>At about one o’clock her brother came. He had not yet seen Miss +Dunstable since the offer had been made, and had now with difficulty +been persuaded by his sister to show himself.</p> + +<p>“What can be the use?” said he. “The game is up with me +now;”—meaning, poor, ruined ne’er-do-well, not only that that game +with Miss Dunstable was up, but that the great game of his whole life +was being brought to an uncomfortable termination.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said his sister. “Do you mean to despair because a man +like the Duke of Omnium wants his money? What has been good security +for him will be good security for another;” and then Mrs. Harold +Smith made herself more agreeable than ever to Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>When Miss Dunstable was nearly worn out, but was still endeavouring +to buoy herself up by a hope of the still-expected great arrival—for +she knew that the hero would show himself only at a very late hour if +it were to be her good fortune that he showed himself at all—Mr. +Sowerby walked up the stairs. He had schooled himself to go through +this ordeal with all the cool effrontery which was at his command; +but it was clearly to be seen that all his effrontery did not stand +him in sufficient stead, and that the interview would have been +embarrassing had it not been for the genuine good-humour of the lady.</p> + +<p>“Here is my brother,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, showing by the +tremulousness of the whisper that she looked forward to the meeting +with some amount of apprehension.</p> + +<p>“How do you do, Mr. Sowerby?” said Miss Dunstable, walking almost +into the doorway to welcome him. “Better late than never.”</p> + +<p>“I have only just got away from the House,” said he, as he gave her +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know well that you are <i>sans reproche</i> among senators;—as Mr. +Harold Smith is <i>sans peur</i>;—eh, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“I must confess that you have contrived to be uncommonly severe upon +them both,” said Mrs. Harold, laughing; “and as regards poor Harold, +most undeservedly so: Nathaniel is here, and may defend himself.”</p> + +<p>“And no one is better able to do so on all occasions. But, my dear +Mr. Sowerby, I am dying of despair. Do you think he’ll come?”</p> + +<p>“He? who?”</p> + +<p>“You stupid man—as if there were more than one he! There were two, +but the other has been.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, I don’t understand,” said Mr. Sowerby, now again at +his ease. “But can I do anything? shall I go and fetch any one? Oh, +Tom Towers! I fear I can’t help you. But here he is at the foot of +the stairs!” And then Mr. Sowerby stood back with his sister to make +way for the great representative man of the age.</p> + +<p>“Angels and ministers of grace, assist me!” said Miss Dunstable. “How +on earth am I to behave myself? Mr. Sowerby, do you think that I +ought to kneel down? My dear, will he have a reporter at his back in +the royal livery?” And then Miss Dunstable advanced two or three +steps—not into the doorway, as she had done for Mr. Sowerby—put out +her hand, and smiled her sweetest on Mr. Towers, of the <i>Jupiter</i>.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Towers,” she said, “I am delighted to have this opportunity of +seeing you in my own house.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Dunstable, I am immensely honoured by the privilege of being +here,” said he.</p> + +<p>“The honour done is all conferred on me,” and she bowed and curtseyed +with very stately grace. Each thoroughly understood the badinage of +the other; and then, in a few moments, they were engaged in very easy +conversation.</p> + +<p>“By-the-by, Sowerby, what do you think of this threatened +dissolution?” said Tom Towers.</p> + +<p>“We are all in the hands of Providence,” said Mr. Sowerby, striving +to take the matter without any outward show of emotion. But the +question was one of terrible import to him, and up to this time he +had heard of no such threat. Nor had Mrs. Harold Smith, nor Miss +Dunstable, nor had a hundred others who now either listened to the +vaticinations of Mr. Towers, or to the immediate report made of them. +But it is given to some men to originate such tidings, and the +performance of the prophecy is often brought about by the authority +of the prophet. On the following morning the rumour that there would +be a dissolution was current in all high circles. “They have no +conscience in such matters; no conscience whatever,” said a small +god, speaking of the giants,—a small god, whose constituency was +expensive.</p> + +<p>Mr. Towers stood there chatting for about twenty minutes, and then +took his departure without making his way into the room. He had +answered the purpose for which he had been invited, and left Miss +Dunstable in a happy frame of mind.</p> + +<p>“I am very glad that he came,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, with an air of +triumph.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am glad,” said Miss Dunstable, “though I am thoroughly +ashamed that I should be so. After all, what good has he done to me +or to any one?” And having uttered this moral reflection, she made +her way into the rooms, and soon discovered Dr. Thorne standing by +himself against the wall.</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor,” she said, “where are Mary and Frank? You do not look +at all comfortable, standing here by yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I am quite as comfortable as I expected, thank you,” said he. “They +are in the room somewhere, and, as I believe, equally happy.”</p> + +<p>“That’s spiteful in you, doctor, to speak in that way. What would you +say if you were called on to endure all that I have gone through this +evening?”</p> + +<p>“There is no accounting for tastes, but I presume you like it.”</p> + +<p>“I am not so sure of that. Give me your arm, and let me get some +supper. One always likes the idea of having done hard work, and one +always likes to have been successful.”</p> + +<p>“We all know that virtue is its own reward,” said the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Well, that is something hard upon me,” said Miss Dunstable, as she +sat down to table. “And you really think that no good of any sort can +come from my giving such a party as this?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; some people, no doubt, have been amused.”</p> + +<p>“It is all vanity in your estimation,” said Miss Dunstable; “vanity +and vexation of spirit. Well; there is a good deal of the latter, +certainly. Sherry, if you please. I would give anything for a glass +of beer, but that is out of the question. Vanity and vexation of +spirit! And yet I meant to do good.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, do not suppose that I am condemning you, Miss Dunstable.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I do suppose it. Not only you, but another also, whose +judgment I care for perhaps more than yours; and that, let me tell +you, is saying a great deal. You do condemn me, Dr. Thorne, and I +also condemn myself. It is not that I have done wrong, but the game +is not worth the candle.”</p> + +<p>“Ah; that’s the question.”</p> + +<p>“The game is not worth the candle. And yet it was a triumph to have +both the duke and Tom Towers. You must confess that I have not +managed badly.”</p> + +<p>Soon after that the Greshams went away, and in an hour’s time or so, +Miss Dunstable was allowed to drag herself to her own bed.</p> + +<p>That is the great question to be asked on all such occasions, “Is the +game worth the candle?”</p> + + +<p><a id="c30"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2></div> +<h3>THE GRANTLY TRIUMPH.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It has been mentioned cursorily—the reader, no doubt, will have +forgotten it—that Mrs. Grantly was not specially invited by her +husband to go up to town with a view of being present at Miss +Dunstable’s party. Mrs. Grantly said nothing on the subject, but she +was somewhat chagrined; not on account of the loss she sustained with +reference to that celebrated assembly, but because she felt that her +daughter’s affairs required the supervision of a mother’s eye. She +also doubted the final ratification of that Lufton-Grantly treaty, +and, doubting it, she did not feel quite satisfied that her daughter +should be left in Lady Lufton’s hands. She had said a word or two to +the archdeacon before he went up, but only a word or two, for she +hesitated to trust him in so delicate a matter. She was, therefore, +not a little surprised at receiving, on the second morning after her +husband’s departure, a letter from him desiring her immediate +presence in London. She was surprised; but her heart was filled +rather with hope than dismay, for she had full confidence in her +daughter’s discretion.</p> + +<p>On the morning after the party, Lady Lufton and Griselda had +breakfasted together as usual, but each felt that the manner of the +other was altered. Lady Lufton thought that her young friend was +somewhat less attentive, and perhaps less meek in her demeanour, than +usual; and Griselda felt that Lady Lufton was less affectionate. Very +little, however, was said between them, and Lady Lufton expressed no +surprise when Griselda begged to be left alone at home, instead of +accompanying her ladyship when the carriage came to the door.</p> + +<p>Nobody called in Bruton Street that afternoon—no one, at least, was +let in—except the archdeacon. He came there late in the day, and +remained with his daughter till Lady Lufton returned. Then he took +his leave, with more abruptness than was usual with him, and without +saying anything special to account for the duration of his visit. +Neither did Griselda say anything special; and so the evening wore +away, each feeling in some unconscious manner that she was on less +intimate terms with the other than had previously been the case.</p> + +<p>On the next day also Griselda would not go out, but at four o’clock a +servant brought a letter to her from Mount Street. Her mother had +arrived in London and wished to see her at once. Mrs. Grantly sent +her love to Lady Lufton, and would call at half-past five, or at any +later hour at which it might be convenient for Lady Lufton to see +her. Griselda was to stay and dine in Mount Street; so said the +letter. Lady Lufton declared that she would be very happy to see Mrs. +Grantly at the hour named; and then, armed with this message, +Griselda started for her mother’s lodgings.</p> + +<p>“I’ll send the carriage for you,” said Lady Lufton. “I suppose about +ten will do.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Griselda, “that will do very nicely;” and then she +went.</p> + +<p>Exactly at half-past five Mrs. Grantly was shown into Lady Lufton’s +drawing-room. Her daughter did not come with her, and Lady Lufton +could see by the expression of her friend’s face that business was to +be discussed. Indeed, it was necessary that she herself should +discuss business, for Mrs. Grantly must now be told that the family +treaty could not be ratified. The gentleman declined the alliance, +and poor Lady Lufton was uneasy in her mind at the nature of the task +before her.</p> + +<p>“Your coming up has been rather unexpected,” said Lady Lufton, as +soon as her friend was seated on the sofa.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed; I got a letter from the archdeacon only this morning, +which made it absolutely necessary that I should come.”</p> + +<p>“No bad news, I hope?” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“No; I can’t call it bad news. But, dear Lady Lufton, things won’t +always turn out exactly as one would have them.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed,” said her ladyship, remembering that it was incumbent on +her to explain to Mrs. Grantly now at this present interview the +tidings with which her mind was fraught. She would, however, let Mrs. +Grantly first tell her own story, feeling, perhaps, that the one +might possibly bear upon the other.</p> + +<p>“Poor dear Griselda!” said Mrs. Grantly, almost with a sigh. “I need +not tell you, Lady Lufton, what my hopes were regarding her.”</p> + +<p>“Has she told you anything—anything that—”</p> + +<p>“She would have spoken to you at once—and it was due to you that she +should have done so—but she was timid; and not unnaturally so. And +then it was right that she should see her father and me before she +quite made up her own mind. But I may say that it is settled now.”</p> + +<p>“What is settled?” asked Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is impossible for any one to tell beforehand how these +things will turn out,” continued Mrs. Grantly, beating about the bush +rather more than was necessary. “The dearest wish of my heart was to +see her married to Lord Lufton. I should so much have wished to have +her in the same county with me, and such a match as that would have +fully satisfied my ambition.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should rather think it might!” Lady Lufton did not say this +out loud, but she thought it. Mrs. Grantly was absolutely speaking of +a match between her daughter and Lord Lufton as though she would have +displayed some amount of Christian moderation in putting up with it! +Griselda Grantly might be a very nice girl; but even she—so thought +Lady Lufton at the moment—might possibly be priced too highly.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mrs. Grantly,” she said, “I have foreseen for the last few days +that our mutual hopes in this respect would not be gratified. Lord +Lufton, I think;—but perhaps it is not necessary to +<span class="nowrap">explain—</span> Had +you not come up to town I should have written to you,—probably +to-day. Whatever may be dear Griselda’s fate in life, I sincerely +hope that she may be happy.”</p> + +<p>“I think she will,” said Mrs. Grantly, in a tone that expressed much +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Has—has anything—”</p> + +<p>“Lord Dumbello proposed to Griselda the other night, at Miss +Dunstable’s party,” said Mrs. Grantly, with her eyes fixed upon the +floor, and assuming on the sudden much meekness in her manner; “and +his lordship was with the archdeacon yesterday, and again this +morning. I fancy he is in Mount Street at the present moment.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed!” said Lady Lufton. She would have given worlds to have +possessed at the moment sufficient self-command to have enabled her +to express in her tone and manner unqualified satisfaction at the +tidings. But she had not such self-command, and was painfully aware +of her own deficiency.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Grantly. “And as it is all so far settled, and as I +know you are so kindly anxious about dear Griselda, I thought it +right to let you know at once. Nothing can be more upright, +honourable, and generous, than Lord Dumbello’s conduct; and, on the +whole, the match is one with which I and the archdeacon cannot but be +contented.”</p> + +<p>“It is certainly a great match,” said Lady Lufton. “Have you seen +Lady Hartletop yet?”</p> + +<p>Now Lady Hartletop could not be regarded as an agreeable connection, +but this was the only word which escaped from Lady Lufton that could +be considered in any way disparaging, and, on the whole, I think that +she behaved well.</p> + +<p>“Lord Dumbello is so completely his own master that that has not been +necessary,” said Mrs. Grantly. “The marquis has been told, and the +archdeacon will see him either to-morrow or the day after.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing left for Lady Lufton but to congratulate her +friend, and this she did in words perhaps not very sincere, but +which, on the whole, were not badly chosen.</p> + +<p>“I am sure I hope she will be very happy,” said Lady Lufton, “and I +trust that the alliance”—the word was very agreeable to Mrs. +Grantly’s ear—“will give unalloyed gratification to you and to her +father. The position which she is called to fill is a very splendid +one, but I do not think that it is above her merits.”</p> + +<p>This was very generous, and so Mrs. Grantly felt it. She had expected +that her news would be received with the coldest shade of civility, +and she was quite prepared to do battle if there were occasion. But +she had no wish for war, and was almost grateful to Lady Lufton for +her cordiality.</p> + +<p>“Dear Lady Lufton,” she said, “it is so kind of you to say so. I have +told no one else, and of course would tell no one till you knew it. +No one has known her and understood her so well as you have done. And +I can assure you of this: that there is no one to whose friendship +she looks forward in her new sphere of life with half so much +pleasure as she does to yours.”</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton did not say much further. She could not declare that she +expected much gratification from an intimacy with the future +Marchioness of Hartletop. The Hartletops and Luftons must, at any +rate for her generation, live in a world apart, and she had now said +all that her old friendship with Mrs. Grantly required. Mrs. Grantly +understood all this quite as well as did Lady Lufton; but then Mrs. +Grantly was much the better woman of the world.</p> + +<p>It was arranged that Griselda should come back to Bruton Street for +that night, and that her visit should then be brought to a close.</p> + +<p>“The archdeacon thinks that for the present I had better remain up in +town,” said Mrs. Grantly, “and under the very peculiar circumstances +Griselda will be—perhaps more comfortable with me.”</p> + +<p>To this Lady Lufton entirely agreed; and so they parted, excellent +friends, embracing each other in a most affectionate manner.</p> + +<p>That evening Griselda did return to Bruton Street, and Lady Lufton +had to go through the further task of congratulating her. This was +the more disagreeable of the two, especially so as it had to be +thought over beforehand. But the young lady’s excellent good sense +and sterling qualities made the task comparatively an easy one. She +neither cried, nor was impassioned, nor went into hysterics, nor +showed any emotion. She did not even talk of her noble Dumbello—her +generous Dumbello. She took Lady Lufton’s kisses almost in silence, +thanked her gently for her kindness, and made no allusion to her own +future grandeur.</p> + +<p>“I think I should like to go to bed early,” she said, “as I must see +to my packing up.”</p> + +<p>“Richards will do all that for you, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, thank you, nothing can be kinder than Richards. But I’ll +just see to my own dresses.” And so she went to bed early.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton did not see her son for the next two days, but when she +did, of course she said a word or two about Griselda.</p> + +<p>“You have heard the news, Ludovic?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes: it’s at all the clubs. I have been overwhelmed with +presents of willow branches.”</p> + +<p>“You, at any rate, have got nothing to regret,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Nor you either, mother. I am sure that you do not think you have. +Say that you do not regret it. Dearest mother, say so for my sake. Do +you not know in your heart of hearts that she was not suited to be +happy as my wife,—or to make me happy?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” said Lady Lufton, sighing. And then she kissed her +son, and declared to herself that no girl in England could be good +enough for him.</p> + + +<p><a id="c31"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2></div> +<h3>SALMON FISHING IN NORWAY.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Lord Dumbello’s engagement with Griselda Grantly was the talk of the +town for the next ten days. It formed, at least, one of two subjects +which monopolized attention, the other being that dreadful rumour, +first put in motion by Tom Towers at Miss Dunstable’s party, as to a +threatened dissolution of Parliament.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, after all, it will be the best thing for us,” said Mr. +Green Walker, who felt himself to be tolerably safe at Crewe +Junction.</p> + +<p>“I regard it as a most wicked attempt,” said Harold Smith, who was +not equally secure in his own borough, and to whom the expense of an +election was disagreeable. “It is done in order that they may get +time to tide over the autumn. They won’t gain ten votes by a +dissolution, and less than forty would hardly give them a majority. +But they have no sense of public duty—none whatever. Indeed, I don’t +know who has.”</p> + +<p>“No, by Jove; that’s just it. That’s what my aunt Lady Hartletop +says; there is no sense of duty left in the world. By-the-by, what an +uncommon fool Dumbello is making himself!” And then the conversation +went off to that other topic.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton’s joke against himself about the willow branches was all +very well, and nobody dreamed that his heart was sore in that matter. +The world was laughing at Lord Dumbello for what it chose to call a +foolish match, and Lord Lufton’s friends talked to him about it as +though they had never suspected that he could have made an ass of +himself in the same direction; but, nevertheless, he was not +altogether contented. He by no means wished to marry Griselda; he had +declared to himself a dozen times since he had first suspected his +mother’s manœuvres, that no consideration on earth should induce +him to do so; he had pronounced her to be cold, insipid, and +unattractive in spite of her beauty; and yet he felt almost angry +that Lord Dumbello should have been successful. And this, too, was +the more inexcusable, seeing that he had never forgotten Lucy +Robarts, had never ceased to love her, and that, in holding those +various conversations within his own bosom, he was as loud in Lucy’s +favour as he was in dispraise of Griselda.</p> + +<p>“Your hero, then,” I hear some well-balanced critic say, “is not +worth very much.”</p> + +<p>In the first place Lord Lufton is not my hero; and in the next place, +a man may be very imperfect and yet worth a great deal. A man may be +as imperfect as Lord Lufton, and yet worthy of a good mother and a +good wife. If not, how many of us are unworthy of the mothers and +wives we have! It is my belief that few young men settle themselves +down to the work of the world, to the begetting of children, and +carving and paying and struggling and fretting for the same, without +having first been in love with four or five possible mothers for +them, and probably with two or three at the same time. And yet these +men are, as a rule, worthy of the excellent wives that ultimately +fall to their lot. In this way Lord Lufton had, to a certain extent, +been in love with Griselda. There had been one moment in his life in +which he would have offered her his hand, had not her discretion been +so excellent; and though that moment never returned, still he +suffered from some feeling akin to disappointment when he learned +that Griselda had been won and was to be worn. He was, then, a dog in +the manger, you will say. Well; and are we not all dogs in the +manger, more or less actively? Is not that manger-doggishness one of +the most common phases of the human heart?</p> + +<p>But not the less was Lord Lufton truly in love with Lucy Robarts. Had +he fancied that any Dumbello was carrying on a siege before that +fortress, his vexation would have manifested itself in a very +different manner. He could joke about Griselda Grantly with a frank +face and a happy tone of voice; but had he heard of any tidings of a +similar import with reference to Lucy, he would have been past all +joking, and I much doubt whether it would not even have affected his +appetite.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” he said to Lady Lufton a day or two after the declaration +of Griselda’s engagement, “I am going to Norway to fish.”</p> + +<p>“To Norway,—to fish!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. We’ve got rather a nice party. Clontarf is going, and +<span class="nowrap">Culpepper—”</span></p> + +<p>“What, that horrid man!”</p> + +<p>“He’s an excellent hand at fishing;—and Haddington Peebles, +and—and—there’ll be six of us altogether; and we start this day +week.”</p> + +<p>“That’s rather sudden, Ludovic.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is sudden; but we’re sick of London. I should not care to go +so soon myself, but Clontarf and Culpepper say that the season is +early this year. I must go down to Framley before I start—about my +horses; and therefore I came to tell you that I shall be there +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“At Framley to-morrow! If you could put it off for three days I +should be going myself.”</p> + +<p>But Lord Lufton could not put it off for three days. It may be that +on this occasion he did not wish for his mother’s presence at Framley +while he was there; that he conceived that he should be more at his +ease in giving orders about his stable if he were alone while so +employed. At any rate he declined her company, and on the following +morning did go down to Framley by himself.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” said Mrs. Robarts, hurrying into her husband’s book-room +about the middle of the day, “Lord Lufton is at home. Have you heard +it?”</p> + +<p>“What! here at Framley?”</p> + +<p>“He is over at Framley Court; so the servants say. Carson saw him in +the paddock with some of the horses. Won’t you go and see him?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will,” said Mark, shutting up his papers. “Lady Lufton +can’t be here, and if he is alone he will probably come and dine.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Robarts, thinking of poor Lucy.</p> + +<p>“He is not in the least particular. What does for us will do for him. +I shall ask him, at any rate.” And without further parley the +clergyman took up his hat and went off in search of his friend.</p> + +<p>Lucy Robarts had been present when the gardener brought in tidings of +Lord Lufton’s arrival at Framley, and was aware that Fanny had gone +to tell her husband.</p> + +<p>“He won’t come here, will he?” she said, as soon as Mrs. Robarts +returned.</p> + +<p>“I can’t say,” said Fanny. “I hope not. He ought not to do so, and I +don’t think he will. But Mark says that he will ask him to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Fanny, I must be taken ill. There is nothing else for it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he will come. I don’t think he can be so cruel. +Indeed, I feel sure that he won’t; but I thought it right to tell +you.”</p> + +<p>Lucy also conceived that it was improbable that Lord Lufton should +come to the parsonage under the present circumstances; and she +declared to herself that it would not be possible that she should +appear at table if he did do so; but, nevertheless, the idea of his +being at Framley was, perhaps, not altogether painful to her. She did +not recognize any pleasure as coming to her from his arrival, but +still there was something in his presence which was, unconsciously to +herself, soothing to her feelings. But that terrible question +remained;—how was she to act if it should turn out that he was +coming to dinner?</p> + +<p>“If he does come, Fanny,” she said, solemnly, after a pause, “I must +keep to my own room, and leave Mark to think what he pleases. It will +be better for me to make a fool of myself there, than in his presence +in the drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>Mark Robarts took his hat and stick and went over at once to the home +paddock, in which he knew that Lord Lufton was engaged with the +horses and grooms. He also was in no supremely happy frame of mind, +for his correspondence with Mr. Tozer was on the increase. He had +received notice from that indefatigable gentleman that certain +“overdue bills” were now lying at the bank in Barchester, and were +very desirous of his, Mr. Robarts’s, notice. A concatenation of +certain peculiarly unfortunate circumstances made it indispensably +necessary that Mr. Tozer should be repaid, without further loss of +time, the various sums of money which he had advanced on the credit +of Mr. Robarts’s name, &c. &c. &c. No absolute threat was put forth, +and, singular to say, no actual amount was named. Mr. Robarts, +however, could not but observe, with a most painfully accurate +attention, that mention was made, not of an overdue bill, but of +overdue bills. What if Mr. Tozer were to demand from him the instant +repayment of nine hundred pounds? Hitherto he had merely written to +Mr. Sowerby, and he might have had an answer from that gentleman this +morning, but no such answer had as yet reached him. Consequently he +was not, at the present moment, in a very happy frame of mind.</p> + +<p>He soon found himself with Lord Lufton and the horses. Four or five +of them were being walked slowly about the paddock in the care of as +many men or boys, and the sheets were being taken off them—off one +after another, so that their master might look at them with the more +accuracy and satisfaction. But though Lord Lufton was thus doing his +duty, and going through his work, he was not doing it with his whole +heart,—as the head groom perceived very well. He was fretful about +the nags, and seemed anxious to get them out of his sight as soon as +he had made a decent pretext of looking at them.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Lufton?” said Robarts, coming forward. “They told me +that you were down, and so I came across at once.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I only got here this morning, and should have been over with +you directly. I am going to Norway for six weeks or so, and it seems +that the fish are so early this year, that we must start at once. I +have a matter on which I want to speak to you before I leave; and, +indeed, it was that which brought me down more than anything else.”</p> + +<p>There was something hurried and not altogether easy about his manner +as he spoke, which struck Robarts, and made him think that this +promised matter to be spoken of would not be agreeable in discussion. +He did not know whether Lord Lufton might not again be mixed up with +Tozer and the bills.</p> + +<p>“You will dine with us to-day,” he said, “if, as I suppose, you are +all alone.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am all alone.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll come?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t quite know. No, I don’t think I can go over to dinner. +Don’t look so disgusted. I’ll explain it all to you just now.”</p> + +<p>What could there be in the wind; and how was it possible that Tozer’s +bill should make it inexpedient for Lord Lufton to dine at the +parsonage? Robarts, however, said nothing further about it at the +moment, but turned off to look at the horses.</p> + +<p>“They are an uncommonly nice set of animals,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Well, yes; I don’t know. When a man has four or five horses to look +at, somehow or other he never has one fit to go. That chestnut mare +is a picture, now that nobody wants her; but she wasn’t able to carry +me well to hounds a single day last winter. Take them in, Pounce; +that’ll do.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t your lordship run your eye over the old black ’oss?” said +Pounce, the head groom, in a melancholy tone; “he’s as fine, sir—as +fine as a stag.”</p> + +<p>“To tell you the truth, I think they’re too fine; but that’ll do; +take them in. And now, Mark, if you’re at leisure, we’ll take a turn +round the place.”</p> + +<p>Mark, of course, was at leisure, and so they started on their walk.</p> + +<p>“You’re too difficult to please about your stable,” Robarts began.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the stable now,” said Lord Lufton. “The truth is, I am +not thinking about it. Mark,” he then said, very abruptly, “I want +you to be frank with me. Has your sister ever spoken to you about +me?”</p> + +<p>“My sister; Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; your sister Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“No, never; at least nothing especial; nothing that I can remember at +this moment.”</p> + +<p>“Nor your wife?”</p> + +<p>“Spoken about you!—Fanny? Of course she has, in an ordinary way. It +would be impossible that she should not. But what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Have either of them told you that I made an offer to your sister?”</p> + +<p>“That you made an offer to Lucy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that I made an offer to Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“No; nobody has told me so. I have never dreamed of such a thing; +nor, as far as I believe, have they. If anybody has spread such a +report, or said that either of them have hinted at such a thing, it +is a base lie. Good heavens! Lufton, for what do you take them?”</p> + +<p>“But I did,” said his lordship.</p> + +<p>“Did what?” said the parson.</p> + +<p>“I did make your sister an offer.”</p> + +<p>“You made Lucy an offer of marriage!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did;—in as plain language as a gentleman could use to a +lady.”</p> + +<p>“And what answer did she make?”</p> + +<p>“She refused me. And now, Mark, I have come down here with the +express purpose of making that offer again. Nothing could be more +decided than your sister’s answer. It struck me as being almost +uncourteously decided. But still it is possible that circumstances +may have weighed with her, which ought not to weigh with her. If her +love be not given to any one else, I may still have a chance of it. +It’s the old story of faint heart, you know: at any rate, I mean to +try my luck again; and thinking over it with deliberate purpose, I +have come to the conclusion that I ought to tell you before I see +her.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton in love with Lucy! As these words repeated themselves +over and over again within Mark Robarts’s mind, his mind added to +them notes of surprise without end. How had it possibly come +about,—and why? In his estimation his sister Lucy was a very simple +girl—not plain indeed, but by no means beautiful; certainly not +stupid, but by no means brilliant. And then, he would have said, that +of all men whom he knew, Lord Lufton would have been the last to fall +in love with such a girl as his sister. And now, what was he to say +or do? What views was he bound to hold? In what direction should he +act? There was Lady Lufton on the one side, to whom he owed +everything. How would life be possible to him in that +parsonage—within a few yards of her elbow—if he consented to +receive Lord Lufton as the acknowledged suitor of his sister? It +would be a great match for Lucy, doubtless; +<span class="nowrap">but—</span> Indeed, he could +not bring himself to believe that Lucy could in truth become the +absolute reigning queen of Framley Court.</p> + +<p>“Do you think that Fanny knows anything of all this?” he said, after +a moment or two.</p> + +<p>“I cannot possibly tell. If she does it is not with my knowledge. I +should have thought that you could best answer that.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot answer it at all,” said Mark. “I, at least, have had no +remotest idea of such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Your ideas of it now need not be at all remote,” said Lord Lufton, +with a faint smile; “and you may know it as a fact. I did make her an +offer of marriage; I was refused; I am going to repeat it; and I am +now taking you into my confidence, in order that, as her brother, and +as my friend, you may give me such assistance as you can.” They then +walked on in silence for some yards, after which Lord Lufton added: +“And now I’ll dine with you to-day if you wish it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Robarts did not know what to say; he could not bethink himself +what answer duty required of him. He had no right to interfere +between his sister and such a marriage, if she herself should wish +it; but still there was something terrible in the thought of it! He +had a vague conception that it must come to evil; that the project +was a dangerous one; and that it could not finally result happily for +any of them. What would Lady Lufton say? That undoubtedly was the +chief source of his dismay.</p> + +<p>“Have you spoken to your mother about this?” he said.</p> + +<p>“My mother? no; why speak to her till I know my fate? A man does not +like to speak much of such matters if there be a probability of his +being rejected. I tell you because I do not like to make my way into +your house under a false pretence.”</p> + +<p>“But what would Lady Lufton say?”</p> + +<p>“I think it probable that she would be displeased on the first +hearing it; that in four-and-twenty hours she would be reconciled; +and that after a week or so Lucy would be her dearest favourite and +the prime minister of all her machinations. You don’t know my mother +as well as I do. She would give her head off her shoulders to do me a +pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“And for that reason,” said Mark Robarts, “you ought, if possible, to +do her pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot absolutely marry a wife of her choosing, if you mean that,” +said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>They went on walking about the garden for an hour, but they hardly +got any farther than the point to which we have now brought them. +Mark Robarts could not make up his mind on the spur of the moment; +nor, as he said more than once to Lord Lufton, could he be at all +sure that Lucy would in any way be guided by him. It was, therefore, +at last settled between them that Lord Lufton should come to the +parsonage immediately after breakfast on the following morning. It +was agreed also that the dinner had better not come off, and Robarts +promised that he would, if possible, have determined by the morning +as to what advice he would give his sister.</p> + +<p>He went direct home to the parsonage from Framley Court, feeling that +he was altogether in the dark till he should have consulted his wife. +How would he feel if Lucy were to become Lady Lufton? and how would +he look Lady Lufton in the face in telling her that such was to be +his sister’s destiny? On returning home he immediately found his +wife, and had not been closeted with her five minutes before he knew, +at any rate, all that she knew.</p> + +<p>“And you mean to say that she does love him?” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“Indeed she does; and is it not natural that she should? When I saw +them so much together I feared that she would. But I never thought +that he would care for her.”</p> + +<p>Even Fanny did not as yet give Lucy credit for half her +attractiveness. After an hour’s talking the interview between the +husband and wife ended in a message to Lucy, begging her to join them +both in the book-room.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Lucy,” said a chubby little darling, who was taken up into his +aunt’s arms as he spoke, “papa and mamma ’ant ’oo in te tuddy, and I +musn’t go wis ’oo.”</p> + +<p>Lucy, as she kissed the boy and pressed his face against her own, +felt that her blood was running quick to her heart.</p> + +<p>“Musn’t ’oo go wis me, my own one?” she said, as she put her +playfellow down; but she played with the child only because she did +not wish to betray even to him that she was hardly mistress of +herself. She knew that Lord Lufton was at Framley; she knew that her +brother had been to him; she knew that a proposal had been made that +he should come there that day to dinner. Must it not therefore be the +case that this call to a meeting in the study had arisen out of Lord +Lufton’s arrival at Framley? and yet, how could it have done so? Had +Fanny betrayed her in order to prevent the dinner invitation? It +could not be possible that Lord Lufton himself should have spoken on +the subject! And then she again stooped to kiss the child, rubbed her +hands across her forehead to smooth her hair, and erase, if that +might be possible, the look of care which she wore, and then +descended slowly to her brother’s sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Her hand paused for a second on the door ere she opened it, but she +had resolved that, come what might, she would be brave. She pushed it +open and walked in with a bold front, with eyes wide open, and a slow +step.</p> + +<p>“Frank says that you want me,” she said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robarts and Fanny were both standing up by the fireplace, and +each waited a second for the other to speak when Lucy entered the +room; and then Fanny <span class="nowrap">began,—</span></p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton is here, Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Here! Where? At the parsonage?”</p> + +<p>“No, not at the parsonage; but over at Framley Court,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“And he promises to call here after breakfast to-morrow,” said Fanny. +And then again there was a pause. Mrs. Robarts hardly dared to look +Lucy in the face. She had not betrayed her trust, seeing that the +secret had been told to Mark, not by her, but by Lord Lufton; but she +could not but feel that Lucy would think that she had betrayed it.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Lucy, trying to smile; “I have no objection in +life.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lucy, dear,”—and now Mrs. Robarts put her arm round her +sister-in-law’s waist,—“he is coming here especially to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh; that makes a difference. I am afraid that I shall be—engaged.”</p> + +<p>“He has told everything to Mark,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>Lucy now felt that her bravery was almost deserting her. She hardly +knew which way to look or how to stand. Had Fanny told everything +also? There was so much that Fanny knew that Lord Lufton could not +have known. But, in truth, Fanny had told all—the whole story of +Lucy’s love, and had described the reasons which had induced her to +reject her suitor; and had done so in words which, had Lord Lufton +heard them, would have made him twice as passionate in his love.</p> + +<p>And then it certainly did occur to Lucy to think why Lord Lufton +should have come to Framley and told all this history to her brother. +She attempted for a moment to make herself believe that she was angry +with him for doing so. But she was not angry. She had not time to +argue much about it, but there came upon her a gratified sensation of +having been remembered, and thought of, and—loved. Must it not be +so? Could it be possible that he himself would have told this tale to +her brother, if he did not still love her? Fifty times she had said +to herself that his offer had been an affair of the moment, and fifty +times she had been unhappy in so saying. But this new coming of his +could not be an affair of the moment. She had been the dupe, she had +thought, of an absurd passion on her own part; but now—how was it +now? She did not bring herself to think that she should ever be Lady +Lufton. She had still, in some perversely obstinate manner, made up +her mind against that result. But yet, nevertheless, it did in some +unaccountable manner satisfy her to feel that Lord Lufton had himself +come down to Framley and himself told this story.</p> + +<p>“He has told everything to Mark,” said Mrs. Robarts; and then again +there was a pause for a moment, during which these thoughts passed +through Lucy’s mind.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mark, “he has told me all, and he is coming here +to-morrow morning that he may receive an answer from yourself.”</p> + +<p>“What answer?” said Lucy, trembling.</p> + +<p>“Nay, dearest; who can say that but yourself?” and her sister-in-law, +as she spoke, pressed close against her. “You must say that +yourself.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts in her long conversation with her husband had pleaded +strongly on Lucy’s behalf, taking, as it were, a part against Lady +Lufton. She had said that if Lord Lufton persevered in his suit, they +at the parsonage could not be justified in robbing Lucy of all that +she had won for herself, in order to do Lady Lufton’s pleasure.</p> + +<p>“But she will think,” said Mark, “that we have plotted and intrigued +for this. She will call us ungrateful, and will make Lucy’s life +wretched.” To which the wife had answered, that all that must be left +in God’s hands. They had not plotted or intrigued. Lucy, though +loving the man in her heart of hearts, had already once refused him, +because she would not be thought to have snatched at so great a +prize. But if Lord Lufton loved her so warmly that he had come down +there in this manner, on purpose, as he himself had put it, that he +might learn his fate, then—so argued Mrs. Robarts—they two, let +their loyalty to Lady Lufton be ever so strong, could not justify it +to their consciences to stand between Lucy and her lover. Mark had +still somewhat demurred to this, suggesting how terrible would be +their plight if they should now encourage Lord Lufton, and if he, +after such encouragement, when they should have quarrelled with Lady +Lufton, should allow himself to be led away from his engagement by +his mother. To which Fanny had answered that justice was justice, and +that right was right. Everything must be told to Lucy, and she must +judge for herself.</p> + +<p>“But I do not know what Lord Lufton wants,” said Lucy, with her eyes +fixed upon the ground, and now trembling more than ever. “He did come +to me, and I did give him an answer.”</p> + +<p>“And is that answer to be final?” said Mark,—somewhat cruelly, for +Lucy had not yet been told that her lover had made any repetition of +his proposal. Fanny, however, determined that no injustice should be +done, and therefore she at last continued the story.</p> + +<p>“We know that you did give him an answer, dearest; but gentlemen +sometimes will not put up with one answer on such a subject. Lord +Lufton has declared to Mark that he means to ask again. He has come +down here on purpose to do so.”</p> + +<p>“And Lady Lufton—” said Lucy, speaking hardly above a whisper, and +still hiding her face as she leaned against her sister’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton has not spoken to his mother about it,” said Mark; and +it immediately became clear to Lucy, from the tone of her brother’s +voice, that he, at least, would not be pleased, should she accept her +lover’s vow.</p> + +<p>“You must decide out of your own heart, dear,” said Fanny, +generously. “Mark and I know how well you have behaved, for I have +told him everything.” Lucy shuddered and leaned closer against her +sister as this was said to her. “I had no alternative, dearest, but +to tell him. It was best so; was it not? But nothing has been told to +Lord Lufton. Mark would not let him come here to-day, because it +would have flurried you, and he wished to give you time to think. But +you can see him to-morrow morning,—can you not? and then answer +him.”</p> + +<p>Lucy now stood perfectly silent, feeling that she dearly loved her +sister-in-law for her sisterly kindness—for that sisterly wish to +promote a sister’s love; but still there was in her mind a strong +resolve not to allow Lord Lufton to come there under the idea that he +would be received as a favoured lover. Her love was powerful, but so +also was her pride; and she could not bring herself to bear the scorn +which would lay in Lady Lufton’s eyes. “His mother will despise me, +and then he will despise me too,” she said to herself; and with a +strong gulp of disappointed love and ambition she determined to +persist.</p> + +<p>“Shall we leave you now, dear; and speak of it again to-morrow +morning, before he comes?” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“That will be the best,” said Mark. “Turn it in your mind every way +to-night. Think of it when you have said your prayers—and, Lucy, +come here to me;”—then, taking her in his arms, he kissed her with a +tenderness that was not customary with him towards her. “It is fair,” +said he, “that I should tell you this: that I have perfect confidence +in your judgment and feeling; and that I will stand by you as your +brother in whatever decision you may come to. Fanny and I both think +that you have behaved excellently, and are both of us sure that you +will do what is best. Whatever you do I will stick to you;—and so +will Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Dearest, dearest Mark!”</p> + +<p>“And now we will say nothing more about it till to-morrow morning,” +said Fanny.</p> + +<p>But Lucy felt that this saying nothing more about it till to-morrow +morning would be tantamount to an acceptance on her part of Lord +Lufton’s offer. Mrs. Robarts knew, and Mr. Robarts also now knew, the +secret of her heart; and if, such being the case, she allowed Lord +Lufton to come there with the acknowledged purpose of pleading his +own suit, it would be impossible for her not to yield. If she were +resolved that she would not yield, now was the time for her to stand +her ground and make her fight.</p> + +<p>“Do not go, Fanny; at least not quite yet,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well, dear?”</p> + +<p>“I want you to stay while I tell Mark. He must not let Lord Lufton +come here to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Not let him!” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robarts said nothing, but he felt that his sister was rising in +his esteem from minute to minute.</p> + +<p>“No; Mark must bid him not come. He will not wish to pain me when it +can do no good. Look here, Mark;” and she walked over to her brother, +and put both her hands upon his arm. “I do love Lord Lufton. I had no +such meaning or thought when I first knew him. But I do love him—I +love him dearly;—almost as well as Fanny loves you, I suppose. You +may tell him so if you think proper—nay, you must tell him so, or he +will not understand me. But tell him this, as coming from me: that I +will never marry him, unless his mother asks me.”</p> + +<p>“She will not do that, I fear,” said Mark, sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>“No; I suppose not,” said Lucy, now regaining all her courage. “If I +thought it probable that she should wish me to be her +daughter-in-law, it would not be necessary that I should make such a +stipulation. It is because she will not wish it; because she would +regard me as unfit to—to—to mate with her son. She would hate me, +and scorn me; and then he would begin to scorn me, and perhaps would +cease to love me. I could not bear her eye upon me, if she thought +that I had injured her son. Mark, you will go to him now; will you +not? and explain this to him;—as much of it as is necessary. Tell +him, that if his mother asks me I will—consent. But that as I know +that she never will, he is to look upon all that he has said as +forgotten. With me it shall be the same as though it were forgotten.”</p> + +<p>Such was her verdict, and so confident were they both of her +firmness—of her obstinacy Mark would have called it on any other +occasion,—that they, neither of them, sought to make her alter it.</p> + +<p>“You will go to him now,—this afternoon; will you not?” she said; +and Mark promised that he would. He could not but feel that he +himself was greatly relieved. Lady Lufton might probably hear that +her son had been fool enough to fall in love with the parson’s +sister, but under existing circumstances she could not consider +herself aggrieved either by the parson or by his sister. Lucy was +behaving well, and Mark was proud of her. Lucy was behaving with +fierce spirit, and Fanny was grieving for her.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather be by myself till dinner-time,” said Lucy, as Mrs. +Robarts prepared to go with her out of the room. “Dear Fanny, don’t +look unhappy; there’s nothing to make us unhappy. I told you I should +want goat’s milk, and that will be all.”</p> + +<p>Robarts, after sitting for an hour with his wife, did return again to +Framley Court; and, after a considerable search, found Lord Lufton +returning home to a late dinner.</p> + +<p>“Unless my mother asks her,” said he, when the story had been told +him. “That is nonsense. Surely you told her that such is not the way +of the world.”</p> + +<p>Robarts endeavoured to explain to him that Lucy could not endure to +think that her husband’s mother should look on her with disfavour.</p> + +<p>“Does she think that my mother dislikes her—her specially?” asked +Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>No; Robarts could not suppose that that was the case; but Lady Lufton +might probably think that a marriage with a clergyman’s sister would +be a mésalliance.</p> + +<p>“That is out of the question,” said Lord Lufton; “as she has +especially wanted me to marry a clergyman’s daughter for some time +past. But, Mark, it is absurd talking about my mother. A man in these +days is not to marry as his mother bids him.”</p> + +<p>Mark could only assure him, in answer to all this, that Lucy was very +firm in what she was doing, that she had quite made up her mind, and +that she altogether absolved Lord Lufton from any necessity to speak +to his mother, if he did not think well of doing so. But all this was +to very little purpose.</p> + +<p>“She does love me then?” said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mark, “I will not say whether she does or does not. I +can only repeat her own message. She cannot accept you, unless she +does so at your mother’s request.” And having said that again, he +took his leave, and went back to the parsonage.</p> + +<p>Poor Lucy, having finished her interview with so much dignity, having +fully satisfied her brother, and declined any immediate consolation +from her sister-in-law, betook herself to her own bed-room. She had +to think over what she had said and done, and it was necessary that +she should be alone to do so. It might be that, when she came to +reconsider the matter, she would not be quite so well satisfied as +was her brother. Her grandeur of demeanour and slow propriety of +carriage lasted her till she was well into her own room. There are +animals who, when they are ailing in any way, contrive to hide +themselves, ashamed, as it were, that the weakness of their suffering +should be witnessed. Indeed, I am not sure whether all dumb animals +do not do so more or less; and in this respect Lucy was like a dumb +animal. Even in her confidences with Fanny she made a joke of her own +misfortunes, and spoke of her heart ailments with self-ridicule. But +now, having walked up the staircase with no hurried step, and having +deliberately locked the door, she turned herself round to suffer in +silence and solitude—as do the beasts and birds.</p> + +<p>She sat herself down on a low chair, which stood at the foot of her +bed, and, throwing back her head, held her handkerchief across her +eyes and forehead, holding it tight in both her hands; and then she +began to think. She began to think and also to cry, for the tears +came running down from beneath the handkerchief; and low sobs were to +be heard,—only that the animal had taken itself off, to suffer in +solitude.</p> + +<p>Had she not thrown from her all her chances of happiness? Was it +possible that he should come to her yet again,—a third time? No; it +was not possible. The very mode and pride of this, her second +rejection of him, made it impossible. In coming to her determination, +and making her avowal, she had been actuated by the knowledge that +Lady Lufton would regard such a marriage with abhorrence. Lady Lufton +would not and could not ask her to condescend to be her son’s bride. +Her chance of happiness, of glory, of ambition, of love, was all +gone. She had sacrificed everything, not to virtue, but to pride; and +she had sacrificed not only herself, but him. When first he came +there—when she had meditated over his first visit—she had hardly +given him credit for deep love; but now—there could be no doubt that +he loved her now. After his season in London, his days and nights +passed with all that was beautiful, he had returned there, to that +little country parsonage, that he might again throw himself at her +feet. And she—she had refused to see him, though she loved him with +all her heart; she had refused to see him, because she was so vile a +coward that she could not bear the sour looks of an old woman!</p> + +<p>“I will come down directly,” she said, when Fanny at last knocked at +the door, begging to be admitted. “I won’t open it, love, but I will +be with you in ten minutes; I will, indeed.” And so she was; not, +perhaps, without traces of tears, discernible by the experienced eye +of Mrs. Robarts, but yet with a smooth brow, and voice under her own +command.</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether she really loves him,” Mark said to his wife that +night.</p> + +<p>“Love him!” his wife had answered; “indeed she does; and, Mark, do +not be led away by the stern quiet of her demeanour. To my thinking +she is a girl who might almost die for love.”</p> + +<p>On the next day Lord Lufton left Framley; and started, according to +his arrangements, for the Norway salmon fishing.</p> + + +<p><a id="c32"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2></div> +<h3>THE GOAT AND COMPASSES.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Harold Smith had been made unhappy by that rumour of a dissolution; +but the misfortune to him would be as nothing compared to the +severity with which it would fall on Mr. Sowerby. Harold Smith might +or might not lose his borough, but Mr. Sowerby would undoubtedly lose +his county; and, in losing that, he would lose everything. He felt +very certain now that the duke would not support him again, let who +would be master of Chaldicotes; and as he reflected on these things +he found it very hard to keep up his spirits.</p> + +<p>Tom Towers, it seems, had known all about it, as he always does. The +little remark which had dropped from him at Miss Dunstable’s, made, +no doubt, after mature deliberation, and with profound political +motives, was the forerunner, only by twelve hours, of a very general +report that the giants were going to the country. It was manifest +that the giants had not a majority in Parliament, generous as had +been the promises of support disinterestedly made to them by the +gods. This indeed was manifest, and therefore they were going to the +country, although they had been deliberately warned by a very +prominent scion of Olympus that if they did do so that disinterested +support must be withdrawn. This threat did not seem to weigh much, +and by two o’clock on the day following Miss Dunstable’s party, the +fiat was presumed to have gone forth. The rumour had begun with Tom +Towers, but by that time it had reached Buggins at the Petty Bag +Office.</p> + +<p>“It won’t make no difference to hus, sir; will it, Mr. Robarts?” said +Buggins, as he leaned respectfully against the wall near the door, in +the room of the private secretary at that establishment.</p> + +<p>A good deal of conversation, miscellaneous, special, and political, +went on between young Robarts and Buggins in the course of the day; +as was natural, seeing that they were thrown in these evil times very +much upon each other. The Lord Petty Bag of the present ministry was +not such a one as Harold Smith. He was a giant indifferent to his +private notes, and careless as to the duties even of patronage; he +rarely visited the office, and as there were no other clerks in the +establishment—owing to a root and branch reform carried out in the +short reign of Harold Smith—to whom could young Robarts talk, if not +to Buggins?</p> + +<p>“No; I suppose not,” said Robarts, as he completed on his +blotting-paper an elaborate picture of a Turk seated on his divan.</p> + +<p>“’Cause, you see, sir, we’re in the Upper ’Ouse, now;—as I always +thinks we hought to be. I don’t think it ain’t constitutional for the +Petty Bag to be in the Commons, Mr. Robarts. Hany ways, it never +usen’t.”</p> + +<p>“They’re changing all those sort of things now-a-days, Buggins,” said +Robarts, giving the final touch to the Turk’s smoke.</p> + +<p>“Well; I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Robarts: I think I’ll go. I +can’t stand all these changes. I’m turned of sixty now, and don’t +want any ’stifflicates. I think I’ll take my pension and walk. The +hoffice ain’t the same place at all since it come down among the +Commons.” And then Buggins retired sighing, to console himself with a +pot of porter behind a large open office ledger, set up on end on a +small table in the little lobby outside the private secretary’s room. +Buggins sighed again as he saw that the date made visible in the open +book was almost as old as his own appointment; for such a book as +this lasted long in the Petty Bag Office. A peer of high degree had +been Lord Petty Bag in those days; one whom a messenger’s heart could +respect with infinite veneration, as he made his unaccustomed visits +to the office with much solemnity—perhaps four times during the +season. The Lord Petty Bag then was highly regarded by his staff, and +his coming among them was talked about for some hours previously and +for some days afterwards; but Harold Smith had bustled in and out +like the managing clerk in a Manchester house. “The service is going +to the dogs,” said Buggins to himself, as he put down the porter pot +and looked up over the book at a gentleman who presented himself at +the door.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robarts in his room?” said Buggins, repeating the gentleman’s +words. “Yes, Mr. Sowerby; you’ll find him there; first door to the +left.” And then, remembering that the visitor was a county member—a +position which Buggins regarded as next to that of a peer—he got up, +and, opening the private secretary’s door, ushered in the visitor.</p> + +<p>Young Robarts and Mr. Sowerby had, of course, become acquainted in +the days of Harold Smith’s reign. During that short time the member +for East Barset had on most days dropped in at the Petty Bag Office +for a minute or two, finding out what the energetic cabinet minister +was doing, chatting on semi-official subjects, and teaching the +private secretary to laugh at his master. There was nothing, +therefore, in his present visit which need appear to be singular, or +which required any immediate special explanation. He sat himself down +in his ordinary way, and began to speak of the subject of the day.</p> + +<p>“We’re all to go,” said Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“So I hear,” said the private secretary. “It will give me no trouble, +for, as the respectable Buggins says, we’re in the Upper House now.”</p> + +<p>“What a delightful time those lucky dogs of lords do have!” said +Sowerby. “No constituents, no turning out, no fighting, no necessity +for political opinions,—and, as a rule, no such opinions at all!”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’re tolerably safe in East Barsetshire?” said Robarts. +“The duke has it pretty much his own way there.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; the duke does have it pretty much his own way. By-the-by, where +is your brother?”</p> + +<p>“At home,” said Robarts; “at least I presume so.”</p> + +<p>“At Framley or at Barchester? I believe he was in residence at +Barchester not long since.”</p> + +<p>“He’s at Framley now, I know. I got a letter only yesterday from his +wife, with a commission. He was there, and Lord Lufton had just +left.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Lufton was down. He started for Norway this morning. I want to +see your brother. You have not heard from him yourself, have you?”</p> + +<p>“No; not lately. Mark is a bad correspondent. He would not do at all +for a private secretary.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, not to Harold Smith. But you are sure I should not +catch him at Barchester?”</p> + +<p>“Send down by telegraph, and he would meet you.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to do that. A telegraph message makes such a fuss in +the country, frightening people’s wives, and setting all the horses +about the place galloping.”</p> + +<p>“What is it about?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of any great consequence. I didn’t know whether he might +have told you. I’ll write down by to-night’s post, and then he can +meet me at Barchester to-morrow. Or do you write. There’s nothing I +hate so much as letter-writing;—just tell him that I called, and +that I shall be much obliged if he can meet me at the Dragon of +Wantly—say at two to-morrow. I will go down by the express.”</p> + +<p>Mark Robarts, in talking over this coming money trouble with Sowerby, +had once mentioned that if it were necessary to take up the bill for +a short time he might be able to borrow the money from his brother. +So much of the father’s legacy still remained in the hands of the +private secretary as would enable him to produce the amount of the +latter bill, and there could be no doubt that he would lend it if +asked. Mr. Sowerby’s visit to the Petty Bag Office had been caused by +a desire to learn whether any such request had been made,—and also +by a half-formed resolution to make the request himself if he should +find that the clergyman had not done so. It seemed to him to be a +pity that such a sum should be lying about, as it were, within reach, +and that he should not stoop to put his hands upon it. Such +abstinence would be so contrary to all the practice of his life that +it was as difficult to him as it is for a sportsman to let pass a +cock-pheasant. But yet something like remorse touched his heart as he +sat there balancing himself on his chair in the private secretary’s +room, and looking at the young man’s open face.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I’ll write to him,” said John Robarts; “but he hasn’t said +anything to me about anything particular.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t he? It does not much signify. I only mentioned it because I +thought I understood him to say that he would.” And then Mr. Sowerby +went on swinging himself. How was it that he felt so averse to +mention that little sum of £500 to a young man like John Robarts, a +fellow without wife or children or calls on him of any sort, who +would not even be injured by the loss of the money, seeing that he +had an ample salary on which to live? He wondered at his own +weakness. The want of the money was urgent on him in the extreme. He +had reasons for supposing that Mark would find it very difficult to +renew the bills, but he, Sowerby, could stop their presentation if he +could get this money at once into his own hands.</p> + +<p>“Can I do anything for you?” said the innocent lamb, offering his +throat to the butcher.</p> + +<p>But some unwonted feeling numbed the butcher’s fingers, and blunted +his knife. He sat still for half a minute after the question, and +then jumping from his seat, declined the offer. “No, no; nothing, +thank you. Only write to Mark, and say that I shall be there +to-morrow,” and then, taking his hat, he hurried out of the office. +“What an ass I am,” he said to himself as he went: “as if it were of +any use now to be particular!”</p> + +<p>He then got into a cab and had himself driven half way up Portman +Street towards the New Road, and walking from thence a few hundred +yards down a cross-street he came to a public-house. It was called +the “Goat and Compasses,”—a very meaningless name, one would say; +but the house boasted of being a place of public entertainment very +long established on that site, having been a tavern out in the +country in the days of Cromwell. At that time the pious landlord, +putting up a pious legend for the benefit of his pious customers, had +declared that—“God encompasseth us.” The “Goat and Compasses” in +these days does quite as well; and, considering the present character +of the house, was perhaps less unsuitable than the old legend.</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Austen here?” asked Mr. Sowerby of the man at the bar.</p> + +<p>“Which on ’em? Not Mr. John; he ain’t here. Mr. Tom is in—the little +room on the left-hand side.” The man whom Mr. Sowerby would have +preferred to see was the elder brother, John; but as he was not to be +found, he did go into the little room. In that room he found—Mr. +Austen, Junior, according to one arrangement of nomenclature, and Mr. +Tom Tozer according to another. To gentlemen of the legal profession +he generally chose to introduce himself as belonging to the +respectable family of the Austens; but among his intimates he had +always been—Tozer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby, though he was intimate with the family, did not love the +Tozers; but he especially hated Tom Tozer. Tom Tozer was a +bull-necked, beetle-browed fellow, the expression of whose face was +eloquent with acknowledged roguery. “I am a rogue,” it seemed to say. +“I know it; all the world knows it: but you’re another. All the world +don’t know that, but I do. Men are all rogues, pretty nigh. Some are +soft rogues, and some are ’cute rogues. I am a ’cute one; so mind +your eye.” It was with such words that Tom Tozer’s face spoke out; +and though a thorough liar in his heart, he was not a liar in his +face.</p> + +<p>“Well, Tozer,” said Mr. Sowerby, absolutely shaking hands with the +dirty miscreant, “I wanted to see your brother.”</p> + +<p>“John ain’t here, and ain’t like; but it’s all as one.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; I suppose it is. I know you two hunt in couples.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you mean about hunting, Mr. Sowerby. You gents ’as +all the hunting, and we poor folk ’as all the work. I hope you’re +going to make up this trifle of money we’re out of so long.”</p> + +<p>“It’s about that I’ve called. I don’t know what you call long, Tozer; +but the last bill was only dated in February.”</p> + +<p>“It’s overdue; ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; it’s overdue. There’s no doubt about that.”</p> + +<p>“Well; when a bit of paper is come round, the next thing is to take +it up. Them’s my ideas. And to tell you the truth, Mr. Sowerby, we +don’t think as ’ow you’ve been treating us just on the square lately. +In that matter of Lord Lufton’s you was down on us uncommon.”</p> + +<p>“You know I couldn’t help myself.”</p> + +<p>“Well; and we can’t help ourselves now. That’s where it is, Mr. +Sowerby. Lord love you; we know what’s what, we do. And so, the fact +is we’re uncommon low as to the ready just at present, and we must +have them few hundred pounds. We must have them at once, or we must +sell up that clerical gent. I’m dashed if it ain’t as hard to get +money from a parson as it is to take a bone from a dog. ’E’s ’ad ’is +account, no doubt, and why don’t ’e pay?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby had called with the intention of explaining that he was +about to proceed to Barchester on the following day with the express +view of “making arrangements” about this bill; and had he seen John +Tozer, John would have been compelled to accord to him some little +extension of time. Both Tom and John knew this; and, therefore, +John—the soft-hearted one—kept out of the way. There was no danger +that Tom would be weak; and, after some half-hour of parley, he was +again left by Mr. Sowerby, without having evinced any symptom of +weakness.</p> + +<p>“It’s the dibs as we want, Mr. Sowerby; that’s all,” were the last +words which he spoke as the member of Parliament left the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby then got into another cab, and had himself driven to his +sister’s house. It is a remarkable thing with reference to men who +are distressed for money—distressed as was now the case with Mr. +Sowerby—that they never seem at a loss for small sums, or deny +themselves those luxuries which small sums purchase. Cabs, dinners, +wine, theatres, and new gloves are always at the command of men who +are drowned in pecuniary embarrassments, whereas those who don’t owe +a shilling are so frequently obliged to go without them! It would +seem that there is no gratification so costly as that of keeping out +of debt. But then it is only fair that, if a man has a hobby, he +should pay for it.</p> + +<p>Any one else would have saved his shilling, as Mrs. Harold Smith’s +house was only just across Oxford Street, in the neighbourhood of +Hanover Square; but Mr. Sowerby never thought of this. He had never +saved a shilling in his life, and it did not occur to him to begin +now. He had sent word to her to remain at home for him, and he now +found her waiting.</p> + +<p>“Harriet,” said he, throwing himself back into an easy chair, “the +game is pretty well up at last.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said she. “The game is not up at all if you have the +spirit to carry it on.”</p> + +<p>“I can only say that I got a formal notice this morning from the +duke’s lawyer, saying that he meant to foreclose at once;—not from +Fothergill, but from those people in South Audley Street.”</p> + +<p>“You expected that,” said his sister.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how that makes it any better; besides, I am not quite +sure that I did expect it; at any rate I did not feel certain. There +is no doubt now.”</p> + +<p>“It is better that there should be no doubt. It is much better that +you should know on what ground you have to stand.”</p> + +<p>“I shall soon have no ground to stand on, none at least of my +own,—not an acre,” said the unhappy man, with great bitterness in +his tone.</p> + +<p>“You can’t in reality be poorer now than you were last year. You have +not spent anything to speak of. There can be no doubt that +Chaldicotes will be ample to pay all you owe the duke.”</p> + +<p>“It’s as much as it will; and what am I to do then? I almost think +more of the seat than I do of Chaldicotes.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I advise,” said Mrs. Smith. “Ask Miss Dunstable to +advance the money on the same security which the duke holds. She will +be as safe then as he is now. And if you can arrange that, stand for +the county against him; perhaps you may be beaten.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t have a chance.”</p> + +<p>“But it would show that you are not a creature in the duke’s hands. +That’s my advice,” said Mrs. Smith, with much spirit; “and if you +wish, I’ll broach it to Miss Dunstable, and ask her to get her lawyer +to look into it.”</p> + +<p>“If I had done this before I had run my head into that other +absurdity!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t fret yourself about that; she will lose nothing by such an +investment, and therefore you are not asking any favour of her. +Besides, did she not make the offer? and she is just the woman to do +this for you now, because she refused to do that other thing for you +yesterday. You understand most things, Nathaniel; but I am not sure +that you understand women; not, at any rate, such a woman as her.”</p> + +<p>It went against the grain with Mr. Sowerby, this seeking of pecuniary +assistance from the very woman whose hand he had attempted to gain +about a fortnight since; but he allowed his sister to prevail. What +could any man do in such straits that would not go against the grain? +At the present moment he felt in his mind an infinite hatred against +the duke, Mr. Fothergill, Gumption and Gagebee, and all the tribes of +Gatherum Castle and South Audley Street; they wanted to rob him of +that which had belonged to the Sowerbys before the name of Omnium had +been heard of in the county, or in England! The great leviathan of +the deep was anxious to swallow him up as a prey! He was to be +swallowed up, and made away with, and put out of sight, without a +pang of remorse! Any measure which could now present itself as the +means of staving off so evil a day would be acceptable; and therefore +he gave his sister the commission of making this second proposal to +Miss Dunstable. In cursing the duke—for he did curse the duke +lustily—it hardly occurred to him to think that, after all, the duke +only asked for his own.</p> + +<p>As for Mrs. Harold Smith, whatever may be the view taken of her +general character as a wife and a member of society, it must be +admitted that as a sister she had virtues.</p> + + +<p><a id="c33"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2></div> +<h3>CONSOLATION.<br> </h3> + + +<p>On the next day, at two o’clock punctually, Mark Robarts was at the +“Dragon of Wantly,” walking up and down the very room in which the +party had breakfasted after Harold Smith’s lecture, and waiting for +the arrival of Mr. Sowerby. He had been very well able to divine what +was the business on which his friend wished to see him, and he had +been rather glad than otherwise to receive the summons. Judging of +his friend’s character by what he had hitherto seen, he thought that +Mr. Sowerby would have kept out of the way, unless he had it in his +power to make some provision for these terrible bills. So he walked +up and down the dingy room, impatient for the expected arrival, and +thought himself wickedly ill-used in that Mr. Sowerby was not there +when the clock struck a quarter to three. But when the clock struck +three, Mr. Sowerby was there, and Mark Robarts’s hopes were nearly at +an end.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that they will demand nine hundred pounds?” said +Robarts, standing up and glaring angrily at the member of Parliament.</p> + +<p>“I fear that they will,” said Sowerby. “I think it is best to tell +you the worst, in order that we may see what can be done.”</p> + +<p>“I can do nothing, and will do nothing,” said Robarts. “They may do +what they choose—what the law allows them.”</p> + +<p>And then he thought of Fanny and his nursery, and Lucy refusing in +her pride Lord Lufton’s offer, and he turned away his face that the +hard man of the world before him might not see the tear gathering in +his eye.</p> + +<p>“But, Mark, my dear fellow—” said Sowerby, trying to have recourse +to the power of his cajoling voice.</p> + +<p>Robarts, however, would not listen.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby,” said he, with an attempt at calmness which betrayed +itself at every syllable, “it seems to me that you have robbed me. +That I have been a fool, and worse than a fool, I know well; +but—but—but I thought that your position in the world would +guarantee me from such treatment as this.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby was by no means without feeling, and the words which he +now heard cut him very deeply—the more so because it was impossible +that he should answer them with an attempt at indignation. He had +robbed his friend, and, with all his wit, knew no words at the +present moment sufficiently witty to make it seem that he had not +done so.</p> + +<p>“Robarts,” said he, “you may say what you like to me now; I shall not +resent it.”</p> + +<p>“Who would care for your resentment?” said the clergyman, turning on +him with ferocity. “The resentment of a gentleman is terrible to a +gentleman; and the resentment of one just man is terrible to another. +Your resentment!”—and then he walked twice the length of the room, +leaving Sowerby dumb in his seat. “I wonder whether you ever thought +of my wife and children when you were plotting this ruin for me!” And +then again he walked the room.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you will be calm enough presently to speak of this with +some attempt to make a settlement?”</p> + +<p>“No; I will make no such attempt. These friends of yours, you tell +me, have a claim on me for nine hundred pounds, of which they demand +immediate payment. You shall be asked in a court of law how much of +that money I have handled. You know that I have never touched—have +never wanted to touch—one shilling. I will make no attempt at any +settlement. My person is here, and there is my house. Let them do +their worst.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mark—”</p> + +<p>“Call me by my name, sir, and drop that affectation of regard. What +an ass I have been to be so cozened by a sharper!”</p> + +<p>Sowerby had by no means expected this. He had always known that +Robarts possessed what he, Sowerby, would have called the spirit of a +gentleman. He had regarded him as a bold, open, generous fellow, able +to take his own part when called on to do so, and by no means +disinclined to speak his own mind; but he had not expected from him +such a torrent of indignation, or thought that he was capable of such +a depth of anger.</p> + +<p>“If you use such language as that, Robarts, I can only leave you.”</p> + +<p>“You are welcome. Go. You tell me that you are the messenger of these +men who intend to work nine hundred pounds out of me. You have done +your part in the plot, and have now brought their message. It seems +to me that you had better go back to them. As for me, I want my time +to prepare my wife for the destiny before her.”</p> + +<p>“Robarts, you will be sorry some day for the cruelty of your words.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether you will ever be sorry for the cruelty of your +doings, or whether these things are really a joke to you.”</p> + +<p>“I am at this moment a ruined man,” said Sowerby. “Everything is +going from me,—my place in the world, the estate of my family, my +father’s house, my seat in Parliament, the power of living among my +countrymen, or, indeed, of living anywhere;—but all this does not +oppress me now so much as the misery which I have brought upon you.” +And then Sowerby also turned away his face, and wiped from his eyes +tears which were not artificial.</p> + +<p>Robarts was still walking up and down the room, but it was not +possible for him to continue his reproaches after this. This is +always the case. Let a man endure to heap contumely on his own head, +and he will silence the contumely of others—for the moment. Sowerby, +without meditating on the matter, had had some inkling of this, and +immediately saw that there was at last an opening for conversation.</p> + +<p>“You are unjust to me,” said he, “in supposing that I have now no +wish to save you. It is solely in the hope of doing so that I have +come here.”</p> + +<p>“And what is your hope? That I should accept another brace of bills, +I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Not a brace; but one renewed bill for—”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Mr. Sowerby. On no earthly consideration that can be put +before me will I again sign my name to any bill in the guise of an +acceptance. I have been very weak, and am ashamed of my weakness; but +so much strength as that, I hope, is left to me. I have been very +wicked, and am ashamed of my wickedness; but so much right principle +as that, I hope, remains. I will put my name to no other bill; not +for you, not even for myself.”</p> + +<p>“But, Robarts, under your present circumstances that will be +madness.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will be mad.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Forrest? If you will speak to him I think you will +find that everything can be accommodated.”</p> + +<p>“I already owe Mr. Forrest a hundred and fifty pounds, which I +obtained from him when you pressed me for the price of that horse, +and I will not increase the debt. What a fool I was again there. +Perhaps you do not remember that, when I agreed to buy the horse, the +price was to be my contribution to the liquidation of these bills.”</p> + +<p>“I do remember it; but I will tell you how that was.”</p> + +<p>“It does not signify. It has been all of a piece.”</p> + +<p>“But listen to me. I think you would feel for me if you knew all that +I have gone through. I pledge you my solemn word that I had no +intention of asking you for the money when you took the +horse;—indeed I had not. But you remember that affair of Lufton’s, +when he came to you at your hotel in London and was so angry about an +outstanding bill.”</p> + +<p>“I know that he was very unreasonable as far as I was concerned.”</p> + +<p>“He was so; but that makes no difference. He was resolved, in his +rage, to expose the whole affair; and I saw that, if he did so, it +would be most injurious to you, seeing that you had just accepted +your stall at Barchester.” Here the poor prebendary winced terribly. +“I moved heaven and earth to get up that bill. Those vultures stuck +to their prey when they found the value which I attached to it, and I +was forced to raise above a hundred pounds at the moment to obtain +possession of it, although every shilling absolutely due on it had +long since been paid. Never in my life did I wish to get money as I +did to raise that hundred and twenty pounds; and as I hope for mercy +in my last moments, I did that for your sake. Lufton could not have +injured me in that matter.”</p> + +<p>“But you told him that you got it for twenty-five pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I told him so. I was obliged to tell him that, or I should have +apparently condemned myself by showing how anxious I was to get it. +And you know I could not have explained all this before him and you. +You would have thrown up the stall in disgust.”</p> + +<p>Would that he had! That was Mark’s wish now,—his futile wish. In +what a slough of despond had he come to wallow in consequence of his +folly on that night at Gatherum Castle! He had then done a silly +thing, and was he now to rue it by almost total ruin? He was sickened +also with all these lies. His very soul was dismayed by the dirt +through which he was forced to wade. He had become unconsciously +connected with the lowest dregs of mankind, and would have to see his +name mingled with theirs in the daily newspapers. And for what had he +done this? Why had he thus filed his mind and made himself a disgrace +to his cloth? In order that he might befriend such a one as Mr. +Sowerby!</p> + +<p>“Well,” continued Sowerby, “I did get the money, but you would hardly +believe the rigour of the pledge which was exacted from me for +repayment. I got it from Harold Smith, and never, in my worst +straits, will I again look to him for assistance. I borrowed it only +for a fortnight; and in order that I might repay it, I was obliged to +ask you for the price of the horse. Mark, it was on your behalf that +I did all this,—indeed it was.”</p> + +<p>“And now I am to repay you for your kindness by the loss of all that +I have in the world.”</p> + +<p>“If you will put the affair into the hands of Mr. Forrest, nothing +need be touched,—not a hair of a horse’s back; no, not though you +should be obliged to pay the whole amount yourself, gradually out of +your income. You must execute a series of bills, falling due +quarterly, and <span class="nowrap">then—”</span></p> + +<p>“I will execute no bill, I will put my name to no paper in the +matter; as to that my mind is fully made up. They may come and do +their worst.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby persevered for a long time, but he was quite unable to +move the parson from this position. He would do nothing towards +making what Mr. Sowerby called an arrangement, but persisted that he +would remain at home at Framley, and that any one who had a claim +upon him might take legal steps.</p> + +<p>“I shall do nothing myself,” he said; “but if proceedings against me +be taken, I shall prove that I have never had a shilling of the +money.” And in this resolution he quitted the Dragon of Wantly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby at one time said a word as to the expediency of borrowing +that sum of money from John Robarts; but as to this Mark would say +nothing. Mr. Sowerby was not the friend with whom he now intended to +hold consultation in such matters. “I am not at present prepared,” he +said, “to declare what I may do; I must first see what steps others +take.” And then he took his hat and went off; and mounting his horse +in the yard of the Dragon of Wantly—that horse which he had now so +many reasons to dislike—he slowly rode back home.</p> + +<p>Many thoughts passed through his mind during that ride, but only one +resolution obtained for itself a fixture there. He must now tell his +wife everything. He would not be so cruel as to let it remain untold +until a bailiff were at the door, ready to walk him off to the county +gaol, or until the bed on which they slept was to be sold from under +them. Yes, he would tell her everything,—immediately, before his +resolution could again have faded away. He got off his horse in the +yard, and seeing his wife’s maid at the kitchen door, desired her to +beg her mistress to come to him in the book-room. He would not allow +one half-hour to pass towards the waning of his purpose. If it be +ordained that a man shall drown, had he not better drown and have +done with it?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts came to him in his room, reaching him in time to touch +his arm as he entered it.</p> + +<p>“Mary says you want me. I have been gardening, and she caught me just +as I came in.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Fanny, I do want you. Sit down for a moment.” And walking +across the room, he placed his whip in its proper place.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, is there anything the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dearest; yes. Sit down, Fanny; I can talk to you better if you +will sit.”</p> + +<p>But she, poor lady, did not wish to sit. He had hinted at some +misfortune, and therefore she felt a longing to stand by him and +cling to him.</p> + +<p>“Well, there; I will if I must; but, Mark, do not frighten me. Why is +your face so very wretched?”</p> + +<p>“Fanny, I have done very wrong,” he said. “I have been very foolish. +I fear that I have brought upon you great sorrow and trouble.” And +then he leaned his head upon his hand and turned his face away from +her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, dearest Mark, my own Mark! what is it?” and then she was +quickly up from her chair, and went down on her knees before him. “Do +not turn from me. Tell me, Mark! tell me, that we may share it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Fanny, I must tell you now; but I hardly know what you will +think of me when you have heard it.”</p> + +<p>“I will think that you are my own husband, Mark; I will think +that—that chiefly, whatever it may be.” And then she caressed his +knees, and looked up in his face, and, getting hold of one of his +hands, pressed it between her own. “Even if you have been foolish, +who should forgive you if I cannot?”</p> + +<p>And then he told it her all, beginning from that evening when Mr. +Sowerby had got him into his bedroom, and going on gradually, now +about the bills, and now about the horses, till his poor wife was +utterly lost in the complexity of the accounts. She could by no means +follow him in the details of his story; nor could she quite +sympathize with him in his indignation against Mr. Sowerby, seeing +that she did not comprehend at all the nature of the renewing of a +bill. The only part to her of importance in the matter was the amount +of money which her husband would be called upon to pay;—that and her +strong hope, which was already a conviction, that he would never +again incur such debts.</p> + +<p>“And how much is it, dearest, altogether?”</p> + +<p>“These men claim nine hundred pounds of me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! that is a terrible sum.”</p> + +<p>“And then there is the hundred and fifty which I have borrowed from +the bank—the price of the horse, you know; and there are some other +debts,—not a great deal, I think; but people will now look for every +shilling that is due to them. If I have to pay it all, it will be +twelve or thirteen hundred pounds.”</p> + +<p>“That will be as much as a year’s income, Mark; even with the stall.”</p> + +<p>That was the only word of reproach she said,—if that could be called +a reproach.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said; “and it is claimed by men who will have no pity in +exacting it at any sacrifice, if they have the power. And to think +that I should have incurred all this debt without having received +anything for it. Oh, Fanny, what will you think of me!”</p> + +<p>But she swore to him that she would think nothing of it;—that she +would never bear it in her mind against him,—that it could have no +effect in lessening her trust in him. Was he not her husband? She was +so glad she knew it, that she might comfort him. And she did comfort +him, making the weight seem lighter and lighter on his shoulders as +he talked of it. And such weights do thus become lighter. A burden +that will crush a single pair of shoulders will, when equally +divided—when shared by two, each of whom is willing to take the +heavier part—become light as a feather. Is not that sharing of the +mind’s burdens one of the chief purposes for which a man wants a +wife? For there is no folly so great as keeping one’s sorrows hidden.</p> + +<p>And this wife cheerfully, gladly, thankfully took her share. To +endure with her lord all her lord’s troubles was easy to her; it was +the work to which she had pledged herself. But to have thought that +her lord had troubles not communicated to her—that would have been +to her the one thing not to be borne.</p> + +<p>And then they discussed their plans;—what mode of escape they might +have out of this terrible money difficulty. Like a true woman, Mrs. +Robarts proposed at once to abandon all superfluities. They would +sell all their horses; they would not sell their cows, but would sell +the butter that came from them; they would sell the pony-carriage, +and get rid of the groom. That the footman must go was so much a +matter of course, that it was hardly mentioned. But then, as to that +house at Barchester, the dignified prebendal mansion in the +close—might they not be allowed to leave it unoccupied for one year +longer,—perhaps to let it? The world of course must know of their +misfortune; but if that misfortune was faced bravely, the world would +be less bitter in its condemnation. And then, above all things, +everything must be told to Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“You may, at any rate, believe this, Fanny,” said he, “that for no +consideration which can be offered to me will I ever put my name to +another bill.”</p> + +<p>The kiss with which she thanked him for this was as warm and generous +as though he had brought to her that day news of the brightest; and +when he sat, as he did that evening, discussing it all, not only with +his wife, but with Lucy, he wondered how it was that his troubles +were now so light.</p> + +<p>Whether or no a man should have his own private pleasures, I will not +now say; but it never can be worth his while to keep his sorrows +private.</p> + + +<p><a id="c34"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2></div> +<h3>LADY LUFTON IS TAKEN BY SURPRISE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Lord Lufton, as he returned to town, found some difficulty in +resolving what step he would next take. Sometimes, for a minute or +two, he was half inclined to think—or rather to say to himself—that +Lucy was perhaps not worth the trouble which she threw in his way. He +loved her very dearly, and would willingly make her his wife, he +thought or said at such moments; +<span class="nowrap">but—</span> Such moments, however, were +only moments. A man in love seldom loves less because his love +becomes difficult. And thus, when those moments were over, he would +determine to tell his mother at once, and urge her to signify her +consent to Miss Robarts. That she would not be quite pleased he knew; +but if he were firm enough to show that he had a will of his own in +this matter, she would probably not gainsay him. He would not ask +this humbly, as a favour, but request her ladyship to go through the +ceremony as though it were one of those motherly duties which she as +a good mother could not hesitate to perform on behalf of her son. +Such was the final resolve with which he reached his chambers in the +Albany.</p> + +<p>On the next day he did not see his mother. It would be well, he +thought, to have his interview with her immediately before he started +for Norway, so that there might be no repetition of it; and it was on +the day before he did start that he made his communication, having +invited himself to breakfast in Brook Street on the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” he said, quite abruptly, throwing himself into one of the +dining-room arm-chairs, “I have a thing to tell you.”</p> + +<p>His mother at once knew that the thing was important, and with her +own peculiar motherly instinct imagined that the question to be +discussed had reference to matrimony. Had her son desired to speak to +her about money, his tone and look would have been different; as +would also have been the case—in a different way—had he entertained +any thought of a pilgrimage to Pekin, or a prolonged fishing +excursion to the Hudson Bay territories.</p> + +<p>“A thing, Ludovic! well; I am quite at liberty.”</p> + +<p>“I want to know what you think of Lucy Robarts?”</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton became pale and frightened, and the blood ran cold to her +heart. She had feared more than rejoiced in conceiving that her son +was about to talk of love, but she had feared nothing so bad as this. +“What do I think of Lucy Robarts?” she said, repeating her son’s +words in a tone of evident dismay.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother; you have said once or twice lately that you thought I +ought to marry, and I am beginning to think so too. You selected one +clergyman’s daughter for me, but that lady is going to do much better +with <span class="nowrap">herself—”</span></p> + +<p>“Indeed she is not,” said Lady Lufton sharply.</p> + +<p>“And therefore I rather think I shall select for myself another +clergyman’s sister. You don’t dislike Miss Robarts, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ludovic!”</p> + +<p>It was all that Lady Lufton could say at the spur of the moment.</p> + +<p>“Is there any harm in her? Have you any objection to her? Is there +anything about her that makes her unfit to be my wife?”</p> + +<p>For a moment or two Lady Lufton sat silent, collecting her thoughts. +She thought that there was very great objection to Lucy Robarts, +regarding her as the possible future Lady Lufton. She could hardly +have stated all her reasons, but they were very cogent. Lucy Robarts +had, in her eyes, neither beauty, nor style, nor manner, nor even the +education which was desirable. Lady Lufton was not herself a worldly +woman. She was almost as far removed from being so as a woman could +be in her position. But, nevertheless, there were certain worldly +attributes which she regarded as essential to the character of any +young lady who might be considered fit to take the place which she +herself had so long filled. It was her desire in looking for a wife +for her son to combine these with certain moral excellences which she +regarded as equally essential. Lucy Robarts might have the moral +excellences, or she might not; but as to the other attributes Lady +Lufton regarded her as altogether deficient. She could never look +like a Lady Lufton, or carry herself in the county as a Lady Lufton +should do. She had not that quiet personal demeanour—that dignity of +repose—which Lady Lufton loved to look upon in a young married woman +of rank. Lucy, she would have said, could be nobody in a room except +by dint of her tongue, whereas Griselda Grantly would have held her +peace for a whole evening, and yet would have impressed everybody by +the majesty of her presence. Then again Lucy had no money—and, +again, Lucy was only the sister of her own parish clergyman. People +are rarely prophets in their own country, and Lucy was no prophet at +Framley; she was none, at least, in the eyes of Lady Lufton. Once +before, as may be remembered, she had had fears on this +subject—fears, not so much for her son, whom she could hardly bring +herself to suspect of such a folly, but for Lucy, who might be +foolish enough to fancy that the lord was in love with her. Alas! +alas! her son’s question fell upon the poor woman at the present +moment with the weight of a terrible blow.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything about her which makes her unfit to be my wife?”</p> + +<p>Those were her son’s last words.</p> + +<p>“Dearest Ludovic, dearest Ludovic!” and she got up and came over to +him, “I do think so; I do, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Think what?” said he, in a tone that was almost angry.</p> + +<p>“I do think that she is unfit to be your wife. She is not of that +class from which I would wish to see you choose.”</p> + +<p>“She is of the same class as Griselda Grantly.”</p> + +<p>“No, dearest. I think you are in error there. The Grantlys have moved +in a different sphere of life. I think you must feel that they +<span class="nowrap">are—”</span></p> + +<p>“Upon my word, mother, I don’t. One man is Rector of Plumstead, and +the other is Vicar of Framley. But it is no good arguing that. I want +you to take to Lucy Robarts. I have come to you on purpose to ask it +of you as a favour.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean as your wife, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; as my wife.”</p> + +<p>“Am I to understand that you are—are engaged to her?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I cannot say that I am—not actually engaged to her. But you +may take this for granted, that, as far as it lies in my power, I +intend to become so. My mind is made up, and I certainly shall not +alter it.”</p> + +<p>“And the young lady knows all this?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Horrid, sly, detestable, underhand girl,” Lady Lufton said to +herself, not being by any means brave enough to speak out such +language before her son. What hope could there be if Lord Lufton had +already committed himself by a positive offer? “And her brother, and +Mrs. Robarts; are they aware of it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; both of them.”</p> + +<p>“And both approve of it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I cannot say that. I have not seen Mrs. Robarts, and do not +know what may be her opinion. To speak my mind honestly about Mark, I +do not think he does cordially approve. He is afraid of you, and +would be desirous of knowing what you think.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad, at any rate, to hear that,” said Lady Lufton, gravely. +“Had he done anything to encourage this, it would have been very +base.” And then there was another short period of silence.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton had determined not to explain to his mother the whole +state of the case. He would not tell her that everything depended on +her word—that Lucy was ready to marry him only on condition that +she, Lady Lufton, would desire her to do so. He would not let her +know that everything depended on her—according to Lucy’s present +verdict. He had a strong disinclination to ask his mother’s +permission to get married; and he would have to ask it were he to +tell her the whole truth. His object was to make her think well of +Lucy, and to induce her to be kind, and generous, and affectionate +down at Framley. Then things would all turn out comfortably when he +again visited that place, as he intended to do on his return from +Norway. So much he thought it possible he might effect, relying on +his mother’s probable calculation that it would be useless for her to +oppose a measure which she had no power of stopping by authority. But +were he to tell her that she was to be the final judge, that +everything was to depend on her will, then, so thought Lord Lufton, +that permission would in all probability be refused.</p> + +<p>“Well, mother, what answer do you intend to give me?” he said. “My +mind is positively made up. I should not have come to you had not +that been the case. You will now be going down home, and I would wish +you to treat Lucy as you yourself would wish to treat any girl to +whom you knew that I was engaged.”</p> + +<p>“But you say that you are not engaged.”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not; but I have made my offer to her, and I have not been +rejected. She has confessed that she—loves me,—not to myself, but +to her brother. Under these circumstances, may I count upon your +obliging me?”</p> + +<p>There was something in his manner which almost frightened his mother, +and made her think that there was more behind than was told to her. +Generally speaking, his manner was open, gentle, and unguarded; but +now he spoke as though he had prepared his words, and was resolved on +being harsh as well as obstinate.</p> + +<p>“I am so much taken by surprise, Ludovic, that I can hardly give you +an answer. If you ask me whether I approve of such a marriage, I must +say that I do not; I think that you would be throwing yourself away +in marrying Miss Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“That is because you do not know her.”</p> + +<p>“May it not be possible that I know her better than you do, dear +Ludovic? You have been flirting with +<span class="nowrap">her—”</span></p> + +<p>“I hate that word; it always sounds to me to be vulgar.”</p> + +<p>“I will say making love to her, if you like it better; and gentlemen +under these circumstances will sometimes become infatuated.”</p> + +<p>“You would not have a man marry a girl without making love to her. +The fact is, mother, that your tastes and mine are not exactly the +same; you like silent beauty, whereas I like talking beauty, and +<span class="nowrap">then—”</span></p> + +<p>“Do you call Miss Robarts beautiful?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do; very beautiful; she has the beauty that I admire. +Good-bye now, mother; I shall not see you again before I start. It +will be no use writing, as I shall be away so short a time, and I +don’t quite know where we shall be. I shall come down to Framley +immediately I return, and shall learn from you how the land lies. I +have told you my wishes, and you will consider how far you think it +right to fall in with them.” He then kissed her, and without waiting +for her reply he took his leave.</p> + +<p>Poor Lady Lufton, when she was left to herself, felt that her head +was going round and round. Was this to be the end of all her +ambition,—of all her love for her son? and was this to be the result +of all her kindness to the Robartses? She almost hated Mark Robarts +as she reflected that she had been the means of bringing him and his +sister to Framley. She thought over all his sins, his absences from +the parish, his visit to Gatherum Castle, his dealings with reference +to that farm which was to have been sold, his hunting, and then his +acceptance of that stall, given, as she had been told, through the +Omnium interest. How could she love him at such a moment as this? And +then she thought of his wife. Could it be possible that Fanny +Robarts, her own friend Fanny, would be so untrue to her as to lend +any assistance to such a marriage as this; as not to use all her +power in preventing it? She had spoken to Fanny on this very +subject,—not fearing for her son, but with a general idea of the +impropriety of intimacies between such girls as Lucy and such men as +Lord Lufton, and then Fanny had agreed with her. Could it be possible +that even she must be regarded as an enemy?</p> + +<p>And then by degrees Lady Lufton began to reflect what steps she had +better take. In the first place, should she give in at once, and +consent to the marriage? The only thing quite certain to her was +this, that life would be not worth having if she were forced into a +permanent quarrel with her son. Such an event would probably kill +her. When she read of quarrels in other noble families—and the +accounts of such quarrels will sometimes, unfortunately, force +themselves upon the attention of unwilling readers—she would hug +herself, with a spirit that was almost pharisaical, reflecting that +her destiny was not like that of others. Such quarrels and hatreds +between fathers and daughters, and mothers and sons, were in her eyes +disreputable to all the persons concerned. She had lived happily with +her husband, comfortably with her neighbours, respectably with the +world, and, above all things, affectionately with her children. She +spoke everywhere of Lord Lufton as though he were nearly +perfect,—and in so speaking, she had not belied her convictions. +Under these circumstances, would not any marriage be better than a +quarrel?</p> + +<p>But then, again, how much of the pride of her daily life would be +destroyed by such a match as that! And might it not be within her +power to prevent it without any quarrel? That her son would be sick +of such a chit as Lucy before he had been married to her six +months—of that Lady Lufton entertained no doubt, and therefore her +conscience would not be disquieted in disturbing the consummation of +an arrangement so pernicious. It was evident that the matter was not +considered as settled even by her son; and also evident that he +regarded the matter as being in some way dependent on his mother’s +consent. On the whole, might it not be better for her—better for +them all—that she should think wholly of her duty, and not of the +disagreeable results to which that duty might possibly lead? It could +not be her duty to accede to such an alliance; and therefore she +would do her best to prevent it. Such, at least, should be her +attempt in the first instance.</p> + +<p>Having so decided, she next resolved on her course of action. +Immediately on her arrival at Framley, she would send for Lucy +Robarts, and use all her eloquence—and perhaps also a little of that +stern dignity for which she was so remarkable—in explaining to that +young lady how very wicked it was on her part to think of forcing +herself into such a family as that of the Luftons. She would explain +to Lucy that no happiness could come of it, that people placed by +misfortune above their sphere are always miserable; and, in short, +make use of all those excellent moral lessons which are so customary +on such occasions. The morality might, perhaps, be thrown away; but +Lady Lufton depended much on her dignified sternness. And then, +having so resolved, she prepared for her journey home.</p> + +<p>Very little had been said at Framley Parsonage about Lord Lufton’s +offer after the departure of that gentleman; very little, at least, +in Lucy’s presence. That the parson and his wife should talk about it +between themselves was a matter of course; but very few words were +spoken on the matter either by or to Lucy. She was left to her own +thoughts, and possibly to her own hopes.</p> + +<p>And then other matters came up at Framley which turned the current of +interest into other tracks. In the first place there was the visit +made by Mr. Sowerby to the Dragon of Wantly, and the consequent +revelation made by Mark Robarts to his wife. And while that latter +subject was yet new, before Fanny and Lucy had as yet made up their +minds as to all the little economies which might be practised in the +household without serious detriment to the master’s comfort, news +reached them that Mrs. Crawley of Hogglestock had been stricken with +fever. Nothing of the kind could well be more dreadful than this. To +those who knew the family it seemed impossible that their most +ordinary wants could be supplied if that courageous head were even +for a day laid low; and then the poverty of poor Mr. Crawley was such +that the sad necessities of a sick bed could hardly be supplied +without assistance.</p> + +<p>“I will go over at once,” said Fanny.</p> + +<p>“My dear!” said her husband, “it is typhus, and you must first think +of the children. I will go.”</p> + +<p>“What on earth could you do, Mark?” said his wife. “Men on such +occasions are almost worse than useless; and then they are so much +more liable to infection.”</p> + +<p>“I have no children, nor am I a man,” said Lucy, smiling; “for both +of which exemptions I am thankful. I will go, and when I come back I +will keep clear of the bairns.”</p> + +<p>So it was settled, and Lucy started in the pony-carriage, carrying +with her such things from the parsonage storehouse as were thought to +be suitable to the wants of the sick lady at Hogglestock. When she +arrived there, she made her way into the house, finding the door +open, and not being able to obtain the assistance of the servant girl +in ushering her in. In the parlour she found Grace Crawley, the +eldest child, sitting demurely in her mother’s chair nursing an +infant. She, Grace herself, was still a young child, but not the +less, on this occasion of well-understood sorrow, did she go through +her task not only with zeal but almost with solemnity. Her brother, a +boy of six years old, was with her, and he had the care of another +baby. There they sat in a cluster, quiet, grave, and silent, +attending on themselves, because it had been willed by fate that no +one else should attend on them.</p> + +<p>“How is your mamma, dear Grace?” said Lucy, walking up to her, and +holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>“Poor mamma is very ill, indeed,” said Grace.</p> + +<p>“And papa is very unhappy,” said Bobby, the boy.</p> + +<p>“I can’t get up because of baby,” said Grace; “but Bobby can go and +call papa out.”</p> + +<p>“I will knock at the door,” said Lucy, and so saying she walked up to +the bedroom door, and tapped against it lightly. She repeated this +for the third time before she was summoned in by a low hoarse voice, +and then on entering she saw Mr. Crawley standing by the bedside with +a book in his hand. He looked at her uncomfortably, in a manner which +seemed to show that he was annoyed by this intrusion, and Lucy was +aware that she had disturbed him while at prayers by the bedside of +his wife. He came across the room, however, and shook hands with her, +and answered her inquiries in his ordinary grave and solemn voice.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Crawley is very ill,” he said, “very ill. God has stricken us +heavily, but His will be done. But you had better not go to her, Miss +Robarts. It is typhus.”</p> + +<p>The caution, however, was too late; for Lucy was already by the +bedside, and had taken the hand of the sick woman, which had been +extended on the coverlid to greet her. “Dear Miss Robarts,” said a +weak voice; “this is very good of you; but it makes me unhappy to see +you here.”</p> + +<p>Lucy lost no time in taking sundry matters into her own hands, and +ascertaining what was most wanted in that wretched household. For it +was wretched enough. Their only servant, a girl of sixteen, had been +taken away by her mother as soon as it became known that Mrs. Crawley +was ill with fever. The poor mother, to give her her due, had +promised to come down morning and evening herself, to do such work as +might be done in an hour or so; but she could not, she said, leave +her child to catch the fever. And now, at the period of Lucy’s visit, +no step had been taken to procure a nurse, Mr. Crawley having +resolved to take upon himself the duties of that position. In his +absolute ignorance of all sanatory measures, he had thrown himself on +his knees to pray; and if prayers—true prayers—might succour his +poor wife, of such succour she might be confident. Lucy, however, +thought that other aid also was wanting to her.</p> + +<p>“If you can do anything for us,” said Mrs. Crawley, “let it be for +the poor children.”</p> + +<p>“I will have them all moved from this till you are better,” said +Lucy, boldly.</p> + +<p>“Moved!” said Mr. Crawley, who even now—even in his present +strait—felt a repugnance to the idea that any one should relieve him +of any portion of his burden.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Lucy; “I am sure it will be better that you should lose +them for a week or two, till Mrs. Crawley may be able to leave her +room.”</p> + +<p>“But where are they to go?” said he, very gloomily.</p> + +<p>As to this Lucy was not as yet able to say anything. Indeed when she +left Framley Parsonage there had been no time for discussion. She +would go back and talk it all over with Fanny, and find out in what +way the children might be best put out of danger. Why should they not +all be harboured at the parsonage, as soon as assurance could be felt +that they were not tainted with the poison of the fever? An English +lady of the right sort will do all things but one for a sick +neighbour; but for no neighbour will she wittingly admit contagious +sickness within the precincts of her own nursery.</p> + +<p>Lucy unloaded her jellies and her febrifuges, Mr. Crawley frowning at +her bitterly the while. It had come to this with him, that food had +been brought into his house, as an act of charity, in his very +presence, and in his heart of hearts he disliked Lucy Robarts in that +she had brought it. He could not cause the jars and the pots to be +replaced in the pony-carriage, as he would have done had the position +of his wife been different. In her state it would have been barbarous +to refuse them, and barbarous also to have created the <i>fracas</i> of a +refusal; but each parcel that was introduced was an additional weight +laid on the sore withers of his pride, till the total burden became +almost intolerable. All this his wife saw and recognized even in her +illness, and did make some slight ineffectual efforts to give him +ease; but Lucy in her new power was ruthless, and the chicken to make +the chicken-broth was taken out of the basket under his very nose.</p> + +<p>But Lucy did not remain long. She had made up her mind what it +behoved her to do herself, and she was soon ready to return to +Framley. “I shall be back again, Mr. Crawley,” she said, “probably +this evening, and I shall stay with her till she is better.” “Nurses +don’t want rooms,” she went on to say, when Mr. Crawley muttered +something as to there being no bed-chamber. “I shall make up some +sort of a litter near her; you’ll see that I shall be very snug.” And +then she got into the pony-chaise, and drove herself home.</p> + + +<p><a id="c35"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2></div> +<h3>THE STORY OF KING COPHETUA.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Lucy as she drove herself home had much as to which it was necessary +that she should arouse her thoughts. That she would go back and nurse +Mrs. Crawley through her fever she was resolved. She was free agent +enough to take so much on herself, and to feel sure that she could +carry it through. But how was she to redeem her promise about the +children? Twenty plans ran through her mind, as to farm-houses in +which they might be placed, or cottages which might be hired for +them; but all these entailed the want of money; and at the present +moment, were not all the inhabitants of the parsonage pledged to a +dire economy? This use of the pony-carriage would have been illicit +under any circumstances less pressing than the present, for it had +been decided that the carriage, and even poor Puck himself, should be +sold. She had, however, given her promise about the children, and +though her own stock of money was very low, that promise should be +redeemed.</p> + +<p>When she reached the parsonage she was of course full of her schemes, +but she found that another subject of interest had come up in her +absence, which prevented her from obtaining the undivided attention +of her sister-in-law to her present plans. Lady Lufton had returned +that day, and immediately on her return had sent up a note addressed +to Miss Lucy Robarts, which note was in Fanny’s hands when Lucy +stepped out of the pony-carriage. The servant who brought it had +asked for an answer, and a verbal answer had been sent, saying that +Miss Robarts was away from home, and would herself send a reply when +she returned. It cannot be denied that the colour came to Lucy’s +face, and that her hand trembled when she took the note from Fanny in +the drawing-room. Everything in the world to her might depend on what +that note contained; and yet she did not open it at once, but stood +with it in her hand, and when Fanny pressed her on the subject, still +endeavoured to bring back the conversation to the subject of Mrs. +Crawley.</p> + +<p>But yet her mind was intent on the letter, and she had already +augured ill from the handwriting and even from the words of the +address. Had Lady Lufton intended to be propitious, she would have +directed her letter to Miss Robarts, without the Christian name; so +at least argued Lucy,—quite unconsciously, as one does argue in such +matters. One forms half the conclusions of one’s life without any +distinct knowledge that the premises have even passed through one’s +mind.</p> + +<p>They were now alone together, as Mark was out.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you open her letter?” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Yes, immediately; but, Fanny, I must speak to you about Mrs. Crawley +first. I must go back there this evening, and stay there; I have +promised to do so, and shall certainly keep my promise. I have +promised also that the children shall be taken away, and we must +arrange about that. It is dreadful, the state she is in. There is no +one to see to her but Mr. Crawley, and the children are altogether +left to themselves.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that you are going back to stay?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly; I have made a distinct promise that I would do so. +And about the children; could not you manage for the children, +Fanny,—not perhaps in the house; at least not at first perhaps?” And +yet during all the time that she was thus speaking and pleading for +the Crawleys, she was endeavouring to imagine what might be the +contents of that letter which she held between her fingers.</p> + +<p>“And is she so very ill?” asked Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say how ill she may be, except this, that she certainly has +typhus fever. They have had some doctor or doctor’s assistant from +Silverbridge; but it seems to me that they are greatly in want of +better advice.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lucy, will you not read your letter? It is astonishing to me +that you should be so indifferent about it.”</p> + +<p>Lucy was anything but indifferent, and now did proceed to tear the +envelope. The note was very short, and ran in these +<span class="nowrap">words,—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Miss Robarts</span>,—I am particularly anxious to see +you, and shall feel much obliged to you if you can step +over to me here, at Framley Court. I must apologize for +taking this liberty with you, but you will probably feel +that an interview here would suit us both better than one +at the parsonage. Truly yours,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">M. +Lufton</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>“There; I am in for it now,” said Lucy, handing the note over to Mrs. +Robarts. “I shall have to be talked to as never poor girl was talked +to before; and when one thinks of what I have done, it is hard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and of what you have not done.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; and of what I have not done. But I suppose I must go,” and +she proceeded to re-tie the strings of her bonnet, which she had +loosened.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that you are going over at once?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; immediately. Why not? it will be better to have it over, and +then I can go to the Crawleys. But, Fanny, the pity of it is that I +know it all as well as though it had been already spoken; and what +good can there be in my having to endure it? Can’t you fancy the tone +in which she will explain to me the conventional inconveniences which +arose when King Cophetua would marry the beggar’s daughter? how she +will explain what Griselda went through;—not the archdeacon’s +daughter, but the other Griselda?”</p> + +<p>“But it all came right with her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but then I am not Griselda, and she will explain how it would +certainly all go wrong with me. But what’s the good when I know it +all beforehand? Have I not desired King Cophetua to take himself and +sceptre elsewhere?”</p> + +<p>And then she started, having first said another word or two about the +Crawley children, and obtained a promise of Puck and the +pony-carriage for the afternoon. It was also almost agreed that Puck +on his return to Framley should bring back the four children with +him; but on this subject it was necessary that Mark should be +consulted. The present scheme was to prepare for them a room outside +the house, once the dairy, at present occupied by the groom and his +wife; and to bring them into the house as soon as it was manifest +that there was no danger from infection. But all this was to be +matter for deliberation.</p> + +<p>Fanny wanted her to send over a note, in reply to Lady Lufton’s, as +harbinger of her coming; but Lucy marched off, hardly answering this +proposition.</p> + +<p>“What’s the use of such a deal of ceremony?” she said. “I know she’s +at home; and if she is not, I shall only lose ten minutes in going.” +And so she went, and on reaching the door of Framley Court house +found that her ladyship was at home. Her heart almost came to her +mouth as she was told so, and then, in two minutes’ time, she found +herself in the little room upstairs. In that little room we found +ourselves once before,—you, and I, O my reader;—but Lucy had never +before visited that hallowed precinct. There was something in its air +calculated to inspire awe in those who first saw Lady Lufton sitting +bolt upright in the cane-bottomed arm-chair, which she always +occupied when at work at her books and papers; and this she knew when +she determined to receive Lucy in that apartment. But there was there +another arm-chair, an easy, cozy chair, which stood by the fireside; +and for those who had caught Lady Lufton napping in that chair of an +afternoon, some of this awe had perhaps been dissipated.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts,” she said, not rising from her chair, but holding out +her hand to her visitor; “I am much obliged to you for having come +over to me here. You, no doubt, are aware of the subject on which I +wish to speak to you, and will agree with me that it is better that +we should meet here than over at the parsonage.”</p> + +<p>In answer to which Lucy merely bowed her head, and took her seat on +the chair which had been prepared for her.</p> + +<p>“My son,” continued her ladyship, “has spoken to me on the subject +of—I think I understand, Miss Robarts, that there has been no +engagement between you and him?”</p> + +<p>“None whatever,” said Lucy. “He made me an offer and I refused him.” +This she said very sharply;—more so undoubtedly than the +circumstances required; and with a brusqueness that was injudicious +as well as uncourteous. But at the moment, she was thinking of her +own position with reference to Lady Lufton—not to Lord Lufton; and +of her feelings with reference to the lady—not to the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Lady Lufton, a little startled by the manner of the +communication. “Then I am to understand that there is nothing now +going on between you and my son;—that the whole affair is over?”</p> + +<p>“That depends entirely upon you.”</p> + +<p>“On me! does it?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what your son may have told you, Lady Lufton. For +myself, I do not care to have any secrets from you in this matter; +and as he has spoken to you about it, I suppose that such is his wish +also. Am I right in presuming that he has spoken to you on the +subject?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he has; and it is for that reason that I have taken the liberty +of sending for you.”</p> + +<p>“And may I ask what he has told you? I mean, of course, as regards +myself,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton, before she answered this question, began to reflect that +the young lady was taking too much of the initiative in this +conversation, and was, in fact, playing the game in her own fashion, +which was not at all in accordance with those motives which had +induced Lady Lufton to send for her.</p> + +<p>“He has told me that he made you an offer of marriage,” replied Lady +Lufton; “a matter which, of course, is very serious to me, as his +mother; and I have thought, therefore, that I had better see you, and +appeal to your own good sense and judgment and high feeling. Of +course you are <span class="nowrap">aware—”</span></p> + +<p>Now was coming the lecture to be illustrated by King Cophetua and +Griselda, as Lucy had suggested to Mrs. Robarts; but she succeeded in +stopping it for awhile.</p> + +<p>“And did Lord Lufton tell you what was my answer?”</p> + +<p>“Not in words. But you yourself now say that you refused him; and I +must express my admiration for your +<span class="nowrap">good—”</span></p> + +<p>“Wait half a moment, Lady Lufton. Your son did make me an offer. He +made it to me in person, up at the parsonage, and I then refused +him;—foolishly, as I now believe, for I dearly love him. But I did +so from a mixture of feelings which I need not, perhaps, explain; +that most prominent, no doubt, was a fear of your displeasure. And +then he came again, not to me but to my brother, and urged his suit +to him. Nothing can have been kinder to me, more noble, more loving, +more generous, than his conduct. At first I thought, when he was +speaking to myself, that he was led on thoughtlessly to say all that +he did say. I did not trust his love, though I saw that he did trust +it himself. But I could not but trust it when he came again—to my +brother, and made his proposal to him. I don’t know whether you will +understand me, Lady Lufton; but a girl placed as I am feels ten times +more assurance in such a tender of affection as that, than in one +made to herself, at the spur of the moment, perhaps. And then you +must remember that I—I myself—I loved him from the first. I was +foolish enough to think that I could know him and not love him.”</p> + +<p>“I saw all that going on,” said Lady Lufton, with a certain +assumption of wisdom about her; “and took steps which I hoped would +have put a stop to it in time.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody saw it. It was a matter of course,” said Lucy, destroying +her ladyship’s wisdom at a blow. “Well; I did learn to love him, not +meaning to do so; and I do love him with all my heart. It is no use +my striving to think that I do not; and I could stand with him at the +altar to-morrow and give him my hand, feeling that I was doing my +duty by him, as a woman should do. And now he has told you of his +love, and I believe in that as I do in my +<span class="nowrap">own—”</span> And then for a +moment she paused.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Miss Robarts—” began Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>Lucy, however, had now worked herself up into a condition of power, +and would not allow her ladyship to interrupt her in her speech.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Lady Lufton; I shall have done directly, and then +I will hear you. And so my brother came to me, not urging this suit, +expressing no wish for such a marriage, but allowing me to judge for +myself, and proposing that I should see your son again on the +following morning. Had I done so, I could not but have accepted him. +Think of it, Lady Lufton. How could I have done other than accept +him, seeing that in my heart I had accepted his love already?”</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Lady Lufton, not wishing now to put in any speech of her +own.</p> + +<p>“I did not see him—I refused to do so—because I was a coward. I +could not endure to come into this house as your son’s wife, and be +coldly looked on by your son’s mother. Much as I loved him, much as I +do love him, dearly as I prize the generous offer which he came down +here to repeat to me, I could not live with him to be made the object +of your scorn. I sent him word, therefore, that I would have him when +you would ask me, and not before.”</p> + +<p>And then, having thus pleaded her cause—and pleaded as she believed +the cause of her lover also—she ceased from speaking, and prepared +herself to listen to the story of King Cophetua.</p> + +<p>But Lady Lufton felt considerable difficulty in commencing her +speech. In the first place she was by no means a hard-hearted or a +selfish woman; and were it not that her own son was concerned, and +all the glory which was reflected upon her from her son, her +sympathies would have been given to Lucy Robarts. As it was, she did +sympathize with her, and admire her, and to a certain extent like +her. She began also to understand what it was that had brought about +her son’s love, and to feel that but for certain unfortunate +concomitant circumstances the girl before her might have made a +fitting Lady Lufton. Lucy had grown bigger in her eyes while sitting +there and talking, and had lost much of that missish want of +importance—that lack of social weight which Lady Lufton in her own +opinion had always imputed to her. A girl that could thus speak up +and explain her own position now, would be able to speak up and +explain her own, and perhaps some other positions at any future time.</p> + +<p>But not for all or any of these reasons did Lady Lufton think of +giving way. The power of making or marring this marriage was placed +in her hands, as was very fitting, and that power it behoved her to +use, as best she might use it, to her son’s advantage. Much as she +might admire Lucy, she could not sacrifice her son to that +admiration. The unfortunate concomitant circumstances still remained, +and were of sufficient force, as she thought, to make such a marriage +inexpedient. Lucy was the sister of a gentleman, who by his peculiar +position as parish clergyman of Framley was unfitted to be the +brother-in-law of the owner of Framley. Nobody liked clergymen better +than Lady Lufton, or was more willing to live with them on terms of +affectionate intimacy, but she could not get over the feeling that +the clergyman of her own parish,—or of her son’s,—was a part of her +own establishment, of her own appanage,—or of his,—and that it +could not be well that Lord Lufton should marry among his +own—dependants. Lady Lufton would not have used the word, but she +did think it. And then, too, Lucy’s education had been so deficient. +She had had no one about her in early life accustomed to the ways +of,—of what shall I say, without making Lady Lufton appear more +worldly than she was? Lucy’s wants in this respect, not to be defined +in words, had been exemplified by the very way in which she had just +now stated her case. She had shown talent, good temper, and sound +judgment; but there had been no quiet, no repose about her. The +species of power in young ladies which Lady Lufton most admired was +the <i>vis inertiæ</i> belonging to beautiful and dignified reticence; of +this poor Lucy had none. Then, too, she had no fortune, which, though +a minor evil, was an evil; and she had no birth, in the high-life +sense of the word, which was a greater evil. And then, though her +eyes had sparkled when she confessed her love, Lady Lufton was not +prepared to admit that she was possessed of positive beauty. Such +were the unfortunate concomitant circumstances which still induced +Lady Lufton to resolve that the match must be marred.</p> + +<p>But the performance of her part in this play was much more difficult +than she had imagined, and she found herself obliged to sit silent +for a minute or two, during which, however, Miss Robarts made no +attempt at further speech.</p> + +<p>“I am greatly struck,” Lady Lufton said at last, “by the excellent +sense you have displayed in the whole of this affair; and you must +allow me to say, Miss Robarts, that I now regard you with very +different feelings from those which I entertained when I left +London.” Upon this Lucy bowed her head, slightly but very stiffly; +acknowledging rather the former censure implied than the present +eulogium expressed.</p> + +<p>“But my feelings,” continued Lady Lufton, “my strongest feelings in +this matter, must be those of a mother. What might be my conduct if +such a marriage did take place, I need not now consider. But I must +confess that I should think such a marriage very—very ill-judged. A +better hearted young man than Lord Lufton does not exist, nor one +with better principles, or a deeper regard for his word; but he is +exactly the man to be mistaken in any hurried outlook as to his +future life. Were you and he to become man and wife, such a marriage +would tend to the happiness neither of him nor of you.”</p> + +<p>It was clear that the whole lecture was now coming; and as Lucy had +openly declared her own weakness, and thrown all the power of +decision into the hands of Lady Lufton, she did not see why she +should endure this.</p> + +<p>“We need not argue about that, Lady Lufton,” she said. “I have told +you the only circumstances under which I would marry your son; and +you, at any rate, are safe.”</p> + +<p>“No; I was not wishing to argue,” answered Lady Lufton, almost +humbly; “but I was desirous of excusing myself to you, so that you +should not think me cruel in withholding my consent. I wished to make +you believe that I was doing the best for my son.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure that you think you are, and therefore no excuse is +necessary.”</p> + +<p>“No; exactly; of course it is a matter of opinion, and I do think so. +I cannot believe that this marriage would make either of you happy, +and therefore I should be very wrong to express my consent.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Lady Lufton,” said Lucy, rising from her chair, “I suppose we +have both now said what is necessary, and I will therefore wish you +good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Miss Robarts. I wish I could make you understand how very +highly I regard your conduct in this matter. It has been above all +praise, and so I shall not hesitate to say when speaking of it to +your relatives.” This was disagreeable enough to Lucy, who cared but +little for any praise which Lady Lufton might express to her +relatives in this matter. “And pray,” continued Lady Lufton, “give my +best love to Mrs. Robarts, and tell her that I shall hope to see her +over here very soon, and Mr. Robarts also. I would name a day for you +all to dine, but perhaps it will be better that I should have a +little talk with Fanny first.”</p> + +<p>Lucy muttered something, which was intended to signify that any such +dinner-party had better not be made up with the intention of +including her, and then took her leave. She had decidedly had the +best of the interview, and there was a consciousness of this in her +heart as she allowed Lady Lufton to shake hands with her. She had +stopped her antagonist short on each occasion on which an attempt had +been made to produce the homily which had been prepared, and during +the interview had spoken probably three words for every one which her +ladyship had been able to utter. But, nevertheless, there was a +bitter feeling of disappointment about her heart as she walked back +home; and a feeling, also, that she herself had caused her own +unhappiness. Why should she have been so romantic and chivalrous and +self-sacrificing, seeing that her romance and chivalry had all been +to his detriment as well as to hers,—seeing that she sacrificed him +as well as herself? Why should she have been so anxious to play into +Lady Lufton’s hands? It was not because she thought it right, as a +general social rule, that a lady should refuse a gentleman’s hand, +unless the gentleman’s mother were a consenting party to the +marriage. She would have held any such doctrine as absurd. The lady, +she would have said, would have had to look to her own family and no +further. It was not virtue but cowardice which had influenced her, +and she had none of that solace which may come to us in misfortune +from a consciousness that our own conduct has been blameless. Lady +Lufton had inspired her with awe, and any such feeling on her part +was mean, ignoble, and unbecoming the spirit with which she wished to +think that she was endowed. That was the accusation which she brought +against herself, and it forbade her to feel any triumph as to the +result of her interview.</p> + +<p>When she reached the parsonage, Mark was there, and they were of +course expecting her. “Well,” said she, in her short, hurried manner, +“is Puck ready again? I have no time to lose, and I must go and pack +up a few things. Have you settled about the children, Fanny?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I will tell you directly; but you have seen Lady Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“Seen her! Oh, yes, of course I have seen her. Did she not send for +me? and in that case it was not on the cards that I should disobey +her.”</p> + +<p>“And what did she say?”</p> + +<p>“How green you are, Mark; and not only green, but impolite also, to +make me repeat the story of my own disgrace. Of course she told me +that she did not intend that I should marry my lord, her son; and of +course I said that under those circumstances I should not think of +doing such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, I cannot understand you,” said Fanny, very gravely. “I am +sometimes inclined to doubt whether you have any deep feeling in the +matter or not. If you have, how can you bring yourself to joke about +it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it is singular; and sometimes I doubt myself whether I have. I +ought to be pale, ought I not? and very thin, and to go mad by +degrees? I have not the least intention of doing anything of the +kind, and, therefore, the matter is not worth any further notice.”</p> + +<p>“But was she civil to you, Lucy?” asked Mark; “civil in her manner, +you know?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, uncommonly so. You will hardly believe it, but she actually +asked me to dine. She always does, you know, when she wants to show +her good-humour. If you’d broken your leg, and she wished to +commiserate you, she’d ask you to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she meant to be kind,” said Fanny, who was not disposed to +give up her old friend, though she was quite ready to fight Lucy’s +battle, if there were any occasion for a battle to be fought.</p> + +<p>“Lucy is so perverse,” said Mark, “that it is impossible to learn +from her what really has taken place.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, then, you know it all as well as I can tell you. She +asked me if Lord Lufton had made me an offer. I said, yes. She asked +next, if I meant to accept it. Not without her approval, I said. And +then she asked us all to dinner. That is exactly what took place, and +I cannot see that I have been perverse at all.” After that she threw +herself into a chair, and Mark and Fanny stood looking at each other.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” she said, after a while, “don’t be unkind to me. I make as +little of it as I can, for all our sakes. It is better so, Fanny, +than that I should go about moaning, like a sick cow;” and then they +looked at her, and saw that the tears were already brimming over from +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Dearest, dearest Lucy,” said Fanny, immediately going down on her +knees before her, “I won’t be unkind to you again.” And then they had +a great cry together.</p> + + +<p><a id="c36"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2></div> +<h3>KIDNAPPING AT HOGGLESTOCK.<br> </h3> + + +<p>The great cry, however, did not take long, and Lucy was soon in the +pony-carriage again. On this occasion her brother volunteered to +drive her, and it was now understood that he was to bring back with +him all the Crawley children. The whole thing had been arranged; the +groom and his wife were to be taken into the house, and the big +bedroom across the yard, usually occupied by them, was to be +converted into a quarantine hospital until such time as it might be +safe to pull down the yellow flag. They were about half way on their +road to Hogglestock when they were overtaken by a man on horseback, +whom, when he came up beside them, Mr. Robarts recognized as Dr. +Arabin, Dean of Barchester, and head of the chapter to which he +himself belonged. It immediately appeared that the dean also was +going to Hogglestock, having heard of the misfortune that had +befallen his friends there; he had, he said, started as soon as the +news reached him, in order that he might ascertain how best he might +render assistance. To effect this he had undertaken a ride of nearly +forty miles, and explained that he did not expect to reach home again +much before midnight.</p> + +<p>“You pass by Framley?” said Robarts.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” said the dean.</p> + +<p>“Then of course you will dine with us as you go home; you and your +horse also, which will be quite as important.” This having been duly +settled, and the proper ceremony of introduction having taken place +between the dean and Lucy, they proceeded to discuss the character of +Mr. Crawley.</p> + +<p>“I have known him all my life,” said the dean, “having been at school +and college with him, and for years since that I was on terms of the +closest intimacy with him; but in spite of that, I do not know how to +help him in his need. A prouder-hearted man I never met, or one less +willing to share his sorrows with his friends.”</p> + +<p>“I have often heard him speak of you,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“One of the bitterest feelings I have is that a man so dear to me +should live so near to me, and that I should see so little of him. +But what can I do? He will not come to my house; and when I go to his +he is angry with me because I wear a shovel hat and ride on +horseback.”</p> + +<p>“I should leave my hat and my horse at the borders of the last +parish,” said Lucy, timidly.</p> + +<p>“Well; yes, certainly; one ought not to give offence even in such +matters as that; but my coat and waistcoat would then be equally +objectionable. I have changed,—in outward matters I mean,—and he +has not. That irritates him, and unless I could be what I was in the +old days, he will not look at me with the same eyes;” and then he +rode on, in order, as he said, that the first pang of the interview +might be over before Robarts and his sister came upon the scene.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley was standing before his door, leaning over the little +wooden railing, when the dean trotted up on his horse. He had come +out after hours of close watching to get a few mouthfuls of the sweet +summer air, and as he stood there he held the youngest of his +children in his arms. The poor little baby sat there, quiet indeed, +but hardly happy. This father, though he loved his offspring with an +affection as intense as that which human nature can supply, was not +gifted with the knack of making children fond of him; for it is +hardly more than a knack, that aptitude which some men have of +gaining the good graces of the young. Such men are not always the +best fathers or the safest guardians; but they carry about with them +a certain duc ad me which children recognize, and which in three +minutes upsets all the barriers between five and five-and-forty. But +Mr. Crawley was a stern man, thinking ever of the souls and minds of +his bairns—as a father should do; and thinking also that every +season was fitted for operating on these souls and minds—as, +perhaps, he should not have done either as a father or as a teacher. +And consequently his children avoided him when the choice was given +them, thereby adding fresh wounds to his torn heart, but by no means +quenching any of the great love with which he regarded them.</p> + +<p>He was standing there thus with a placid little baby in his arms—a +baby placid enough, but one that would not kiss him eagerly, and +stroke his face with her soft little hands, as he would have had her +do—when he saw the dean coming towards him. He was sharp-sighted as +a lynx out in the open air, though now obliged to pore over his +well-fingered books with spectacles on his nose; and thus he knew his +friend from a long distance, and had time to meditate the mode of his +greeting. He too doubtless had come, if not with jelly and chicken, +then with money and advice;—with money and advice such as a thriving +dean might offer to a poor brother clergyman; and Mr. Crawley, though +no husband could possibly be more anxious for a wife’s safety than he +was, immediately put his back up and began to bethink himself how +these tenders might be rejected.</p> + +<p>“How is she?” were the first words which the dean spoke as he pulled +up his horse close to the little gate, and put out his hand to take +that of his friend.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Arabin?” said he. “It is very kind of you to come so +far, seeing how much there is to keep you at Barchester. I cannot say +that she is any better, but I do not know that she is worse. +Sometimes I fancy that she is delirious, though I hardly know. At any +rate her mind wanders, and then after that she sleeps.”</p> + +<p>“But is the fever less?”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes less and sometimes more, I imagine.”</p> + +<p>“And the children?”</p> + +<p>“Poor things; they are well as yet.”</p> + +<p>“They must be taken from this, Crawley, as a matter of course.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley fancied that there was a tone of authority in the dean’s +advice, and immediately put himself into opposition.</p> + +<p>“I do not know how that may be; I have not yet made up my mind.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Crawley—”</p> + +<p>“Providence does not admit of such removals in all cases,” said he. +“Among the poorer classes the children must endure such perils.”</p> + +<p>“In many cases it is so,” said the dean, by no means inclined to make +an argument of it at the present moment; “but in this case they need +not. You must allow me to make arrangements for sending for them, as +of course your time is occupied here.”</p> + +<p>Miss Robarts, though she had mentioned her intention of staying with +Mrs. Crawley, had said nothing of the Framley plan with reference to +the children.</p> + +<p>“What you mean is that you intend to take the burden off my +shoulders—in fact, to pay for them. I cannot allow that, Arabin. +They must take the lot of their father and their mother, as it is +proper that they should do.”</p> + +<p>Again the dean had no inclination for arguing, and thought it might +be well to let the question of the children drop for a little while.</p> + +<p>“And is there no nurse with her?” said he.</p> + +<p>“No, no; I am seeing to her myself at the present moment. A woman +will be here just now.”</p> + +<p>“What woman?”</p> + +<p>“Well; her name is Mrs. Stubbs; she lives in the parish. She will put +the younger children to bed, and—and—but it’s no use troubling you +with all that. There was a young lady talked of coming, but no doubt +she has found it too inconvenient. It will be better as it is.”</p> + +<p>“You mean Miss Robarts; she will be here directly; I passed her as I +came here;” and as Dr. Arabin was yet speaking, the noise of the +carriage wheels was heard upon the road.</p> + +<p>“I will go in now,” said Mr. Crawley, “and see if she still sleeps;” +and then he entered the house, leaving the dean at the door still +seated upon his horse. “He will be afraid of the infection, and I +will not ask him to come in,” said Mr. Crawley to himself.</p> + +<p>“I shall seem to be prying into his poverty, if I enter unasked,” +said the dean to himself. And so he remained there till Puck, now +acquainted with the locality, stopped at the door.</p> + +<p>“Have you not been in?” said Robarts.</p> + +<p>“No; Crawley has been at the door talking to me; he will be here +directly, I suppose;” and then Mark Robarts also prepared himself to +wait till the master of the house should reappear.</p> + +<p>But Lucy had no such punctilious misgivings; she did not much care +now whether she offended Mr. Crawley or no. Her idea was to place +herself by the sick woman’s bedside, and to send the four children +away;—with their father’s consent if it might be; but certainly +without it if that consent were withheld. So she got down from the +carriage, and taking certain packages in her hand made her way direct +into the house.</p> + +<p>“There’s a big bundle under the seat, Mark,” she said; “I’ll come and +fetch it directly, if you’ll drag it out.”</p> + +<p>For some five minutes the two dignitaries of the Church remained at +the door, one on his cob and the other in his low carriage, saying a +few words to each other and waiting till some one should again appear +from the house. “It is all arranged, indeed it is,” were the first +words which reached their ears, and these came from Lucy. “There will +be no trouble at all, and no expense, and they shall all come back as +soon as Mrs. Crawley is able to get out of bed.”</p> + +<p>“But, Miss Robarts, I can assure—” That was Mr. Crawley’s voice, +heard from him as he followed Miss Robarts to the door; but one of +the elder children had then called him into the sick room, and Lucy +was left to do her worst.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to take the children back with you?” said the dean.</p> + +<p>“Yes; Mrs. Robarts has prepared for them.”</p> + +<p>“You can take greater liberties with my friend here than I can.”</p> + +<p>“It is all my sister’s doing,” said Robarts. “Women are always bolder +in such matters than men.” And then Lucy reappeared, bringing Bobby +with her, and one of the younger children.</p> + +<p>“Do not mind what he says,” said she, “but drive away when you have +got them all. Tell Fanny I have put into the basket what things I +could find, but they are very few. She must borrow things for Grace +from Mrs. Granger’s little girl”—(Mrs. Granger was the wife of a +Framley farmer);—“and, Mark, turn Puck’s head round, so that you may +be off in a moment. I’ll have Grace and the other one here directly.” +And then, leaving her brother to pack Bobby and his little sister on +the back part of the vehicle, she returned to her business in the +house. She had just looked in at Mrs. Crawley’s bed, and finding her +awake, had smiled on her, and deposited her bundle in token of her +intended stay, and then, without speaking a word, had gone on her +errand about the children. She had called to Grace to show her where +she might find such things as were to be taken to Framley, and having +explained to the bairns, as well as she might, the destiny which +immediately awaited them, prepared them for their departure without +saying a word to Mr. Crawley on the subject. Bobby and the elder of +the two infants were stowed away safely in the back part of the +carriage, where they allowed themselves to be placed without saying a +word. They opened their eyes and stared at the dean, who sat by on +his horse, and assented to such orders as Mr. Robarts gave them,—no +doubt with much surprise, but nevertheless in absolute silence.</p> + +<p>“Now, Grace, be quick, there’s a dear,” said Lucy, returning with the +infant in her arms. “And, Grace, mind you are very careful about +baby; and bring the basket; I’ll give it you when you are in.” Grace +and the other child were then packed on to the other seat, and a +basket with children’s clothes put in on the top of them. “That’ll +do, Mark; good-bye; tell Fanny to be sure and send the day after +to-morrow, and not to +<span class="nowrap">forget—”</span> and then she whispered into her +brother’s ear an injunction about certain dairy comforts which might +not be spoken of in the hearing of Mr. Crawley. “Good-bye, dears; +mind you are good children; you shall hear about mamma the day after +to-morrow,” said Lucy; and Puck, admonished by a sound from his +master’s voice, began to move just as Mr. Crawley reappeared at the +house door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, stop!” he said. “Miss Robarts, you really had better +<span class="nowrap">not—”</span></p> + +<p>“Go on, Mark,” said Lucy, in a whisper, which, whether audible or not +by Mr. Crawley, was heard very plainly by the dean. And Mark, who had +slightly arrested Puck by the reins on the appearance of Mr. Crawley, +now touched the impatient little beast with his whip; and the vehicle +with its freight darted off rapidly, Puck shaking his head and going +away with a tremendously quick short trot which soon separated Mr. +Crawley from his family.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts,” he began, “this step has been taken altogether +<span class="nowrap">without—”</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she, interrupting him. “My brother was obliged to return +at once. The children, you know, will remain all together at the +parsonage; and that, I think, is what Mrs. Crawley will best like. In +a day or two they will be under Mrs. Robarts’s own charge.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Miss Robarts, I had no intention whatever of putting +the burden of my family on the shoulders of another person. They must +return to their own home immediately—that is, as soon as they can be +brought back.”</p> + +<p>“I really think Miss Robarts has managed very well,” said the dean. +“Mrs. Crawley must be so much more comfortable to think that they are +out of danger.”</p> + +<p>“And they will be quite comfortable at the parsonage,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I do not at all doubt that,” said Mr. Crawley; “but too much of such +comforts will unfit them for their home; and—and I could have wished +that I had been consulted more at leisure before the proceeding had +been taken.”</p> + +<p>“It was arranged, Mr. Crawley, when I was here before, that the +children had better go away,” pleaded Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I do not remember agreeing to such a measure, Miss Robarts; +<span class="nowrap">however—</span> I +suppose they cannot be had back to-night?”</p> + +<p>“No, not to-night,” said Lucy. “And now I will go in to your wife.” +And then she returned to the house, leaving the two gentlemen at the +door. At this moment a labourer’s boy came sauntering by, and the +dean, obtaining possession of his services for the custody of his +horse, was able to dismount and put himself on a more equal footing +for conversation with his friend.</p> + +<p>“Crawley,” said he, putting his hand affectionately on his friend’s +shoulder, as they both stood leaning on the little rail before the +door; “that is a good girl—a very good girl.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he slowly; “she means well.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, but she does well; she does excellently. What can be better +than her conduct now? While I was meditating how I might possibly +assist your wife in this +<span class="nowrap">strait—”</span></p> + +<p>“I want no assistance; none, at least, from man,” said Crawley, +bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my friend, think of what you are saying! Think of the wickedness +which must accompany such a state of mind! Have you ever known any +man able to walk alone, without assistance from his brother men?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Crawley did not make any immediate answer, but putting his arms +behind his back and closing his hands, as was his wont when he walked +alone thinking of the general bitterness of his lot in life, began to +move slowly along the road in front of his house. He did not invite +the other to walk with him, but neither was there anything in his +manner which seemed to indicate that he had intended to be left to +himself. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, at that delicious +period of the year when summer has just burst forth from the growth +of spring; when the summer is yet but three days old, and all the +various shades of green which nature can put forth are still in their +unsoiled purity of freshness. The apple blossoms were on the trees, +and the hedges were sweet with May. The cuckoo at five o’clock was +still sounding his soft summer call with unabated energy, and even +the common grasses of the hedgerows were sweet with the fragrance of +their new growth. The foliage of the oaks was complete, so that every +bough and twig was clothed; but the leaves did not yet hang heavy in +masses, and the bend of every bough and the tapering curve of every +twig were visible through their light green covering. There is no +time of the year equal in beauty to the first week in summer; and no +colour which nature gives, not even the gorgeous hues of autumn, +which can equal the verdure produced by the first warm suns of May.</p> + +<p>Hogglestock, as has been explained, has little to offer in the way of +landskip beauty, and the clergyman’s house at Hogglestock was not +placed on a green slopy bank of land, retired from the road, with its +windows opening on to a lawn, surrounded by shrubs, with a view of +the small church tower seen through them; it had none of that beauty +which is so common to the cozy houses of our spiritual pastors in the +agricultural parts of England. Hogglestock Parsonage stood bleak +beside the road, with no pretty paling lined inside by hollies and +laburnum, Portugal laurels and rose-trees. But, nevertheless, even +Hogglestock was pretty now. There were apple-trees there covered with +blossom, and the hedgerows were in full flower. There were thrushes +singing, and here and there an oak-tree stood in the roadside, +perfect in its solitary beauty.</p> + +<p>“Let us walk on a little,” said the dean. “Miss Robarts is with her +now, and you will be better for leaving the room for a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said he; “I must go back; I cannot leave that young lady to do +my work.”</p> + +<p>“Stop, Crawley!” And the dean, putting his hand upon him, stayed him +in the road. “She is doing her own work, and if you were speaking of +her with reference to any other household than your own, you would +say so. Is it not a comfort to you to know that your wife has a woman +near her at such a time as this; and a woman, too, who can speak to +her as one lady does to another?”</p> + +<p>“These are comforts which we have no right to expect. I could not +have done much for poor Mary; but what a man could have done should +not have been wanting.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of it; I know it well. What any man could do by himself +you would do—excepting one thing.” And the dean as he spoke looked +full into the other’s face.</p> + +<p>“And what is there I would not do?” said Crawley.</p> + +<p>“Sacrifice your own pride.”</p> + +<p>“My pride?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; your own pride.”</p> + +<p>“I have had but little pride this many a day. Arabin, you do not know +what my life has been. How is a man to be proud +<span class="nowrap">who—”</span> And then he +stopped himself, not wishing to go through the catalogue of those +grievances, which, as he thought, had killed the very germs of pride +within him, or to insist by spoken words on his poverty, his wants, +and the injustice of his position. “No; I wish I could be proud; but +the world has been too heavy to me, and I have forgotten all that.”</p> + +<p>“How long have I known you, Crawley?”</p> + +<p>“How long? Ah dear! a life-time nearly, now.”</p> + +<p>“And we were like brothers once.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; we were equal as brothers then—in our fortunes, our tastes, +and our modes of life.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you would begrudge me the pleasure of putting my hand in my +pocket, and relieving the inconveniences which have been thrown on +you, and those you love better than yourself, by the chances of your +fate in life.”</p> + +<p>“I will live on no man’s charity,” said Crawley, with an abruptness +which amounted almost to an expression of anger.</p> + +<p>“And is not that pride?”</p> + +<p>“No—yes;—it is a species of pride, but not that pride of which you +spoke. A man cannot be honest if he have not some pride. You +yourself;—would you not rather starve than become a beggar?”</p> + +<p>“I would rather beg than see my wife starve,” said Arabin.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“She is not starving,” said Crawley, in a voice very bitter, but +still intended to be exculpatory of himself.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear friend; I know she is not, and do not you be angry with +me because I have endeavoured to put the matter to you in the +strongest language I could use.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But that is the very fault for which I blame you. That is the pride +which I say you ought to sacrifice.”</p> + +<p>“And why should I be called on to do so? Is not the labourer 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 +cannot be so now.”</p> + +<p>“If there be such inability, it is all with you.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That is the pride of which I speak;—false pride.”</p> + +<p>“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 has sacrificed all the world to +her love for me,—who is the mother of my children, and the partner +of my sorrows and the wife of my bosom,—even she cannot change me in +this, though she pleads with the eloquence of all her wants. Not even +for her can I hold out my hand for a dole.”</p> + +<p>They had now come back to the door of the house, and Mr. Crawley, +hardly conscious of what he was doing, was preparing to enter.</p> + +<p>“Will Mrs. Crawley be able to see me if I come in?” said the dean.</p> + +<p>“Oh, stop; no; you had better not do so,” said Mr. Crawley. “You, no +doubt, might be subject to infection, and then Mrs. Arabin would be +frightened.”</p> + +<p>“I do not care about it in the least,” said the dean.</p> + +<p>“But it is of no use; you had better not. Her room, I fear, is quite +unfit for you to see; and the whole house, you know, may be +infected.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Arabin by this time was in the sitting-room; but seeing that his +friend was really anxious that he should not go farther, he did not +persist.</p> + +<p>“It will be a comfort to us, at any rate, to know that Miss Robarts +is with her.”</p> + +<p>“The young lady is very good—very good indeed,” said Crawley; “but I +trust she will return to her home to-morrow. It is impossible that +she should remain in so poor a house as mine. There will be nothing +here of all the things that she will want.”</p> + +<p>The dean thought that Lucy Robarts’s wants during her present +occupation of nursing would not be so numerous as to make her +continued sojourn in Mrs. Crawley’s sick room impossible, and +therefore took his leave with a satisfied conviction that the poor +lady would not be left wholly to the somewhat unskilful nursing of +her husband.</p> + + +<p><a id="c37"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2></div> +<h3>MR. SOWERBY WITHOUT COMPANY.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now there were going to be wondrous doings in West Barsetshire, +and men’s minds were much disturbed. The fiat had gone forth from the +high places, and the Queen had dissolved her faithful Commons. The +giants, finding that they could effect little or nothing with the old +House, had resolved to try what a new venture would do for them, and +the hubbub of a general election was to pervade the country. This +produced no inconsiderable irritation and annoyance, for the House +was not as yet quite three years old; and members of Parliament, +though they naturally feel a constitutional pleasure in meeting their +friends and in pressing the hands of their constituents, are, +nevertheless, so far akin to the lower order of humanity that they +appreciate the danger of losing their seats; and the certainty of a +considerable outlay in their endeavours to retain them is not +agreeable to the legislative mind.</p> + +<p>Never did the old family fury between the gods and giants rage higher +than at the present moment. The giants declared that every turn which +they attempted to take in their country’s service had been thwarted +by faction, in spite of those benign promises of assistance made to +them only a few weeks since by their opponents; and the gods answered +by asserting that they were driven to this opposition by the +Bœotian fatuity of the giants. They had no doubt promised their +aid, and were ready to give it to measures that were decently +prudent; but not to a bill enabling government at its will to pension +aged bishops! No; there must be some limit to their tolerance, and +when such attempts as these were made that limit had been clearly +passed.</p> + +<p>All this had taken place openly only a day or two after that casual +whisper dropped by Tom Towers at Miss Dunstable’s party—by Tom +Towers, that most pleasant of all pleasant fellows. And how should he +have known it,—he who flutters from one sweetest flower of the +garden to another,</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" ><tr><td> +“Adding sugar to the pink, and honey to the rose,<br> + So loved for what he gives, but taking nothing as he goes”? +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">But the whisper +had grown into a rumour, and the rumour into a fact, +and the political world was in a ferment. The giants, furious about +their bishops’ pension bill, threatened the House—most +injudiciously; and then it was beautiful to see how indignant members +got up, glowing with honesty, and declared that it was base to +conceive that any gentleman in that House could be actuated in his +vote by any hopes or fears with reference to his seat. And so matters +grew from bad to worse, and these contending parties never hit at +each other with such envenomed wrath as they did now;—having entered +the ring together so lately with such manifold promises of good-will, +respect, and forbearance!</p> + +<p>But going from the general to the particular, we may say that nowhere +was a deeper consternation spread than in the electoral division of +West Barsetshire. No sooner had the tidings of the dissolution +reached the county than it was known that the duke intended to change +his nominee. Mr. Sowerby had now sat for the division since the +Reform Bill! He had become one of the county institutions, and by the +dint of custom and long establishment had been borne with and even +liked by the county gentlemen, in spite of his well-known pecuniary +irregularities. Now all this was to be changed. No reason had as yet +been publicly given, but it was understood that Lord Dumbello was to +be returned, although he did not own an acre of land in the county. +It is true that rumour went on to say that Lord Dumbello was about to +form close connections with Barsetshire. He was on the eve of +marrying a young lady, from the other division indeed, and was now +engaged, so it was said, in completing arrangements with the +government for the purchase of that noble crown property usually +known as the Chace of Chaldicotes. It was also stated—this +statement, however, had hitherto been only announced in confidential +whispers—that Chaldicotes House itself would soon become the +residence of the marquis. The duke was claiming it as his own—would +very shortly have completed his claims and taken possession;—and +then, by some arrangement between them, it was to be made over to +Lord Dumbello.</p> + +<p>But very contrary rumours to these got abroad also. Men said—such as +dared to oppose the duke, and some few also who did not dare to +oppose him when the day of battle came—that it was beyond his +grace’s power to turn Lord Dumbello into a Barsetshire magnate. The +crown property—such men said—was to fall into the hands of young +Mr. Gresham, of Boxall Hill, in the other division, and that the +terms of purchase had been already settled. And as to Mr. Sowerby’s +property and the house of Chaldicotes—these opponents of the Omnium +interest went on to explain—it was by no means as yet so certain +that the duke would be able to enter it and take possession. The +place was not to be given up to him quietly. A great fight would be +made, and it was beginning to be believed that the enormous mortgages +would be paid off by a lady of immense wealth. And then a dash of +romance was not wanting to make these stories palatable. This lady of +immense wealth had been courted by Mr. Sowerby, had acknowledged her +love,—but had refused to marry him on account of his character. In +testimony of her love, however, she was about to pay all his debts.</p> + +<p>It was soon put beyond a rumour, and became manifest enough, that Mr. +Sowerby did not intend to retire from the county in obedience to the +duke’s behests. A placard was posted through the whole division in +which no allusion was made by name to the duke, but in which Mr. +Sowerby warned his friends not to be led away by any report that he +intended to retire from the representation of West Barsetshire. “He +had sat,” the placard said, “for the same county during the full +period of a quarter of a century, and he would not lightly give up an +honour that had been extended to him so often and which he prized so +dearly. There were but few men now in the House whose connection with +the same body of constituents had remained unbroken so long as had +that which bound him to West Barsetshire; and he confidently hoped +that that connection might be continued through another period of +coming years till he might find himself in the glorious position of +being the father of the county members of the House of Commons.” The +placard said much more than this, and hinted at sundry and various +questions, all of great interest to the county; but it did not say +one word of the Duke of Omnium, though every one knew what the duke +was supposed to be doing in the matter. He was, as it were, a great +Llama, shut up in a holy of holies, inscrutable, invisible, +inexorable,—not to be seen by men’s eyes or heard by their ears, +hardly to be mentioned by ordinary men at such periods as these +without an inward quaking. But nevertheless, it was he who was +supposed to rule them. Euphemism required that his name should be +mentioned at no public meetings in connection with the coming +election; but, nevertheless, most men in the county believed that he +could send his dog up to the House of Commons as member for West +Barsetshire if it so pleased him.</p> + +<p>It was supposed, therefore, that our friend Sowerby would have no +chance; but he was lucky in finding assistance in a quarter from +which he certainly had not deserved it. He had been a staunch friend +of the gods during the whole of his political life,—as, indeed, was +to be expected, seeing that he had been the duke’s nominee; but, +nevertheless, on the present occasion, all the giants connected with +the county came forward to his rescue. They did not do this with the +acknowledged purpose of opposing the duke; they declared that they +were actuated by a generous disinclination to see an old county +member put from his seat;—but the world knew that the battle was to +be waged against the great Llama. It was to be a contest between the +powers of aristocracy and the powers of oligarchy, as those powers +existed in West Barsetshire,—and, it may be added, that democracy +would have very little to say to it, on one side or on the other. The +lower order of voters, the small farmers and tradesmen, would no +doubt range themselves on the side of the duke, and would endeavour +to flatter themselves that they were thereby furthering the views of +the liberal side; but they would in fact be led to the poll by an +old-fashioned, time-honoured adherence to the will of their great +Llama; and by an apprehension of evil if that Llama should arise and +shake himself in his wrath. What might not come to the county if the +Llama were to walk himself off, he with his satellites and armies and +courtiers? There he was, a great Llama; and though he came among them +but seldom, and was scarcely seen when he did come, nevertheless—and +not the less but rather the more—was obedience to him considered as +salutary and opposition regarded as dangerous. A great rural Llama is +still sufficiently mighty in rural England.</p> + +<p>But the priest of the temple, Mr. Fothergill, was frequent enough in +men’s eyes, and it was beautiful to hear with how varied a voice he +alluded to the things around him and to the changes which were +coming. To the small farmers, not only on the Gatherum property but +on others also, he spoke of the duke as a beneficent influence, +shedding prosperity on all around him, keeping up prices by his +presence, and forbidding the poor rates to rise above one and +fourpence in the pound by the general employment which he occasioned. +Men must be mad, he thought, who would willingly fly in the duke’s +face. To the squires from a distance he declared that no one had a +right to charge the duke with any interference;—as far, at least, as +he knew the duke’s mind. People would talk of things of which they +understood nothing. Could any one say that he had traced a single +request for a vote home to the duke? All this did not alter the +settled conviction on men’s minds; but it had its effect, and tended +to increase the mystery in which the duke’s doings were enveloped. +But to his own familiars, to the gentry immediately around him, Mr. +Fothergill merely winked his eye. They knew what was what, and so did +he. The duke had never been bit yet in such matters, and Mr. +Fothergill did not think that he would now submit himself to any such +operation.</p> + +<p>I never heard in what manner and at what rate Mr. Fothergill received +remuneration for the various services performed by him with reference +to the duke’s property in Barsetshire; but I am very sure that, +whatever might be the amount, he earned it thoroughly. Never was +there a more faithful partisan, or one who, in his partisanship, was +more discreet. In this matter of the coming election he declared that +he himself,—personally, on his own hook,—did intend to bestir +himself actively on behalf of Lord Dumbello. Mr. Sowerby was an old +friend of his, and a very good fellow. That was true. But all the +world must admit that Sowerby was not in the position which a county +member ought to occupy. He was a ruined man, and it would not be for +his own advantage that he should be maintained in a position which +was fit only for a man of property. He knew—he, Fothergill—that Mr. +Sowerby must abandon all right and claim to Chaldicotes; and if so, +what would be more absurd than to acknowledge that he had a right and +claim to the seat in Parliament? As to Lord Dumbello, it was probable +that he would soon become one of the largest landowners in the +county; and, as such, who could be more fit for the representation? +Beyond this, Mr. Fothergill was not ashamed to confess—so he +said—that he hoped to hold Lord Dumbello’s agency. It would be +compatible with his other duties, and therefore, as a matter of +course, he intended to support Lord Dumbello;—he himself, that is. +As to the duke’s mind in the +<span class="nowrap">matter—!</span> But I have already explained +how Mr. Fothergill disposed of that.</p> + +<p>In these days, Mr. Sowerby came down to his own house—for ostensibly +it was still his own house—but he came very quietly, and his arrival +was hardly known in his own village. Though his placard was stuck up +so widely, he himself took no electioneering steps; none, at least, +as yet. The protection against arrest which he derived from +Parliament would soon be over, and those who were most bitter against +the duke averred that steps would be taken to arrest him, should he +give sufficient opportunity to the myrmidons of the law. That he +would, in such case, be arrested was very likely; but it was not +likely that this would be done in any way at the duke’s instance. Mr. +Fothergill declared indignantly that this insinuation made him very +angry; but he was too prudent a man to be very angry at anything, and +he knew how to make capital on his own side of charges such as these +which overshot their own mark.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sowerby came down very quietly to Chaldicotes, and there he +remained for a couple of days, quite alone. The place bore a very +different aspect now to that which we noticed when Mark Robarts drove +up to it, in the early pages of this little narrative. There were no +lights in the windows now, and no voices came from the stables; no +dogs barked, and all was dead and silent as the grave. During the +greater portion of those two days he sat alone within the house, +almost unoccupied. He did not even open his letters, which lay piled +on a crowded table in the small breakfast parlour in which he sat; +for the letters of such men come in piles, and there are few of them +which are pleasant in the reading. There he sat, troubled with +thoughts which were sad enough, now and then moving to and fro the +house, but for the most part occupied in thinking over the position +to which he had brought himself. What would he be in the world’s eye, +if he ceased to be the owner of Chaldicotes, and ceased also to be +the member for his county? He had lived ever before the world, and, +though always harassed by encumbrances, had been sustained and +comforted by the excitement of a prominent position. His debts and +difficulties had hitherto been bearable, and he had borne them with +ease so long that he had almost taught himself to think that they +would never be unendurable. But +<span class="nowrap">now,—</span></p> + +<p>The order for foreclosing had gone forth, and the harpies of the law, +by their present speed in sticking their claws into the carcase of +his property, were atoning to themselves for the delay with which +they had hitherto been compelled to approach their prey. And the +order as to his seat had gone forth also. That placard had been drawn +up by the combined efforts of his sister, Miss Dunstable, and a +certain well-known electioneering agent, named Closerstill, presumed +to be in the interest of the giants. But poor Sowerby had but little +confidence in the placard. No one knew better than he how great was +the duke’s power.</p> + +<p>He was hopeless, therefore, as he walked about through those empty +rooms, thinking of his past life and of that life which was to come. +Would it not be well for him that he were dead, now that he was dying +to all that had made the world pleasant! We see and hear of such men +as Mr. Sowerby, and are apt to think that they enjoy all that the +world can give, and that they enjoy that all without payment either +in care or labour; but I doubt that, with even the most callous of +them, their periods of wretchedness must be frequent, and that +wretchedness very intense. Salmon and lamb in February and green +pease and new potatoes in March can hardly make a man happy, even +though nobody pays for them; and the feeling that one is an +<i>antecedentem scelestum</i> after whom a sure, though lame, Nemesis is +hobbling, must sometimes disturb one’s slumbers. On the present +occasion Scelestus felt that his Nemesis had overtaken him. Lame as +she had been, and swift as he had run, she had mouthed him at last, +and there was nothing left for him but to listen to the “whoop” set +up at the sight of his own death-throes.</p> + +<p>It was a melancholy, dreary place now, that big house of Chaldicotes; +and though the woods were all green with their early leaves, and the +gardens thick with flowers, they also were melancholy and dreary. The +lawns were untrimmed and weeds were growing through the gravel, and +here and there a cracked Dryad, tumbled from her pedestal and +sprawling in the grass, gave a look of disorder to the whole place. +The wooden trellis-work was shattered here and bending there, the +standard rose-trees were stooping to the ground, and the leaves of +the winter still encumbered the borders. Late in the evening of the +second day Mr. Sowerby strolled out, and went through the gardens +into the wood. Of all the inanimate things of the world this wood of +Chaldicotes was the dearest to him. He was not a man to whom his +companions gave much credit for feelings or thoughts akin to poetry, +but here, out in the Chace, his mind would be almost poetical. While +wandering among the forest trees, he became susceptible of the +tenderness of human nature: he would listen to the birds singing, and +pick here and there a wild flower on his path. He would watch the +decay of the old trees and the progress of the young, and make +pictures in his eyes of every turn in the wood. He would mark the +colour of a bit of road as it dipped into a dell, and then, passing +through a water-course, rose brown, rough, irregular, and beautiful +against the bank on the other side. And then he would sit and think +of his old family: how they had roamed there time out of mind in +those Chaldicotes woods, father and son and grandson in regular +succession, each giving them over, without blemish or decrease, to +his successor. So he would sit; and so he did sit even now, and, +thinking of these things, wished that he had never been born.</p> + +<p>It was dark night when he returned to the house, and as he did so he +resolved that he would quit the place altogether, and give up the +battle as lost. The duke should take it and do as he pleased with it; +and as for the seat in Parliament, Lord Dumbello, or any other +equally gifted young patrician, might hold it for him. He would +vanish from the scene and betake himself to some land from whence he +would be neither heard nor seen, and there—starve. Such were now his +future outlooks into the world; and yet, as regards health and all +physical capacities, he knew that he was still in the prime of his +life. Yes; in the prime of his life! But what could he do with what +remained to him of such prime? How could he turn either his mind or +his strength to such account as might now be serviceable? How could +he, in his sore need, earn for himself even the barest bread? Would +it not be better for him that he should die? Let not any one covet +the lot of a spendthrift, even though the days of his early pease and +champagne seem to be unnumbered; for that lame Nemesis will surely be +up before the game has been all played out.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Sowerby reached his house he found that a message by +telegraph had arrived for him in his absence. It was from his sister, +and it informed him that she would be with him that night. She was +coming down by the mail train, had telegraphed to Barchester for +post-horses, and would be at Chaldicotes about two hours after +midnight. It was therefore manifest enough that her business was of +importance.</p> + +<p>Exactly at two the Barchester post-chaise did arrive, and Mrs. Harold +Smith, before she retired to her bed, was closeted for about an hour +with her brother.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, the following morning, as they sat together at the +breakfast-table, “what do you say to it now? If you accept her offer +you should be with her lawyer this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I must accept it,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, I think so. No doubt it will take the property out of +your own hands as completely as though the duke had it, but it will +leave you the house, at any rate, for your life.”</p> + +<p>“What good will the house be, when I can’t keep it up?”</p> + +<p>“But I am not so sure of that. She will not want more than her fair +interest; and as it will be thoroughly well managed, I should think +that there would be something over—something enough to keep up the +house. And then, you know, we must have some place in the country.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you fairly, Harriet, that I will have nothing further to do +with Harold in the way of money.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! that was because you would go to him. Why did you not come to +me? And then, Nathaniel, it is the only way in which you can have a +chance of keeping the seat. She is the queerest woman I ever met, but +she seems resolved on beating the duke.”</p> + +<p>“I do not quite understand it, but I have not the slightest +objection.”</p> + +<p>“She thinks that he is interfering with young Gresham about the crown +property. I had no idea that she had so much business at her fingers’ +ends. When I first proposed the matter she took it up quite as a +lawyer might, and seemed to have forgotten altogether what occurred +about that other matter.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I could forget it also,” said Mr. Sowerby.</p> + +<p>“I really think that she does. When I was obliged to make some +allusion to it—at least I felt myself obliged, and was sorry +afterwards that I did—she merely laughed—a great loud laugh as she +always does, and then went on about the business. However, she was +clear about this, that all the expenses of the election should be +added to the sum to be advanced by her, and that the house should be +left to you without any rent. If you choose to take the land round +the house you must pay for it, by the acre, as the tenants do. She +was as clear about it all as though she had passed her life in a +lawyer’s office.”</p> + +<p>My readers will now pretty well understand what last step that +excellent sister, Mrs. Harold Smith, had taken on her brother’s +behalf, nor will they be surprised to learn that in the course of the +day Mr. Sowerby hurried back to town and put himself into +communication with Miss Dunstable’s lawyer.</p> + + +<p><a id="c38"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2></div> +<h3>IS THERE CAUSE OR JUST IMPEDIMENT?<br> </h3> + + +<p>I now purpose to visit another country house in Barsetshire, but on +this occasion our sojourn shall be in the eastern division, in which, +as in every other county in England, electioneering matters are +paramount at the present moment. It has been mentioned that Mr. +Gresham, junior, young Frank Gresham as he was always called, lived +at a place called Boxall Hill. This property had come to his wife by +will, and he was now settled there,—seeing that his father still +held the family seat of the Greshams at Greshamsbury.</p> + +<p>At the present moment Miss Dunstable was staying at Boxall Hill with +Mrs. Frank Gresham. They had left London,—as, indeed, all the world +had done, to the terrible dismay of the London tradesmen. This +dissolution of Parliament was ruining everybody except the country +publicans, and had of course destroyed the London season among other +things.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harold Smith had only just managed to catch Miss Dunstable +before she left London; but she did do so, and the great heiress had +at once seen her lawyers, and instructed them how to act with +reference to the mortgages on the Chaldicotes property. Miss +Dunstable was in the habit of speaking of herself and her own +pecuniary concerns as though she herself were rarely allowed to +meddle in their management; but this was one of those small jokes +which she ordinarily perpetrated; for in truth few ladies, and +perhaps not many gentlemen, have a more thorough knowledge of their +own concerns or a more potent voice in their own affairs, than was +possessed by Miss Dunstable. Circumstances had lately brought her +much into Barsetshire and she had there contracted very intimate +friendships. She was now disposed to become, if possible, a +Barsetshire proprietor, and with this view had lately agreed with +young Mr. Gresham that she would become the purchaser of the Crown +property. As, however, the purchase had been commenced in his name, +it was so to be continued; but now, as we are aware, it was rumoured +that, after all, the duke, or, if not the duke, then the Marquis of +Dumbello, was to be the future owner of the Chace. Miss Dunstable, +however, was not a person to give up her object if she could attain +it, nor, under the circumstances, was she at all displeased at +finding herself endowed with the power of rescuing the Sowerby +portion of the Chaldicotes property from the duke’s clutches. Why had +the duke meddled with her, or with her friend, as to the other +property? Therefore it was arranged that the full amount due to the +duke on mortgage should be ready for immediate payment; but it was +arranged also that the security as held by Miss Dunstable should be +very valid.</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable, at Boxall Hill or at Greshamsbury, was a very +different person from Miss Dunstable in London; and it was this +difference which so much vexed Mrs. Gresham; not that her friend +omitted to bring with her into the country her London wit and +aptitude for fun, but that she did not take with her up to town the +genuine goodness and love of honesty which made her loveable in the +country. She was as it were two persons, and Mrs. Gresham could not +understand that any lady should permit herself to be more worldly at +one time of the year than at another—or in one place than in any +other.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, I am heartily glad we’ve done with that,” Miss +Dunstable said to her, as she sat herself down to her desk in the +drawing-room on the first morning after her arrival at Boxall Hill.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill05"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill05.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill05-t.jpg" height="500" alt="Mrs. Gresham and Miss Dunstable."></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Mrs. + Gresham and Miss Dunstable.</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill05.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“What does ‘that’ mean?” said Mrs. Gresham.</p> + +<p>“Why, London and smoke and late hours, and standing on one’s legs for +four hours at a stretch on the top of one’s own staircase, to be +bowed at by any one who chooses to come. That’s all done—for one +year, at any rate.”</p> + +<p>“You know you like it.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mary; that’s just what I don’t know. I don’t know whether I like +it or not. Sometimes, when the spirit of that dearest of all women, +Mrs. Harold Smith, is upon me, I think that I do like it; but then +again, when other spirits are on me, I think that I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“And who are the owners of the other spirits?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! you are one, of course. But you are a weak little thing, by no +means able to contend with such a Samson as Mrs. Harold. And then you +are a little given to wickedness yourself, you know. You’ve learned +to like London well enough since you sat down to the table of Dives. +Your uncle,—he’s the real impracticable, unapproachable Lazarus who +declares that he can’t come down because of the big gulf. I wonder +how he’d behave, if somebody left him ten thousand a year?”</p> + +<p>“Uncommonly well, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; he is a Lazarus now, so of course we are bound to speak +well of him; but I should like to see him tried. I don’t doubt but +what he’d have a house in Belgrave Square, and become noted for his +little dinners before the first year of his trial was over.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and why not? You would not wish him to be an anchorite?”</p> + +<p>“I am told that he is going to try his luck,—not with ten thousand a +year, but with one or two.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Jane tells me that they all say at Greshamsbury that he is going to +marry Lady Scatcherd.” Now Lady Scatcherd was a widow living in those +parts; an excellent woman, but one not formed by nature to grace +society of the highest order.</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Gresham, rising up from her chair while her +eyes flashed with anger at such a rumour.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, don’t eat me. I don’t say it is so; I only say that +Jane said so.”</p> + +<p>“Then you ought to send Jane out of the house.”</p> + +<p>“You may be sure of this, my dear: Jane would not have told me if +somebody had not told her.”</p> + +<p>“And you believed it?”</p> + +<p>“I have said nothing about that.”</p> + +<p>“But you look as if you had believed it.”</p> + +<p>“Do I? Let us see what sort of a look it is, this look of faith.” And +Miss Dunstable got up and went to the glass over the fire-place. +“But, Mary, my dear, ain’t you old enough to know that you should not +credit people’s looks? You should believe nothing now-a-days; and I +did not believe the story about poor Lady Scatcherd. I know the +doctor well enough to be sure that he is not a marrying man.”</p> + +<p>“What a nasty, hackneyed, false phrase that is—that of a marrying +man! It sounds as though some men were in the habit of getting +married three or four times a month.”</p> + +<p>“It means a great deal all the same. One can tell very soon whether a +man is likely to marry or no.”</p> + +<p>“And can one tell the same of a woman?”</p> + +<p>“The thing is so different. All unmarried women are necessarily in +the market; but if they behave themselves properly they make no +signs. Now there was Griselda Grantly; of course she intended to get +herself a husband, and a very grand one she has got; but she always +looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth. It would have +been very wrong to call her a marrying girl.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course she was,” says Mrs. Gresham, with that sort of +acrimony which one pretty young woman so frequently expresses with +reference to another. “But if one could always tell of a woman, as +you say you can of a man, I should be able to tell of you. Now, I +wonder whether you are a marrying woman? I have never been able to +make up my mind yet.”</p> + +<p>Miss Dunstable remained silent for a few moments, as though she were +at first minded to take the question as being, in some sort, one made +in earnest; but then she attempted to laugh it off. “Well, I wonder +at that,” said she, “as it was only the other day I told you how many +offers I had refused.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but you did not tell me whether any had been made that you +meant to accept.”</p> + +<p>“None such was ever made to me. Talking of that, I shall never forget +your cousin, the Honourable George.”</p> + +<p>“He is not my cousin.”</p> + +<p>“Well, your husband’s. It would not be fair to show a man’s letters; +but I should like to show you his.”</p> + +<p>“You are determined, then, to remain single?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say that. But why do you cross-question me so?”</p> + +<p>“Because I think so much about you. I am afraid that you will become +so afraid of men’s motives as to doubt that any one can be honest. +And yet sometimes I think you would be a happier woman and a better +woman, if you were married.”</p> + +<p>“To such an one as the Honourable George, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“No, not to such an one as him; you have probably picked out the +worst.”</p> + +<p>“Or to Mr. Sowerby?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no; not to Mr. Sowerby, either. I would not have you marry any +man that looked to you for your money principally.”</p> + +<p>“And how is it possible that I should expect any one to look to me +principally for anything else? You don’t see my difficulty, my dear? +If I had only five hundred a year, I might come across some decent +middle-aged personage, like myself, who would like me, myself, pretty +well, and would like my little income—pretty well also. He would not +tell me any violent lie, and perhaps no lie at all. I should take to +him in the same sort of way, and we might do very well. But, as it +is, how is it possible that any disinterested person should learn to +like me? How could such a man set about it? If a sheep have two +heads, is not the fact of the two heads the first and, indeed, only +thing which the world regards in that sheep? Must it not be so as a +matter of course? I am a sheep with two heads. All this money which +my father put together, and which has been growing since like grass +under May showers, has turned me into an abortion. I am not the +giantess eight feet high, or the dwarf that stands in the man’s +<span class="nowrap">hand,—”</span></p> + +<p>“Or the two-headed sheep—”</p> + +<p>“But I am the unmarried woman with—half a dozen millions of +money—as I believe some people think. Under such circumstances have +I a fair chance of getting my own sweet bit of grass to nibble, like +any ordinary animal with one head? I never was very beautiful, and I +am not more so now than I was fifteen years ago.”</p> + +<p>“I am quite sure it is not that which hinders it. You would not call +yourself plain; and even plain women are married every day, and are +loved, too, as well as pretty women.”</p> + +<p>“Are they? Well, we won’t say more about that; but I don’t expect a +great many lovers on account of my beauty. If ever you hear of such +an one, mind you tell me.”</p> + +<p>It was almost on Mrs. Gresham’s tongue to say that she did know of +one such—meaning her uncle. But in truth, she did not know any such +thing; nor could she boast to herself that she had good grounds for +feeling that it was so—certainly none sufficient to justify her in +speaking of it. Her uncle had said no word to her on the matter, and +had been confused and embarrassed when the idea of such a marriage +was hinted to him. But, nevertheless, Mrs. Gresham did think that +each of these two was well inclined to love the other, and that they +would be happier together than they would be single. The difficulty, +however, was very great, for the doctor would be terribly afraid of +being thought covetous in regard to Miss Dunstable’s money; and it +would hardly be expected that she should be induced to make the first +overture to the doctor.</p> + +<p>“My uncle would be the only man that I can think of that would be at +all fit for you,” said Mrs. Gresham, boldly.</p> + +<p>“What, and rob poor Lady Scatcherd!” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well. If you choose to make a joke of his name in that way, +I have done.”</p> + +<p>“Why, God bless the girl! what does she want me to say? And as for +joking, surely that is innocent enough. You’re as tender about the +doctor as though he were a girl of seventeen.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not about him; but it’s such a shame to laugh at poor dear Lady +Scatcherd. If she were to hear it she’d lose all comfort in having my +uncle near her.”</p> + +<p>“And I’m to marry him, so that she may be safe with her friend!”</p> + +<p>“Very well; I have done.” And Mrs. Gresham, who had already got up +from her seat, employed herself very sedulously in arranging flowers +which had been brought in for the drawing-room tables. Thus they +remained silent for a minute or two, during which she began to +reflect that, after all, it might probably be thought that she also +was endeavouring to catch the great heiress for her uncle.</p> + +<p>“And now you are angry with me,” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“No, I am not.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you are. Do you think I’m such a fool as not to see when a +person’s vexed? You wouldn’t have twitched that geranium’s head off +if you’d been in a proper frame of mind.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t like that joke about Lady Scatcherd.”</p> + +<p>“And is that all, Mary? Now do try and be true, if you can. You +remember the bishop? <i>Magna est veritas.</i>”</p> + +<p>“The fact is you’ve got into such a way of being sharp, and saying +sharp things among your friends up in London, that you can hardly +answer a person without it.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t I? Dear, dear, what a Mentor you are, Mary! No poor lad that +ever ran up from Oxford for a spree in town got so lectured for his +dissipation and iniquities as I do. Well, I beg Dr. Thorne’s pardon, +and Lady Scatcherd’s, and I won’t be sharp any more; and I will—let +me see, what was it I was to do? Marry him myself, I believe; was not +that it?”</p> + +<p>“No; you’re not half good enough for him.”</p> + +<p>“I know that. I’m quite sure of that. Though I am so sharp, I’m very +humble. You can’t accuse me of putting any very great value on +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not as much as you ought to do—on yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Now, what do you mean, Mary? I won’t be bullied and teased, and have +innuendos thrown out at me, because you’ve got something on your +mind, and don’t quite dare to speak it out. If you have got anything +to say, say it.”</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Gresham did not choose to say it at that moment. She held +her peace, and went on arranging her flowers—now with a more +satisfied air, and without destruction to the geraniums. And when she +had grouped her bunches properly she carried the jar from one part of +the room to another, backwards and forwards, trying the effect of the +colours, as though her mind was quite intent upon her flowers, and +was for the moment wholly unoccupied with any other subject.</p> + +<p>But Miss Dunstable was not the woman to put up with this. She sat +silent in her place, while her friend made one or two turns about the +room; and then she got up from her seat also. “Mary,” she said, “give +over about those wretched bits of green branches and leave the jars +where they are. You’re trying to fidget me into a passion.”</p> + +<p>“Am I?” said Mrs. Gresham, standing opposite to a big bowl, and +putting her head a little on one side, as though she could better +look at her handiwork in that position.</p> + +<p>“You know you are; and it’s all because you lack courage to speak +out. You didn’t begin at me in this way for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“I do lack courage. That’s just it,” said Mrs. Gresham, still giving +a twist here and a set there to some of the small sprigs which +constituted the background of her bouquet. “I do lack courage—to +have ill motives imputed to me. I was thinking of saying something, +and I am afraid, and therefore I will not say it. And now, if you +like, I will be ready to take you out in ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Dunstable was not going to be put off in this way. And to +tell the truth, I must admit that her friend Mrs. Gresham was not +using her altogether well. She should either have held her peace on +the matter altogether,—which would probably have been her wiser +course,—or she should have declared her own ideas boldly, feeling +secure in her own conscience as to her own motives. “I shall not stir +from this room,” said Miss Dunstable, “till I have had this matter +out with you. And as for imputations,—my imputing bad motives to +you,—I don’t know how far you may be joking, and saying what you +call sharp things to me; but you have no right to think that I should +think evil of you. If you really do think so, it is treason to the +love I have for you. If I thought that you thought so, I could not +remain in the house with you. What! you are not able to know the +difference which one makes between one’s real friends and one’s mock +friends! I don’t believe it of you, and I know you are only striving +to bully me.” And Miss Dunstable now took her turn of walking up and +down the room.</p> + +<p>“Well, she shan’t be bullied,” said Mrs. Gresham, leaving her +flowers, and putting her arm round her friend’s waist;—“at least, +not here, in this house, although she is sometimes such a bully +herself.”</p> + +<p>“Mary, you have gone too far about this to go back. Tell me what it +was that was on your mind, and as far as it concerns me, I will +answer you honestly.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gresham now began to repent that she had made her little +attempt. That uttering of hints in a half-joking way was all very +well, and might possibly bring about the desired result, without the +necessity of any formal suggestion on her part; but now she was so +brought to book that she must say something formal. She must commit +herself to the expression of her own wishes, and to an expression +also of an opinion as to what had been the wishes of her friend; and +this she must do without being able to say anything as to the wishes +of that third person.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “I suppose you know what I meant.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I did,” said Miss Dunstable; “but it is not at all the +less necessary that you should say it out. I am not to commit myself +by my interpretation of your thoughts, while you remain perfectly +secure in having only hinted your own. I hate hints, as I do—the +mischief. I go in for the bishop’s doctrine. <i>Magna est veritas.</i>”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Gresham.</p> + +<p>“Ah! but I do,” said Miss Dunstable. “And therefore go on, or for +ever hold your peace.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just it,” said Mrs. Gresham.</p> + +<p>“What’s just it?” said Miss Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“The quotation out of the Prayer Book which you finished just now. +‘If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons +should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare +it. This is the first time of asking.’ Do you know any cause, Miss +Dunstable?”</p> + +<p>“Do you know any, Mrs. Gresham?”</p> + +<p>“None, on my honour!” said the younger lady, putting her hand upon +her breast.</p> + +<p>“Ah! but do you not?” and Miss Dunstable caught hold of her arm, and +spoke almost abruptly in her energy.</p> + +<p>“No, certainly not. What impediment? If I did, I should not have +broached the subject. I declare I think you would both be very happy +together. Of course, there is one impediment; we all know that. That +must be your look out.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? What impediment?”</p> + +<p>“Your own money.”</p> + +<p>“Psha! Did you find that an impediment in marrying Frank Gresham?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! the matter was so different there. He had much more to give than +I had, when all was counted. And I had no money when we—when we were +first engaged.” And the tears came into her eyes as she thought of +the circumstances of her early love;—all of which have been narrated +in the county chronicles of Barsetshire, and may now be read by men +and women interested therein.</p> + +<p>“Yes; yours was a love match. I declare, Mary, I often think that you +are the happiest woman of whom I ever heard; to have it all to give, +when you were so sure that you were loved while you yet had nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I was sure,” and she wiped the sweet tears from her eyes, as +she remembered a certain day when a certain youth had come to her, +claiming all kinds of privileges in a very determined manner. She had +been no heiress then. “Yes; I was sure. But now with you, dear, you +can’t make yourself poor again. If you can trust no +<span class="nowrap">one—”</span></p> + +<p>“I can. I can trust him. As regards that I do trust him altogether. +But how can I tell that he would care for me?”</p> + +<p>“Do you not know that he likes you?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes; and so he does Lady Scatcherd.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Dunstable!”</p> + +<p>“And why not Lady Scatcherd, as well as me? We are of the same +kind—come from the same class.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite that, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, from the same class; only I have managed to poke myself up +among dukes and duchesses, whereas she has been content to remain +where God placed her. Where I beat her in art, she beats me in +nature.”</p> + +<p>“You know you are talking nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“I think that we are both doing that—absolute nonsense; such as +schoolgirls of eighteen talk to each other. But there is a relief in +it; is there not? It would be a terrible curse to have to talk sense +always. Well, that’s done; and now let us go out.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gresham was sure after this that Miss Dunstable would be a +consenting party to the little arrangement which she contemplated. +But of that she had felt but little doubt for some considerable time +past. The difficulty lay on the other side, and all that she had as +yet done was to convince herself that she would be safe in assuring +her uncle of success if he could be induced to take the enterprise in +hand. He was to come to Boxall Hill that evening, and to remain there +for a day or two. If anything could be done in the matter, now would +be the time for doing it. So at least thought Mrs. Gresham.</p> + +<p>The doctor did come, and did remain for the allotted time at Boxall +Hill; but when he left, Mrs. Gresham had not been successful. Indeed, +he did not seem to enjoy his visit as was usual with him; and there +was very little of that pleasant friendly intercourse which for some +time past had been customary between him and Miss Dunstable. There +were no passages of arms between them; no abuse from the doctor +against the lady’s London gaiety; no raillery from the lady as to the +doctor’s country habits. They were very courteous to each other, and, +as Mrs. Gresham thought, too civil by half; nor, as far as she could +see, did they ever remain alone in each other’s company for five +minutes at a time during the whole period of the doctor’s visit. +What, thought Mrs. Gresham to herself,—what if she had set these two +friends at variance with each other, instead of binding them together +in the closest and most durable friendship!</p> + +<p>But still she had an idea that, as she had begun to play this game, +she must play it out. She felt conscious that what she had done must +do evil, unless she could so carry it on as to make it result in +good. Indeed, unless she could so manage, she would have done a +manifest injury to Miss Dunstable in forcing her to declare her +thoughts and feelings. She had already spoken to her uncle in London, +and though he had said nothing to show that he approved of her plan, +neither had he said anything to show that he disapproved it. +Therefore she had hoped through the whole of those three days that he +would make some sign,—at any rate to her; that he would in some way +declare what were his own thoughts on this matter. But the morning of +his departure came, and he had declared nothing.</p> + +<p>“Uncle,” she said, in the last five minutes of his sojourn there, +after he had already taken leave of Miss Dunstable and shaken hands +with Mrs. Gresham, “have you ever thought of what I said to you up in +London?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mary; of course I have thought about it. Such an idea as that, +when put into a man’s head, will make itself thought about.”</p> + +<p>“Well; and what next? Do talk to me about it. Do not be so hard and +unlike yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I have very little to say about it.”</p> + +<p>“I can tell you this for certain, you may if you like.”</p> + +<p>“Mary! Mary!”</p> + +<p>“I would not say so if I were not sure that I should not lead you +into trouble.”</p> + +<p>“You are foolish in wishing this, my dear; foolish in trying to tempt +an old man into a folly.”</p> + +<p>“Not foolish if I know that it will make you both happier.”</p> + +<p>He made her no further reply, but stooping down that she might kiss +him, as was his wont, went his way, leaving her almost miserable in +the thought that she had troubled all these waters to no purpose. +What would Miss Dunstable think of her? But on that afternoon Miss +Dunstable seemed to be as happy and even-tempered as ever.</p> + + +<p><a id="c39"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2></div> +<h3>HOW TO WRITE A LOVE LETTER.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Dr. Thorne, in the few words which he spoke to his niece before he +left Boxall Hill, had called himself an old man; but he was as yet on +the right side of sixty by five good years, and bore about with him +less of the marks of age than most men of fifty-five do bear. One +would have said in looking at him that there was no reason why he +should not marry if he found that such a step seemed good to him; and +looking at the age of the proposed bride, there was nothing +unsuitable in that respect.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless he felt almost ashamed of himself, in that he +allowed himself even to think of the proposition which his niece had +made. He mounted his horse that day at Boxall Hill—for he made all +his journeys about the county on horseback—and rode slowly home to +Greshamsbury, thinking not so much of the suggested marriage as of +his own folly in thinking of it. How could he be such an ass at his +time of life as to allow the even course of his way to be disturbed +by any such idea? Of course he could not propose to himself such a +wife as Miss Dunstable without having some thoughts as to her wealth; +and it had been the pride of his life so to live that the world might +know that he was indifferent about money. His profession was all in +all to him,—the air which he breathed as well as the bread which he +ate; and how could he follow his profession if he made such a +marriage as this? She would expect him to go to London with her; and +what would he become, dangling at her heels there, known only to the +world as the husband of the richest woman in the town? The kind of +life was one which would be unsuitable to him;—and yet, as he rode +home, he could not resolve to rid himself of the idea. He went on +thinking of it, though he still continued to condemn himself for +keeping it in his thoughts. That night at home he would make up his +mind, so he declared to himself; and would then write to his niece +begging her to drop the subject. Having so far come to a resolution +he went on meditating what course of life it might be well for him to +pursue if he and Miss Dunstable should, after all, become man and +wife.</p> + +<p>There were two ladies whom it behoved him to see on the day of his +arrival—whom, indeed, he generally saw every day except when absent +from Greshamsbury. The first of these—first in the general +consideration of the people of the place—was the wife of the squire, +Lady Arabella Gresham, a very old patient of the doctor’s. Her it was +his custom to visit early in the afternoon; and then, if he were able +to escape the squire’s daily invitation to dinner, he customarily +went to the other, Lady Scatcherd, when the rapid meal in his own +house was over. Such, at least, was his summer practice.</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor, how are they at Boxall Hill?” said the squire, +waylaying him on the gravel sweep before the door. The squire was +very hard set for occupation in these summer months.</p> + +<p>“Quite well, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what’s come to Frank. I think he hates this place now. +He’s full of the election, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; he told me to say he should be over here soon. Of course +there’ll be no contest, so he need not trouble himself.”</p> + +<p>“Happy dog, isn’t he, doctor? to have it all before him instead of +behind him. Well, well; he’s as good a lad as ever lived,—as ever +lived. And let me see; Mary’s +<span class="nowrap">time—”</span> And then there were a few very +important words spoken on that subject.</p> + +<p>“I’ll just step up to Lady Arabella now,” said the doctor.</p> + +<p>“She’s as fretful as possible,” said the squire. “I’ve just left +her.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing special the matter, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“No, I think not; nothing in your way, that is; only specially cross, +which always comes in my way. You’ll stop and dine to-day, of +course?”</p> + +<p>“Not to-day, squire.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense; you will. I have been quite counting on you. I have a +particular reason for wanting to have you to-day,—a most particular +reason.” But the squire always had his particular reasons.</p> + +<p>“I’m very sorry, but it is impossible to-day. I shall have a letter +to write that I must sit down to seriously. Shall I see you when I +come down from her ladyship?”</p> + +<p>The squire turned away sulkily, almost without answering him, for he +now had no prospect of any alleviation to the tedium of the evening; +and the doctor went up-stairs to his patient.</p> + +<p>For Lady Arabella, though it cannot be said that she was ill, was +always a patient. It must not be supposed that she kept her bed and +swallowed daily doses, or was prevented from taking her share in such +prosy gaieties as came from time to time in the way of her prosy +life; but it suited her turn of mind to be an invalid and to have a +doctor; and as the doctor whom her good fates had placed at her elbow +thoroughly understood her case, no great harm was done.</p> + +<p>“It frets me dreadfully that I cannot get to see Mary,” Lady Arabella +said, as soon as the first ordinary question as to her ailments had +been asked and answered.</p> + +<p>“She’s quite well and will be over to see you before long.”</p> + +<p>“Now I beg that she won’t. She never thinks of coming when there can +be no possible objection, and travelling, at the present moment, +would <span class="nowrap">be—”</span> Whereupon +the Lady Arabella shook her head very gravely. +“Only think of the importance of it, doctor,” she said. “Remember the +enormous stake there is to be considered.”</p> + +<p>“It would not do her a ha’porth of harm if the stake were twice as +large.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, doctor, don’t tell me; as if I didn’t know myself. I was +very much against her going to London this spring, but of course what +I said was overruled. It always is. I do believe Mr. Gresham went +over to Boxall Hill, on purpose to induce her to go. But what does he +care? He’s fond of Frank; but he never thinks of looking beyond the +present day. He never did, as you know well enough, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“The trip did her all the good in the world,” said Dr. Thorne, +preferring anything to a conversation respecting the squire’s sins.</p> + +<p>“I very well remember that when I was in that way it wasn’t thought +that such trips would do me any good. But, perhaps, things are +altered since then.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are,” said the doctor. “We don’t interfere so much +now-a-days.”</p> + +<p>“I know I never asked for such amusements when so much depended on +quietness. I remember before Frank was born—and, indeed, when all of +them were <span class="nowrap">born—</span> But +as you say, things were different then; and I +can easily believe that Mary is a person quite determined to have her +own way.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Lady Arabella, she would have stayed at home without wishing to +stir if Frank had done so much as hold up his little finger.”</p> + +<p>“So did I always. If Mr. Gresham made the slightest hint I gave way. +But I really don’t see what one gets in return for such implicit +obedience. Now this year, doctor, of course I should have liked to +have been up in London for a week or two. You seemed to think +yourself that I might as well see Sir Omicron.”</p> + +<p>“There could be no possible objection, I said.”</p> + +<p>“Well; no; exactly; and as Mr. Gresham knew I wished it, I think he +might as well have offered it. I suppose there can be no reason now +about money.”</p> + +<p>“But I understood that Mary specially asked you and Augusta?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Mary was very good. She did ask me. But I know very well that +Mary wants all the room she has got in London. The house is not at +all too large for herself. And, for the matter of that, my sister, +the countess, was very anxious that I should be with her. But one +does like to be independent if one can, and for one fortnight I do +think that Mr. Gresham might have managed it. When I knew that he was +so dreadfully out at elbows I never troubled him about it,—though, +goodness knows, all that was never my fault.”</p> + +<p>“The squire hates London. A fortnight there in warm weather would +nearly be the death of him.”</p> + +<p>“He might at any rate have paid me the compliment of asking me. The +chances are ten to one I should not have gone. It is that +indifference that cuts me so. He was here just now, and, would you +believe <span class="nowrap">it?—”</span></p> + +<p>But the doctor was determined to avoid further complaint for the +present day. “I wonder what you would feel, Lady Arabella, if the +squire were to take it into his head to go away and amuse himself, +leaving you at home. There are worse men than Mr. Gresham, if you +will believe me.” All this was an allusion to Earl de Courcy, her +ladyship’s brother, as Lady Arabella very well understood; and the +argument was one which was very often used to silence her.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, then, I should like it better than his hanging about +here doing nothing but attend to those nasty dogs. I really sometimes +think that he has no spirit left.”</p> + +<p>“You are mistaken there, Lady Arabella,” said the doctor, rising with +his hat in his hand and making his escape without further parley.</p> + +<p>As he went home he could not but think that that phase of married +life was not a very pleasant one. Mr. Gresham and his wife were +supposed by the world to live on the best of terms. They always +inhabited the same house, went out together when they did go out, +always sat in their respective corners in the family pew, and in +their wildest dreams after the happiness of novelty never thought of +Sir Cresswell Cresswell. In some respects—with regard, for instance, +to the continued duration of their joint domesticity at the family +mansion of Greshamsbury—they might have been taken for a pattern +couple. But yet, as far as the doctor could see, they did not seem to +add much to the happiness of each other. They loved each other, +doubtless, and had either of them been in real danger, that danger +would have made the other miserable; but yet it might well be a +question whether either would not be more comfortable without the +other.</p> + +<p>The doctor, as was his custom, dined at five, and at seven he went up +to the cottage of his old friend Lady Scatcherd. Lady Scatcherd was +not a refined woman, having in her early days been a labourer’s +daughter and having then married a labourer. But her husband had +risen in the world—as has been told in those chronicles before +mentioned,—and his widow was now Lady Scatcherd with a pretty +cottage and a good jointure. She was in all things the very opposite +to Lady Arabella Gresham; nevertheless, under the doctor’s auspices, +the two ladies were in some measure acquainted with each other. Of +her married life, also, Dr. Thorne had seen something, and it may be +questioned whether the memory of that was more alluring than the +reality now existing at Greshamsbury.</p> + +<p>Of the two women Dr. Thorne much preferred his humbler friend, and to +her he made his visits not in the guise of a doctor, but as a +neighbour. “Well, my lady,” he said, as he sat down by her on a broad +garden seat—all the world called Lady Scatcherd “my lady,”—“and how +do these long summer days agree with you? Your roses are twice better +out than any I see up at the big house.”</p> + +<p>“You may well call them long, doctor. They’re long enough surely.”</p> + +<p>“But not too long. Come, now, I won’t have you complaining. You don’t +mean to tell me that you have anything to make you wretched? You had +better not, for I won’t believe you.”</p> + +<p>“Eh; well; wretched! I don’t know as I’m wretched. It’d be wicked to +say that, and I with such comforts about me.”</p> + +<p>“I think it would, almost.” The doctor did not say this harshly, but +in a soft, friendly tone, and pressing her hand gently as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“And I didn’t mean to be wicked. I’m very thankful for +everything—leastways, I always try to be. But, doctor, it is so +lonely like.”</p> + +<p>“Lonely! not more lonely than I am.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; you’re different. You can go everywheres. But what can a +lone woman do? I’ll tell you what, doctor; I’d give it all up to have +Roger back with his apron on and his pick in his hand. How well I +mind his look when he’d come home o’ nights.”</p> + +<p>“And yet it was a hard life you had then, eh, old woman? It would be +better for you to be thankful for what you’ve got.”</p> + +<p>“I am thankful. Didn’t I tell you so before?” said she, somewhat +crossly. “But it’s a sad life, this living alone. I declares I envy +Hannah, ’cause she’s got Jemima to sit in the kitchen with her. I +want her to sit with me sometimes, but she won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but you shouldn’t ask her. It’s letting yourself down.”</p> + +<p>“What do I care about down or up? It makes no difference, as he’s +gone. If he had lived one might have cared about being up, as you +call it. Eh, deary; I’ll be going after him before long, and it will +be no matter then.”</p> + +<p>“We shall all be going after him, sooner or later; that’s sure +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Eh, dear, that’s true, surely. It’s only a span long, as Parson +Oriel tells us when he gets romantic in his sermons. But it’s a hard +thing, doctor, when two is married, as they can’t have their span, as +he calls it, out together. Well, I must only put up with it, I +suppose, as others does. Now, you’re not going, doctor? You’ll stop +and have a dish of tea with me. You never see such cream as Hannah +has from the Alderney cow. Do’ey now, doctor.”</p> + +<p>But the doctor had his letter to write, and would not allow himself +to be tempted even by the promise of Hannah’s cream. So he went his +way, angering Lady Scatcherd by his departure as he had before +angered the squire, and thinking as he went which was most +unreasonable in her wretchedness, his friend Lady Arabella, or his +friend Lady Scatcherd. The former was always complaining of an +existing husband who never refused her any moderate request; and the +other passed her days in murmuring at the loss of a dead husband, who +in his life had ever been to her imperious and harsh, and had +sometimes been cruel and unjust.</p> + +<p>The doctor had his letter to write, but even yet he had not quite +made up his mind what he would put into it; indeed, he had not +hitherto resolved to whom it should be written. Looking at the matter +as he had endeavoured to look at it, his niece, Mrs. Gresham, would +be his correspondent; but if he brought himself to take this jump in +the dark, in that case he would address himself direct to Miss +Dunstable.</p> + +<p>He walked home, not by the straightest road, but taking a +considerable curve, round by narrow lanes, and through thick +flower-laden hedges,—very thoughtful. He was told that she wished to +marry him; and was he to think only of himself? And as to that pride +of his about money, was it in truth a hearty, manly feeling; or was +it a false pride, of which it behoved him to be ashamed as it did of +many cognate feelings? If he acted rightly in this matter, why should +he be afraid of the thoughts of any one? A life of solitude was +bitter enough, as poor Lady Scatcherd had complained. But then, +looking at Lady Scatcherd, and looking also at his other near +neighbour, his friend the squire, there was little thereabouts to +lead him on to matrimony. So he walked home slowly through the lanes, +very meditative, with his hands behind his back.</p> + +<p>Nor when he got home was he much more inclined to any resolute line +of action. He might have drunk his tea with Lady Scatcherd, as well +as have sat there in his own drawing-room, drinking it alone; for he +got no pen and paper, and he dawdled over his teacup with the utmost +dilatoriness, putting off, as it were, the evil day. To only one +thing was he fixed—to this, namely, that that letter should be +written before he went to bed.</p> + +<p>Having finished his tea, which did not take place till near eleven, +he went downstairs to an untidy little room which lay behind his +depôt of medicines, and in which he was wont to do his writing; and +herein he did at last set himself down to his work. Even at that +moment he was in doubt. But he would write his letter to Miss +Dunstable and see how it looked. He was almost determined not to send +it; so, at least, he said to himself: but he could do no harm by +writing it. So he did write it, as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Greshamsbury, — June, 185—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My +dear Miss Dunstable</span>,—<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When he had got so far, he leaned back in his chair and looked at the +paper. How on earth was he to find words to say that which he now +wished to have said? He had never written such a letter in his life, +or anything approaching to it, and now found himself overwhelmed with +a difficulty of which he had not previously thought. He spent another +half-hour in looking at the paper, and was at last nearly deterred by +this new difficulty. He would use the simplest, plainest language, he +said to himself over and over again; but it is not always easy to use +simple, plain language,—by no means so easy as to mount on stilts, +and to march along with sesquipedalian words, with pathos, spasms, +and notes of interjection. But the letter did at last get itself +written, and there was not a note of interjection in it.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Miss Dunstable</span>,—I think it right to confess that +I should not be now writing this letter to you, had I not +been led to believe by other judgment than my own that the +proposition which I am going to make would be regarded by +you with favour. Without such other judgment I should, I +own, have feared that the great disparity between you and +me in regard to money would have given to such a +proposition an appearance of being false and mercenary. +All I ask of you now, with confidence, is to acquit me of +such fault as that.</p> + +<p>When you have read so far you will understand what I mean. +We have known each other now somewhat intimately, though +indeed not very long, and I have sometimes fancied that +you were almost as well pleased to be with me as I have +been to be with you. If I have been wrong in this, tell me +so simply, and I will endeavour to let our friendship run +on as though this letter had not been written. But if I +have been right, and if it be possible that you can think +that a union between us will make us both happier than we +are single, I will plight you my word and troth with good +faith, and will do what an old man may do to make the +burden of the world lie light upon your shoulders. Looking +at my age I can hardly keep myself from thinking that I am +an old fool: but I try to reconcile myself to that by +remembering that you yourself are no longer a girl. You +see that I pay you no compliments, and that you need +expect none from me.</p> + +<p>I do not know that I could add anything to the truth of +this, if I were to write three times as much. All that is +necessary is, that you should know what I mean. If you do +not believe me to be true and honest already, nothing that +I can write will make you believe it.</p> + +<p>God bless you. I know you will not keep me long in +suspense for an answer.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Affectionately your friend,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Thomas Thorne</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When he had finished he meditated again for another half-hour whether +it would not be right that he should add something about her money. +Would it not be well for him to tell her—it might be said in a +postscript—that with regard to all her wealth she would be free to +do what she chose? At any rate he owed no debts for her to pay, and +would still have his own income, sufficient for his own purposes. But +about one o’clock he came to the conclusion that it would be better +to leave the matter alone. If she cared for him, and could trust him, +and was worthy also that he should trust her, no omission of such a +statement would deter her from coming to him: and if there were no +such trust, it would not be created by any such assurance on his +part. So he read the letter over twice, sealed it, and took it up, +together with his bed candle, into his bed-room. Now that the letter +was written it seemed to be a thing fixed by fate that it must go. He +had written it that he might see how it looked when written; but now +that it was written, there remained no doubt but that it must be +sent. So he went to bed, with the letter on the toilette-table beside +him; and early in the morning—so early as to make it seem that the +importance of the letter had disturbed his rest—he sent it off by a +special messenger to Boxall Hill.</p> + +<p>“I’se wait for an answer?” said the boy.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the doctor: “leave the letter, and come away.”</p> + +<p>The breakfast hour was not very early at Boxall Hill in these summer +months. Frank Gresham, no doubt, went round his farm before he came +in for prayers, and his wife was probably looking to the butter in +the dairy. At any rate, they did not meet till near ten, and +therefore, though the ride from Greshamsbury to Boxall Hill was +nearly two hours’ work, Miss Dunstable had her letter in her own room +before she came down.</p> + +<p>She read it in silence as she was dressing, while the maid was with +her in the room; but she made no sign which could induce her Abigail +to think that the epistle was more than ordinarily important. She +read it, and then quietly refolding it and placing it in the +envelope, she put it down on the table at which she was sitting. It +was full fifteen minutes afterwards that she begged her servant to +see if Mrs. Gresham were still in her own room. “Because I want to +see her for five minutes, alone, before breakfast,” said Miss +Dunstable.</p> + +<p>“You traitor; you false, black traitor!” were the first words which +Miss Dunstable spoke when she found herself alone with her friend.</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I did not think there was so much mischief in you, nor so keen and +commonplace a desire for match-making. Look here. Read the first four +lines; not more, if you please; the rest is private. Whose is the +other judgment of whom your uncle speaks in his letter?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Dunstable! I must read it all.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed you’ll do no such thing. You think it’s a love-letter, I dare +say; but indeed there’s not a word about love in it.”</p> + +<p>“I know he has offered. I shall be so glad, for I know you like him.”</p> + +<p>“He tells me that I am an old woman, and insinuates that I may +probably be an old fool.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure he does not say that.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but I’m sure that he does. The former is true enough, and I +never complain of the truth. But as to the latter, I am by no means +so certain that it is true—not in the sense that he means it.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dearest woman, don’t go on in that way now. Do speak out to +me, and speak without jesting.”</p> + +<p>“Whose was the other judgment to whom he trusts so implicitly? Tell +me that.”</p> + +<p>“Mine, mine, of course. No one else can have spoken to him about it. +Of course I talked to him.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you tell him?”</p> + +<p>“I told him—”</p> + +<p>“Well, out with it. Let me have the real facts. Mind, I tell you +fairly that you had no right to tell him anything. What passed +between us, passed in confidence. But let us hear what you did say.”</p> + +<p>“I told him that you would have him if he offered.” And Mrs. Gresham, +as she spoke, looked into her friend’s face doubtingly, not knowing +whether in very truth Miss Dunstable were pleased with her or +displeased. If she were displeased, then how had her uncle been +deceived!</p> + +<p>“You told him that as a fact?”</p> + +<p>“I told him that I thought so.”</p> + +<p>“Then I suppose I am bound to have him,” said Miss Dunstable, +dropping the letter on to the floor in mock despair.</p> + +<p>“My dear, dear, dearest woman!” said Mrs. Gresham, bursting into +tears, and throwing herself on to her friend’s neck.</p> + +<p>“Mind you are a dutiful niece,” said Miss Dunstable. “And now let me +go and finish dressing.”</p> + +<p>In the course of the afternoon, an answer was sent back to +Greshamsbury, in these +<span class="nowrap">words:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Dr. +Thorne</span>,—I do and will trust you in everything; +and it shall be as you would have it. Mary writes to you; +but do not believe a word she says. I never will again, +for she has behaved so bad in this matter.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Yours affectionately and very truly,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Martha +Dunstable</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>“And so I am going to marry the richest woman in England,” said Dr. +Thorne to himself, as he sat down that day to his mutton-chop.</p> + + +<p><a id="c40"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2></div> +<h3>INTERNECINE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It must be conceived that there was some feeling of triumph at +Plumstead Episcopi, when the wife of the rector returned home with +her daughter, the bride elect of the Lord Dumbello. The heir of the +Marquis of Hartletop was, in wealth, the most considerable unmarried +young nobleman of the day; he was noted, too, as a man difficult to +be pleased, as one who was very fine and who gave himself airs,—and +to have been selected as the wife of such a man as this was a great +thing for the daughter of a parish clergyman. We have seen in what +manner the happy girl’s mother communicated the fact to Lady Lufton, +hiding, as it were, her pride under a veil; and we have seen also how +meekly the happy girl bore her own great fortune, applying herself +humbly to the packing of her clothes, as though she ignored her own +glory.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless there was triumph at Plumstead Episcopi. The mother, +when she returned home, began to feel that she had been thoroughly +successful in the great object of her life. While she was yet in +London she had hardly realized her satisfaction, and there were +doubts then whether the cup might not be dashed from her lips before +it was tasted. It might be that even the son of the Marquis of +Hartletop was subject to parental authority, and that barriers should +spring up between Griselda and her coronet; but there had been +nothing of the kind. The archdeacon had been closeted with the +marquis, and Mrs. Grantly had been closeted with the marchioness; and +though neither of those noble persons had expressed themselves +gratified by their son’s proposed marriage, so also neither of them +had made any attempt to prevent it. Lord Dumbello was a man who had a +will of his own,—as the Grantlys boasted amongst themselves. Poor +Griselda! the day may perhaps come when this fact of her lord’s +masterful will may not to her be matter of much boasting. But in +London, as I was saying, there had been no time for an appreciation +of the family joy. The work to be done was nervous in its nature, and +self-glorification might have been fatal; but now, when they were +safe at Plumstead, the great truth burst upon them in all its +splendour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly had but one daughter, and the formation of that child’s +character and her establishment in the world had been the one main +object of the mother’s life. Of Griselda’s great beauty the Plumstead +household had long been conscious; of her discretion also, of her +conduct, and of her demeanour there had been no doubt. But the father +had sometimes hinted to the mother that he did not think that Grizzy +was quite so clever as her brothers. “I don’t agree with you at all,” +Mrs. Grantly had answered. “Besides, what you call cleverness is not +at all necessary in a girl; she is perfectly ladylike; even you won’t +deny that.” The archdeacon had never wished to deny it, and was now +fain to admit that what he had called cleverness was not necessary in +a young lady.</p> + +<p>At this period of the family glory the archdeacon himself was kept a +little in abeyance, and was hardly allowed free intercourse with his +own magnificent child. Indeed, to give him his due, it must be said +of him that he would not consent to walk in the triumphal procession +which moved with stately step, to and fro, through the Barchester +regions. He kissed his daughter and blessed her, and bade her love +her husband and be a good wife; but such injunctions as these, seeing +how splendidly she had done her duty in securing to herself a +marquis, seemed out of place and almost vulgar. Girls about to marry +curates or sucking barristers should be told to do their duty in that +station of life to which God might be calling them; but it seemed to +be almost an impertinence in a father to give such an injunction to a +future marchioness.</p> + +<p>“I do not think that you have any ground for fear on her behalf,” +said Mrs. Grantly, “seeing in what way she has hitherto conducted +herself.”</p> + +<p>“She has been a good girl,” said the archdeacon, “but she is about to +be placed in a position of great temptation.”</p> + +<p>“She has a strength of mind suited for any position,” replied Mrs. +Grantly, vain-gloriously.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless even the archdeacon moved about through the close at +Barchester with a somewhat prouder step since the tidings of this +alliance had become known there. The time had been—in the latter +days of his father’s lifetime—when he was the greatest man of the +close. The dean had been old and infirm, and Dr. Grantly had wielded +the bishop’s authority. But since that things had altered. A new +bishop had come there, absolutely hostile to him. A new dean had also +come, who was not only his friend, but the brother-in-law of his +wife; but even this advent had lessened the authority of the +archdeacon. The vicars choral did not hang upon his words as they had +been wont to do, and the minor canons smiled in return to his smile +less obsequiously when they met him in the clerical circles of +Barchester. But now it seemed that his old supremacy was restored to +him. In the minds of many men an archdeacon, who was the +father-in-law of a marquis, was himself as good as any bishop. He did +not say much of his new connection to others beside the dean, but he +was conscious of the fact, and conscious also of the reflected glory +which shone around his own head.</p> + +<p>But as regards Mrs. Grantly it may be said that she moved in an +unending procession of stately ovation. It must not be supposed that +she continually talked to her friends and neighbours of Lord Dumbello +and the marchioness. She was by far too wise for such folly as that. +The coming alliance having been once announced, the name of Hartletop +was hardly mentioned by her out of her own domestic circle. But she +assumed, with an ease that was surprising even to herself, the airs +and graces of a mighty woman. She went through her work of morning +calls as though it were her business to be affable to the country +gentry. She astonished her sister, the dean’s wife, by the simplicity +of her grandeur; and condescended to Mrs. Proudie in a manner which +nearly broke that lady’s heart. “I shall be even with her yet,” said +Mrs. Proudie to herself, who had contrived to learn various very +deleterious circumstances respecting the Hartletop family since the +news about Lord Dumbello and Griselda had become known to her.</p> + +<p>Griselda herself was carried about in the procession, taking but +little part in it of her own, like an Eastern god. She suffered her +mother’s caresses and smiled in her mother’s face as she listened to +her own praises, but her triumph was apparently within. To no one did +she say much on the subject, and greatly disgusted the old family +housekeeper by declining altogether to discuss the future Dumbello +<i>ménage</i>. To her aunt, Mrs. Arabin, who strove hard to lead her into +some open-hearted speech as to her future aspirations, she was +perfectly impassive. “Oh, yes, aunt, of course,” and “I’ll think +about it, aunt Eleanor,” or “Of course I shall do that if Lord +Dumbello wishes it.” Nothing beyond this could be got from her; and +so, after half-a-dozen ineffectual attempts, Mrs. Arabin abandoned +the matter.</p> + +<p>But then there arose the subject of clothes—of the wedding +<i>trousseau</i>! Sarcastic people are wont to say that the tailor makes +the man. Were I such a one, I might certainly assert that the +milliner makes the bride. As regarding her bridehood, in distinction +either to her girlhood or her wifehood—as being a line of plain +demarcation between those two periods of a woman’s life—the milliner +does do much to make her. She would be hardly a bride if the +<i>trousseau</i> were not there. A girl married without some such +appendage would seem to pass into the condition of a wife without any +such line of demarcation. In that moment in which she finds herself +in the first fruition of her marriage finery she becomes a bride; and +in that other moment, when she begins to act upon the finest of these +things as clothes to be packed up, she becomes a wife.</p> + +<p>When this subject was discussed Griselda displayed no lack of a +becoming interest. She went to work steadily, slowly, and almost with +solemnity, as though the business in hand were one which it would be +wicked to treat with impatience. She even struck her mother with awe +by the grandeur of her ideas and the depth of her theories. Nor let +it be supposed that she rushed away at once to the consideration of +the great fabric which was to be the ultimate sign and mark of her +status, the quintessence of her briding, the outer veil, as it were, +of the tabernacle—namely, her wedding-dress. As a great poet works +himself up by degrees to that inspiration which is necessary for the +grand turning point of his epic, so did she slowly approach the +hallowed ground on which she would sit, with her ministers around +her, when about to discuss the nature, the extent, the design, the +colouring, the structure, and the ornamentation of that momentous +piece of apparel. No; there was much indeed to be done before she +came to this; and as the poet, to whom I have already alluded, first +invokes his muse, and then brings his smaller events gradually out +upon his stage, so did Miss Grantly with sacred fervour ask her +mother’s aid, and then prepare her list of all those articles of +under-clothing which must be the substratum for the visible +magnificence of her <i>trousseau</i>.</p> + +<p>Money was no object. We all know what that means; and frequently +understand, when the words are used, that a blaze of splendour is to +be attained at the cheapest possible price. But, in this instance, +money was no object;—such an amount of money, at least, as could by +any possibility be spent on a lady’s clothes, independently of her +jewels. With reference to diamonds and such like, the archdeacon at +once declared his intention of taking the matter into his own +hands—except in so far as Lord Dumbello, or the Hartletop interest, +might be pleased to participate in the selection. Nor was Mrs. +Grantly sorry for such a decision. She was not an imprudent woman, +and would have dreaded the responsibility of trusting herself on such +an occasion among the dangerous temptations of a jeweller’s shop. But +as far as silks and satins went—in the matter of French bonnets, +muslins, velvets, hats, riding-habits, artificial flowers, +head-gilding, curious nettings, enamelled buckles, golden tagged +bobbins, and mechanical petticoats—as regarded shoes, and gloves, +and corsets, and stockings, and linen, and flannel, and +calico—money, I may conscientiously assert, was no object. And, +under these circumstances, Griselda Grantly went to work with a +solemn industry and a steady perseverance that was beyond all praise.</p> + +<p>“I hope she will be happy,” Mrs. Arabin said to her sister, as the +two were sitting together in the dean’s drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I think she will. Why should she not?” said the mother.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; I know of no reason. But she is going up into a station so +much above her own in the eyes of the world that one cannot but feel +anxious for her.”</p> + +<p>“I should feel much more anxious if she were going to marry a poor +man,” said Mrs. Grantly. “It has always seemed to me that Griselda +was fitted for a high position; that nature intended her for rank and +state. You see that she is not a bit elated. She takes it all as if +it were her own by right. I do not think that there is any danger +that her head will be turned, if you mean that.”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking rather of her heart,” said Mrs. Arabin.</p> + +<p>“She never would have taken Lord Dumbello without loving him,” said +Mrs. Grantly, speaking rather quickly.</p> + +<p>“That is not quite what I mean either, Susan. I am sure she would not +have accepted him had she not loved him. But it is so hard to keep +the heart fresh among all the grandeurs of high rank; and it is +harder for a girl to do so who has not been born to it, than for one +who has enjoyed it as her birthright.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite understand about fresh hearts,” said Mrs. Grantly, +pettishly. “If she does her duty, and loves her husband, and fills +the position in which God has placed her with propriety, I don’t know +that we need look for anything more. I don’t at all approve of the +plan of frightening a young girl when she is making her first outset +into the world.”</p> + +<p>“No; I would not frighten her. I think it would be almost difficult +to frighten Griselda.”</p> + +<p>“I hope it would. The great matter with a girl is whether she has +been brought up with proper notions as to a woman’s duty. Of course +it is not for me to boast on this subject. Such as she is, I, of +course, am responsible. But I must own that I do not see occasion to +wish for any change.” And then the subject was allowed to drop.</p> + +<p>Among those of her relations who wondered much at the girl’s fortune, +but allowed themselves to say but little, was her grandfather, Mr. +Harding. He was an old clergyman, plain and simple in his manners, +and not occupying a very prominent position, seeing that he was only +precentor to the chapter. He was loved by his daughter, Mrs. Grantly, +and was treated by the archdeacon, if not invariably with the highest +respect, at least always with consideration and regard. But, old and +plain as he was, the young people at Plumstead did not hold him in +any great reverence. He was poorer than their other relatives, and +made no attempt to hold his head high in Barsetshire circles. +Moreover, in these latter days, the home of his heart had been at the +deanery. He had, indeed, a lodging of his own in the city, but was +gradually allowing himself to be weaned away from it. He had his own +bedroom in the dean’s house, his own arm-chair in the dean’s library, +and his own corner on a sofa in Mrs. Dean’s drawing-room. It was not, +therefore, necessary that he should interfere greatly in this coming +marriage; but still it became his duty to say a word of +congratulation to his granddaughter,—and perhaps to say a word of +advice.</p> + +<p>“Grizzy, my dear,” he said to her—he always called her Grizzy, but +the endearment of the appellation had never been appreciated by the +young lady—“come and kiss me, and let me congratulate you on your +great promotion. I do so very heartily.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, grandpapa,” she said, touching his forehead with her +lips, thus being, as it were, very sparing with her kiss. But those +lips now were august and reserved for nobler foreheads than that of +an old cathedral hack. For Mr. Harding still chanted the Litany from +Sunday to Sunday, unceasingly, standing at that well-known desk in +the cathedral choir; and Griselda had a thought in her mind that when +the Hartletop people should hear of the practice they would not be +delighted. Dean and archdeacon might be very well, and if her +grandfather had even been a prebendary, she might have put up with +him; but he had, she thought, almost disgraced his family in being, +at his age, one of the working menial clergy of the cathedral. She +kissed him, therefore, sparingly, and resolved that her words with +him should be few.</p> + +<p>“You are going to be a great lady, Grizzy,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Umph!” said she.</p> + +<p>What was she to say when so addressed?</p> + +<p>“And I hope you will be happy,—and make others happy.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall,” said she.</p> + +<p>“But always think most about the latter, my dear. Think about the +happiness of those around you, and your own will come without +thinking. You understand that; do you not?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I understand,” she said.</p> + +<p>As they were speaking Mr. Harding still held her hand, but Griselda +left it with him unwillingly, and therefore ungraciously, looking as +though she were dragging it from him.</p> + +<p>“And Grizzy—I believe it is quite as easy for a rich countess to be +happy, as for a <span class="nowrap">dairymaid—”</span></p> + +<p>Griselda gave her head a little chuck which was produced by two +different operations of her mind. The first was a reflection that her +grandpapa was robbing her of her rank. She was to be a rich +marchioness. And the second was a feeling of anger at the old man for +comparing her lot to that of a dairymaid.</p> + +<p>“Quite as easy, I believe,” continued he; “though others will tell +you that it is not so. But with the countess as with the dairymaid, +it must depend on the woman herself. Being a countess—that fact +alone won’t make you happy.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Dumbello at present is only a viscount,” said Griselda. “There +is no earl’s title in the family.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I did not know,” said Mr. Harding, relinquishing his +granddaughter’s hand; and, after that, he troubled her with no +further advice.</p> + +<p>Both Mrs. Proudie and the bishop had called at Plumstead since Mrs. +Grantly had come back from London, and the ladies from Plumstead, of +course, returned the visit. It was natural that the Grantlys and +Proudies should hate each other. They were essentially church people, +and their views on all church matters were antagonistic. They had +been compelled to fight for supremacy in the diocese, and neither +family had so conquered the other as to have become capable of +magnanimity and good-humour. They did hate each other, and this +hatred had, at one time, almost produced an absolute disseverance of +even the courtesies which are so necessary between a bishop and his +clergy. But the bitterness of this rancour had been overcome, and the +ladies of the families had continued on visiting terms.</p> + +<p>But now this match was almost more than Mrs. Proudie could bear. The +great disappointment which, as she well knew, the Grantlys had +encountered in that matter of the proposed new bishopric had for the +moment mollified her. She had been able to talk of poor dear Mrs. +Grantly! “She is heartbroken, you know, in this matter, and the +repetition of such misfortunes is hard to bear,” she had been heard +to say, with a complacency which had been quite becoming to her. But +now that complacency was at an end. Olivia Proudie had just accepted +a widowed preacher at a district church in Bethnal Green,—a man with +three children, who was dependent on pew-rents; and Griselda Grantly +was engaged to the eldest son of the Marquis of Hartletop! When women +are enjoined to forgive their enemies it cannot be intended that such +wrongs as these should be included.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Proudie’s courage was nothing daunted. It may be boasted of +her that nothing could daunt her courage. Soon after her return to +Barchester, she and Olivia—Olivia being very unwilling—had driven +over to Plumstead, and, not finding the Grantlys at home, had left +their cards; and now, at a proper interval, Mrs. Grantly and Griselda +returned the visit. It was the first time that Miss Grantly had been +seen by the Proudie ladies since the fact of her engagement had +become known.</p> + +<p>The first bevy of compliments that passed might be likened to a crowd +of flowers on a hedge rosebush. They were beautiful to the eye but +were so closely environed by thorns that they could not be plucked +without great danger. As long as the compliments were allowed to +remain on the hedge—while no attempt was made to garner them and +realize their fruits for enjoyment—they did no mischief; but the +first finger that was put forth for such a purpose was soon drawn +back, marked with spots of blood.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is a great match for Griselda,” said Mrs. Grantly, in a +whisper the meekness of which would have disarmed an enemy whose +weapons were less firmly clutched than those of Mrs. Proudie; “but, +independently of that, the connection is one which is gratifying in +many ways.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no doubt,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“Lord Dumbello is so completely his own master,” continued Mrs. +Grantly, and a slight, unintended semi-tone of triumph mingled itself +with the meekness of that whisper.</p> + +<p>“And is likely to remain so, from all I hear,” said Mrs. Proudie, and +the scratched hand was at once drawn back.</p> + +<p>“Of course the estab—,” and then Mrs. Proudie, who was blandly +continuing her list of congratulations, whispered her sentence close +into the ear of Mrs. Grantly, so that not a word of what she said +might be audible by the young people.</p> + +<p>“I never heard a word of it,” said Mrs. Grantly, gathering herself +up, “and I don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I may be wrong; and I’m sure I hope so. But young men will be +young men, you know;—and children will take after their parents. I +suppose you will see a great deal of the Duke of Omnium now.”</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Grantly was not a woman to be knocked down and trampled on +without resistance; and though she had been lacerated by the rosebush +she was not as yet placed altogether <i>hors de combat</i>. She said some +word about the Duke of Omnium very tranquilly, speaking of him merely +as a Barsetshire proprietor, and then, smiling with her sweetest +smile, expressed a hope that she might soon have the pleasure of +becoming acquainted with Mr. Tickler; and as she spoke she made a +pretty little bow towards Olivia Proudie. Now Mr. Tickler was the +worthy clergyman attached to the district church at Bethnal Green.</p> + +<p>“He’ll be down here in August,” said Olivia, boldly, determined not +to be shamefaced about her love affairs.</p> + +<p>“You’ll be starring it about the Continent by that time, my dear,” +said Mrs. Proudie to Griselda. “Lord Dumbello is well known at +Homburg and Ems, and places of that sort; so you will find yourself +quite at home.”</p> + +<p>“We are going to Rome,” said Griselda, majestically.</p> + +<p>“I suppose Mr. Tickler will come into the diocese soon,” said Mrs. +Grantly. “I remember hearing him very favourably spoken of by Mr. +Slope, who was a friend of his.”</p> + +<p>Nothing short of a fixed resolve on the part of Mrs. Grantly that the +time had now come in which she must throw away her shield and stand +behind her sword, declare war to the knife, and neither give nor take +quarter, could have justified such a speech as this. Any allusion to +Mr. Slope acted on Mrs. Proudie as a red cloth is supposed to act on +a bull; but when that allusion connected the name of Mr. Slope in a +friendly bracket with that of Mrs. Proudie’s future son-in-law it +might be certain that the effect would be terrific. And there was +more than this: for that very Mr. Slope had once entertained +audacious hopes—hopes not thought to be audacious by the young lady +herself—with reference to Miss Olivia Proudie. All this Mrs. Grantly +knew, and, knowing it, still dared to mention his name.</p> + +<p>The countenance of Mrs. Proudie became darkened with black anger, and +the polished smile of her company manners gave place before the +outraged feelings of her nature.</p> + +<p>“The man you speak of, Mrs. Grantly,” said she, “was never known as a +friend by Mr. Tickler.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Grantly. “Perhaps I have made a mistake. I am +sure I have heard Mr. Slope mention him.”</p> + +<p>“When Mr. Slope was running after your sister, Mrs. Grantly, and was +encouraged by her as he was, you perhaps saw more of him than I did.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie, that was never the case.”</p> + +<p>“I have reason to know that the archdeacon conceived it to be so, and +that he was very unhappy about it.” Now this, unfortunately, was a +fact which Mrs. Grantly could not deny.</p> + +<p>“The archdeacon may have been mistaken about Mr. Slope,” she said, +“as were some other people at Barchester. But it was you, I think, +Mrs. Proudie, who were responsible for bringing him here.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly, at this period of the engagement, might have inflicted +a fatal wound by referring to poor Olivia’s former love affairs, but +she was not destitute of generosity. Even in the extremest heat of +the battle she knew how to spare the young and tender.</p> + +<p>“When I came here, Mrs. Grantly, I little dreamed what a depth of +wickedness might be found in the very close of a cathedral city,” +said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“Then, for dear Olivia’s sake, pray do not bring poor Mr. Tickler to +Barchester.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tickler, Mrs. Grantly, is a man of assured morals and of a +highly religious tone of thinking. I wish every one could be so safe +as regards their daughters’ future prospects as I am.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know he has the advantage of being a family man,” said Mrs. +Grantly, getting up. “Good morning, Mrs. Proudie; good day, Olivia.”</p> + +<p>“A great deal better that than—” But the blow fell upon the empty +air; for Mrs. Grantly had already escaped on to the staircase while +Olivia was ringing the bell for the servant to attend the front-door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly, as she got into her carriage, smiled slightly, thinking +of the battle, and as she sat down she gently pressed her daughter’s +hand. But Mrs. Proudie’s face was still dark as Acheron when her +enemy withdrew, and with angry tone she sent her daughter to her +work. “Mr. Tickler will have great reason to complain if, in your +position, you indulge such habits of idleness,” she said. Therefore I +conceive that I am justified in saying that in that encounter Mrs. +Grantly was the conqueror.</p> + + +<p><a id="c41"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2></div> +<h3>DON QUIXOTE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>On the day on which Lucy had her interview with Lady Lufton the dean +dined at Framley Parsonage. He and Robarts had known each other since +the latter had been in the diocese, and now, owing to Mark’s +preferment in the chapter, had become almost intimate. The dean was +greatly pleased with the manner in which poor Mr. Crawley’s children +had been conveyed away from Hogglestock, and was inclined to open his +heart to the whole Framley household. As he still had to ride home he +could only allow himself to remain half an hour after dinner, but in +that half-hour he said a great deal about Crawley, complimented +Robarts on the manner in which he was playing the part of the Good +Samaritan, and then by degrees informed him that it had come to his, +the dean’s, ears, before he left Barchester, that a writ was in the +hands of certain persons in the city, enabling them to seize—he did +not know whether it was the person or the property of the vicar of +Framley.</p> + +<p>The fact was that these tidings had been conveyed to the dean with +the express intent that he might put Robarts on his guard; but the +task of speaking on such a subject to a brother clergyman had been so +unpleasant to him that he had been unable to introduce it till the +last five minutes before his departure.</p> + +<p>“I hope you will not put it down as an impertinent interference,” +said the dean, apologizing.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mark; “no, I do not think that.” He was so sad at heart +that he hardly knew how to speak of it.</p> + +<p>“I do not understand much about such matters,” said the dean; “but I +think, if I were you, I should go to a lawyer. I should imagine that +anything so terribly disagreeable as an arrest might be avoided.”</p> + +<p>“It is a hard case,” said Mark, pleading his own cause. “Though these +men have this claim against me I have never received a shilling +either in money or money’s worth.”</p> + +<p>“And yet your name is to the bills!” said the dean.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my name is to the bills, certainly, but it was to oblige a +friend.”</p> + +<p>And then the dean, having given his advice, rode away. He could not +understand how a clergyman, situated as was Mr. Robarts, could find +himself called upon by friendship to attach his name to accommodation +bills which he had not the power of liquidating when due!</p> + +<p>On that evening they were both wretched enough at the parsonage. +Hitherto Mark had hoped that perhaps, after all, no absolutely +hostile steps would be taken against him with reference to these +bills. Some unforeseen chance might occur in his favour, or the +persons holding them might consent to take small instalments of +payment from time to time; but now it seemed that the evil day was +actually coming upon him at a blow. He had no longer any secrets from +his wife. Should he go to a lawyer? and if so, to what lawyer? And +when he had found his lawyer, what should he say to him? Mrs. Robarts +at one time suggested that everything should be told to Lady Lufton. +Mark, however, could not bring himself to do that. “It would seem,” +he said, “as though I wanted her to lend me the money.”</p> + +<p>On the following morning Mark did ride into Barchester, dreading, +however, lest he should be arrested on his journey, and he did see a +lawyer. During his absence two calls were made at the parsonage—one +by a very rough-looking individual, who left a suspicious document in +the hands of the servant, purporting to be an invitation—not to +dinner—from one of the judges of the land; and the other call was +made by Lady Lufton in person.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts had determined to go down to Framley Court on that day. +In accordance with her usual custom she would have been there within +an hour or two of Lady Lufton’s return from London, but things +between them were not now as they usually had been. This affair of +Lucy’s must make a difference, let them both resolve to the contrary +as they might. And, indeed, Mrs. Robarts had found that the closeness +of her intimacy with Framley Court had been diminishing from day to +day since Lucy had first begun to be on friendly terms with Lord +Lufton. Since that she had been less at Framley Court than usual; she +had heard from Lady Lufton less frequently by letter during her +absence than she had done in former years, and was aware that she was +less implicitly trusted with all the affairs of the parish. This had +not made her angry, for she was in a manner conscious that it must be +so. It made her unhappy, but what could she do? She could not blame +Lucy, nor could she blame Lady Lufton. Lord Lufton she did blame, but +she did so in the hearing of no one but her husband.</p> + +<p>Her mind, however, was made up to go over and bear the first brunt of +her ladyship’s arguments, when she was stopped by her ladyship’s +arrival. If it were not for this terrible matter of Lucy’s love—a +matter on which they could not now be silent when they met—there +would be twenty subjects of pleasant, or, at any rate, not unpleasant +conversation. But even then there would be those terrible bills +hanging over her conscience, and almost crushing her by their weight. +At the moment in which Lady Lufton walked up to the drawing-room +window, Mrs. Robarts held in her hand that ominous invitation from +the judge. Would it not be well that she should make a clean breast +of it all, disregarding what her husband had said? It might be well: +only this—she had never yet done anything in opposition to her +husband’s wishes. So she hid the slip within her desk, and left the +matter open to consideration.</p> + +<p>The interview commenced with an affectionate embrace, as was a matter +of course. “Dear Fanny,” and “Dear Lady Lufton,” was said between +them with all the usual warmth. And then the first inquiry was made +about the children, and the second about the school. For a minute or +two Mrs. Robarts thought that, perhaps, nothing was to be said about +Lucy. If it pleased Lady Lufton to be silent she, at least, would not +commence the subject.</p> + +<p>Then there was a word or two spoken about Mrs. Podgens’ baby, after +which Lady Lufton asked whether Fanny were alone.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Robarts. “Mark has gone over to Barchester.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he will not be long before he lets me see him. Perhaps he can +call to-morrow. Would you both come and dine to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“Not to-morrow, I think, Lady Lufton; but Mark, I am sure, will go +over and call.”</p> + +<p>“And why not come to dinner? I hope there is to be no change among +us, eh, Fanny?” and Lady Lufton as she spoke looked into the other’s +face in a manner which almost made Mrs. Robarts get up and throw +herself on her old friend’s neck. Where was she to find a friend who +would give her such constant love as she had received from Lady +Lufton? And who was kinder, better, more honest than she?</p> + +<p>“Change! no, I hope not, Lady Lufton;” and as she spoke the tears +stood in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I shall think there is if you will not come to me as you +used to do. You always used to come and dine with me the day I came +home, as a matter of course.”</p> + +<p>What could she say, poor woman, to this?</p> + +<p>“We were all in confusion yesterday about poor Mrs. Crawley, and the +dean dined here; he had been over at Hogglestock to see his friend.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of her illness, and will go over and see what ought to +be done. Don’t you go, do you hear, Fanny? You with your young +children! I should never forgive you if you did.”</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Robarts explained how Lucy had gone there, had sent the +four children back to Framley, and was herself now staying at +Hogglestock with the object of nursing Mrs. Crawley. In telling the +story she abstained from praising Lucy with all the strong language +which she would have used had not Lucy’s name and character been at +the present moment of peculiar import to Lady Lufton; but +nevertheless she could not tell it without dwelling much on Lucy’s +kindness. It would have been ungenerous to Lady Lufton to make much +of Lucy’s virtue at this present moment, but unjust to Lucy to make +nothing of it.</p> + +<p>“And she is actually with Mrs. Crawley now?” asked Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; Mark left her there yesterday afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“And the four children are all here in the house?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly in the house—that is, not as yet. We have arranged a +sort of quarantine hospital over the coach-house.”</p> + +<p>“What, where Stubbs lives?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Stubbs and his wife have come into the house, and the children +are to remain up there till the doctor says that there is no danger +of infection. I have not even seen my visitors myself as yet,” said +Mrs. Robarts with a slight laugh.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said Lady Lufton. “I declare you have been very prompt. +And so Miss Robarts is over there! I should have thought Mr. Crawley +would have made a difficulty about the children.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he did; but they kidnapped them,—that is, Lucy and Mark did. +The dean gave me such an account of it. Lucy brought them out by twos +and packed them in the pony-carriage, and then Mark drove off at a +gallop while Mr. Crawley stood calling to them in the road. The dean +was there at the time and saw it all.”</p> + +<p>“That Miss Lucy of yours seems to be a very determined young lady +when she takes a thing into her head,” said Lady Lufton, now sitting +down for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is,” said Mrs. Robarts, having laid aside all her pleasant +animation, for the discussion which she dreaded was now at hand.</p> + +<p>“A very determined young lady,” continued Lady Lufton. “Of course, my +dear Fanny, you know all this about Ludovic and your sister-in-law?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she has told me about it.”</p> + +<p>“It is very unfortunate—very.”</p> + +<p>“I do not think Lucy has been to blame,” said Mrs. Robarts; and as +she spoke the blood was already mounting to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Do not be too anxious to defend her, my dear, before any one accuses +her. Whenever a person does that it looks as though their cause were +weak.”</p> + +<p>“But my cause is not weak as far as Lucy is concerned; I feel quite +sure that she has not been to blame.”</p> + +<p>“I know how obstinate you can be, Fanny, when you think it necessary +to dub yourself any one’s champion. Don Quixote was not a better +knight-errant than you are. But is it not a pity to take up your +lance and shield before an enemy is within sight or hearing? But that +was ever the way with your Don Quixotes.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps there may be an enemy in ambush.” That was Mrs. Robarts’ +thought to herself, but she did not dare to express it, so she +remained silent.</p> + +<p>“My only hope is,” continued Lady Lufton, “that when my back is +turned you fight as gallantly for me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you are never under a cloud, like poor Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Am I not? But, Fanny, you do not see all the clouds. The sun does +not always shine for any of us, and the down-pouring rain and the +heavy wind scatter also my fairest flowers,—as they have done hers, +poor girl. Dear Fanny, I hope it may be long before any cloud comes +across the brightness of your heaven. Of all the creatures I know you +are the one most fitted for quiet continued sunshine.”</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Robarts did get up and embrace her friend, thus hiding +the tears which were running down her face. Continued sunshine +indeed! A dark spot had already gathered on her horizon which was +likely to fall in a very waterspout of rain. What was to come of that +terrible notice which was now lying in the desk under Lady Lufton’s +very arm?</p> + +<p>“But I am not come here to croak like an old raven,” continued Lady +Lufton, when she had brought this embrace to an end. “It is probable +that we all may have our sorrows; but I am quite sure of this,—that +if we endeavour to do our duties honestly, we shall all find our +consolation and all have our joys also. And now, my dear, let you and +I say a few words about this unfortunate affair. It would not be +natural if we were to hold our tongues to each other; would it?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose not,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“We should always be conceiving worse than the truth,—each as to the +other’s thoughts. Now, some time ago, when I spoke to you about your +sister-in-law and Ludovic—I daresay you +<span class="nowrap">remember—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I remember.”</p> + +<p>“We both thought then that there would really be no danger. To tell +you the plain truth I fancied, and indeed hoped, that his affections +were engaged elsewhere; but I was altogether wrong then; wrong in +thinking it, and wrong in hoping it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts knew well that Lady Lufton was alluding to Griselda +Grantly, but she conceived that it would be discreet to say nothing +herself on that subject at present. She remembered, however, Lucy’s +flashing eye when the possibility of Lord Lufton making such a +marriage was spoken of in the pony-carriage, and could not but feel +glad that Lady Lufton had been disappointed.</p> + +<p>“I do not at all impute any blame to Miss Robarts for what has +occurred since,” continued her ladyship. “I wish you distinctly to +understand that.”</p> + +<p>“I do not see how any one could blame her. She has behaved so nobly.”</p> + +<p>“It is of no use inquiring whether any one can. It is sufficient that +I do not.”</p> + +<p>“But I think that is hardly sufficient,” said Mrs. Robarts, +pertinaciously.</p> + +<p>“Is it not?” asked her ladyship, raising her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“No. Only think what Lucy has done and is doing. If she had chosen to +say that she would accept your son I really do not know how you could +have justly blamed her. I do not by any means say that I would have +advised such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad of that, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“I have not given any advice; nor is it needed. I know no one more +able than Lucy to see clearly, by her own judgment, what course she +ought to pursue. I should be afraid to advise one whose mind is so +strong, and who, of her own nature, is so self-denying as she is. She +is sacrificing herself now, because she will not be the means of +bringing trouble and dissension between you and your son. If you ask +me, Lady Lufton, I think you owe her a deep debt of gratitude. I do, +indeed. And as for blaming her—what has she done that you possibly +could blame?”</p> + +<p>“Don Quixote on horseback!” said Lady Lufton. “Fanny, I shall always +call you Don Quixote, and some day or other I will get somebody to +write your adventures. But the truth is this, my dear: there has been +imprudence. You may call it mine, if you will—though I really hardly +see how I am to take the blame. I could not do other than ask Miss +Robarts to my house, and I could not very well turn my son out of it. +In point of fact, it has been the old story.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; the story that is as old as the world, and which will +continue as long as people are born into it. It is a story of God’s +own telling!”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear child, you do not mean that every young gentleman and +every young lady should fall in love with each other directly they +meet! Such a doctrine would be very inconvenient.”</p> + +<p>“No, I do not mean that. Lord Lufton and Miss Grantly did not fall in +love with each other, though you meant them to do so. But was it not +quite as natural that Lord Lufton and Lucy should do so instead?”</p> + +<p>“It is generally thought, Fanny, that young ladies should not give +loose to their affections until they have been certified of their +friends’ approval.”</p> + +<p>“And that young gentlemen of fortune may amuse themselves as they +please! I know that is what the world teaches, but I cannot agree to +the justice of it. The terrible suffering which Lucy has to endure +makes me cry out against it. She did not seek your son. The moment +she began to suspect that there might be danger she avoided him +scrupulously. She would not go down to Framley Court, though her not +doing so was remarked by yourself. She would hardly go out about the +place lest she should meet him. She was contented to put herself +altogether in the background till he should have pleased to leave the +place. But he—he came to her here, and insisted on seeing her. He +found her when I was out, and declared himself determined to speak to +her. What was she to do? She did try to escape, but he stopped her at +the door. Was it her fault that he made her an offer?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, no one has said so.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you do say so when you tell me that young ladies should not +give play to their affections without permission. He persisted in +saying to her, here, all that it pleased him, though she implored him +to be silent. I cannot tell the words she used, but she did implore +him.”</p> + +<p>“I do not doubt that she behaved well.”</p> + +<p>“But he—he persisted, and begged her to accept his hand. She refused +him then, Lady Lufton—not as some girls do, with a mock reserve, not +intending to be taken at their words—but steadily, and, God forgive +her, untruly. Knowing what your feelings would be, and knowing what +the world would say, she declared to him that he was indifferent to +her. What more could she do in your behalf?” And then Mrs. Robarts +paused.</p> + +<p>“I shall wait till you have done, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“You spoke of girls giving loose to their affections. She did not do +so. She went about her work exactly as she had done before. She did +not even speak to me of what had passed—not then, at least. She +determined that it should all be as though it had never been. She had +learned to love your son; but that was her misfortune and she would +get over it as she might. Tidings came to us here that he was +engaged, or about to engage himself, to Miss Grantly.”</p> + +<p>“Those tidings were untrue.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we know that now; but she did not know it then. Of course she +could not but suffer; but she suffered within herself.” Mrs. Robarts, +as she said this, remembered the pony-carriage and how Puck had been +beaten. “She made no complaint that he had ill-treated her—not even +to herself. She had thought it right to reject his offer; and there, +as far as he was concerned, was to be an end of it.”</p> + +<p>“That would be a matter of course, I should suppose.”</p> + +<p>“But it was not a matter of course, Lady Lufton. He returned from +London to Framley on purpose to repeat his offer. He sent for her +<span class="nowrap">brother—</span> You +talk of a young lady waiting for her friends’ approval. +In this matter who would be Lucy’s friends?”</p> + +<p>“You and Mr. Robarts, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly; her only friends. Well, Lord Lufton sent for Mark and +repeated his offer to him. Mind you, Mark had never heard a word of +this before, and you may guess whether or no he was surprised. Lord +Lufton repeated his offer in the most formal manner and claimed +permission to see Lucy. She refused to see him. She has never seen +him since that day when, in opposition to all her efforts, he made +his way into this room. Mark,—as I think very properly,—would have +allowed Lord Lufton to come up here. Looking at both their ages and +position he could have had no right to forbid it. But Lucy positively +refused to see your son, and sent him a message instead, of the +purport of which you are now aware—that she would never accept him +unless she did so at your request.”</p> + +<p>“It was a very proper message.”</p> + +<p>“I say nothing about that. Had she accepted him I would not have +blamed her:—and so I told her, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand your saying that, Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Well; I did say so. I don’t want to argue now about myself,—whether +I was right or wrong, but I did say so. Whatever sanction I could +give she would have had. But she again chose to sacrifice herself, +although I believe she regards him with as true a love as ever a girl +felt for a man. Upon my word I don’t know that she is right. Those +considerations for the world may perhaps be carried too far.”</p> + +<p>“I think that she was perfectly right.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Lady Lufton; I can understand that. But after such +sacrifice on her part—a sacrifice made entirely to you—how can you +talk of ‘not blaming her’? Is that the language in which you speak of +those whose conduct from first to last has been superlatively +excellent? If she is open to blame at all, it is—it +<span class="nowrap">is—”</span></p> + +<p>But here Mrs. Robarts stopped herself. In defending her sister she +had worked herself almost into a passion; but such a state of feeling +was not customary to her, and now that she had spoken her mind she +sank suddenly into silence.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me, Fanny, that you almost regret Miss Robarts’ +decision,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“My wish in this matter is for her happiness, and I regret anything +that may mar it.”</p> + +<p>“You think nothing then of our welfare, and yet I do not know to whom +I might have looked for hearty friendship and for sympathy in +difficulties, if not to you?”</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Robarts was almost upset by this. A few months ago, before +Lucy’s arrival, she would have declared that the interests of Lady +Lufton’s family would have been paramount with her, after and next to +those of her own husband. And even now, it seemed to argue so black +an ingratitude on her part—this accusation that she was indifferent +to them! From her childhood upwards she had revered and loved Lady +Lufton, and for years had taught herself to regard her as an epitome +of all that was good and gracious in woman. Lady Lufton’s theories of +life had been accepted by her as the right theories, and those whom +Lady Lufton had liked she had liked. But now it seemed that all these +ideas which it had taken a life to build up were to be thrown to the +ground, because she was bound to defend a sister-in-law whom she had +only known for the last eight months. It was not that she regretted a +word that she had spoken on Lucy’s behalf. Chance had thrown her and +Lucy together, and, as Lucy was her sister, she should receive from +her a sister’s treatment. But she did not the less feel how terrible +would be the effect of any disseverance from Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lady Lufton,” she said, “do not say that.”</p> + +<p>“But, Fanny, dear, I must speak as I find. You were talking about +clouds just now, and do you think that all this is not a cloud in my +sky? Ludovic tells me that he is attached to Miss Robarts, and you +tell me that she is attached to him; and I am called upon to decide +between them. Her very act obliges me to do so.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Lady Lufton,” said Mrs. Robarts, springing from her seat. It +seemed to her at the moment as though the whole difficulty were to be +solved by an act of grace on the part of her old friend.</p> + +<p>“And yet I cannot approve of such a marriage,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts returned to her seat, saying nothing further.</p> + +<p>“Is not that a cloud on one’s horizon?” continued her ladyship. “Do +you think that I can be basking in the sunshine while I have such a +weight upon my heart as that? Ludovic will soon be home, but instead +of looking to his return with pleasure I dread it. I would prefer +that he should remain in Norway. I would wish that he should stay +away for months. And, Fanny, it is a great addition to my misfortune +to feel that you do not sympathize with me.”</p> + +<p>Having said this, in a slow, sorrowful, and severe tone, Lady Lufton +got up and took her departure. Of course Mrs. Robarts did not let her +go without assuring her that she did sympathize with her,—did love +her as she ever had loved her. But wounds cannot be cured as easily +as they may be inflicted, and Lady Lufton went her way with much real +sorrow at her heart. She was proud and masterful, fond of her own +way, and much too careful of the worldly dignities to which her lot +had called her: but she was a woman who could cause no sorrow to +those she loved without deep sorrow to herself.</p> + + +<p><a id="c42"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2></div> +<h3>TOUCHING PITCH.<br> </h3> + + +<p>In these hot midsummer days, the end of June and the beginning of +July, Mr. Sowerby had but an uneasy time of it. At his sister’s +instance, he had hurried up to London, and there had remained for +days in attendance on the lawyers. He had to see new lawyers, Miss +Dunstable’s men of business, quiet old cautious gentlemen whose place +of business was in a dark alley behind the Bank, Messrs. Slow and +Bideawhile by name, who had no scruple in detaining him for hours +while they or their clerks talked to him about anything or about +nothing. It was of vital consequence to Mr. Sowerby that this +business of his should be settled without delay, and yet these men, +to whose care this settling was now confided, went on as though law +processes were a sunny bank on which it delighted men to bask easily. +And then, too, he had to go more than once to South Audley Street, +which was a worse infliction; for the men in South Audley Street were +less civil now than had been their wont. It was well understood there +that Mr. Sowerby was no longer a client of the duke’s, but his +opponent; no longer his nominee and dependant, but his enemy in the +county. “Chaldicotes,” as old Mr. Gumption remarked to young Mr. +Gagebee; “Chaldicotes, Gagebee, is a cooked goose, as far as Sowerby +is concerned. And what difference could it make to him whether the +duke is to own it or Miss Dunstable? For my part I cannot understand +how a gentleman like Sowerby can like to see his property go into the +hands of a gallipot wench whose money still smells of bad drugs. And +nothing can be more ungrateful,” he said, “than Sowerby’s conduct. He +has held the county for five-and-twenty years without expense; and +now that the time for payment has come, he begrudges the price.” He +called it no better than cheating, he did not—he, Mr. Gumption. +According to his ideas Sowerby was attempting to cheat the duke. It +may be imagined, therefore, that Mr. Sowerby did not feel any very +great delight in attending at South Audley Street.</p> + +<p>And then rumour was spread about among all the bill-discounting +leeches that blood was once more to be sucked from the Sowerby +carcase. The rich Miss Dunstable had taken up his affairs; so much as +that became known in the purlieus of the Goat and Compasses. Tom +Tozer’s brother declared that she and Sowerby were going to make a +match of it, and that any scrap of paper with Sowerby’s name on it +would become worth its weight in bank-notes; but Tom Tozer +himself—Tom, who was the real hero of the family—pooh-poohed at +this, screwing up his nose, and alluding in most contemptuous terms +to his brother’s softness. He knew better—as was indeed the fact. +Miss Dunstable was buying up the squire, and by jingo she should buy +them up—them, the Tozers, as well as others! They knew their value, +the Tozers did;—whereupon they became more than ordinarily active.</p> + +<p>From them and all their brethren Mr. Sowerby at this time endeavoured +to keep his distance, but his endeavours were not altogether +effectual. Whenever he could escape for a day or two from the lawyers +he ran down to Chaldicotes; but Tom Tozer in his perseverance +followed him there, and boldly sent in his name by the servant at the +front-door.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby is not just at home at the present moment,” said the +well-trained domestic.</p> + +<p>“I’ll wait about then,” said Tom, seating himself on an heraldic +stone griffin which flanked the big stone steps before the house. And +in this way Mr. Tozer gained his purpose. Sowerby was still +contesting the county, and it behoved him not to let his enemies say +that he was hiding himself. It had been a part of his bargain with +Miss Dunstable that he should contest the county. She had taken it +into her head that the duke had behaved badly, and she had resolved +that he should be made to pay for it. “The duke,” she said, “had +meddled long enough;” she would now see whether the Chaldicotes +interest would not suffice of itself to return a member for the +county, even in opposition to the duke. Mr. Sowerby himself was so +harassed at the time, that he would have given way on this point if +he had had the power; but Miss Dunstable was determined, and he was +obliged to yield to her. In this manner Mr. Tom Tozer succeeded and +did make his way into Mr. Sowerby’s presence—of which intrusion one +effect was the following letter from Mr. Sowerby to his friend Mark +<span class="nowrap">Robarts:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Chaldicotes, July, 185—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Robarts</span>,—I am so harassed at the present moment +by an infinity of troubles of my own that I am almost +callous to those of other people. They say that prosperity +makes a man selfish. I have never tried that, but I am +quite sure that adversity does so. Nevertheless I am +anxious about those bills of +<span class="nowrap">yours—</span><br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>“Bills of mine!” said Robarts to himself, as he walked up and down +the shrubbery path at the parsonage, reading this letter. This +happened a day or two after his visit to the lawyer at Barchester.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">—and would rejoice greatly if +I thought that I could save +you from any further annoyance about them. That kite, Tom +Tozer, has just been with me, and insists that both of +them shall be paid. He knows—no one better—that no +consideration was given for the latter. But he knows also +that the dealing was not with him, nor even with his +brother, and he will be prepared to swear that he gave +value for both. He would swear anything for five hundred +pounds—or for half the money, for that matter. I do not +think that the father of mischief ever let loose upon the +world a greater rascal than Tom Tozer.</p> + +<p>He declares that nothing shall induce him to take one +shilling less than the whole sum of nine hundred pounds. +He has been brought to this by hearing that my debts are +about to be paid. Heaven help me! The meaning of that is +that these wretched acres, which are now mortgaged to one +millionnaire, are to change hands and be mortgaged to +another instead. By this exchange I may possibly obtain +the benefit of having a house to live in for the next +twelve months, but no other. Tozer, however, is altogether +wrong in his scent; and the worst of it is that his malice +will fall on you rather than on me.</p> + +<p>What I want you to do is this: let us pay him one hundred +pounds between us. Though I sell the last sorry jade of a +horse I have, I will make up fifty; and I know you can, at +any rate, do as much as that. Then do you accept a bill, +conjointly with me, for eight hundred. It shall be done in +Forrest’s presence, and handed to him; and you shall +receive back the two old bills into your own hands at the +same time. This new bill should be timed to run ninety +days; and I will move heaven and earth during that time to +have it included in the general schedule of my debts which +are to be secured on the Chaldicotes property.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">The meaning of which +was that Miss Dunstable was to be cozened into +paying the money under an idea that it was part of the sum covered by +the existing mortgage.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>What you said the other day at Barchester, as to never +executing another bill, is very well as regards future +transactions. Nothing can be wiser than such a resolution. +But it would be folly—worse than folly—if you were to +allow your furniture to be seized when the means of +preventing it are so ready to your hand. By leaving the +new bill in Forrest’s hands you may be sure that you are +safe from the claws of such birds of prey as these Tozers. +Even if I cannot get it settled when the three months are +over, Forrest will enable you to make any arrangement that +may be most convenient.</p> + +<p>For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow, do not refuse this. You +can hardly conceive how it weighs upon me, this fear that +bailiffs should make their way into your wife’s +drawing-room. I know you think ill of me, and I do not +wonder at it. But you would be less inclined to do so if +you knew how terribly I am punished. Pray let me hear that +you will do as I counsel you.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours always faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">N. +Sowerby</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>In answer to which the parson wrote a very short +<span class="nowrap">reply:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Framley, July, 185—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My +dear Sowerby</span>,—</p> + +<p>I will sign no more bills on any consideration.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Mark Robarts</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">And then having +written this, and having shown it to his wife, he +returned to the shrubbery walk and paced it up and down, looking +every now and then to Sowerby’s letter as he thought over all the +past circumstances of his friendship with that gentleman.</p> + +<p>That the man who had written this letter should be his friend—that +very fact was a disgrace to him. Sowerby so well knew himself and his +own reputation, that he did not dare to suppose that his own word +would be taken for anything,—not even when the thing promised was an +act of the commonest honesty. “The old bills shall be given back into +your own hands,” he had declared with energy, knowing that his friend +and correspondent would not feel himself secure against further fraud +under any less stringent guarantee. This gentleman, this county +member, the owner of Chaldicotes, with whom Mark Robarts had been so +anxious to be on terms of intimacy, had now come to such a phase of +life that he had given over speaking of himself as an honest man. He +had become so used to suspicion that he argued of it as of a thing of +course. He knew that no one could trust either his spoken or his +written word, and he was content to speak and to write without +attempt to hide this conviction.</p> + +<p>And this was the man whom he had been so glad to call his friend; for +whose sake he had been willing to quarrel with Lady Lufton, and at +whose instance he had unconsciously abandoned so many of the best +resolutions of his life. He looked back now, as he walked there +slowly, still holding the letter in his hand, to the day when he had +stopped at the school-house and written his letter to Mr. Sowerby, +promising to join the party at Chaldicotes. He had been so eager then +to have his own way, that he would not permit himself to go home and +talk the matter over with his wife. He thought also of the manner in +which he had been tempted to the house of the Duke of Omnium, and the +conviction on his mind at the time that his giving way to that +temptation would surely bring him to evil. And then he remembered the +evening in Sowerby’s bedroom, when the bill had been brought out, and +he had allowed himself to be persuaded to put his name upon it;—not +because he was willing in this way to assist his friend, but because +he was unable to refuse. He had lacked the courage to say, “No,” +though he knew at the time how gross was the error which he was +committing. He had lacked the courage to say, “No,” and hence had +come upon him and on his household all this misery and cause for +bitter repentance.</p> + +<p>I have written much of clergymen, but in doing so I have endeavoured +to portray them as they bear on our social life rather than to +describe the mode and working of their professional careers. Had I +done the latter I could hardly have steered clear of subjects on +which it has not been my intention to pronounce an opinion, and I +should either have laden my fiction with sermons or I should have +degraded my sermons into fiction. Therefore I have said but little in +my narrative of this man’s feelings or doings as a clergyman.</p> + +<p>But I must protest against its being on this account considered that +Mr. Robarts was indifferent to the duties of his clerical position. +He had been fond of pleasure and had given way to temptation,—as is +so customarily done by young men of six-and-twenty, who are placed +beyond control and who have means at command. Had he remained as a +curate till that age, subject in all his movements to the eye of a +superior, he would, we may say, have put his name to no bills, have +ridden after no hounds, have seen nothing of the iniquities of +Gatherum Castle. There are men of twenty-six as fit to stand alone as +ever they will be—fit to be prime ministers, heads of schools, +judges on the bench—almost fit to be bishops; but Mark Robarts had +not been one of them. He had within him many aptitudes for good, but +not the strengthened courage of a man to act up to them. The stuff of +which his manhood was to be formed had been slow of growth, as it is +with many men; and, consequently, when temptation was offered to him, +he had fallen.</p> + +<p>But he deeply grieved over his own stumbling, and from time to time, +as his periods of penitence came upon him, he resolved that he would +once more put his shoulder to the wheel as became one who fights upon +earth that battle for which he had put on his armour. Over and over +again did he think of those words of Mr. Crawley, and now as he +walked up and down the path, crumpling Mr. Sowerby’s letter in his +hand, he thought of them again—“It is a terrible falling off; +terrible in the fall, but doubly terrible through that difficulty of +returning.” Yes; that is a difficulty which multiplies itself in a +fearful ratio as one goes on pleasantly running down the +path—whitherward? Had it come to that with him that he could not +return—that he could never again hold up his head with a safe +conscience as the pastor of his parish! It was Sowerby who had led +him into this misery, who had brought on him this ruin? But then had +not Sowerby paid him? Had not that stall which he now held in +Barchester been Sowerby’s gift? He was a poor man now—a distressed, +poverty-stricken man; but nevertheless he wished with all his heart +that he had never become a sharer in the good things of the +Barchester chapter.</p> + +<p>“I shall resign the stall,” he said to his wife that night. “I think +I may say that I have made up my mind as to that.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mark, will not people say that it is odd?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot help it—they must say it. Fanny, I fear that we shall have +to bear the saying of harder words than that.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody can ever say that you have done anything that is unjust or +dishonourable. If there are such men as Mr. +<span class="nowrap">Sowerby—”</span></p> + +<p>“The blackness of his fault will not excuse mine.” And then again he +sat silent, hiding his eyes, while his wife, sitting by him, held his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t make yourself wretched, Mark. Matters will all come right yet. +It cannot be that the loss of a few hundred pounds should ruin you.”</p> + +<p>“It is not the money—it is not the money!”</p> + +<p>“But you have done nothing wrong, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“How am I to go into the church, and take my place before them all, +when every one will know that bailiffs are in the house?” And then, +dropping his head on to the table, he sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>Mark Robarts’ mistake had been mainly this,—he had thought to touch +pitch and not to be defiled. He, looking out from his pleasant +parsonage into the pleasant upper ranks of the world around him, had +seen that men and things in those quarters were very engaging. His +own parsonage, with his sweet wife, were exceedingly dear to him, and +Lady Lufton’s affectionate friendship had its value; but were not +these things rather dull for one who had lived in the best sets at +Harrow and Oxford;—unless, indeed, he could supplement them with +some occasional bursts of more lively life? Cakes and ale were as +pleasant to his palate as to the palates of those with whom he had +formerly lived at college. He had the same eye to look at a horse, +and the same heart to make him go across a country, as they. And +then, too, he found that men liked him,—men and women also; men and +women who were high in worldly standing. His ass’s ears were tickled, +and he learned to fancy that he was intended by nature for the +society of high people. It seemed as though he were following his +appointed course in meeting men and women of the world at the houses +of the fashionable and the rich. He was not the first clergyman that +had so lived and had so prospered. Yes, clergymen had so lived, and +had done their duties in their sphere of life altogether to the +satisfaction of their countrymen—and of their sovereigns. Thus Mark +Robarts had determined that he would touch pitch, and escape +defilement if that were possible. With what result those who have +read so far will have perceived.</p> + +<p>Late on the following afternoon who should drive up to the parsonage +door but Mr. Forrest, the bank manager from Barchester—Mr. Forrest, +to whom Sowerby had always pointed as the <i>Deus ex machinâ</i> who, if +duly invoked, could relieve them all from their present troubles, and +dismiss the whole Tozer family—not howling into the wilderness, as +one would have wished to do with that brood of Tozers, but so gorged +with prey that from them no further annoyance need be dreaded? All +this Mr. Forrest could do; nay, more, most willingly would do! Only +let Mark Robarts put himself into the banker’s hand, and blandly sign +what documents the banker might desire.</p> + +<p>“This is a very unpleasant affair,” said Mr. Forrest as soon as they +were closeted together in Mark’s book-room. In answer to which +observation the parson acknowledged that it was a very unpleasant +affair.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby has managed to put you into the hands of about the worst +set of rogues now existing, in their line of business, in London.”</p> + +<p>“So I supposed; Curling told me the same.” Curling was the Barchester +attorney whose aid he had lately invoked.</p> + +<p>“Curling has threatened them that he will expose their whole trade; +but one of them who was down here, a man named Tozer, replied, that +you had much more to lose by exposure than he had. He went further +and declared that he would defy any jury in England to refuse him his +money. He swore that he discounted both bills in the regular way of +business; and, though this is of course false, I fear that it will be +impossible to prove it so. He well knows that you are a clergyman, +and that, therefore, he has a stronger hold on you than on other +men.”</p> + +<p>“The disgrace shall fall on Sowerby,” said Robarts, hardly actuated +at the moment by any strong feeling of Christian forgiveness.</p> + +<p>“I fear, Mr. Robarts, that he is somewhat in the condition of the +Tozers. He will not feel it as you will do.”</p> + +<p>“I must bear it, Mr. Forrest, as best I may.”</p> + +<p>“Will you allow me, Mr. Robarts, to give you my advice? Perhaps I +ought to apologize for intruding it upon you; but as the bills have +been presented and dishonoured across my counter, I have, of +necessity, become acquainted with the circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I am very much obliged to you,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“You must pay this money, or, at any rate, the most considerable +portion of it;—the whole of it, indeed, with such deduction as a +lawyer may be able to induce these hawks to make on the sight of the +ready money. Perhaps £750 or £800 may see you clear of the whole +affair.”</p> + +<p>“But I have not a quarter of that sum lying by me.”</p> + +<p>“No, I suppose not; but what I would recommend is this: that you +should borrow the money from the bank, on your own +responsibility,—with the joint security of some friend who may be +willing to assist you with his name. Lord Lufton probably would do +it.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Forrest—”</p> + +<p>“Listen to me first, before you make up your mind. If you took this +step, of course you would do so with the fixed intention of paying +the money yourself,—without any further reliance on Sowerby or on +any one else.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not rely on Mr. Sowerby again; you may be sure of that.”</p> + +<p>“What I mean is that you must teach yourself to recognize the debt as +your own. If you can do that, with your income you can surely pay it, +with interest, in two years. If Lord Lufton will assist you with his +name I will so arrange the bills that the payments shall be made to +fall equally over that period. In that way the world will know +nothing about it, and in two years’ time you will once more be a free +man. Many men, Mr. Robarts, have bought their experience much dearer +than that, I can assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Forrest, it is quite out of the question.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that Lord Lufton will not give you his name.”</p> + +<p>“I certainly shall not ask him; but that is not all. In the first +place my income will not be what you think it, for I shall probably +give up the prebend at Barchester.”</p> + +<p>“Give up the prebend! give up six hundred a year!”</p> + +<p>“And, beyond this, I think I may say that nothing shall tempt me to +put my name to another bill. I have learned a lesson which I hope I +may never forget.”</p> + +<p>“Then what do you intend to do?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing!”</p> + +<p>“Then those men will sell every stick of furniture about the place. +They know that your property here is enough to secure all that they +claim.”</p> + +<p>“If they have the power, they must sell it.”</p> + +<p>“And all the world will know the facts.”</p> + +<p>“So it must be. Of the faults which a man commits he must bear the +punishment. If it were only myself!”</p> + +<p>“That’s where it is, Mr. Robarts. Think what your wife will have to +suffer in going through such misery as that! You had better take my +advice. Lord Lufton, I am +<span class="nowrap">sure—”</span></p> + +<p>But the very name of Lord Lufton, his sister’s lover, again gave him +courage. He thought, too, of the accusations which Lord Lufton had +brought against him on that night when he had come to him in the +coffee-room of the hotel, and he felt that it was impossible that he +should apply to him for such aid. It would be better to tell all to +Lady Lufton! That she would relieve him, let the cost to herself be +what it might, he was very sure. Only this;—that in looking to her +for assistance he would be forced to bite the dust in very deed.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Forrest, but I have made up my mind. Do not think +that I am the less obliged to you for your disinterested +kindness,—for I know that it is disinterested; but this I think I +may confidently say, that not even to avert so terrible a calamity +will I again put my name to any bill. Even if you could take my own +promise to pay without the addition of any second name, I would not +do it.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing for Mr. Forrest to do under such circumstances but +simply to drive back to Barchester. He had done the best for the +young clergyman according to his lights, and perhaps, in a worldly +view, his advice had not been bad. But Mark dreaded the very name of +a bill. He was as a dog that had been terribly scorched, and nothing +should again induce him to go near the fire.</p> + +<p>“Was not that the man from the bank?” said Fanny, coming into the +room when the sound of the wheels had died away.</p> + +<p>“Yes; Mr. Forrest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, dearest?”</p> + +<p>“We must prepare ourselves for the worst.”</p> + +<p>“You will not sign any more papers, eh, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“No; I have just now positively refused to do so.”</p> + +<p>“Then I can bear anything. But, dearest, dearest Mark, will you not +let me tell Lady Lufton?”</p> + +<p>Let them look at the matter in any way the punishment was very heavy.</p> + + +<p><a id="c43"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2></div> +<h3>IS SHE NOT INSIGNIFICANT?<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now a month went by at Framley without any increase of comfort to +our friends there, and also without any absolute development of the +ruin which had been daily expected at the parsonage. Sundry letters +had reached Mr. Robarts from various personages acting in the Tozer +interest, all of which he referred to Mr. Curling, of Barchester. +Some of these letters contained prayers for the money, pointing out +how an innocent widow lady had been induced to invest her all on the +faith of Mr. Robarts’ name, and was now starving in a garret, with +her three children, because Mr. Robarts would not make good his own +undertakings. But the majority of them were filled with +threats;—only two days longer would be allowed and then the +sheriff’s officers would be enjoined to do their work; then one day +of grace would be added, at the expiration of which the dogs of war +would be unloosed. These, as fast as they came, were sent to Mr. +Curling, who took no notice of them individually, but continued his +endeavour to prevent the evil day. The second bill Mr. Robarts would +take up—such was Mr. Curling’s proposition; and would pay by two +instalments of £250 each, the first in two months, and the second in +four. If this were acceptable to the Tozer interest—well; if it were +not, the sheriff’s officers must do their worst and the Tozer +interest must look for what it could get. The Tozer interest would +not declare itself satisfied with these terms, and so the matter went +on. During which the roses faded from day to day on the cheeks of +Mrs. Robarts, as under such circumstances may easily be conceived.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Lucy still remained at Hogglestock and had there +become absolute mistress of the house. Poor Mrs. Crawley had been at +death’s door; for some days she was delirious, and afterwards +remained so weak as to be almost unconscious; but now the worst was +over, and Mr. Crawley had been informed, that as far as human +judgment might pronounce, his children would not become orphans nor +would he become a widower. During these weeks Lucy had not once been +home nor had she seen any of the Framley people. “Why should she +incur the risk of conveying infection for so small an object?” as she +herself argued, writing by letters, which were duly fumigated before +they were opened at the parsonage. So she remained at Hogglestock, +and the Crawley children, now admitted to all the honours of the +nursery, were kept at Framley. They were kept at Framley, although it +was expected from day to day that the beds on which they lay would be +seized for the payment of Mr. Sowerby’s debts.</p> + +<p>Lucy, as I have said, became mistress of the house at Hogglestock and +made herself absolutely ascendant over Mr. Crawley. Jellies, and +broth, and fruit, and even butter, came from Lufton Court, which she +displayed on the table, absolutely on the cloth before him, and yet +he bore it. I cannot say that he partook of these delicacies with any +freedom himself, but he did drink his tea when it was given to him +although it contained Framley cream;—and, had he known it, Bohea +itself from the Framley chest. In truth, in these days, he had given +himself over to the dominion of this stranger; and he said nothing +beyond, “Well, well,” with two uplifted hands, when he came upon her +as she was sewing the buttons on to his own shirts—sewing on the +buttons and perhaps occasionally applying her needle elsewhere,—not +without utility.</p> + +<p>He said to her at this period very little in the way of thanks. Some +protracted conversations they did have, now and again, during the +long evenings; but even in these he did not utter many words as to +their present state of life. It was on religion chiefly that he +spoke, not lecturing her individually, but laying down his ideas as +to what the life of a Christian should be, and especially what should +be the life of a minister. “But though I can see this, Miss Robarts,” +he said, “I am bound to say that no one has fallen off so frequently +as myself. I have renounced the devil and all his works; but it is by +word of mouth only—by word of mouth only. How shall a man crucify +the old Adam that is within him, unless he throw himself prostrate in +the dust and acknowledge that all his strength is weaker than water?” +To this, often as it might be repeated, she would listen patiently, +comforting him by such words as her theology would supply; but then, +when this was over, she would again resume her command and enforce +from him a close obedience to her domestic behests.</p> + +<p>At the end of the month Lord Lufton came back to Framley Court. His +arrival there was quite unexpected; though, as he pointed out when +his mother expressed some surprise, he had returned exactly at the +time named by him before he started.</p> + +<p>“I need not say, Ludovic, how glad I am to have you,” said she, +looking to his face and pressing his arm; “the more so, indeed, +seeing that I hardly expected it.”</p> + +<p>He said nothing to his mother about Lucy the first evening, although +there was some conversation respecting the Robarts family.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid Mr. Robarts has embarrassed himself,” said Lady Lufton, +looking very seriously. “Rumours reach me which are most distressing. +I have said nothing to anybody as yet—not even to Fanny; but I can +see in her face, and hear in the tones of her voice, that she is +suffering some great sorrow.”</p> + +<p>“I know all about it,” said Lord Lufton.</p> + +<p>“You know all about it, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it is through that precious friend of mine, Mr. Sowerby, of +Chaldicotes. He has accepted bills for Sowerby; indeed, he told me +so.”</p> + +<p>“What business had he at Chaldicotes? What had he to do with such +friends as that? I do not know how I am to forgive him.”</p> + +<p>“It was through me that he became acquainted with Sowerby. You must +remember that, mother.”</p> + +<p>“I do not see that that is any excuse. Is he to consider that all +your acquaintances must necessarily be his friends also? It is +reasonable to suppose that you in your position must live +occasionally with a great many people who are altogether unfit +companions for him as a parish clergyman. He will not remember this, +and he must be taught it. What business had he to go to Gatherum +Castle?”</p> + +<p>“He got his stall at Barchester by going there.”</p> + +<p>“He would be much better without his stall, and Fanny has the sense +to know this. What does he want with two houses? Prebendal stalls are +for older men than he—for men who have earned them, and who at the +end of their lives want some ease. I wish with all my heart that he +had never taken it.”</p> + +<p>“Six hundred a year has its charms all the same,” said Lufton, +getting up and strolling out of the room.</p> + +<p>“If Mark really be in any difficulty,” he said, later in the evening, +“we must put him on his legs.”</p> + +<p>“You mean, pay his debts?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; he has no debts except these acceptances of Sowerby’s.”</p> + +<p>“How much will it be, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“A thousand pounds, perhaps, more or less. I’ll find the money, +mother; only I shan’t be able to pay you quite as soon as I +intended.” Whereupon his mother got up, and throwing her arms round +his neck declared that she would never forgive him if he ever said a +word more about her little present to him. I suppose there is no +pleasure a mother can have more attractive than giving away her money +to an only son.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s name was first mentioned at breakfast the next morning. Lord +Lufton had made up his mind to attack his mother on the subject early +in the morning—before he went up to the parsonage; but as matters +turned out Miss Robarts’ doings were necessarily brought under +discussion without reference to Lord Lufton’s special aspirations +regarding her. The fact of Mrs. Crawley’s illness had been mentioned, +and Lady Lufton had stated how it had come to pass that all the +Crawleys’ children were at the parsonage.</p> + +<p>“I must say that Fanny has behaved excellently,” said Lady Lufton. +“It was just what might have been expected from her. And indeed,” she +added, speaking in an embarrassed tone, “so has Miss Robarts. Miss +Robarts has remained at Hogglestock and nursed Mrs. Crawley through +the whole.”</p> + +<p>“Remained at Hogglestock—through the fever!” exclaimed his lordship.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>“And is she there now?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I am not aware that she thinks of leaving just yet.”</p> + +<p>“Then I say that it is a great shame—a scandalous shame!”</p> + +<p>“But, Ludovic, it was her own doing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I understand. But why should she be sacrificed? Were there +no nurses in the country to be hired, but that she must go and remain +there for a month at the bedside of a pestilent fever? There is no +justice in it.”</p> + +<p>“Justice, Ludovic? I don’t know about justice, but there was great +Christian charity. Mrs. Crawley has probably owed her life to Miss +Robarts.”</p> + +<p>“Has she been ill? Is she ill? I insist upon knowing whether she is +ill. I shall go over to Hogglestock myself immediately after +breakfast.”</p> + +<p>To this Lady Lufton made no reply. If Lord Lufton chose to go to +Hogglestock she could not prevent him. She thought, however, that it +would be much better that he should stay away. He would be quite as +open to the infection as Lucy Robarts; and, moreover, Mrs. Crawley’s +bedside would be as inconvenient a place as might be selected for any +interview between two lovers. Lady Lufton felt at the present moment +that she was cruelly treated by circumstances with reference to Miss +Robarts. Of course it would have been her part to lessen, if she +could do so without injustice, that high idea which her son +entertained of the beauty and worth of the young lady; but, +unfortunately, she had been compelled to praise her and to load her +name with all manner of eulogy. Lady Lufton was essentially a true +woman, and not even with the object of carrying out her own views in +so important a matter would she be guilty of such deception as she +might have practised by simply holding her tongue; but nevertheless +she could hardly reconcile herself to the necessity of singing Lucy’s +praises.</p> + +<p>After breakfast Lady Lufton got up from her chair, but hung about the +room without making any show of leaving. In accordance with her usual +custom she would have asked her son what he was going to do; but she +did not dare so to inquire now. Had he not declared, only a few +minutes since, whither he would go? “I suppose I shall see you at +lunch?” at last she said.</p> + +<p>“At lunch? Well, I don’t know. Look here, mother. What am I to say to +Miss Robarts when I see her?” and he leaned with his back against the +chimney-piece as he interrogated his mother.</p> + +<p>“What are you to say to her, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; what am I to say,—as coming from you? Am I to tell her that +you will receive her as your daughter-in-law?”</p> + +<p>“Ludovic, I have explained all that to Miss Robarts herself.”</p> + +<p>“Explained what?”</p> + +<p>“I have told her that I did not think that such a marriage would make +either you or her happy.”</p> + +<p>“And why have you told her so? Why have you taken upon yourself to +judge for me in such a matter, as though I were a child? Mother, you +must unsay what you have said.”</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton, as he spoke, looked full into his mother’s face; and he +did so, not as though he were begging from her a favour, but issuing +to her a command. She stood near him, with one hand on the +breakfast-table, gazing at him almost furtively, not quite daring to +meet the full view of his eye. There was only one thing on earth +which Lady Lufton feared, and that was her son’s displeasure. The sun +of her earthly heaven shone upon her through the medium of his +existence. If she were driven to quarrel with him, as some ladies of +her acquaintance were driven to quarrel with their sons, the world to +her would be over. Not but what facts might be so strong as to make +it absolutely necessary that she should do this. As some people +resolve that, under certain circumstances, they will commit suicide, +so she could see that, under certain circumstances, she must consent +even to be separated from him. She would not do wrong,—not that +which she knew to be wrong,—even for his sake. If it were necessary +that all her happiness should collapse and be crushed in ruin around +her, she must endure it, and wait God’s time to relieve her from so +dark a world. The light of the sun was very dear to her, but even +that might be purchased at too dear a cost.</p> + +<p>“I told you before, mother, that my choice was made, and I asked you +then to give your consent; you have now had time to think about it, +and therefore I have come to ask you again. I have reason to know +that there will be no impediment to my marriage if you will frankly +hold out your hand to Lucy.”</p> + +<p>The matter was altogether in Lady Lufton’s hands, but, fond as she +was of power, she absolutely wished that it were not so. Had her son +married without asking her and then brought Lucy home as his wife, +she would undoubtedly have forgiven him; and much as she might have +disliked the match, she would, ultimately, have embraced the bride. +But now she was compelled to exercise her judgment. If he married +imprudently, it would be her doing. How was she to give her expressed +consent to that which she believed to be wrong?</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything against her; any reason why she should not be +my wife?” continued he.</p> + +<p>“If you mean as regards her moral conduct, certainly not,” said Lady +Lufton. “But I could say as much as that in favour of a great many +young ladies whom I should regard as very ill suited for such a +marriage.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; some might be vulgar, some might be ill-tempered, some might be +ugly; others might be burdened with disagreeable connections. I can +understand that you should object to a daughter-in-law under any of +these circumstances. But none of these things can be said of Miss +Robarts. I defy you to say that she is not in all respects what a +lady should be.”</p> + +<p>But her father was a doctor of medicine, she is the sister of the +parish clergyman, she is only five feet two in height, and is so +uncommonly brown! Had Lady Lufton dared to give a catalogue of her +objections, such would have been its extent and nature. But she did +not dare to do this.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say, Ludovic, that she is possessed of all that you should +seek in a wife.” Such was her answer.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that she has not got money?”</p> + +<p>“No, not that; I should be very sorry to see you making money your +chief object, or indeed any essential object. If it chanced that your +wife did have money, no doubt you would find it a convenience. But +pray understand me, Ludovic; I would not for a moment advise you to +subject your happiness to such a necessity as that. It is not because +she is without <span class="nowrap">fortune—”</span></p> + +<p>“Then why is it? At breakfast you were singing her praises, and +saying how excellent she is.”</p> + +<p>“If I were forced to put my objection into one word, I should say—” +and then she paused, hardly daring to encounter the frown which was +already gathering itself on her son’s brow.</p> + +<p>“You would say what?” said Lord Lufton, almost roughly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be angry with me, Ludovic; all that I think, and all that I +say on this subject, I think and say with only one object—that of +your happiness. What other motive can I have for anything in this +world?” And then she came close to him and kissed him.</p> + +<p>“But tell me, mother, what is this objection; what is this terrible +word that is to sum up the list of all poor Lucy’s sins, and prove +that she is unfit for married life?”</p> + +<p>“Ludovic, I did not say that. You know that I did not.”</p> + +<p>“What is the word, mother?”</p> + +<p>And then at last Lady Lufton spoke it out. “She is—insignificant. I +believe her to be a very good girl, but she is not qualified to fill +the high position to which you would exalt her.”</p> + +<p>“Insignificant!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Ludovic, I think so.”</p> + +<p>“Then, mother, you do not know her. You must permit me to say that +you are talking of a girl whom you do not know. Of all the epithets +of opprobrium which the English language could give you, that would +be nearly the last which she would deserve.”</p> + +<p>“I have not intended any opprobrium.”</p> + +<p>“Insignificant!”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you do not quite understand me, Ludovic.”</p> + +<p>“I know what insignificant means, mother.”</p> + +<p>“I think that she would not worthily fill the position which your +wife should take in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I understand what you say.”</p> + +<p>“She would not do you honour at the head of your table.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I understand. You want me to marry some bouncing Amazon, some +pink and white giantess of fashion who would frighten the little +people into their proprieties.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ludovic! you are intending to laugh at me now.”</p> + +<p>“I was never less inclined to laugh in my life—never, I can assure +you. And now I am more certain than ever that your objection to Miss +Robarts arises from your not knowing her. You will find, I think, +when you do know her, that she is as well able to hold her own as any +lady of your acquaintance;—ay, and to maintain her husband’s +position, too. I can assure you that I shall have no fear of her on +that score.”</p> + +<p>“I think, dearest, that perhaps you hardly—”</p> + +<p>“I think this, mother, that in such a matter as this I must choose +for myself. I have chosen; and I now ask you, as my mother, to go to +her and bid her welcome. Dear mother, I will own this, that I should +not be happy if I thought that you did not love my wife.” These last +words he said in a tone of affection that went to his mother’s heart, +and then he left the room.</p> + +<p>Poor Lady Lufton, when she was alone, waited till she heard her son’s +steps retreating through the hall, and then betook herself up-stairs +to her customary morning work. She sat down at last as though about +so to occupy herself; but her mind was too full to allow of her +taking up her pen. She had often said to herself, in days which to +her were not as yet long gone by, that she would choose a bride for +her son, and that then she would love the chosen one with all her +heart. She would dethrone herself in favour of this new queen, +sinking with joy into her dowager state, in order that her son’s wife +might shine with the greater splendour. The fondest day-dreams of her +life had all had reference to the time when her son should bring home +a new Lady Lufton, selected by herself from the female excellence of +England, and in which she might be the first to worship her new idol. +But could she dethrone herself for Lucy Robarts? Could she give up +her chair of state in order to place thereon the little girl from the +parsonage? Could she take to her heart, and treat with absolute +loving confidence, with the confidence of an almost idolatrous +mother, that little chit who, a few months since, had sat awkwardly +in one corner of her drawing-room, afraid to speak to any one? And +yet it seemed that it must come to this—to this—or else those +day-dreams of hers would in nowise come to pass.</p> + +<p>She sat herself down, trying to think whether it were possible that +Lucy might fill the throne; for she had begun to recognize it as +probable that her son’s will would be too strong for her; but her +thoughts would fly away to Griselda Grantly. In her first and only +matured attempt to realize her day-dreams, she had chosen Griselda +for her queen. She had failed there, seeing that the fates had +destined Miss Grantly for another throne;—for another and a higher +one, as far as the world goes. She would have made Griselda the wife +of a baron, but fate was about to make that young lady the wife of a +marquis. Was there cause of grief in this? Did she really regret that +Miss Grantly, with all her virtues, should be made over to the house +of Hartletop? Lady Lufton was a woman who did not bear disappointment +lightly; but nevertheless she did almost feel herself to have been +relieved from a burden when she thought of the termination of the +Lufton-Grantly marriage treaty. What if she had been successful, and, +after all, the prize had been other than she had expected? She was +sometimes prone to think that that prize was not exactly all that she +had once hoped. Griselda looked the very thing that Lady Lufton +wanted for a queen;—but how would a queen reign who trusted only to +her looks? In that respect it was perhaps well for her that destiny +had interposed. Griselda, she was driven to admit, was better suited +to Lord Dumbello than to her son.</p> + +<p>But still—such a queen as Lucy! Could it ever come to pass that the +lieges of the kingdom would bow the knee in proper respect before so +puny a sovereign? And then there was that feeling which, in still +higher quarters, prevents the marriage of princes with the most noble +of their people. Is it not a recognized rule of these realms that +none of the blood royal shall raise to royal honours those of the +subjects who are by birth un-royal! Lucy was a subject of the house +of Lufton in that she was the sister of the parson and a resident +denizen of the parsonage. Presuming that Lucy herself might do for +queen—granting that she might have some faculty to reign, the crown +having been duly placed on her brow—how, then, about that clerical +brother near the throne? Would it not come to this, that there would +no longer be a queen at Framley?</p> + +<p>And yet she knew that she must yield. She did not say so to herself. +She did not as yet acknowledge that she must put out her hand to +Lucy, calling her by name as her daughter. She did not absolutely say +as much to her own heart;—not as yet. But she did begin to bethink +herself of Lucy’s high qualities, and to declare to herself that the +girl, if not fit to be a queen, was at any rate fit to be a woman. +That there was a spirit within that body, insignificant though the +body might be, Lady Lufton was prepared to admit. That she had +acquired the power—the chief of all powers in this world—of +sacrificing herself for the sake of others; that, too, was evident +enough. That she was a good girl, in the usual acceptation of the +word good, Lady Lufton had never doubted. She was ready-witted too, +prompt in action, gifted with a certain fire. It was that gift of +fire which had won for her, so unfortunately, Lord Lufton’s love. It +was quite possible for her also to love Lucy Robarts; Lady Lufton +admitted that to herself;—but then who could bow the knee before +her, and serve her as a queen? Was it not a pity that she should be +so insignificant?</p> + +<p>But, nevertheless, we may say that as Lady Lufton sate that morning +in her own room for two hours without employment, the star of Lucy +Robarts was gradually rising in the firmament. After all, love was +the food chiefly necessary for the nourishment of Lady Lufton,—the +only food absolutely necessary. She was not aware of this herself, +nor probably would those who knew her best have so spoken of her. +They would have declared that family pride was her daily pabulum, and +she herself would have said so too, calling it, however, by some less +offensive name. Her son’s honour, and the honour of her house!—of +those she would have spoken as the things dearest to her in this +world. And this was partly true, for had her son been dishonoured, +she would have sunk with sorrow to the grave. But the one thing +necessary to her daily life was the power of loving those who were +near to her.</p> + +<p>Lord Lufton, when he left the dining-room, intended at once to go up +to the parsonage, but he first strolled round the garden in order +that he might make up his mind what he would say there. He was angry +with his mother, having not had the wit to see that she was about to +give way and yield to him, and he was determined to make it +understood that in this matter he would have his own way. He had +learned that which it was necessary that he should know as to Lucy’s +heart, and such being the case he would not conceive it possible that +he should be debarred by his mother’s opposition. “There is no son in +England loves his mother better than I do,” he said to himself; “but +there are some things which a man cannot stand. She would have +married me to that block of stone if I would have let her; and now, +because she is disappointed +<span class="nowrap">there—</span> Insignificant! I never in my life +heard anything so absurd, so untrue, so uncharitable, +<span class="nowrap">so—</span> She’d like +me to bring a dragon home, I suppose. It would serve her right if I +did,—some creature that would make the house intolerable to her.” +“She must do it though,” he said again, “or she and I will quarrel,” +and then he turned off towards the gate, preparing to go to the +parsonage.</p> + +<p>“My lord, have you heard what has happened?” said the gardener, +coming to him at the gate. The man was out of breath and almost +overwhelmed by the greatness of his own tidings.</p> + +<p>“No; I have heard nothing. What is it?”</p> + +<p>“The bailiffs have taken possession of everything at the parsonage.”</p> + + +<p><a id="c44"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2></div> +<h3>THE PHILISTINES AT THE PARSONAGE.<br> </h3> + + +<p>It has been already told how things went on between the Tozers, Mr. +Curling, and Mark Robarts during that month. Mr. Forrest had drifted +out of the business altogether, as also had Mr. Sowerby, as far as +any active participation in it went. Letters came frequently from Mr. +Curling to the parsonage, and at last came a message by special +mission to say that the evil day was at hand. As far as Mr. Curling’s +professional experience would enable him to anticipate or foretell +the proceedings of such a man as Tom Tozer, he thought that the +sheriff’s officers would be at Framley Parsonage on the following +morning. Mr. Curling’s experience did not mislead him in this +respect.</p> + +<p>“And what will you do, Mark?” said Fanny, speaking through her tears, +after she had read the letter which her husband handed to her.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. What can I do? They must come.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Lufton came to-day. Will you not go to him?”</p> + +<p>“No. If I were to do so it would be the same as asking him for the +money.”</p> + +<p>“Why not borrow it of him, dearest? Surely it would not be so much +for him to lend.”</p> + +<p>“I could not do it. Think of Lucy, and how she stands with him. +Besides I have already had words with Lufton about Sowerby and his +money matters. He thinks that I am to blame, and he would tell me so; +and then there would be sharp things said between us. He would +advance me the money if I pressed for it, but he would do so in a way +that would make it impossible that I should take it.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing more then to be said. If she had had her own way +Mrs. Robarts would have gone at once to Lady Lufton, but she could +not induce her husband to sanction such a proceeding. The objection +to seeking assistance from her ladyship was as strong as that which +prevailed as to her son. There had already been some little beginning +of ill-feeling, and under such circumstances it was impossible to ask +for pecuniary assistance. Fanny, however, had a prophetic assurance +that assistance out of these difficulties must in the end come to +them from that quarter, or not come at all; and she would fain, had +she been allowed, make everything known at the big house.</p> + +<p>On the following morning they breakfasted at the usual hour, but in +great sadness. A maid-servant, whom Mrs. Robarts had brought with her +when she married, told her that a rumour of what was to happen had +reached the kitchen. Stubbs, the groom, had been in Barchester on the +preceding day, and, according to his account—so said Mary—everybody +in the city was talking about it. “Never mind, Mary,” said Mrs. +Robarts, and Mary replied, “Oh, no, of course not, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>In these days Mrs. Robarts was ordinarily very busy, seeing that +there were six children in the house, four of whom had come to her +but ill supplied with infantine belongings; and now, as usual, she +went about her work immediately after breakfast. But she moved about +the house very slowly, and was almost unable to give her orders to +the servants, and spoke sadly to the children who hung about her +wondering what was the matter. Her husband at the same time took +himself to his book-room, but when there did not attempt any +employment. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and, leaning +against the fire-place, fixed his eyes upon the table before him +without looking at anything that was on it; it was impossible for him +to betake himself to his work. Remember what is the ordinary labour +of a clergyman in his study, and think how fit he must have been for +such employment! What would have been the nature of a sermon composed +at such a moment, and with what satisfaction could he have used the +sacred volume in referring to it for his arguments? He, in this +respect, was worse off than his wife; she did employ herself, but he +stood there without moving, doing nothing, with fixed eyes, thinking +what men would say of him.</p> + +<p>Luckily for him this state of suspense was not long, for within half +an hour of his leaving the breakfast-table the footman knocked at his +door—that footman with whom at the beginning of his difficulties he +had made up his mind to dispense, but who had been kept on because of +the Barchester prebend.</p> + +<p>“If you please, your reverence, there are two men outside,” said the +footman.</p> + +<p>Two men! Mark knew well enough what men they were, but he could +hardly take the coming of two such men to his quiet country parsonage +quite as a matter of course.</p> + +<p>“Who are they, John?” said he, not wishing any answer, but because +the question was forced upon him.</p> + +<p>“I’m afeard they’re—bailiffs, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, John; that will do; of course they must do what they +please about the place.”</p> + +<p>And then, when the servant left him, he still stood without moving, +exactly as he had stood before. There he remained for ten minutes, +but the time went by very slowly. When about noon some circumstance +told him what was the hour, he was astonished to find that the day +had not nearly passed away.</p> + +<p>And then another tap was struck on the door,—a sound which he well +recognized,—and his wife crept silently into the room. She came +close up to him before she spoke, and put her arm within his:</p> + +<p>“Mark,” she said, “the men are here; they are in the yard.”</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill06"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" class="cellpadding4px"> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <a href="images/ill06.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill06-t.jpg" height="500" alt='"Mark," she said, "the men are here."'></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">“Mark,” + she said, “the men are here.”</span><br> + Click to <a href="images/ill06.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>“I know it,” he answered gruffly.</p> + +<p>“Will it be better that you should see them, dearest?”</p> + +<p>“See them; no; what good can I do by seeing them? But I shall see +them soon enough; they will be here, I suppose, in a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“They are taking an inventory, cook says; they are in the stable +now.”</p> + +<p>“Very well; they must do as they please; I cannot help them.”</p> + +<p>“Cook says that if they are allowed their meals and some beer, and if +nobody takes anything away, they will be quite civil.”</p> + +<p>“Civil! But what does it matter? Let them eat and drink what they +please, as long as the food lasts. I don’t suppose the butcher will +send you more.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mark, there’s nothing due to the butcher,—only the regular +monthly bill.”</p> + +<p>“Very well; you’ll see.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, don’t look at me in that way. Do not turn away from me. +What is to comfort us if we do not cling to each other now?”</p> + +<p>“Comfort us! God help you! I wonder, Fanny, that you can bear to stay +in the room with me.”</p> + +<p>“Mark, dearest Mark, my own dear, dearest husband! who is to be true +to you, if I am not? You shall not turn from me. How can anything +like this make a difference between you and me?” And then she threw +her arms round his neck and embraced him.</p> + +<p>It was a terrible morning to him, and one of which every incident +will dwell on his memory to the last day of his life. He had been so +proud in his position—had assumed to himself so prominent a +standing—had contrived, by some trick which he had acquired, to +carry his head so high above the heads of neighbouring parsons. It +was this that had taken him among great people, had introduced him to +the Duke of Omnium, had procured for him the stall at Barchester. But +how was he to carry his head now? What would the Arabins and Grantlys +say? How would the bishop sneer at him, and Mrs. Proudie and her +daughters tell of him in all their quarters? How would Crawley look +at him—Crawley, who had already once had him on the hip? The stern +severity of Crawley’s face loomed upon him now. Crawley, with his +children half naked, and his wife a drudge, and himself half starved, +had never had a bailiff in his house at Hogglestock! And then his own +curate, Evans, whom he had patronized, and treated almost as a +dependant—how was he to look his curate in the face and arrange with +him for the sacred duties of the next Sunday?</p> + +<p>His wife still stood by him, gazing into his face; and as he looked +at her and thought of her misery, he could not control his heart with +reference to the wrongs which Sowerby had heaped on him. It was +Sowerby’s falsehood and Sowerby’s fraud which had brought upon him +and his wife this terrible anguish. “If there be justice on earth he +will suffer for it yet,” he said at last, not speaking intentionally +to his wife, but unable to repress his feelings.</p> + +<p>“Do not wish him evil, Mark; you may be sure he has his own sorrows.”</p> + +<p>“His own sorrows! No; he is callous to such misery as this. He has +become so hardened in dishonesty that all this is mirth to him. If +there be punishment in heaven for +<span class="nowrap">falsehood—”</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, do not curse him!”</p> + +<p>“How am I to keep myself from cursing when I see what he has brought +upon you?”</p> + +<p>“‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,’” answered the young wife, not +with solemn, preaching accent, as though bent on reproof, but with +the softest whisper into his ear. “Leave that to Him, Mark; and for +us, let us pray that He may soften the hearts of us all;—of him who +has caused us to suffer, and of our own.”</p> + +<p>Mark was not called upon to reply to this, for he was again disturbed +by a servant at the door. It was the cook this time herself, who had +come with a message from the men of the law. And she had come, be it +remembered, not from any necessity that she as cook should do this +line of work; for the footman, or Mrs. Robarts’ maid, might have come +as well as she. But when things are out of course servants are always +out of course also. As a rule, nothing will induce a butler to go +into a stable, or persuade a housemaid to put her hand to a +frying-pan. But now that this new excitement had come upon the +household—seeing that the bailiffs were in possession, and that the +chattels were being entered in a catalogue, everybody was willing to +do everything—everything but his or her own work. The gardener was +looking after the dear children; the nurse was doing the rooms before +the bailiffs should reach them; the groom had gone into the kitchen +to get their lunch ready for them; and the cook was walking about +with an inkstand, obeying all the orders of these great potentates. +As far as the servants were concerned, it may be a question whether +the coming of the bailiffs had not hitherto been regarded as a treat.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am,” said Jemima cook, “they wishes to know in +which room you’d be pleased to have the inmin-tory took fust. ’Cause, +ma’am, they wouldn’t disturb you nor master more than can be avoided. +For their line of life, ma’am, they is very civil—very civil +indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose they may go into the drawing-room,” said Mrs. Robarts, in +a sad low voice. All nice women are proud of their drawing-rooms, and +she was very proud of hers. It had been furnished when money was +plenty with them, immediately after their marriage, and everything in +it was pretty, good, and dear to her. O ladies, who have +drawing-rooms in which the things are pretty, good, and dear to you, +think of what it would be to have two bailiffs rummaging among them +with pen and inkhorn, making a catalogue preparatory to a sheriff’s +auction; and all without fault or extravagance of your own! There +were things there that had been given to her by Lady Lufton, by Lady +Meredith, and other friends, and the idea did occur to her that it +might be possible to save them from contamination; but she would not +say a word, lest by so saying she might add to Mark’s misery.</p> + +<p>“And then the dining-room,” said Jemima cook, in a tone almost of +elation.</p> + +<p>“Yes; if they please.”</p> + +<p>“And then master’s book-room here; or perhaps the bedrooms, if you +and master be still here.”</p> + +<p>“Any way they please, cook; it does not much signify,” said Mrs. +Robarts. But for some days after that Jemima was by no means a +favourite with her.</p> + +<p>The cook was hardly out of the room before a quick footstep was heard +on the gravel before the window, and the hall door was immediately +opened.</p> + +<p>“Where is your master?” said the well-known voice of Lord Lufton; and +then in half a minute he also was in the book-room.</p> + +<p>“Mark, my dear fellow, what’s all this?” said he, in a cheery tone +and with a pleasant face. “Did not you know that I was here? I came +down yesterday; landed from Hamburg only yesterday morning. How do +you do, Mrs. Robarts? This is a terrible bore, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Robarts, at the first moment, hardly knew how to speak to his old +friend. He was struck dumb by the disgrace of his position; the more +so as his misfortune was one which it was partly in the power of Lord +Lufton to remedy. He had never yet borrowed money since he had filled +a man’s position, but he had had words about money with the young +peer, in which he knew that his friend had wronged him; and for this +double reason he was now speechless.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sowerby has betrayed him,” said Mrs. Robarts, wiping the tears +from her eyes. Hitherto she had said no word against Sowerby, but now +it was necessary to defend her husband.</p> + +<p>“No doubt about it. I believe he has always betrayed every one who +has ever trusted him. I told you what he was, some time since; did I +not? But, Mark, why on earth have you let it go so far as this? Would +not Forrest help you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Forrest wanted him to sign more bills, and he would not do +that,” said Mrs. Robarts, sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Bills are like dram-drinking,” said the discreet young lord: “when +one once begins, it is very hard to leave off. Is it true that the +men are here now, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are in the next room.”</p> + +<p>“What, in the drawing-room?”</p> + +<p>“They are making out a list of the things,” said Mrs. Robarts.</p> + +<p>“We must stop that at any rate,” said his lordship, walking off +towards the scene of the operations; and as he left the room Mrs. +Robarts followed him, leaving her husband by himself.</p> + +<p>“Why did you not send down to my mother?” said he, speaking hardly +above a whisper, as they stood together in the hall.</p> + +<p>“He would not let me.”</p> + +<p>“But why not go yourself? or why not have written to me,—considering +how intimate we are?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robarts could not explain to him that the peculiar intimacy +between him and Lucy must have hindered her from doing so, even if +otherwise it might have been possible; but she felt such was the +case.</p> + +<p>“Well, my men, this is bad work you’re doing here,” said he, walking +into the drawing-room. Whereupon the cook curtseyed low, and the +bailiffs, knowing his lordship, stopped from their business and put +their hands to their foreheads. “You must stop this, if you +please,—at once. Come, let’s go out into the kitchen, or some place +outside. I don’t like to see you here with your big boots and the pen +and ink among the furniture.”</p> + +<p>“We ain’t a-done no harm, my lord, so please your lordship,” said +Jemima cook.</p> + +<p>“And we is only a-doing our bounden dooties,” said one of the +bailiffs.</p> + +<p>“As we is sworn to do, so please your lordship,” said the other.</p> + +<p>“And is wery sorry to be unconwenient, my lord, to any gen’leman or +lady as is a gen’leman or lady. But accidents will happen, and then +what can the likes of us do?” said the first.</p> + +<p>“Because we is sworn, my lord,” said the second. But, nevertheless, +in spite of their oaths, and in spite also of the stern necessity +which they pleaded, they ceased their operations at the instance of +the peer. For the name of a lord is still great in England.</p> + +<p>“And now leave this, and let Mrs. Robarts go into her drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>“And, please your lordship, what is we to do? Who is we to look to?”</p> + +<p>In satisfying them absolutely on this point Lord Lufton had to use +more than his influence as a peer. It was necessary that he should +have pen and paper. But with pen and paper he did satisfy +them;—satisfy them so far that they agreed to return to Stubbs’ +room, the former hospital, due stipulation having been made for the +meals and beer, and there await the order to evacuate the premises +which would no doubt, under his lordship’s influence, reach them on +the following day. The meaning of all which was that Lord Lufton had +undertaken to bear upon his own shoulder the whole debt due by Mr. +Robarts.</p> + +<p>And then he returned to the book-room where Mark was still standing +almost on the spot in which he had placed himself immediately after +breakfast. Mrs. Robarts did not return, but went up among the +children to counter-order such directions as she had given for the +preparation of the nursery for the Philistines. “Mark,” he said, “do +not trouble yourself about this more than you can help. The men have +ceased doing anything, and they shall leave the place to-morrow +morning.”</p> + +<p>“And how will the money—be paid?” said the poor clergyman.</p> + +<p>“Do not bother yourself about that at present. It shall so be managed +that the burden shall fall ultimately on yourself—not on any one +else. But I am sure it must be a comfort to you to know that your +wife need not be driven out of her drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lufton, I cannot allow you—after what has passed—and at the +present <span class="nowrap">moment—”</span></p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, I know all about it, and I am coming to that just +now. You have employed Curling, and he shall settle it; and upon my +word, Mark, you shall pay the bill. But, for the present emergency, +the money is at my banker’s.”</p> + +<p>“But, Lufton—”</p> + +<p>“And to deal honestly, about Curling’s bill I mean, it ought to be as +much my affair as your own. It was I that brought you into this mess +with Sowerby, and I know now how unjust about it I was to you up in +London. But the truth is that Sowerby’s treachery had nearly driven +me wild. It has done the same to you since, I have no doubt.”</p> + +<p>“He has ruined me,” said Robarts.</p> + +<p>“No, he has not done that. No thanks to him though; he would not have +scrupled to do it had it come in his way. The fact is, Mark, that you +and I cannot conceive the depth of fraud in such a man as that. He is +always looking for money; I believe that in all his hours of most +friendly intercourse,—when he is sitting with you over your wine, +and riding beside you in the field,—he is still thinking how he can +make use of you to tide him over some difficulty. He has lived in +that way till he has a pleasure in cheating, and has become so clever +in his line of life that if you or I were with him again to-morrow he +would again get the better of us. He is a man that must be absolutely +avoided; I, at any rate, have learned to know so much.”</p> + +<p>In the expression of which opinion Lord Lufton was too hard upon poor +Sowerby; as indeed we are all apt to be too hard in forming an +opinion upon the rogues of the world. That Mr. Sowerby had been a +rogue, I cannot deny. It is roguish to lie, and he had been a great +liar. It is roguish to make promises which the promiser knows he +cannot perform, and such had been Mr. Sowerby’s daily practice. It is +roguish to live on other men’s money, and Mr. Sowerby had long been +doing so. It is roguish, at least so I would hold it, to deal +willingly with rogues; and Mr. Sowerby had been constant in such +dealings. I do not know whether he had not at times fallen even into +more palpable roguery than is proved by such practices as those +enumerated. Though I have for him some tender feeling, knowing that +there was still a touch of gentle bearing round his heart, an abiding +taste for better things within him, I cannot acquit him from the +great accusation. But, for all that, in spite of his acknowledged +roguery, Lord Lufton was too hard upon him in his judgment. There was +yet within him the means of repentance, could a <i>locus penitentiæ</i> +have been supplied to him. He grieved bitterly over his own ill +doings, and knew well what changes gentlehood would have demanded +from him. Whether or no he had gone too far for all changes—whether +the <i>locus penitentiæ</i> was for him still a possibility—that was +between him and a higher power.</p> + +<p>“I have no one to blame but myself,” said Mark, still speaking in the +same heart-broken tone and with his face averted from his friend.</p> + +<p>The debt would now be paid, and the bailiffs would be expelled; but +that would not set him right before the world. It would be known to +all men—to all clergymen in the diocese—that the sheriff’s officers +had been in charge of Framley Parsonage, and he could never again +hold up his head in the close of Barchester.</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, if we were all to make ourselves miserable for such +a trifle as <span class="nowrap">this—”</span> said +Lord Lufton, putting his arm affectionately +on his friend’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“But we are not all clergymen,” said Mark, and as he spoke he turned +away to the window and Lord Lufton knew that the tears were on his +cheek.</p> + +<p>Nothing was then said between them for some moments, after which Lord +Lufton again <span class="nowrap">spoke,—</span></p> + +<p>“Mark, my dear fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mark, with his face still turned towards the window.</p> + +<p>“You must remember one thing; in helping you over this stile, which +will be really a matter of no inconvenience to me, I have a better +right than that even of an old friend; I look upon you now as my +brother-in-law.”</p> + +<p>Mark turned slowly round, plainly showing the tears upon his face.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean,” said he, “that anything more has taken place?”</p> + +<p>“I mean to make your sister my wife; she sent me word by you to say +that she loved me, and I am not going to stand upon any nonsense +after that. If she and I are both willing no one alive has a right to +stand between us; and, by heavens, no one shall. I will do nothing +secretly, so I tell you that, exactly as I have told her ladyship.”</p> + +<p>“But what does she say?”</p> + +<p>“She says nothing; but it cannot go on like that. My mother and I +cannot live here together if she opposes me in this way. I do not +want to frighten your sister by going over to her at Hogglestock, but +I expect you to tell her so much as I now tell you, as coming from +me; otherwise she will think that I have forgotten her.”</p> + +<p>“She will not think that.”</p> + +<p>“She need not; good-bye, old fellow. I’ll make it all right between +you and her ladyship about this affair of Sowerby’s.”</p> + +<p>And then he took his leave and walked off to settle about the payment +of the money.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” said he to Lady Lufton that evening, “you must not bring +this affair of the bailiffs up against Robarts. It has been more my +fault than his.”</p> + +<p>Hitherto not a word had been spoken between Lady Lufton and her son +on the subject. She had heard with terrible dismay of what had +happened, and had heard also that Lord Lufton had immediately gone to +the parsonage. It was impossible, therefore, that she should now +interfere. That the necessary money would be forthcoming she was +aware, but that would not wipe out the terrible disgrace attached to +an execution in a clergyman’s house. And then, too, he was her +clergyman,—her own clergyman, selected, and appointed, and brought +to Framley by herself, endowed with a wife of her own choosing, +filled with good things by her own hand! It was a terrible +misadventure, and she began to repent that she had ever heard the +name of Robarts. She would not, however, have been slow to put forth +the hand to lessen the evil by giving her own money, had this been +either necessary or possible. But how could she interfere between +Robarts and her son, especially when she remembered the proposed +connection between Lucy and Lord Lufton?</p> + +<p>“Your fault, Ludovic?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother. It was I who introduced him to Mr. Sowerby; and, to +tell the truth, I do not think he would ever have been intimate with +Sowerby if I had not given him some sort of a commission with +reference to money matters then pending between Mr. Sowerby and me. +They are all over now,—thanks to you, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Robarts’ character as a clergyman should have kept him from such +troubles, if no other feeling did so.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, mother, oblige me by letting it pass by.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shall say nothing to him.”</p> + +<p>“You had better say something to her, or otherwise it will be +strange; and even to him I would say a word or two,—a word in +kindness, as you so well know how. It will be easier to him in that +way, than if you were to be altogether silent.”</p> + +<p>No further conversation took place between them at the time, but +later in the evening she brushed her hand across her son’s forehead, +sweeping the long silken hairs into their place, as she was wont to +do when moved by any special feeling of love. “Ludovic,” she said, +“no one, I think, has so good a heart as you. I will do exactly as +you would have me about this affair of Mr. Robarts and the money.” +And then there was nothing more said about it.</p> + + +<p><a id="c45"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2></div> +<h3>PALACE BLESSINGS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>And now, at this period, terrible rumours found their way into +Barchester, and flew about the cathedral towers and round the +cathedral door; ay, and into the canons’ houses and the humbler +sitting-rooms of the vicars choral. Whether they made their way from +thence up to the bishop’s palace, or whether they descended from the +palace to the close, I will not pretend to say. But they were +shocking, unnatural, and no doubt grievous to all those excellent +ecclesiastical hearts which cluster so thickly in those quarters.</p> + +<p>The first of these had reference to the new prebendary, and to the +disgrace which he had brought on the chapter; a disgrace, as some of +them boasted, which Barchester had never known before. This, however, +like most other boasts, was hardly true; for within but a very few +years there had been an execution in the house of a late prebendary, +old Dr. Stanhope; and on that occasion the doctor himself had been +forced to fly away to Italy, starting in the night, lest he also +should fall into the hands of the Philistines, as well as his chairs +and tables.</p> + +<p>“It is a scandalous shame,” said Mrs. Proudie, speaking not of the +old doctor, but of the new offender; “a scandalous shame: and it +would only serve him right if the gown were stripped from his back.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose his living will be sequestrated,” said a young minor canon +who attended much to the ecclesiastical injunctions of the lady of +the diocese, and was deservedly held in high favour. If Framley were +sequestrated, why should not he, as well as another, undertake the +duty—with such stipend as the bishop might award?</p> + +<p>“I am told that he is over head and ears in debt,” said the future +Mrs. Tickler, “and chiefly for horses which he has bought and not +paid for.”</p> + +<p>“I see him riding very splendid animals when he comes over for the +cathedral duties,” said the minor canon.</p> + +<p>“The sheriff’s officers are in the house at present, I am told,” said +Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“And is not he in jail?” said Mrs. Tickler.</p> + +<p>“If not, he ought to be,” said Mrs. Tickler’s mother.</p> + +<p>“And no doubt soon will be,” said the minor canon; “for I hear that +he is linked up with a most discreditable gang of persons.”</p> + +<p>This was what was said in the palace on that heading; and though, no +doubt, more spirit and poetry was displayed there than in the houses +of the less gifted clergy, this shows the manner in which the +misfortune of Mr. Robarts was generally discussed. Nor, indeed, had +he deserved any better treatment at their hands. But his name did not +run the gauntlet for the usual nine days; nor, indeed, did his fame +endure at its height for more than two. This sudden fall was +occasioned by other tidings of a still more distressing nature; by a +rumour which so affected Mrs. Proudie that it caused, as she said, +her blood to creep. And she was very careful that the blood of others +should creep also, if the blood of others was equally sensitive. It +was said that Lord Dumbello had jilted Miss Grantly.</p> + +<p>From what adverse spot in the world these cruel tidings fell upon +Barchester I have never been able to discover. We know how quickly +rumour flies, making herself common through all the cities. That Mrs. +Proudie should have known more of the facts connected with the +Hartletop family than any one else in Barchester was not surprising, +seeing that she was so much more conversant with the great world in +which such people lived. She knew, and was therefore correct enough +in declaring, that Lord Dumbello had already jilted one other young +lady—the Lady Julia Mac Mull, to whom he had been engaged three +seasons back, and that therefore his character in such matters was +not to be trusted. That Lady Julia had been a terrible flirt and +greatly given to waltzing with a certain German count, with whom she +had since gone off—that, I suppose, Mrs. Proudie did not know, much +as she was conversant with the great world,—seeing that she said +nothing about it to any of her ecclesiastical listeners on the +present occasion.</p> + +<p>“It will be a terrible warning, Mrs. Quiverful, to us all; a most +useful warning to us—not to trust to the things of this world. I +fear they made no inquiry about this young nobleman before they +agreed that his name should be linked with that of their daughter.” +This she said to the wife of the present warden of Hiram’s Hospital, +a lady who had received favours from her, and was therefore bound to +listen attentively to her voice.</p> + +<p>“But I hope it may not be true,” said Mrs. Quiverful, who, in spite +of the allegiance due by her to Mrs. Proudie, had reasons of her own +for wishing well to the Grantly family.</p> + +<p>“I hope so, indeed,” said Mrs. Proudie, with a slight tinge of anger +in her voice; “but I fear that there is no doubt. And I must confess +that it is no more than we had a right to expect. I hope that it may +be taken by all of us as a lesson, and an ensample, and a teaching of +the Lord’s mercy. And I wish you would request your husband—from me, +Mrs. Quiverful—to dwell on this subject in morning and evening +lecture at the hospital on Sabbath next, showing how false is the +trust which we put in the good things of this world;” which behest, +to a certain extent, Mr. Quiverful did obey, feeling that a quiet +life in Barchester was of great value to him; but he did not go so +far as to caution his hearers, who consisted of the aged bedesmen of +the hospital, against matrimonial projects of an ambitious nature.</p> + +<p>In this case, as in all others of the kind, the report was known to +all the chapter before it had been heard by the archdeacon or his +wife. The dean heard it, and disregarded it; as did also the dean’s +wife—at first; and those who generally sided with the Grantlys in +the diocesan battles pooh-poohed the tidings, saying to each other +that both the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly were very well able to take +care of their own affairs. But dripping water hollows a stone; and at +last it was admitted on all sides that there was ground for fear,—on +all sides, except at Plumstead.</p> + +<p>“I am sure there is nothing in it; I really am sure of it,” said Mrs. +Arabin, whispering to her sister; “but after turning it over in my +mind, I thought it right to tell you. And yet I don’t know now but I +am wrong.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, dearest Eleanor,” said Mrs. Grantly. “And I am much +obliged to you. But we understand it, you know. It comes, of course, +like all other Christian blessings, from the palace.” And then there +was nothing more said about it between Mrs. Grantly and her sister.</p> + +<p>But on the following morning there arrived a letter by post, +addressed to Mrs. Grantly, bearing the postmark of Littlebath. The +letter <span class="nowrap">ran:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Madam</span>,</p> + +<p>It is known to the writer that Lord Dumbello has arranged +with certain friends how he may escape from his present +engagement. I think, therefore, that it is my duty as a +Christian to warn you of this.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">A +Wellwisher</span>.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Now it had happened that the embryo Mrs. Tickler’s most intimate +bosom friend and confidante was known at Plumstead to live at +Littlebath, and it had also happened—most unfortunately—that the +embryo Mrs. Tickler, in the warmth of her neighbourly regard, had +written a friendly line to her friend Griselda Grantly, +congratulating her with all female sincerity on her splendid nuptials +with the Lord Dumbello.</p> + +<p>“It is not her natural hand,” said Mrs. Grantly, talking the matter +over with her husband, “but you may be sure it has come from her. It +is a part of the new Christianity which we learn day by day from the +palace teaching.”</p> + +<p>But these things had some effect on the archdeacon’s mind. He had +learned lately the story of Lady Julia Mac Mull, and was not sure +that his son-in-law—as ought to be about to be—had been entirely +blameless in that matter. And then in these days Lord Dumbello made +no great sign. Immediately on Griselda’s return to Plumstead he had +sent her a magnificent present of emeralds, which, however, had come +to her direct from the jewellers, and might have been—and probably +was—ordered by his man of business. Since that he had neither come, +nor sent, nor written. Griselda did not seem to be in any way annoyed +by this absence of the usual sign of love, and went on steadily with +her great duties. “Nothing,” as she told her mother, “had been said +about writing, and, therefore, she did not expect it.” But the +archdeacon was not quite at his ease. “Keep Dumbello up to his P’s +and Q’s, you know,” a friend of his had whispered to him at his club. +By heavens, yes. The archdeacon was not a man to bear with +indifference a wrong in such a quarter. In spite of his clerical +profession, few men were more inclined to fight against personal +wrongs—and few men more able.</p> + +<p>“Can there be anything wrong, I wonder?” said he to his wife. “Is it +worth while that I should go up to London?” But Mrs. Grantly +attributed it all to the palace doctrine. What could be more natural, +looking at all the circumstances of the Tickler engagement? She +therefore gave her voice against any steps being taken by the +archdeacon.</p> + +<p>A day or two after that Mrs. Proudie met Mrs. Arabin in the close and +condoled with her openly on the termination of the marriage +treaty;—quite openly, for Mrs. Tickler—as she was to be—was with +her mother, and Mrs. Arabin was accompanied by her sister-in-law, +Mary Bold.</p> + +<p>“It must be very grievous to Mrs. Grantly, very grievous indeed,” +said Mrs. Proudie, “and I sincerely feel for her. But, Mrs. Arabin, +all these lessons are sent to us for our eternal welfare.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Mrs. Arabin. “But as to this special lesson, I am +inclined to doubt that +<span class="nowrap">it—”</span></p> + +<p>“Ah-h! I fear it is too true. I fear there is no room for doubt. Of +course you are aware that Lord Dumbello is off for the Continent.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arabin was not aware of it, and she was obliged to admit as +much.</p> + +<p>“He started four days ago, by way of Boulogne,” said Mrs. Tickler, +who seemed to be very well up in the whole affair. “I am so sorry for +poor dear Griselda. I am told she has got all her things. It is such +a pity, you know.”</p> + +<p>“But why should not Lord Dumbello come back from the Continent?” said +Miss Bold, very quietly.</p> + +<p>“Why not, indeed? I’m sure I hope he may,” said Mrs. Proudie. “And no +doubt he will, some day. But if he be such a man as they say he is, +it is really well for Griselda that she should be relieved from such +a marriage. For, after all, Mrs. Arabin, what are the things of this +world?—dust beneath our feet, ashes between our teeth, grass cut for +the oven, vanity, vexation, and nothing more!”—well pleased with +which variety of Christian metaphors Mrs. Proudie walked on, still +muttering, however, something about worms and grubs, by which she +intended to signify her own species and the Dumbello and Grantly +sects of it in particular.</p> + +<p>This now had gone so far that Mrs. Arabin conceived herself bound in +duty to see her sister, and it was then settled in consultation at +Plumstead that the archdeacon should call officially at the palace +and beg that the rumour might be contradicted. This he did early on +the next morning and was shown into the bishop’s study, in which he +found both his lordship and Mrs. Proudie. The bishop rose to greet +him with special civility, smiling his very sweetest on him, as +though of all his clergy the archdeacon were the favourite; but Mrs. +Proudie wore something of a gloomy aspect, as though she knew that +such a visit at such an hour must have reference to some special +business. The morning calls made by the archdeacon at the palace in +the way of ordinary civility were not numerous.</p> + +<p>On the present occasion he dashed at once into his subject. “I have +called this morning, Mrs. Proudie,” said he, “because I wish to ask a +favour from you.” Whereupon Mrs. Proudie bowed.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Proudie will be most happy, I am sure,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“I find that some foolish people have been talking in Barchester +about my daughter,” said the archdeacon; “and I wish to ask Mrs. +<span class="nowrap">Proudie—”</span></p> + +<p>Most women under such circumstances would have felt the awkwardness +of their situation, and would have prepared to eat their past words +with wry faces. But not so Mrs. Proudie. Mrs. Grantly had had the +imprudence to throw Mr. Slope in her face—there, in her own +drawing-room, and she was resolved to be revenged. Mrs. Grantly, too, +had ridiculed the Tickler match, and no too great niceness should now +prevent Mrs. Proudie from speaking her mind about the Dumbello match.</p> + +<p>“A great many people are talking about her, I am sorry to say,” said +Mrs. Proudie; “but, poor dear, it is not her fault. It might have +happened to any girl; only, perhaps, a little more care—; you’ll +excuse me, Dr. Grantly.”</p> + +<p>“I have come here to allude to a report which has been spread about +in Barchester, that the match between Lord Dumbello and my daughter +has been broken off; <span class="nowrap">and—”</span></p> + +<p>“Everybody in Barchester knows it, I believe,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>—“and,” continued the archdeacon, “to request that that report may +be contradicted.”</p> + +<p>“Contradicted! Why, he has gone right away,—out of the country!”</p> + +<p>“Never mind where he has gone to, Mrs. Proudie; I beg that the report +may be contradicted.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to go round to every house in Barchester then,” said +she.</p> + +<p>“By no means,” replied the archdeacon. “And perhaps it may be right +that I should explain to the bishop that I came here +<span class="nowrap">because—”</span></p> + +<p>“The bishop knows nothing about it,” said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>“Nothing in the world,” said his lordship. “And I am sure I hope that +the young lady may not be disappointed.”</p> + +<p>—“because the matter was so distinctly mentioned to Mrs. Arabin by +yourself yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Distinctly mentioned! Of course it was distinctly mentioned. There +are some things which can’t be kept under a bushel, Dr. Grantly; and +this seems to be one of them. Your going about in this way won’t make +Lord Dumbello marry the young lady.”</p> + +<p>That was true; nor would it make Mrs. Proudie hold her tongue. +Perhaps the archdeacon was wrong in his present errand, and so he now +began to bethink himself. “At any rate,” said he, “when I tell you +that there is no ground whatever for such a report you will do me the +kindness to say that, as far as you are concerned, it shall go no +further. I think, my lord, I am not asking too much in asking that.”</p> + +<p>“The bishop knows nothing about it,” said Mrs. Proudie again.</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all,” said the bishop.</p> + +<p>“And as I must protest that I believe the information which has +reached me on this head,” said Mrs. Proudie, “I do not see how it is +possible that I should contradict it. I can easily understand your +feelings, Dr. Grantly. Considering your daughter’s position the match +was, as regards earthly wealth, a very great one. I do not wonder +that you should be grieved at its being broken off; but I trust that +this sorrow may eventuate in a blessing to you and to Miss Griselda. +These worldly disappointments are precious balms, and I trust you +know how to accept them as such.”</p> + +<p>The fact was that Dr. Grantly had done altogether wrong in coming to +the palace. His wife might have some chance with Mrs. Proudie, but he +had none. Since she had come to Barchester he had had only two or +three encounters with her, and in all of these he had gone to the +wall. His visits to the palace always resulted in his leaving the +presence of the inhabitants in a frame of mind by no means desirable, +and he now found that he had to do so once again. He could not compel +Mrs. Proudie to say that the report was untrue; nor could he +condescend to make counter hits at her about her own daughter, as his +wife would have done. And thus, having utterly failed, he got up and +took his leave.</p> + +<p>But the worst of the matter was, that, in going home, he could not +divest his mind of the idea that there might be some truth in the +report. What if Lord Dumbello had gone to the Continent resolved to +send back from thence some reason why it was impossible that he +should make Miss Grantly his wife? Such things had been done before +now by men in his rank. Whether or no Mrs. Tickler had been the +letter-writing wellwisher from Littlebath, or had induced her friend +to be so, it did seem manifest to him, Dr. Grantly, that Mrs. Proudie +absolutely believed the report which she promulgated so diligently. +The wish might be father to the thought, no doubt; but that the +thought was truly there, Dr. Grantly could not induce himself to +disbelieve.</p> + +<p>His wife was less credulous, and to a certain degree comforted him; +but that evening he received a letter which greatly confirmed the +suspicions set on foot by Mrs. Proudie, and even shook his wife’s +faith in Lord Dumbello. It was from a mere acquaintance, who in the +ordinary course of things would not have written to him. And the bulk +of the letter referred to ordinary things, as to which the gentleman +in question would hardly have thought of giving himself the trouble +to write a letter. But at the end of the note he +<span class="nowrap">said,—</span></p> + +<p>“Of course you are aware that Dumbello is off to Paris; I have not +heard whether the exact day of his return is fixed.”</p> + +<p>“It is true then,” said the archdeacon, striking the library table +with his hand, and becoming absolutely white about the mouth and +jaws.</p> + +<p>“It cannot be,” said Mrs. Grantly; but even she was now trembling.</p> + +<p>“If it be so I’ll drag him back to England by the collar of his coat, +and disgrace him before the steps of his father’s hall.”</p> + +<p>And the archdeacon as he uttered the threat looked his character as +an irate British father much better than he did his other character +as a clergyman of the Church of England. The archdeacon had been +greatly worsted by Mrs. Proudie, but he was a man who knew how to +fight his battles among men,—sometimes without too close a regard to +his cloth.</p> + +<p>“Had Lord Dumbello intended any such thing he would have written, or +got some friend to write by this time,” said Mrs. Grantly. “It is +quite possible that he might wish to be off, but he would be too +chary of his name not to endeavour to do so with decency.”</p> + +<p>Thus the matter was discussed, and it appeared to them both to be so +serious that the archdeacon resolved to go at once to London. That +Lord Dumbello had gone to France he did not doubt; but he would find +some one in town acquainted with the young man’s intentions, and he +would, no doubt, be able to hear when his return was expected. If +there were real reason for apprehension he would follow the runagate +to the Continent, but he would not do this without absolute +knowledge. According to Lord Dumbello’s present engagements he was +bound to present himself in August next at Plumstead Episcopi, with +the view of then and there taking Griselda Grantly in marriage; but +if he kept his word in this respect no one had a right to quarrel +with him for going to Paris in the meantime. Most expectant +bridegrooms would, no doubt, under such circumstances have declared +their intentions to their future brides; but if Lord Dumbello were +different from others, who had a right on that account to be +indignant with him? He was unlike other men in other things; and +especially unlike other men in being the eldest son of the Marquis of +Hartletop. It would be all very well for Tickler to proclaim his +whereabouts from week to week; but the eldest son of a marquis might +find it inconvenient to be so precise! Nevertheless the archdeacon +thought it only prudent to go up to London.</p> + +<p>“Susan,” said the archdeacon to his wife, just as he was +starting;—at this moment neither of them were in the happiest +spirits,—“I think I would say a word of caution to Griselda.”</p> + +<p>“Do you feel so much doubt about it as that?” said Mrs. Grantly. But +even she did not dare to put a direct negative to this proposal, so +much had she been moved by what she had heard!</p> + +<p>“I think I would do so, not frightening her more than I could help. +It will lessen the blow if it be that the blow is to fall.”</p> + +<p>“It will kill me,” said Mrs. Grantly; “but I think that she will be +able to bear it.”</p> + +<p>On the next morning Mrs. Grantly, with much cunning preparation, went +about the task which her husband had left her to perform. It took her +long to do, for she was very cunning in the doing of it; but at last +it dropped from her in words that there was a possibility—a bare +possibility—that some disappointment might even yet be in store for +them.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean, mamma, that the marriage will be put off?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean to say that I think it will; God forbid! but it is just +possible. I daresay that I am very wrong to tell you of this, but I +know that you have sense enough to bear it. Papa has gone to London +and we shall hear from him soon.”</p> + +<p>“Then, mamma, I had better give them orders not to go on with the +marking.”</p> + + +<p><a id="c46"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2></div> +<h3>LADY LUFTON’S REQUEST.<br> </h3> + + +<p>The bailiffs on that day had their meals regular,—and their beer, +which state of things, together with an absence of all duty in the +way of making inventories and the like, I take to be the earthly +paradise of bailiffs; and on the next morning they walked off with +civil speeches and many apologies as to their intrusion. “They was +very sorry,” they said, “to have troubled a gen’leman as were a +gen’leman, but in their way of business what could they do?” To which +one of them added a remark that, “business is business.” This +statement I am not prepared to contradict, but I would recommend all +men in choosing a profession to avoid any that may require an apology +at every turn;—either an apology or else a somewhat violent +assertion of right. Each younger male reader may perhaps reply that +he has no thought of becoming a sheriff’s officer; but then are there +not other cognate lines of life to which perhaps the attention of +some such may be attracted?</p> + +<p>On the evening of the day on which they went Mark received a note +from Lady Lufton begging him to call early on the following morning, +and immediately after breakfast he went across to Framley Court. It +may be imagined that he was not in a very happy frame of mind, but he +felt the truth of his wife’s remark that the first plunge into cold +water was always the worst. Lady Lufton was not a woman who would +continually throw his disgrace into his teeth, however terribly cold +might be the first words with which she spoke of it. He strove hard +as he entered her room to carry his usual look and bearing, and to +put out his hand to greet her with his customary freedom, but he knew +that he failed. And it may be said that no good man who has broken +down in his goodness can carry the disgrace of his fall without some +look of shame. When a man is able to do that, he ceases to be in any +way good.</p> + +<p>“This has been a distressing affair,” said Lady Lufton after her +first salutation.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” said he. “It has been very sad for poor Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“Well; we must all have our little periods of grief; and it may +perhaps be fortunate if none of us have worse than this. She will not +complain, herself, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“She complain!”</p> + +<p>“No, I am sure she will not. And now all I’ve got to say, Mr. +Robarts, is this: I hope you and Lufton have had enough to do with +black sheep to last you your lives; for I must protest that your late +friend Mr. Sowerby is a black sheep.”</p> + +<p>In no possible way could Lady Lufton have alluded to the matter with +greater kindness than in thus joining Mark’s name with that of her +son. It took away all the bitterness of the rebuke, and made the +subject one on which even he might have spoken without difficulty. +But now, seeing that she was so gentle to him, he could not but lean +the more hardly on himself.</p> + +<p>“I have been very foolish,” said he, “very foolish and very wrong, +and very wicked.”</p> + +<p>“Very foolish, I believe, Mr. Robarts—to speak frankly and once for +all; but, as I also believe, nothing worse. I thought it best for +both of us that we should just have one word about it, and now I +recommend that the matter be never mentioned between us again.”</p> + +<p>“God bless you, Lady Lufton,” he said. “I think no man ever had such +a friend as you are.”</p> + +<p>She had been very quiet during the interview, and almost subdued, not +speaking with the animation that was usual to her; for this affair +with Mr. Robarts was not the only one she had to complete that day, +nor, perhaps, the one most difficult of completion. But she cheered +up a little under the praise now bestowed on her, for it was the sort +of praise she loved best. She did hope, and, perhaps, flatter +herself, that she was a good friend.</p> + +<p>“You must be good enough, then, to gratify my friendship by coming up +to dinner this evening; and Fanny, too, of course. I cannot take any +excuse, for the matter is completely arranged. I have a particular +reason for wishing it.” These last violent injunctions had been added +because Lady Lufton had seen a refusal rising in the parson’s face. +Poor Lady Lufton! Her enemies—for even she had enemies—used to +declare of her, that an invitation to dinner was the only method of +showing itself of which her good-humour was cognizant. But let me ask +of her enemies whether it is not as good a method as any other known +to be extant? Under such orders as these obedience was of course a +necessity, and he promised that he, with his wife, would come across +to dinner. And then, when he went away, Lady Lufton ordered her +carriage.</p> + +<p>During these doings at Framley, Lucy Robarts still remained at +Hogglestock, nursing Mrs. Crawley. Nothing occurred to take her back +to Framley, for the same note from Fanny which gave her the first +tidings of the arrival of the Philistines told her also of their +departure—and also of the source from whence relief had reached +them. “Don’t come, therefore, for that reason,” said the note, “but, +nevertheless, do come as quickly as you can, for the whole house is +sad without you.”</p> + +<p>On the morning after the receipt of this note Lucy was sitting, as +was now usual with her, beside an old arm-chair to which her patient +had lately been promoted. The fever had gone, and Mrs. Crawley was +slowly regaining her strength—very slowly, and with frequent caution +from the Silverbridge doctor that any attempt at being well too fast +might again precipitate her into an abyss of illness and domestic +inefficiency.</p> + +<p>“I really think I can get about to-morrow,” said she; “and then, dear +Lucy, I need not keep you longer from your home.”</p> + +<p>“You are in a great hurry to get rid of me, I think. I suppose Mr. +Crawley has been complaining again about the cream in his tea.” Mr. +Crawley had on one occasion stated his assured conviction that +surreptitious daily supplies were being brought into the house, +because he had detected the presence of cream instead of milk in his +own cup. As, however, the cream had been going for sundry days before +this, Miss Robarts had not thought much of his ingenuity in making +the discovery.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you do not know how he speaks of you when your back is turned.”</p> + +<p>“And how does he speak of me? I know you would not have the courage +to tell me the whole.”</p> + +<p>“No, I have not; for you would think it absurd coming from one who +looks like him. He says that if he were to write a poem about +womanhood, he would make you the heroine.”</p> + +<p>“With a cream-jug in my hand, or else sewing buttons on to a +shirt-collar. But he never forgave me about the mutton broth. He told +me, in so many words, that I was a—storyteller. And for the matter +of that, my dear, so I was.”</p> + +<p>“He told me that you were an angel.”</p> + +<p>“Goodness gracious!”</p> + +<p>“A ministering angel. And so you have been. I can almost feel it in +my heart to be glad that I have been ill, seeing that I have had you +for my friend.”</p> + +<p>“But you might have had that good fortune without the fever.”</p> + +<p>“No, I should not. In my married life I have made no friends till my +illness brought you to me; nor should I ever really have known you +but for that. How should I get to know any one?”</p> + +<p>“You will now, Mrs. Crawley; will you not? Promise that you will. You +will come to us at Framley when you are well? You have promised +already, you know.”</p> + +<p>“You made me do so when I was too weak to refuse.”</p> + +<p>“And I shall make you keep your promise too. He shall come, also, if +he likes; but you shall come whether he likes or no. And I won’t hear +a word about your old dresses. Old dresses will wear as well at +Framley as at Hogglestock.”</p> + +<p>From all which it will appear that Mrs. Crawley and Lucy Robarts had +become very intimate during this period of the nursing; as two women +always will, or, at least should do, when shut up for weeks together +in the same sick room.</p> + +<p>The conversation was still going on between them when the sound of +wheels was heard upon the road. It was no highway that passed before +the house, and carriages of any sort were not frequent there.</p> + +<p>“It is Fanny, I am sure,” said Lucy, rising from her chair.</p> + +<p>“There are two horses,” said Mrs. Crawley, distinguishing the noise +with the accurate sense of hearing which is always attached to +sickness; “and it is not the noise of the pony-carriage.”</p> + +<p>“It is a regular carriage,” said Lucy, speaking from the window, “and +stopping here. It is somebody from Framley Court, for I know the +servant.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke a blush came to her forehead. Might it not be Lord +Lufton, she thought to herself,—forgetting at the moment that Lord +Lufton did not go about the country in a close chariot with a fat +footman. Intimate as she had become with Mrs. Crawley she had said +nothing to her new friend on the subject of her love affair.</p> + +<p>The carriage stopped and down came the footman, but nobody spoke to +him from the inside.</p> + +<p>“He has probably brought something from Framley,” said Lucy, having +cream and such like matters in her mind; for cream and such like +matters had come from Framley Court more than once during her sojourn +there. “And the carriage, probably, happened to be coming this way.”</p> + +<p>But the mystery soon elucidated itself partially, or, perhaps, became +more mysterious in another way. The red-armed little girl who had +been taken away by her frightened mother in the first burst of the +fever had now returned to her place, and at the present moment +entered the room, with awestruck face, declaring that Miss Robarts +was to go at once to the big lady in the carriage.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it’s Lady Lufton,” said Mrs. Crawley.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s heart was so absolutely in her mouth that any kind of speech +was at the moment impossible to her. Why should Lady Lufton have come +thither to Hogglestock, and why should she want to see her, Lucy +Robarts, in the carriage? Had not everything between them been +settled? And <span class="nowrap">yet—!</span> Lucy, in the moment for thought that was allowed +to her, could not determine what might be the probable upshot of such +an interview. Her chief feeling was a desire to postpone it for the +present instant. But the red-armed little girl would not allow that.</p> + +<p>“You are to come at once,” said she.</p> + +<p>And then Lucy, without having spoken a word, got up and left the +room. She walked downstairs, along the little passage, and out +through the small garden, with firm steps, but hardly knowing whither +she went, or why. Her presence of mind and self-possession had all +deserted her. She knew that she was unable to speak as she should do; +she felt that she would have to regret her present behaviour, but yet +she could not help herself. Why should Lady Lufton have come to her +there? She went on, and the big footman stood with the carriage door +open. She stepped up almost unconsciously, and, without knowing how +she got there, she found herself seated by Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth her ladyship also was a little at a loss to know +how she was to carry through her present plan of operations. The duty +of beginning, however, was clearly with her, and therefore, having +taken Lucy by the hand, she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Miss Robarts,” she said, “my son has come home. I don’t know whether +you are aware of it.”</p> + +<p>She spoke with a low, gentle voice, not quite like herself, but Lucy +was much too confused to notice this.</p> + +<p>“I was not aware of it,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>She had, however, been so informed in Fanny’s letter, but all that +had gone out of her head.</p> + +<p>“Yes; he has come back. He has been in Norway, you know,—fishing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“I am sure you will remember all that took place when you came to me, +not long ago, in my little room upstairs at Framley Court.”</p> + +<p>In answer to which, Lucy, quivering in every nerve, and wrongly +thinking that she was visibly shaking in every limb, timidly answered +that she did remember. Why was it that she had then been so bold, and +now was so poor a coward?</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, all that I said to you then I said to you thinking +that it was for the best. You, at any rate, will not be angry with me +for loving my own son better than I love any one else.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“He is the best of sons, and the best of men, and I am sure that he +will be the best of husbands.”</p> + +<p>Lucy had an idea, by instinct, however, rather than by sight, that +Lady Lufton’s eyes were full of tears as she spoke. As for herself +she was altogether blinded and did not dare to lift her face or to +turn her head. As for the utterance of any sound, that was quite out +of the question.</p> + +<p>“And now I have come here, Lucy, to ask you to be his wife.”</p> + +<p>She was quite sure that she heard the words. They came plainly to her +ears, leaving on her brain their proper sense, but yet she could not +move or make any sign that she had understood them. It seemed as +though it would be ungenerous in her to take advantage of such +conduct and to accept an offer made with so much self-sacrifice. She +had not time at the first moment to think even of his happiness, let +alone her own, but she thought only of the magnitude of the +concession which had been made to her. When she had constituted Lady +Lufton the arbiter of her destiny she had regarded the question of +her love as decided against herself. She had found herself unable to +endure the position of being Lady Lufton’s daughter-in-law while Lady +Lufton would be scorning her, and therefore she had given up the +game. She had given up the game, sacrificing herself, and, as far as +it might be a sacrifice, sacrificing him also. She had been resolute +to stand to her word in this respect, but she had never allowed +herself to think it possible that Lady Lufton should comply with the +conditions which she, Lucy, had laid upon her. And yet such was the +case, as she so plainly heard. “And now I have come here, Lucy, to +ask you to be his wife.”</p> + +<p>How long they sat together silent, I cannot say; counted by minutes +the time would not probably have amounted to many, but to each of +them the duration seemed considerable. Lady Lufton, while she was +speaking, had contrived to get hold of Lucy’s hand, and she sat, +still holding it, trying to look into Lucy’s face,—which, however, +she could hardly see, so much was it turned away. Neither, indeed, +were Lady Lufton’s eyes perfectly dry. No answer came to her +question, and therefore, after a while, it was necessary that she +should speak again.</p> + +<p>“Must I go back to him, Lucy, and tell him that there is some other +objection—something besides a stern old mother; some hindrance, +perhaps, not so easily overcome?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Lucy, and it was all which at the moment she could say.</p> + +<p>“What shall I tell him, then? Shall I say yes—simply yes?”</p> + +<p>“Simply yes,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“And as to the stern old mother who thought her only son too precious +to be parted with at the first word—is nothing to be said to her?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lady Lufton!”</p> + +<p>“No forgiveness to be spoken, no sign of affection to be given? Is +she always to be regarded as stern and cross, vexatious and +disagreeable?”</p> + +<p>Lucy slowly turned round her head and looked up into her companion’s +face. Though she had as yet no voice to speak of affection she could +fill her eyes with love, and in that way make to her future mother +all the promises that were needed.</p> + +<p>“Lucy, dearest Lucy, you must be very dear to me now.” And then they +were in each other’s arms, kissing each other.</p> + +<p>Lady Lufton now desired her coachman to drive up and down for some +little space along the road while she completed her necessary +conversation with Lucy. She wanted at first to carry her back to +Framley that evening, promising to send her again to Mrs. Crawley on +the following morning—“till some permanent arrangement could be +made,” by which Lady Lufton intended the substitution of a regular +nurse for her future daughter-in-law, seeing that Lucy Robarts was +now invested in her eyes with attributes which made it unbecoming +that she should sit in attendance at Mrs. Crawley’s bedside. But Lucy +would not go back to Framley on that evening; no, nor on the next +morning. She would be so glad if Fanny would come to her there, and +then she would arrange about going home.</p> + +<p>“But, Lucy, dear, what am I to say to Ludovic? Perhaps you would feel +it awkward if he were to come to see you here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Lady Lufton; pray tell him not to do that.”</p> + +<p>“And is that all that I am to tell him?”</p> + +<p>“Tell him—tell him—He won’t want you to tell him anything;—only I +should like to be quiet for a day, Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Well, dearest, you shall be quiet; the day after to-morrow +then.—Mind we must not spare you any longer, because it will be +right that you should be at home now. He would think it very hard if +you were to be so near, and he was not to be allowed to look at you. +And there will be some one else who will want to see you. I shall +want to have you very near to me, for I shall be wretched, Lucy, if I +cannot teach you to love me.” In answer to which Lucy did find voice +enough to make sundry promises.</p> + +<p>And then she was put out of the carriage at the little wicket gate, +and Lady Lufton was driven back to Framley. I wonder whether the +servant when he held the door for Miss Robarts was conscious that he +was waiting on his future mistress. I fancy that he was, for these +sort of people always know everything, and the peculiar courtesy of +his demeanour as he let down the carriage steps was very observable.</p> + +<p>Lucy felt almost beside herself as she returned upstairs, not knowing +what to do, or how to look, and with what words to speak. It behoved +her to go at once to Mrs. Crawley’s room, and yet she longed to be +alone. She knew that she was quite unable either to conceal her +thoughts or express them; nor did she wish at the present moment to +talk to any one about her happiness,—seeing that she could not at +the present moment talk to Fanny Robarts. She went, however, without +delay into Mrs. Crawley’s room, and with that little eager way of +speaking quickly which is so common with people who know that they +are confused, said that she feared she had been a very long time +away.</p> + +<p>“And was it Lady Lufton?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it was Lady Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Lucy; I did not know that you and her ladyship were such +friends.”</p> + +<p>“She had something particular she wanted to say,” said Lucy, avoiding +the question, and avoiding also Mrs. Crawley’s eyes; and then she +sate down in her usual chair.</p> + +<p>“It was nothing unpleasant, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“No, nothing at all unpleasant; nothing of that kind.—Oh, Mrs. +Crawley, I’ll tell you some other time, but pray do not ask me now.” +And then she got up and escaped, for it was absolutely necessary that +she should be alone.</p> + +<p>When she reached her own room—that in which the children usually +slept—she made a great effort to compose herself, but not altogether +successfully. She got out her paper and blotting-book intending, as +she said to herself, to write to Fanny, knowing, however, that the +letter when written would be destroyed; but she was not able even to +form a word. Her hand was unsteady and her eyes were dim and her +thoughts were incapable of being fixed. She could only sit, and +think, and wonder, and hope; occasionally wiping the tears from her +eyes, and asking herself why her present frame of mind was so painful +to her? During the last two or three months she had felt no fear of +Lord Lufton, had always carried herself before him on equal terms, +and had been signally capable of doing so when he made his +declaration to her at the parsonage; but now she looked forward with +an undefined dread to the first moment in which she should see him.</p> + +<p>And then she thought of a certain evening she had passed at Framley +Court, and acknowledged to herself that there was some pleasure in +looking back to that. Griselda Grantly had been there, and all the +constitutional powers of the two families had been at work to render +easy a process of love-making between her and Lord Lufton. Lucy had +seen and understood it all, without knowing that she understood it, +and had, in a certain degree, suffered from beholding it. She had +placed herself apart, not complaining—painfully conscious of some +inferiority, but, at the same time, almost boasting to herself that +in her own way she was the superior. And then he had come behind her +chair, whispering to her, speaking to her his first words of kindness +and good-nature, and she had resolved that she would be his +friend—his friend, even though Griselda Grantly might be his wife. +What those resolutions were worth had soon become manifest to her. +She had soon confessed to herself the result of that friendship, and +had determined to bear her punishment with courage. But +<span class="nowrap">now—</span></p> + +<p>She sate so for about an hour, and would fain have so sat out the +day. But as this could not be, she got up, and having washed her face +and eyes returned to Mrs. Crawley’s room. There she found Mr. Crawley +also, to her great joy, for she knew that while he was there no +questions would be asked of her. He was always very gentle to her, +treating her with an old-fashioned polished respect—except when +compelled on that one occasion by his sense of duty to accuse her of +mendacity respecting the purveying of victuals—, but he had never +become absolutely familiar with her as his wife had done; and it was +well for her now that he had not done so, for she could not have +talked about Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when the three were present, she did manage to say +that she expected Mrs. Robarts would come over on the following day.</p> + +<p>“We shall part with you, Miss Robarts, with the deepest regret,” said +Mr. Crawley; “but we would not on any account keep you longer. Mrs. +Crawley can do without you now. What she would have done, had you not +come to us, I am at a loss to think.”</p> + +<p>“I did not say that I should go,” said Lucy.</p> + +<p>“But you will,” said Mrs. Crawley. “Yes, dear, you will. I know that +it is proper now that you should return. Nay, but we will not have +you any longer. And the poor dear children, too,—they may return. +How am I to thank Mrs. Robarts for what she has done for us?”</p> + +<p>It was settled that if Mrs. Robarts came on the following day Lucy +should go back with her; and then, during the long watches of the +night—for on this last night Lucy would not leave the bed-side of +her new friend till long after the dawn had broken—she did tell Mrs. +Crawley what was to be her destiny in life. To herself there seemed +nothing strange in her new position; but to Mrs. Crawley it was +wonderful that she—she, poor as she was—should have an embryo +peeress at her bedside, handing her her cup to drink, and smoothing +her pillow that she might be at rest. It was strange, and she could +hardly maintain her accustomed familiarity. Lucy felt this, at the +moment.</p> + +<p>“It must make no difference, you know,” said she, eagerly; “none at +all, between you and me. Promise me that it shall make no +difference.”</p> + +<p>The promise was, of course, exacted; but it was not possible that +such a promise should be kept.</p> + +<p>Very early on the following morning—so early that it woke her while +still in her first sleep—there came a letter for her from the +parsonage. Mrs. Robarts had written it, after her return home from +Lady Lufton’s dinner.</p> + +<p>The letter said:—<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My own own +Darling</span>,</p> + +<p>How am I to congratulate you, and be eager enough in +wishing you joy? I do wish you joy, and am so very happy. +I write now chiefly to say that I shall be over with you +about twelve to-morrow, and that +I <span class="u">must</span> bring you away +with me. If I did not some one else, by no means so +trustworthy, would insist on doing it.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">But this, though +it was thus stated to be the chief part of the +letter, and though it might be so in matter, was by no means so in +space. It was very long, for Mrs. Robarts had sat writing it till +past midnight.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I will not say anything about him [she went on to say, +after two pages had been filled with his name], but I must +tell you how beautifully she has behaved. You will own +that she is a dear woman; will you not?<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">Lucy had already owned +it many times since the visit of yesterday, +and had declared to herself, as she has continued to declare ever +since, that she had never doubted it.<br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>She took us by surprise when we got into the drawing-room +before dinner, and she told us first of all that she had +been to see you at Hogglestock. Lord Lufton, of course, +could not keep the secret, but brought it out instantly. I +can’t tell you now how he told it all, but I am sure you +will believe that he did it in the best possible manner. +He took my hand and pressed it half a dozen times, and I +thought he was going to do something else; but he did not, +so you need not be jealous. And she was so nice to Mark, +saying such things in praise of you, and paying all manner +of compliments to your father. But Lord Lufton scolded her +immensely for not bringing you. He said it was +lackadaisical and nonsensical; but I could see how much he +loved her for what she had done; and she could see it too, +for I know her ways, and know that she was delighted with +him. She could not keep her eyes off him all the evening, +and certainly I never did see him look so well.</p> + +<p>And then while Lord Lufton and Mark were in the +dining-room, where they remained a terribly long time, she +would make me go through the house that she might show me +your rooms, and explain how you were to be mistress there. +She has got it all arranged to perfection, and I am sure +she has been thinking about it for years. Her great fear +at present is that you and he should go and live at +Lufton. If you have any gratitude in you, either to her or +me, you will not let him do this. I consoled her by saying +that there are not two stones upon one another at Lufton +as yet; and I believe such is the case. Besides, everybody +says that it is the ugliest spot in the world. She went on +to declare, with tears in her eyes, that if you were +content to remain at Framley, she would never interfere in +anything. I do think that she is the best woman that ever +lived.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>So much as I have given of this letter formed but a small portion of +it, but it comprises all that it is necessary that we should know. +Exactly at twelve o’clock on that day Puck the pony appeared, with +Mrs. Robarts and Grace Crawley behind him, Grace having been brought +back as being capable of some service in the house. Nothing that was +confidential, and very little that was loving, could be said at the +moment, because Mr. Crawley was there, waiting to bid Miss Robarts +adieu; and he had not as yet been informed of what was to be the +future fate of his visitor. So they could only press each other’s +hands and embrace, which to Lucy was almost a relief; for even to her +sister-in-law she hardly as yet knew how to speak openly on this +subject.</p> + +<p>“May God Almighty bless you, Miss Robarts,” said Mr. Crawley, as he +stood in his dingy sitting-room ready to lead her out to the +pony-carriage. “You have brought sunshine into this house, even in +the time of sickness, when there was no sunshine; and He will bless +you. You have been the Good Samaritan, binding up the wounds of the +afflicted, pouring in oil and balm. To the mother of my children you +have given life, and to me you have brought light, and comfort, and +good words,—making my spirit glad within me as it had not been +gladdened before. All this hath come of charity, which vaunteth not +itself and is not puffed up. Faith and hope are great and beautiful, +but charity exceedeth them all.” And having so spoken, instead of +leading her out, he went away and hid himself.</p> + +<p>How Puck behaved himself as Fanny drove him back to Framley, and how +those two ladies in the carriage behaved themselves—of that, +perhaps, nothing further need be said.</p> + + +<p><a id="c47"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2></div> +<h3>NEMESIS.<br> </h3> + + +<p>But in spite of all these joyful tidings it must, alas! be remembered +that Pœna, that just but Rhadamanthine goddess, whom we moderns +ordinarily call Punishment, or Nemesis when we wish to speak of her +goddess-ship, very seldom fails to catch a wicked man though she have +sometimes a lame foot of her own, and though the wicked man may +possibly get a start of her. In this instance the wicked man had been +our unfortunate friend Mark Robarts; wicked in that he had wittingly +touched pitch, gone to Gatherum Castle, ridden fast mares across the +country to Cobbold’s Ashes, and fallen very imprudently among the +Tozers; and the instrument used by Nemesis was Mr. Tom Towers of the +<i>Jupiter</i>, than whom, in these our days, there is no deadlier scourge +in the hands of that goddess.</p> + +<p>In the first instance, however, I must mention, though I will not +relate, a little conversation which took place between Lady Lufton +and Mr. Robarts. That gentleman thought it right to say a few words +more to her ladyship respecting those money transactions. He could +not but feel, he said, that he had received that prebendal stall from +the hands of Mr. Sowerby; and under such circumstances, considering +all that had happened, he could not be easy in his mind as long as he +held it. What he was about to do would, he was aware, delay +considerably his final settlement with Lord Lufton; but Lufton, he +hoped, would pardon that, and agree with him as to the propriety of +what he was about to do.</p> + +<p>On the first blush of the thing Lady Lufton did not quite go along +with him. Now that Lord Lufton was to marry the parson’s sister it +might be well that the parson should be a dignitary of the Church; +and it might be well, also, that one so nearly connected with her son +should be comfortable in his money matters. There loomed also, in the +future, some distant possibility of higher clerical honours for a +peer’s brother-in-law; and the top rung of the ladder is always more +easily attained when a man has already ascended a step or two. But, +nevertheless, when the matter came to be fully explained to her, when +she saw clearly the circumstances under which the stall had been +conferred, she did agree that it had better be given up.</p> + +<p>And well for both of them it was—well for them all at Framley—that +this conclusion had been reached before the scourge of Nemesis had +fallen. Nemesis, of course, declared that her scourge had produced +the resignation; but it was generally understood that this was a +false boast, for all clerical men at Barchester knew that the stall +had been restored to the chapter, or, in other words, into the hands +of the Government, before Tom Towers had twirled the fatal lash above +his head. But the manner of the twirling was as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>It is with difficulty enough [said the article in the +<i>Jupiter</i>], that the Church of England maintains at the +present moment that ascendancy among the religious sects +of this country which it so loudly claims. And perhaps it +is rather from an old-fashioned and time-honoured +affection for its standing than from any intrinsic merits +of its own that some such general acknowledgment of its +ascendancy is still allowed to prevail. If, however, the +patrons and clerical members of this Church are bold +enough to disregard all general rules of decent behaviour, +we think we may predict that this chivalrous feeling will +be found to give way. From time to time we hear of +instances of such imprudence, and are made to wonder at +the folly of those who are supposed to hold the State +Church in the greatest reverence.</p> + +<p>Among those positions of dignified ease to which fortunate +clergymen may be promoted are the stalls of the canons or +prebendaries in our cathedrals. Some of these, as is well +known, carry little or no emolument with them, but some +are rich in the good things of this world. Excellent +family houses are attached to them, with we hardly know +what domestic privileges, and clerical incomes, moreover, +of an amount which, if divided, would make glad the hearts +of many a hard-working clerical slave. Reform has been +busy even among these stalls, attaching some amount of +work to the pay, and paring off some superfluous wealth +from such of them as were over full; but reform has been +lenient with them, acknowledging that it was well to have +some such places of comfortable and dignified retirement +for those who have worn themselves out in the hard work of +their profession. There has of late prevailed a taste for +the appointment of young bishops, produced no doubt by a +feeling that bishops should be men fitted to get through +really hard work; but we have never heard that young +prebendaries were considered desirable. A clergyman +selected for such a position should, we have always +thought, have earned an evening of ease by a long day of +work, and should, above all things, be one whose life has +been, and therefore in human probability will be, so +decorous as to be honourable to the cathedral of his +adoption.</p> + +<p>We were, however, the other day given to understand that +one of these luxurious benefices, belonging to the +cathedral of Barchester, had been bestowed on the Rev. +Mark Robarts, the vicar of a neighbouring parish, on the +understanding that he should hold the living and the stall +together; and on making further inquiry we were surprised +to learn that this fortunate gentleman is as yet +considerably under thirty years of age. We were desirous, +however, of believing that his learning, his piety, and +his conduct, might be of a nature to add peculiar grace to +his chapter, and therefore, though almost unwillingly, we +were silent. But now it has come to our ears, and, indeed, +to the ears of all the world, that this piety and conduct +are sadly wanting; and judging of Mr. Robarts by his life +and associates, we are inclined to doubt even the +learning. He has at this moment, or at any rate had but a +few days since, an execution in his parsonage house at +Framley, on the suit of certain most disreputable bill +discounters in London; and probably would have another +execution in his other house in Barchester close, but for +the fact that he has never thought it necessary to go into +residence.<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">Then followed some +very stringent, and, no doubt, much-needed advice +to those clerical members of the Church of England who are supposed +to be mainly responsible for the conduct of their brethren; and the +article ended as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>Many of these stalls are in the gift of the respective +deans and chapters, and in such cases the dean and +chapters are bound to see that proper persons are +appointed; but in other instances the power of selection +is vested in the Crown, and then an equal responsibility +rests on the government of the day. Mr. Robarts, we learn, +was appointed to the stall in Barchester by the late Prime +Minister, and we really think that a grave censure rests +on him for the manner in which his patronage has been +exercised. It may be impossible that he should himself in +all such cases satisfy himself by personal inquiry. But +our government is altogether conducted on the footing of +vicarial responsibility. <i>Quod facit per alium, facit per +se</i>, is in a special manner true of our ministers, and any +man who rises to high position among them must abide by +the danger thereby incurred. In this peculiar case we are +informed that the recommendation was made by a very +recently admitted member of the Cabinet, to whose +appointment we alluded at the time as a great mistake. The +gentleman in question held no high individual office of +his own; but evil such as this which has now been done at +Barchester, is exactly the sort of mischief which follows +the exaltation of unfit men to high positions, even though +no great scope for executive failure may be placed within +their reach.</p> + +<p>If Mr. Robarts will allow us to tender to him our advice, +he will lose no time in going through such ceremony as may +be necessary again to place the stall at the disposal of +the Crown!<br> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>I may here observe that poor Harold Smith, when he read this, +writhing in agony, declared it to be the handiwork of his hated +enemy, Mr. Supplehouse. He knew the mark; so, at least, he said; but +I myself am inclined to believe that his animosity misled him. I +think that one greater than Mr. Supplehouse had taken upon himself +the punishment of our poor vicar.</p> + +<p>This was very dreadful to them all at Framley, and, when first read, +seemed to crush them to atoms. Poor Mrs. Robarts, when she heard it, +seemed to think that for them the world was over. An attempt had been +made to keep it from her, but such attempts always fail, as did this. +The article was copied into all the good-natured local newspapers, +and she soon discovered that something was being hidden. At last it +was shown to her by her husband, and then for a few hours she was +annihilated; for a few days she was unwilling to show herself; and +for a few weeks she was very sad. But after that the world seemed to +go on much as it had done before; the sun shone upon them as warmly +as though the article had not been written; and not only the sun of +heaven, which, as a rule, is not limited in his shining by any +display of pagan thunder, but also the genial sun of their own +sphere, the warmth and light of which were so essentially necessary +to their happiness. Neighbouring rectors did not look glum, nor did +the rectors’ wives refuse to call. The people in the shops at +Barchester did not regard her as though she were a disgraced woman, +though it must be acknowledged that Mrs. Proudie passed her in the +close with the coldest nod of recognition.</p> + +<p>On Mrs. Proudie’s mind alone did the article seem to have any +enduring effect. In one respect it was, perhaps, beneficial; Lady +Lufton was at once induced by it to make common cause with her own +clergyman, and thus the remembrance of Mr. Robarts’ sins passed away +the quicker from the minds of the whole Framley Court household.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the county at large was not able to give to the matter +that undivided attention which would have been considered its due at +periods of no more than ordinary interest. At the present moment +preparations were being made for a general election, and although no +contest was to take place in the eastern division, a very violent +fight was being carried on in the west; and the circumstances of that +fight were so exciting that Mr. Robarts and his article were +forgotten before their time. An edict had gone forth from Gatherum +Castle directing that Mr. Sowerby should be turned out, and an +answering note of defiance had been sounded from Chaldicotes, +protesting on behalf of Mr. Sowerby, that the duke’s behest would not +be obeyed.</p> + +<p>There are two classes of persons in this realm who are +constitutionally inefficient to take any part in returning members to +Parliament—peers, namely, and women; and yet it was soon known +through the whole length and breadth of the county that the present +electioneering fight was being carried on between a peer and a woman. +Miss Dunstable had been declared the purchaser of the Chace of +Chaldicotes, as it were, just in the very nick of time; which +purchase—so men in Barsetshire declared, not knowing anything of the +facts—would have gone altogether the other way, had not the giants +obtained temporary supremacy over the gods. The duke was a supporter +of the gods, and therefore, so Mr. Fothergill hinted, his money had +been refused. Miss Dunstable was prepared to beard this ducal friend +of the gods in his own county, and therefore her money had been +taken. I am inclined, however, to think that Mr. Fothergill knew +nothing about it, and to opine that Miss Dunstable, in her eagerness +for victory, offered to the Crown more money than the property was +worth in the duke’s opinion, and that the Crown took advantage of her +anxiety, to the manifest profit of the public at large.</p> + +<p>And it soon became known also that Miss Dunstable was, in fact, the +proprietor of the whole Chaldicotes estate, and that in promoting the +success of Mr. Sowerby as a candidate for the county, she was +standing by her own tenant. It also became known, in the course of +the battle, that Miss Dunstable had herself at last succumbed, and +that she was about to marry Dr. Thorne of Greshamsbury, or the +“Greshamsbury apothecary,” as the adverse party now delighted to call +him. “He has been little better than a quack all his life,” said Dr. +Fillgrave, the eminent physician of Barchester, “and now he is going +to marry a quack’s daughter.” By which, and the like to which, Dr. +Thorne did not allow himself to be much annoyed.</p> + +<p>But all this gave rise to a very pretty series of squibs arranged +between Mr. Fothergill and Mr. Closerstill, the electioneering agent. +Mr. Sowerby was named “the lady’s pet,” and descriptions were given +of the lady who kept this pet, which were by no means flattering to +Miss Dunstable’s appearance, or manners, or age. And then the western +division of the county was asked in a grave tone—as counties and +boroughs are asked by means of advertisements stuck up on blind walls +and barn doors—whether it was fitting and proper that it should be +represented by a woman. Upon which the county was again asked whether +it was fitting and proper that it should be represented by a duke. +And then the question became more personal as against Miss Dunstable, +and inquiry was urged whether the county would not be indelibly +disgraced if it were not only handed over to a woman, but handed over +to a woman who sold the oil of Lebanon. But little was got by this +move, for an answering placard explained to the unfortunate county +how deep would be its shame if it allowed itself to become the +appanage of any peer, but more especially of a peer who was known to +be the most immoral lord that ever disgraced the benches of the upper +house.</p> + +<p>And so the battle went on very prettily, and, as money was allowed to +flow freely, the West Barsetshire world at large was not ill +satisfied. It is wonderful how much disgrace of that kind a borough +or county can endure without flinching; and wonderful, also, seeing +how supreme is the value attached to the constitution by the realm at +large, how very little the principles of that constitution are valued +by the people in detail. The duke, of course, did not show himself. +He rarely did on any occasion, and never on such occasions as this; +but Mr. Fothergill was to be seen everywhere. Miss Dunstable, also, +did not hide her light under a bushel; though I here declare, on the +faith of an historian, that the rumour spread abroad of her having +made a speech to the electors from the top of the porch over the +hotel-door at Courcy was not founded on fact. No doubt she was at +Courcy, and her carriage stopped at the hotel; but neither there nor +elsewhere did she make any public exhibition. “They must have +mistaken me for Mrs. Proudie,” she said, when the rumour reached her +ears.</p> + +<p>But there was, alas! one great element of failure on Miss Dunstable’s +side of the battle. Mr. Sowerby himself could not be induced to fight +it as became a man. Any positive injunctions that were laid upon him +he did, in a sort, obey. It had been a part of the bargain that he +should stand the contest, and from that bargain he could not well go +back; but he had not the spirit left to him for any true fighting on +his own part. He could not go up on the hustings, and there defy the +duke. Early in the affair Mr. Fothergill challenged him to do so, and +Mr. Sowerby never took up the gauntlet.</p> + +<p>“We have heard,” said Mr. Fothergill, in that great speech which he +made at the Omnium Arms at Silverbridge—“we have heard much during +this election of the Duke of Omnium, and of the injuries which he is +supposed to have inflicted on one of the candidates. The duke’s name +is very frequent in the mouths of the gentlemen,—and of the +lady,—who support Mr. Sowerby’s claims. But I do not think that Mr. +Sowerby himself has dared to say much about the duke. I defy Mr. +Sowerby to mention the duke’s name upon the hustings.”</p> + +<p>And it so happened that Mr. Sowerby never did mention the duke’s +name.</p> + +<p>It is ill fighting when the spirit is gone, and Mr. Sowerby’s spirit +for such things was now well nigh broken. It is true that he had +escaped from the net in which the duke, by Mr. Fothergill’s aid, had +entangled him; but he had only broken out of one captivity into +another. Money is a serious thing; and when gone cannot be had back +by a shuffle in the game, or a fortunate blow with the battledore, as +may political power, or reputation, or fashion. One hundred thousand +pounds gone, must remain as gone, let the person who claims to have +had the honour of advancing it be Mrs. B. or my Lord C. No lucky +dodge can erase such a claim from the things that be—unless, indeed, +such dodge be possible as Mr. Sowerby tried with Miss Dunstable. It +was better for him, undoubtedly, to have the lady for a creditor than +the duke, seeing that it was possible for him to live as a tenant in +his own old house under the lady’s reign. But this he found to be a +sad enough life, after all that was come and gone.</p> + +<p>The election on Miss Dunstable’s part was lost. She carried on the +contest nobly, fighting it to the last moment, and sparing neither +her own money nor that of her antagonist; but she carried it on +unsuccessfully. Many gentlemen did support Mr. Sowerby because they +were willing enough to emancipate their county from the duke’s +thraldom; but Mr. Sowerby was felt to be a black sheep, as Lady +Lufton had called him, and at the close of the election he found +himself banished from the representation of West +Barsetshire;—banished for ever, after having held the county for +five-and-twenty years.</p> + +<p>Unfortunate Mr. Sowerby! I cannot take leave of him here without some +feeling of regret, knowing that there was that within him which +might, under better guidance, have produced better things. There are +men, even of high birth, who seem as though they were born to be +rogues; but Mr. Sowerby was, to my thinking, born to be a gentleman. +That he had not been a gentleman—that he had bolted from his +appointed course, going terribly on the wrong side of the posts—let +us all acknowledge. It is not a gentlemanlike deed, but a very +blackguard action, to obtain a friend’s acceptance to a bill in an +unguarded hour of social intercourse. That and other similar doings +have stamped his character too plainly. But, nevertheless, I claim a +tear for Mr. Sowerby, and lament that he has failed to run his race +discreetly, in accordance with the rules of the Jockey Club.</p> + +<p>He attempted that plan of living as a tenant in his old house at +Chaldicotes and of making a living out of the land which he farmed; +but he soon abandoned it. He had no aptitude for such industry, and +could not endure his altered position in the county. He soon +relinquished Chaldicotes of his own accord, and has vanished away, as +such men do vanish—not altogether without necessary income; to which +point in the final arrangement of their joint affairs, Mrs. Thorne’s +man of business—if I may be allowed so far to anticipate—paid +special attention.</p> + +<p>And thus Lord Dumbello, the duke’s nominee, got in, as the duke’s +nominee had done for very many years past. There was no Nemesis +here—none as yet. Nevertheless, she with the lame foot will +assuredly catch him, the duke, if it be that he deserve to be caught. +With us his grace’s appearance has been so unfrequent that I think we +may omit to make any further inquiry as to his concerns.</p> + +<p>One point, however, is worthy of notice, as showing the good sense +with which we manage our affairs here in England. In an early portion +of this story the reader was introduced to the interior of Gatherum +Castle, and there saw Miss Dunstable entertained by the duke in the +most friendly manner. Since those days the lady has become the duke’s +neighbour, and has waged a war with him, which he probably felt to be +very vexatious. But, nevertheless, on the next great occasion at +Gatherum Castle, Doctor and Mrs. Thorne were among the visitors, and +to no one was the duke more personally courteous than to his opulent +neighbour, the late Miss Dunstable.</p> + + +<p><a id="c48"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class='chapter'><h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2></div> +<h3>HOW THEY WERE ALL MARRIED,<br>HAD +TWO CHILDREN,<br>AND +LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER.<br> </h3> + + +<p>Dear, affectionate, sympathetic readers, we have four couple of +sighing lovers with whom to deal in this our last chapter, and I, as +leader of the chorus, disdain to press you further with doubts as to +the happiness of any of that quadrille. They were all made happy, in +spite of that little episode which so lately took place at +Barchester; and in telling of their happiness—shortly, as is now +necessary—we will take them chronologically, giving precedence to +those who first appeared at the hymeneal altar.</p> + +<p>In July, then, at the cathedral, by the father of the bride, assisted +by his examining chaplain, Olivia Proudie, the eldest daughter of the +Bishop of Barchester, was joined in marriage to the Rev. Tobias +Tickler, incumbent of the Trinity district church in Bethnal Green. +Of the bridegroom, in this instance, our acquaintance has been so +short, that it is not, perhaps, necessary to say much. When coming to +the wedding he proposed to bring his three darling children with him; +but in this measure he was, I think prudently, stopped by advice, +rather strongly worded, from his future valued mother-in-law. Mr. +Tickler was not an opulent man, nor had he hitherto attained any +great fame in his profession; but, at the age of forty-three he still +had sufficient opportunity before him, and now that his merit has +been properly viewed by high ecclesiastical eyes the refreshing dew +of deserved promotion will no doubt fall upon him. The marriage was +very smart, and Olivia carried herself through the trying ordeal with +an excellent propriety of conduct.</p> + +<p>Up to that time, and even for a few days longer, there was doubt at +Barchester as to that strange journey which Lord Dumbello undoubtedly +did take to France. When a man so circumstanced will suddenly go to +Paris, without notice given even to his future bride, people must +doubt; and grave were the apprehensions expressed on this occasion by +Mrs. Proudie, even at her child’s wedding-breakfast. “God bless you, +my dear children,” she said, standing up at the head of her table as +she addressed Mr. Tickler and his wife; “when I see your perfect +happiness—perfect, that is, as far as human happiness can be made +perfect in this vale of tears—and think of the terrible calamity +which has fallen on our unfortunate neighbours, I cannot but +acknowledge His infinite mercy and goodness. The Lord giveth, and the +Lord taketh away.” By which she intended, no doubt, to signify that +whereas Mr. Tickler had been given to her Olivia, Lord Dumbello had +been taken away from the archdeacon’s Griselda. The happy couple then +went in Mrs. Proudie’s carriage to the nearest railway station but +one, and from thence proceeded to Malvern, and there spent the +honeymoon.</p> + +<p>And a great comfort it was, I am sure, to Mrs. Proudie when +authenticated tidings reached Barchester that Lord Dumbello had +returned from Paris, and that the Hartletop-Grantly alliance was to +be carried to its completion. She still, however, held her +opinion—whether correctly or not, who shall say?—that the young +lord had intended to escape. “The archdeacon has shown great firmness +in the way in which he has done it,” said Mrs. Proudie; “but whether +he has consulted his child’s best interests in forcing her into a +marriage with an unwilling husband, I for one must take leave to +doubt. But then, unfortunately, we all know how completely the +archdeacon is devoted to worldly matters.”</p> + +<p>In this instance the archdeacon’s devotion to worldly matters was +rewarded by that success which he no doubt desired. He did go up to +London, and did see one or two of Lord Dumbello’s friends. This he +did, not obtrusively, as though in fear of any falsehood or +vacillation on the part of the viscount, but with that discretion and +tact for which he has been so long noted. Mrs. Proudie declares that +during the few days of his absence from Barsetshire he himself +crossed to France and hunted down Lord Dumbello at Paris. As to this +I am not prepared to say anything; but I am quite sure, as will be +all those who knew the archdeacon, that he was not a man to see his +daughter wronged as long as any measure remained by which such wrong +might be avoided.</p> + +<p>But, be that as it may—that mooted question as to the archdeacon’s +journey to Paris—Lord Dumbello was forthcoming at Plumstead on the +5th of August, and went through his work like a man. The Hartletop +family, when the alliance was found to be unavoidable, endeavoured to +arrange that the wedding should be held at Hartletop Priory, in order +that the clerical dust and dinginess of Barchester Close might not +soil the splendour of the marriage gala doings; for, to tell the +truth, the Hartletopians, as a rule, were not proud of their new +clerical connections. But on this subject Mrs. Grantly was very +properly inexorable; nor, when an attempt was made on the bride to +induce her to throw over her mamma at the last moment and pronounce +for herself that she would be married at the priory, was it attended +with any success. The Hartletopians knew nothing of the Grantly fibre +and calibre, or they would have made no such attempt. The marriage +took place at Plumstead, and on the morning of the day Lord Dumbello +posted over from Barchester to the rectory. The ceremony was +performed by the archdeacon, without assistance, although the dean, +and the precentor, and two other clergymen, were at the ceremony. +Griselda’s propriety of conduct was quite equal to that of Olivia +Proudie; indeed, nothing could exceed the statuesque grace and fine +aristocratic bearing with which she carried herself on the occasion. +The three or four words which the service required of her she said +with ease and dignity; there was neither sobbing nor crying to +disturb the work or embarrass her friends, and she signed her name in +the church books as “Griselda Grantly” without a tremor—and without +a regret.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly kissed her and blessed her in the hall as she was about +to step forward to her travelling carriage, leaning on her father’s +arm, and the child put up her face to her mother for a last whisper. +“Mamma,” she said, “I suppose Jane can put her hand at once on the +moire antique when we reach Dover?” Mrs. Grantly smiled and nodded, +and again blessed her child. There was not a tear shed—at least, not +then—nor a sign of sorrow to cloud for a moment the gay splendour of +the day. But the mother did bethink herself, in the solitude of her +own room, of those last words, and did acknowledge a lack of +something for which her heart had sighed. She had boasted to her +sister that she had nothing to regret as to her daughter’s education; +but now, when she was alone after her success, did she feel that she +could still support herself with that boast? For, be it known, Mrs. +Grantly had a heart within her bosom and a faith within her heart. +The world, it is true, had pressed upon her sorely with all its +weight of accumulated clerical wealth, but it had not utterly crushed +her—not her, but only her child. For the sins of the father, are +they not visited on the third and fourth generation?</p> + +<p>But if any such feeling of remorse did for awhile mar the fulness of +Mrs. Grantly’s joy, it was soon dispelled by the perfect success of +her daughter’s married life. At the end of the autumn the bride and +bridegroom returned from their tour, and it was evident to all the +circle at Hartletop Priory that Lord Dumbello was by no means +dissatisfied with his bargain. His wife had been admired everywhere +to the top of his bent. All the world at Ems, and at Baden, and at +Nice, had been stricken by the stately beauty of the young +viscountess. And then, too, her manner, style, and high dignity of +demeanour altogether supported the reverential feeling which her +grace and form at first inspired. She never derogated from her +husband’s honour by the fictitious liveliness of gossip, or allowed +any one to forget the peeress in the woman. Lord Dumbello soon found +that his reputation for discretion was quite safe in her hands, and +that there were no lessons as to conduct in which it was necessary +that he should give instruction.</p> + +<p>Before the winter was over she had equally won the hearts of all the +circle at Hartletop Priory. The duke was there and declared to the +marchioness that Dumbello could not possibly have done better. +“Indeed, I do not think he could,” said the happy mother. “She sees +all that she ought to see, and nothing that she ought not.”</p> + +<p>And then, in London, when the season came, all men sang all manner of +praises in her favour, and Lord Dumbello was made aware that he was +reckoned among the wisest of his age. He had married a wife who +managed everything for him, who never troubled him, whom no woman +disliked, and whom every man admired. As for feast of reason and for +flow of soul, is it not a question whether any such flows and feasts +are necessary between a man and his wife? How many men can truly +assert that they ever enjoy connubial flows of soul, or that +connubial feasts of reason are in their nature enjoyable? But a +handsome woman at the head of your table, who knows how to dress, and +how to sit, and how to get in and out of her carriage—who will not +disgrace her lord by her ignorance, or fret him by her coquetry, or +disparage him by her talent—how beautiful a thing it is! For my own +part I think that Griselda Grantly was born to be the wife of a great +English peer.</p> + +<p>“After all, then,” said Miss Dunstable, speaking of Lady +Dumbello—she was Mrs. Thorne at this time—“after all, there is some +truth in what our quaint latter-day philosopher tells us—‘Great are +thy powers, O Silence!’”</p> + +<p>The marriage of our old friends Dr. Thorne and Miss Dunstable was the +third on the list, but that did not take place till the latter end of +September. The lawyers on such an occasion had no inconsiderable work +to accomplish, and though the lady was not coy, nor the gentleman +slow, it was not found practicable to arrange an earlier wedding. The +ceremony was performed at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and was not +brilliant in any special degree. London at the time was empty, and +the few persons whose presence was actually necessary were imported +from the country for the occasion. The bride was given away by Dr. +Easyman, and the two bridesmaids were ladies who had lived with Miss +Dunstable as companions. Young Mr. Gresham and his wife were there, +as was also Mrs. Harold Smith, who was not at all prepared to drop +her old friend in her new sphere of life.</p> + +<p>“We shall call her Mrs. Thorne instead of Miss Dunstable, and I +really think that that will be all the difference,” said Mrs. Harold +Smith.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Harold Smith that probably was all the difference, but it was +not so to the persons most concerned.</p> + +<p>According to the plan of life arranged between the doctor and his +wife she was still to keep up her house in London, remaining there +during such period of the season as she might choose, and receiving +him when it might appear good to him to visit her; but he was to be +the master in the country. A mansion at the Chace was to be built, +and till such time as that was completed, they would keep on the old +house at Greshamsbury. Into this, small as it was, Mrs. Thorne,—in +spite of her great wealth,—did not disdain to enter. But subsequent +circumstances changed their plans. It was found that Mr. Sowerby +could not or would not live at Chaldicotes; and, therefore, in the +second year of their marriage, that place was prepared for them. They +are now well known to the whole county as Dr. and Mrs. Thorne of +Chaldicotes,—of Chaldicotes, in distinction to the well-known +Thornes of Ullathorne in the eastern division. Here they live +respected by their neighbours, and on terms of alliance both with the +Duke of Omnium and with Lady Lufton. “Of course those dear old +avenues will be very sad to me,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, when at the +end of a London season she was invited down to Chaldicotes; and as +she spoke she put her handkerchief up to her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, dear, what can I do?” said Mrs. Thorne. “I can’t cut them +down; the doctor would not let me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, sighing; and in spite of her +feelings she did visit Chaldicotes.</p> + +<p>But it was October before Lord Lufton was made a happy man;—that is, +if the fruition of his happiness was a greater joy than the +anticipation of it. I will not say that the happiness of marriage is +like the Dead Sea fruit,—an apple which, when eaten, turns to bitter +ashes in the mouth. Such pretended sarcasm would be very false. +Nevertheless, is it not the fact that the sweetest morsel of love’s +feast has been eaten, that the freshest, fairest blush of the flower +has been snatched and has passed away, when the ceremony at the altar +has been performed, and legal possession has been given? There is an +aroma of love, an undefinable delicacy of flavour, which escapes and +is gone before the church portal is left, vanishing with the maiden +name, and incompatible with the solid comfort appertaining to the +rank of wife. To love one’s own spouse, and to be loved by her, is +the ordinary lot of man, and is a duty exacted under penalties. But +to be allowed to love youth and beauty that is not one’s own—to know +that one is loved by a soft being who still hangs cowering from the +eye of the world as though her love were all but illicit—can it be +that a man is made happy when a state of anticipation such as this is +brought to a close? No; when the husband walks back from the altar, +he has already swallowed the choicest dainties of his banquet. The +beef and pudding of married life are then in store for him;—or +perhaps only the bread and cheese. Let him take care lest hardly a +crust remain,—or perhaps not a crust.</p> + +<p>But before we finish, let us go back for one moment to the +dainties,—to the time before the beef and pudding were +served,—while Lucy was still at the parsonage, and Lord Lufton still +staying at Framley Court. He had come up one morning, as was now +frequently his wont, and, after a few minutes’ conversation, Mrs. +Robarts had left the room,—as not unfrequently on such occasions was +her wont. Lucy was working and continued her work, and Lord Lufton +for a moment or two sat looking at her; then he got up abruptly, and +standing before her, thus questioned +<span class="nowrap">her:—</span></p> + +<p>“Lucy,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Well, what of Lucy now? Any particular fault this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a most particular fault. When I asked you, here, in this room, +on this very spot, whether it was possible that you should love +me—why did you say that it was impossible?”</p> + +<p>Lucy, instead of answering at the moment, looked down upon the +carpet, to see if his memory were as good as hers. Yes; he was +standing on the exact spot where he had stood before. No spot in all +the world was more frequently clear before her own eyes.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember that day, Lucy?” he said again.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I remember it,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Why did you say it was impossible?”</p> + +<p>“Did I say impossible?”</p> + +<p>She knew that she had said so. She remembered how she had waited till +he had gone, and that then, going to her own room, she had reproached +herself with the cowardice of the falsehood. She had lied to him +then; and now—how was she punished for it?</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose it was possible,” she said.</p> + +<p>“But why did you say so when you knew it would make me so miserable?”</p> + +<p>“Miserable! nay, but you went away happy enough! I thought I had +never seen you look better satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy!”</p> + +<p>“You had done your duty and had had such a lucky escape! What +astonishes me is that you should have ever come back again. But the +pitcher may go to the well once too often, Lord Lufton.”</p> + +<p>“But will you tell me the truth now?”</p> + +<p>“What truth?”</p> + +<p>“That day, when I came to you,—did you love me at all then?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll let bygones be bygones, if you please.”</p> + +<p>“But I swear you shall tell me. It was such a cruel thing to answer +me as you did, unless you meant it. And yet you never saw me again +till after my mother had been over for you to Mrs. Crawley’s.”</p> + +<p>“It was absence that made me—care for you.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, I swear I believe you loved me then.”</p> + +<p>“Ludovic, some conjuror must have told you that.”</p> + +<p>She was standing as she spoke, and, laughing at him, she held up her +hands and shook her head. But she was now in his power, and he had +his revenge,—his revenge for her past falsehood and her present +joke. How could he be more happy when he was made happy by having her +all his own, than he was now?</p> + +<p>And in these days there again came up that petition as to her +riding—with very different result now than on that former occasion. +There were ever so many objections, then. There was no habit, and +Lucy was—or said that she was—afraid; and then, what would Lady +Lufton say? But now Lady Lufton thought it would be quite right; only +were they quite sure about the horse? Was Ludovic certain that the +horse had been ridden by a lady? And Lady Meredith’s habits were +dragged out as a matter of course, and one of them chipped and +snipped and altered, without any compunction. And as for fear, there +could be no bolder horsewoman than Lucy Robarts. It was quite clear +to all Framley that riding was the very thing for her. “But I never +shall be happy, Ludovic, till you have got a horse properly suited +for her,” said Lady Lufton.</p> + +<p>And then, also, came the affair of her wedding garments, of her +<i>trousseau</i>,—as to which I cannot boast that she showed capacity or +steadiness at all equal to that of Lady Dumbello. Lady Lufton, +however, thought it a very serious matter; and as, in her opinion, +Mrs. Robarts did not go about it with sufficient energy, she took the +matter mainly into her own hands, striking Lucy dumb by her frowns +and nods, deciding on everything herself, down to the very tags of +the boot-ties.</p> + +<p>“My dear, you really must allow me to know what I am about;” and Lady +Lufton patted her on the arm as she spoke. “I did it all for +Justinia, and she never had reason to regret a single thing that I +bought. If you’ll ask her, she’ll tell you so.”</p> + +<p>Lucy did not ask her future sister-in-law, seeing that she had no +doubt whatever as to her future mother-in-law’s judgment on the +articles in question. Only the money! And what could she want with +six dozen pocket-handkerchiefs all at once? There was no question of +Lord Lufton’s going out as governor-general to India! But twelve +dozen pocket-handkerchiefs had not been too many for Griselda’s +imagination.</p> + +<p>And Lucy would sit alone in the drawing-room at Framley Court, +filling her heart with thoughts of that evening when she had first +sat there. She had then resolved, painfully, with inward tears, with +groanings of her spirit, that she was wrongly placed in being in that +company. Griselda Grantly had been there, quite at her ease, petted +by Lady Lufton, admired by Lord Lufton; while she had retired out of +sight, sore at heart, because she felt herself to be no fit companion +to those around her. Then he had come to her, making matters almost +worse by talking to her, bringing the tears into her eyes by his +good-nature, but still wounding her by the feeling that she could not +speak to him at her ease.</p> + +<p>But things were at a different pass with her now. He had chosen +her—her out of all the world, and brought her there to share with +him his own home, his own honours, and all that he had to give. She +was the apple of his eye, and the pride of his heart. And the stern +mother, of whom she had stood so much in awe, who at first had passed +her by as a thing not to be noticed, and had then sent out to her +that she might be warned to keep herself aloof, now hardly knew in +what way she might sufficiently show her love, regard, and +solicitude.</p> + +<p>I must not say that Lucy was not proud in these moments—that her +heart was not elated at these thoughts. Success does beget pride, as +failure begets shame. But her pride was of that sort which is in no +way disgraceful to either man or woman, and was accompanied by pure +true love, and a full resolution to do her duty in that state of life +to which it had pleased her God to call her. She did rejoice greatly +to think that she had been chosen, and not Griselda. Was it possible +that having loved she should not so rejoice, or that, rejoicing, she +should not be proud of her love?</p> + +<p>They spent the whole winter abroad, leaving the dowager Lady Lufton +to her plans and preparations for their reception at Framley Court; +and in the following spring they appeared in London, and there set up +their staff. Lucy had some inner tremblings of the spirit, and +quiverings about the heart, at thus beginning her duty before the +great world, but she said little or nothing to her husband on the +matter. Other women had done as much before her time, and by courage +had gone through with it. It would be dreadful enough, that position +in her own house with lords and ladies bowing to her, and stiff +members of Parliament for whom it would be necessary to make small +talk; but, nevertheless, it was to be endured. The time came, and she +did endure it. The time came, and before the first six weeks were +over she found that it was easy enough. The lords and ladies got into +their proper places and talked to her about ordinary matters in a way +that made no effort necessary, and the members of Parliament were +hardly more stiff than the clergymen she had known in the +neighbourhood of Framley.</p> + +<p>She had not been long in town before she met Lady Dumbello. At this +interview also she had to overcome some little inward emotion. On the +few occasions on which she had met Griselda Grantly at Framley they +had not much progressed in friendship, and Lucy had felt that she had +been despised by the rich beauty. She also in her turn had disliked, +if she had not despised, her rival. But how would it be now? Lady +Dumbello could hardly despise her, and yet it did not seem possible +that they should meet as friends. They did meet, and Lucy came +forward with a pretty eagerness to give her hand to Lady Lufton’s +late favourite. Lady Dumbello smiled slightly—the same old smile +which had come across her face when they two had been first +introduced in the Framley drawing-room; the same smile without the +variation of a line,—took the offered hand, muttered a word or two, +and then receded. It was exactly as she had done before. She had +never despised Lucy Robarts. She had accorded to the parson’s sister +the amount of cordiality with which she usually received her +acquaintance; and now she could do no more for the peer’s wife. Lady +Dumbello and Lady Lufton have known each other ever since, and have +occasionally visited at each other’s houses, but the intimacy between +them has never gone beyond this.</p> + +<p>The dowager came up to town for about a month, and while there was +contented to fill a second place. She had no desire to be the great +lady in London. But then came the trying period when they commenced +their life together at Framley Court. The elder lady formally +renounced her place at the top of the table,—formally persisted in +renouncing it though Lucy with tears implored her to resume it. She +said also, with equal formality—repeating her determination over and +over again to Mrs. Robarts with great energy—that she would in no +respect detract by interference of her own from the authority of the +proper mistress of the house; but, nevertheless, it is well known to +every one at Framley that old Lady Lufton still reigns paramount in +the parish.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear; the big room looking into the little garden to the +south was always the nursery; and if you ask my advice, it will still +remain so. But, of course, any room you +<span class="nowrap">please—”</span></p> + +<p>And the big room looking into the little garden to the south is still +the nursery at Framley Court.</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRAMLEY PARSONAGE ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/2860-h/images/cover.jpg b/2860-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c57652c --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill01-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill01-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b95fe2a --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill01-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill01.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9ec8f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill01.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill02-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill02-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..adfa229 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill02-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill02.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b2e38f --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill02.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill03-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill03-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b88f3f --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill03-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill03.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill03.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..04ee745 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill03.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill04-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill04-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a06f9b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill04-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill04.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill04.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c506176 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill04.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill05-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill05-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b452b16 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill05-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill05.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill05.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9756110 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill05.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill06-t.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill06-t.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..afc63d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill06-t.jpg diff --git a/2860-h/images/ill06.jpg b/2860-h/images/ill06.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4439c97 --- /dev/null +++ b/2860-h/images/ill06.jpg |
