The Last Chronicle of Barset

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Last Chronicle of Barset


"And can specially select any clergyman he pleases from the
archdeaconry," said the bishop. "I have known it done."

"The rural dean in such case has probably been an old man, and not
active," said the lawyer.

"And Dr Tempest is a very old man," said Mrs Proudie, "and in such a
matter not at all trustworthy. He was one of the magistrates who took
bail."

"His lordship could hardly set him aside," said the lawyer. "At any
rate I would not recommend him to try. I think you might suggest a
commission of five, and propose two of the number yourself. I do not
think that in such a case Dr Tempest would raise any question."

At last it was settled in this way. Mr Chadwick was to prepare a
letter to Dr Tempest, for the bishop's signature, in which the
doctor should be requested, as the rural dean to whom Mr Crawley was
subject, to hold a commission of five to inquire into Mr Crawley's
conduct. The letter was to explain to Dr Tempest that the bishop,
moved by his solicitude for the souls of the people of Hogglestock,
had endeavoured, "in a friendly way", to induce Mr Crawley to desist
from his ministrations; but that having failed through Mr Crawley's
obstinacy, he had no alternative but to proceed in this way. "You had
better say that his lordship, as bishop of the diocese, can take no
heed of the coming trial," said Mrs Proudie. "I think his lordship
had better say nothing at all about the trial," said Mr Chadwick. "I
think that will be best," said the bishop.

"But if they report against him," said Mr Chadwick, "you can only
then proceed in the ecclesiastical court,--at your own expense."

"He'll hardly be so obstinate as that," said the bishop.

"I'm afraid you don't know him, my lord," said the lawyer. The
bishop, thinking of the scene which had taken place in that very room
only yesterday, felt that he did know Mr Crawley, and felt also that
the hope which he had just expressed was one in which he himself put
no trust. But something might turn up; and it was devoutly to be
hoped that Dr Tempest would take a long time over his inquiry. The
assizes might come on as soon as it was terminated, or very shortly
afterwards; and then everything might be well. "You won't find Dr
Tempest very ready at it," said Mr Chadwick. The bishop in his heart
was comforted by the words. "But he must be made to be ready to do
his duty," said Mrs Proudie, imperiously. Mr Chadwick shrugged his
shoulders, then got up, spoke his farewell little speeches, and left
the palace.




CHAPTER XXXV

Lily Dale Writes Two Words in Her Book


John Eames saw nothing more of Lily Dale till he packed up his
portmanteau, left his mother's house, and went to stay for a few days
with his old friend Lady Julia; and this did not happen till he had
been above a week at Guestwick. Mrs Dale repeatedly said that it was
odd that Johnny did not come to see them; and Grace, speaking of him
to Lily, asked why he did not come. Lily, in her funny way, declared
that he would come soon enough. But even while she was joking there
was something of half-expressed consciousness in her words,--as
though she felt it to be foolish to speak of his coming as she might
of that of any other young man, before people who knew her whole
story. "He'll come quick enough. He knows, and I know, that his
coming will do no good. Of course I shall be glad to see him.
Why shouldn't I be glad to see him? I've known him and liked
him all my life. I liked him when there did not seem to be much
about him to like, and now that he is clever, and agreeable, and
good-looking,--which he never was as a lad,--why shouldn't I go on
liking him? He's more like a brother to me than anybody else I've
got. James,"--James was her brother-in-law, Dr Crofts,--"thinks of
nothing but his patients and his babies, and my cousin Bernard is
much too grand a person for me to take the liberty of loving him. I
shall be very glad to see Johnny Eames." From all which Mrs Dale was
led to believe that Johnny's case was still hopeless. And how should
it not be hopeless? Had Lily not confessed within the last week or
two that she still loved Adolphus Crosbie?

Mrs Eames also, and Mary, were surprised that John did not go over to
Allington. "You haven't seen Mrs Dale yet, or the squire?" said his
mother.

"I shall see them when I am at the cottage."

"Yes;--no doubt. But it seems strange that you should be here so long
without going to them."

"There's time enough," said he. "I shall have nothing else to do
when I'm at the cottage." Then, when Mary had spoken to him again in
private, expressing a hope that there was "nothing wrong", he had
been very angry with his sister. "What do you mean by wrong? What
rubbish you girls talk! and you never have any delicacy of feeling
to make you silent."

"Oh, John, don't say such hard things as that of me!"

"But I do say them. You'll make me swear among you some day that I
will never see Lily Dale again. As it is, I wish I never had seen
her,--simply because I am so dunned about it." In all of which I
think that Johnny was manifestly wrong. When the humour was on him he
was fond enough of talking about Lily Dale. Had he not taught her to
do so, I doubt whether his sister would ever have mentioned Lily's
name to him. "I did not mean to dun you, John," said Mary, meekly.

But at last he went to Lady Julia's, and was no sooner there than he
was ready to start for Allington. When Lady Julia spoke to him about
Lily, he did not venture to snub her. Indeed, of all his friends,
Lady Julia was the one with whom on this subject he allowed himself
the most unrestricted confidence. He came over one day, just before
dinner, and declared his intention of walking over to Allington
immediately after breakfast on the following morning. "It's the last
time, Lady Julia," he said.

"So you say, Johnny."

"And so I mean it! What's the good of a man frittering away his life?
What's the good of wishing for what you can't get?"

"Jacob was not in such a hurry when he wished for Rachel."

"That was all very well for an old patriarch who had seven or eight
hundred years to live."

"My dear John, you forget your Bible. Jacob did not live half as long
as that."

"He lived long enough, and slowly enough, to be able to wait fourteen
years;--and then he had something to comfort him in the meantime.
And after all, Lady Julia, it's more than seven years since I first
thought Lily was the prettiest girl I ever saw."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-seven--and she's twenty-four."

"You've time enough yet, if you'll only be patient."

"I'll be patient for to-morrow, Lady Julia, but never again. Not
that I mean to quarrel with her. I'm not such a fool as to quarrel
with a girl because she can't like me. I know how it all is. If that
scoundrel had not come across my path just when he did,--in that
very nick of time, all might have been right betwixt her and me. I
couldn't have offered to marry her before, when I hadn't as much
income as would have found her in bread-and-butter. And then, just as
better times came to me, he stepped in! I wonder whether it will be
expected of me that I should forgive him?"

"As far as that goes, you have no right to be angry with him."

"But I am,--all the same."

"And so was I,--but not for stepping in, as you call it."

"You and I are different, Lady Julia. I was angry with him for
stepping in; but I couldn't show it. Then he stepped out, and I did
manage to show it. And now I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't step in
again. After all, why should he have such a power? It was simply the
nick of time which gave it to him." That John Eames should be able to
find some consolation in this consideration is devoutly to be hoped
by us all.

There was nothing said about Lily Dale the next morning at breakfast.
Lady Julia observed that John was dressed a little more neatly than
usual;--though the change was not such as to have called for her
special observation, had she not known the business on which he was
intent.

"You have nothing to send to the Dales?" he said, as he got up from
the table.

"Nothing but my love, Johnny."

"No worsted or embroidery work,--or a pot of special jam for the
squire?"

"No, sir, nothing; though I should like to make you carry a pair of
panniers, if I could."

"They would become me well," said Johnny, "for I am going on an ass's
errand." Then, without waiting for the word of affection which was on
the old woman's lips, he got himself out of the room, and started on
his journey.

The walk was only three miles and the weather was dry and frosty, and
he had come to the turn leading up to the church and the squire's
house almost before he remembered that he was near Allington. Here
he paused for a moment to think. If he continued his way down by the
"Red Lion" and through Allington Street, he must knock at Mrs Dale's
door, and ask for admission by means of the servant,--as would be
done by any ordinary visitor. But he could make his way on to the
lawn by going up beyond the wall of the churchyard and through the
squire's garden. He knew the path well,--very well; and he thought
that he might take so much liberty as that, both with the squire and
Mrs Dale, although his visits to Allington were not so frequent now
as they used to be in the days of his boyhood. He did not wish to be
admitted by the servant, and therefore he went through the gardens.
Luckily he did not see the squire, who would have detained him, and
he escaped from Hopkins, the old gardener, with little more than a
word. "I'm going down to see the ladies, Hopkins; I suppose I shall
find them?" And then, while Hopkins was arranging his spade so that
he might lean upon it for a little chat, Johnny was gone and had made
his way into the other garden. He had thought it possible that he
might meet Lily out among the walks by herself, and such a meeting as
this would have suited him better than any other. And as he crossed
the little bridge which separated the gardens he thought of more than
one such meeting,--of one especial occasion on which he had first
ventured to tell her in plain words that he loved her. But before
that day Crosbie had come there, and at the moment in which he was
speaking of his love she regarded Crosbie as an angel of light upon
the earth. What hope could there have been for him then? What use was
there in telling such a tale of love at that time? When he told it,
he knew that Crosbie had been before him. He knew that Crosbie was at
that moment the angel of light. But as he had never before been able
to speak of his love, so was he then unable not to speak of it. He
had spoken, and of course had been simply rebuked. Since that day
Crosbie had ceased to be an angel of light, and he, John Eames, had
spoken often. But he had spoken in vain, and now he would speak once
again.

He went through the garden and over the lawn belonging to the Small
House and saw no one. He forgot, I think, that ladies do not come
out to pick roses when the ground is frozen, and that croquet is not
often in progress with the hoar-frost on the grass. So he walked up
to the little terrace before the drawing-room, and looking in saw Mrs
Dale, and Lily, and Grace at their morning work. Lily was drawing,
and Mrs Dale was writing, and Grace had her needle in her hand. As
it happened, no one at first perceived him, and he had time to feel
that after all he would have managed better if he had been announced
in the usual way. As, however, it was now necessary that he should
announce himself, he knocked at the window, and they all immediately
looked up and saw him. "It's my cousin John," said Grace. "Oh,
Johnny, how are you at last?" said Mrs Dale. But it was Lily who,
without speaking, opened the window for him, who was the first to
give him her hand, and who led him through into the room.

"It's a great shame my coming in this way," said John, "and letting
all the cold air in upon you."

"We shall survive it," said Mrs Dale. "I suppose you have just come
down from my brother-in-law?"

"No; I have not seen the squire as yet. I will do so before I go
back, of course. But it seemed such a commonplace sort of thing to go
round by the village."

"We are very glad to see you, by whatever way you came;--are we not,
mamma?" said Lily.

"I'm not so sure of that. We were only saying yesterday that as you
had been in the country a fortnight without coming to us, we did not
think we would be at home when you did come."

"But I have caught you, you see," said Johnny.

And so they went on, chatting of old times and of mutual friends very
comfortably for full an hour. And there was some serious conversation
about Grace's father and his affairs, and John declared his opinion
that Mr Crawley ought to go to his uncle, Thomas Toogood, not at all
knowing that at that time Mr Crawley himself had come to the same
opinion. And John gave them an elaborate description of Sir Raffle
Buffle, standing up with his back to the fire with his hat on his
head, and speaking with a loud harsh voice, to show them the way in
which he declared that that gentleman received his inferiors; and
then bowing and scraping and rubbing his hands together and simpering
with would-be softness,--declaring that after that fashion Sir Raffle
received his superiors. And they were very merry,--so that no one
would have thought that Johnny was a despondent lover, now bent on
throwing the dice for his last stake; or that Lily was aware that she
was in the presence of one lover, and that she was like to fall to
the ground between two stools,--having two lovers, neither of whom
could serve her turn.

"How can you consent to serve him if he's such a man as that?" said
Lily, speaking of Sir Raffle.

"I do not serve him. I serve the Queen,--or rather the public. I
don't take his wages, and he does not play his tricks with me. He
knows that he can't. He has tried it, and has failed. And he only
keeps me where I am because I've had some money left me. He thinks it
fine to have a private secretary with a fortune. I know that he tells
people all manner of lies about it, making it out to be five times
as much as it is. Dear old Huffle Snuffle. He is such an ass; and
yet he's had wit enough to get to the top of the tree, and to keep
himself there. He began the world without a penny. Now he has got a
handle to his name, and he'll live in clover all his life. It's very
odd, isn't it, Mrs Dale?"

"I suppose he does his work?"

"When men get so high as that, there's no knowing whether they work
or whether they don't. There isn't much for them to do, as far as I
can see. They have to look beautiful, and frighten the young ones."

"And does Sir Raffle look beautiful?" Lily asked.

"After a fashion, he does. There is something imposing about such a
man till you're used to it, and can see through it. Of course it's
all padding. There are men who work, no doubt. But among the bigwigs,
and bishops and cabinet ministers, I fancy that the looking beautiful
is the chief part of it. Dear me, you don't mean to say it's luncheon
time?"

But it was luncheon time, and not only had he not as yet said a
word of all that which he had come to say, but had not as yet made
any move towards getting it said. How was he to arrange that Lily
should be left alone with him? Lady Julia had said that she should
not expect him back till dinner-time, and he had answered her
lackadaisically, "I don't suppose I shall be there above ten minutes.
Ten minutes will say all I've got to say, and do all I've got to do.
And then I suppose I shall go and cut names about upon bridges,--eh,
Lady Julia?" Lady Julia understood his words; for once, upon a former
occasion, she had found him cutting Lily's name on the rail of a
wooden bridge in her brother's grounds. But he had now been a couple
of hours at the Small House, and had not said a word of that which he
had come to say.

"Are you going to walk out with us after lunch?" said Lily.

"He will have had walking enough," said Mrs Dale.

"We'll convoy him back part of the way," said Lily.

"I'm not going yet," said Johnny, "unless you turn me out."

"But we must have our walk before it is dark," said Lily.

"You might go up with him to your uncle," said Mrs Dale. "Indeed,
I promised to go up myself, and so did you, Grace, to see the
microscope. I heard Mr Dale give orders that one of those long-legged
reptiles should be caught on purpose for your inspection."

Mrs Dale's little scheme for bringing the two together was very
transparent, but it was not the less wise on that account. Schemes
will often be successful, let them be ever so transparent. Little
intrigues become necessary, not to conquer unwilling people, but
people who are willing enough, who, nevertheless, cannot give way
except under the machinations of an intrigue.

"I don't think I'll mind looking at the long-legged creature,
to-day," said Johnny.

"I must go, of course," said Grace.

Lily said nothing at the moment, either about the long-legged
creature or the walk. That which must be, must be. She knew well why
John Eames had come there. She knew that the visits to his mother
and to Lady Julia would never have been made, but that he might have
this interview. And he had a right to demand, at any rate, as much as
that. That which must be, must be. And therefore when both Mrs Dale
and Grace stoutly maintained their purpose of going up to the squire,
Lily neither attempted to persuade John to accompany them, nor said
that she would do so herself.

"I will convoy you home myself," she said, "and Grace, when she has
done with the beetle, shall come and meet me. Won't you, Grace?"

"Certainly."

"We are not helpless young ladies in these parts, nor yet timorous,"
continued Lily. "We can walk about without being afraid of ghosts,
robbers, wild bulls, young men, or gipsies. Come the field path,
Grace. I will go as far as the big oak with him, and then I shall
turn back, and I shall come in by the stile opposite the church gate,
and through the garden. So you can't miss me."

"I daresay he'll come back with you," said Grace.

"No, he won't. He will do nothing of the kind. He'll have to go on
and open Lady Julia's bottle of port wine for his own drinking."

All this was very good on Lily's part, and very good also on the
part of Mrs Dale; and John was of course very much obliged to them.
But there was a lack of romance in it all, which did not seem to
him to argue well as to his success. He did not think much about it,
but he felt that Lily would not have been so ready to arrange their
walk had she intended to yield to his entreaty. No doubt in these
latter days plain good sense had become the prevailing mark of
her character,--perhaps, as Johnny thought, a little too strongly
prevailing; but even with all her plain good sense and determination
to dispense with the absurdities of romance in the affairs of her
life, she would not have proposed herself as his companion for a
walk across the fields merely that she might have an opportunity
of accepting his hand. He did not say all this to himself, but he
instinctively felt that it was so. And he felt also that it should
have been his duty to arrange the walk, or the proper opportunity for
the scene that was to come. She had done it instead,--she and her
mother between them, thereby forcing upon him a painful conviction
that he himself had not been equal to the occasion. "I always make a
mull of it," he said to himself, when the girls went up to get their
hats.

They went down together through the garden, and parted where the
paths led away, one to the great house and the other towards the
church. "I'll certainly come and call upon the squire before I go
back to London," said Johnny.

"We'll tell him so," said Mrs Dale. "He would be sure to hear that
you had been with us, even if we said nothing about it."

"Of course he would," said Lily; "Hopkins has seen him." Then they
separated, and Lily and John Eames were together.

Hardly a word was said, perhaps not a word, till they had crossed the
road and got into the field opposite to the church. And in this first
field there was more than one path, and the children of the village
were often there, and it had about it something of a public nature.
John Eames felt that it was by no means a fitting field to say that
which he had to say. In crossing it, therefore, he merely remarked
that the day was very fine for walking. Then he added one special
word, "And it is so good of you, Lily, to come with me."

"I am very glad to come with you. I would do more than that, John,
to show how glad I am to see you." Then they had come to the second
little gate, and beyond that the fields were really fields, and there
were stiles instead of wicket-gates, and the business of the day must
be begun.

"Lily, whenever I come here you say that you are glad to see me?"

"And so I am,--very glad. Only you would take it as meaning what it
does not mean, I would tell you, that of all my friends living away
from the reach of my daily life, you are the one whose coming is ever
the most pleasant to me."

"Oh, Lily!"

"It was, I think, only yesterday that I was telling Grace that you
are more like a brother to me than any one else. I wish it might be
so. I wish we might swear to be brother and sister. I'd do more for
you then than walk across the fields with you to Guestwick Cottage.
Your prosperity would then be the thing in the world for which I
should be most anxious. And if you should marry--"

"It can never be like that between us," said Johnny.

"Can it not? I think it can. Perhaps not this year, or next year;
perhaps not in the next five years. But I make myself happy with
thinking that it may be so some day. I shall wait for it patiently,
even though you should rebuff me again and again,--as you have done
now."

"I have not rebuffed you."

"Not maliciously, or injuriously, or offensively. I will be very
patient, and take little rebuffs without complaining. This is the
worst stile of all. When Grace and I are here together we can never
manage it without tearing ourselves all to pieces. It is much nicer
to have you to help me."

"Let me help you always," he said, keeping her hands in his after he
had aided her to jump from the stile to the ground.

"Yes, as my brother."

"That is nonsense, Lily."

"Is it nonsense? Nonsense is a hard word."

"It is nonsense as coming from you to me. Lily, I sometimes think
that I am persecuting you, writing to you, coming after you, as I
am doing now,--telling the same whining story,--asking, asking, and
asking for that which you say you will never give me. And then I feel
ashamed of myself, and swear that I will do it no more."

"Do not be ashamed of yourself; but yet do it no more."

"And then," he continued, without minding her words, "at other times
I feel that it must be my own fault; that if I only persevered with
sufficient energy I must be successful. At such times I swear that I
will never give it up."

"Oh, John, if you could only know how little worthy of such pursuit
it is."

"Leave me to judge of that, dear. When a man has taken a month, or
perhaps only a week, or perhaps not more than half an hour, to make
up his mind, it may be very well to tell him that he doesn't know
what he is about. I've been in the office now for over seven years,
and the first day I went I put an oath into a book that I would come
back and get you for my wife when I had got enough to live upon."

"Did you, John?"

"Yes. I can show it to you. I used to come and hover about the place
in the old days, before I went to London, when I was such a fool that
I couldn't speak to you if I met you. I am speaking of a time long
ago,--before that man came down here."

"Do not speak of him, Johnny."

"I must speak of him. A man isn't to hold his tongue when everything
he has in the world is at stake. I suppose he loved you after a
fashion, once."

"Pray, pray do not speak ill of him."

"I am not going to abuse him. You can judge of him by his deeds. I
cannot say anything worse of him than what they say. I suppose he
loved you; but he certainly did not love you as I have done. I have
at any rate been true to you. Yes, Lily, I have been true to you.
I am true to you. He did not know what he was about. I do. I am
justified in saying that I do. I want you to be my wife. It is no
use your talking about it as though I only half wanted it."

"I did not say that."

"Is not a man to have any reward? Of course if you had married him
there would have been an end of it. He had come in between me and my
happiness, and I must have borne it, as other men bear such sorrows.
But you have not married him; and, of course, I cannot but feel that
I may yet have a chance. Lily, answer me this. Do you believe that I
love you?" But she did not answer him. "You can at any rate tell me
that. Do you think that I am in earnest?"

"Yes, I think you are in earnest."

"And do you believe that I love you with all my heart and all my
strength and all my soul?"

"Oh, John!"

"But do you?"

"I think you love me."