THUS FAR THE MILES ARE MEASURED FROM THY FRIEND.
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange,
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
--E. B. Browning.
The three came back to All Saints' by many a winding way. Raban met them
at the college gate in his rusty black gown; he had to attend some
college meeting after chapel. Two or three young men were standing about
expecting them.
'You will find the tea is all ready,' said Fieldbrook, gaily; 'are you
sure, Miss Vanborough, that you would not like something more
substantial? My bedmaker has just been here to ask whether you were an
elderly lady, and whether you would wish your bread-and-butter cut thick
or thin? Let me introduce Mr. Magniac, Mr. Smith, Mr. Irvine, Mr.
Richmond; Mr. Morgan you know.'
Dolly smiled. The young men led her back across the court (as she
crossed it the flowers were distilling their colours in the evening
light); they opened the oak door of the very room she had looked into in
the morning, and stood back to let her pass. The place had been prepared
for her coming. Tea was laid, and a tower of bread-and-butter stood in
the middle of the table. Books were cleared away, some flowers were set
out in a cup. Fieldbrook heaped on the coals and made the tea, while
Raban brought her the arm-chair to rest in. It was a pretty old
oak-panelled room beneath the library. A little flat kettle was boiling
on the fire; the young men stood round about, kind and cheery: Dolly was
touched and comforted by their kindness, and they, too, were charmed
with her sweet natural grace and beauty.
It was difficult not to compare this friendly courtesy and readiness
with Robert's coldness. There was Raban ready to do her bidding at any
hour; here was Mr. Fieldbrook emptying the whole canister into the
teapot to make her a cup of tea; Smith had rushed off to order a fly for
her. Robert stood silent and black by the chimney; he never moved, nor
seemed to notice her presence. If she looked at him he turned his head
away, and yet he saw her plainly enough. He saw Raban too. Frank was
standing behind Dolly's chair in the faint green light of the old oriel
window. It tinted his old black gown and Dolly's shadowy head as she
leant back against the oaken panel. One of the young men thought of an
ivory head he had once seen set in a wooden frame. As for Frank, he knew
that for him a pale ghost would henceforth haunt that oriel--a fair,
western ghost, with anxious eyes, that were now following Robert as he
crossed the room with measured steps and went to look out for the fly.
As he left the room, they all seemed to breathe more freely. Tom Morgan
and Mr. Magniac began a series of jokes; Mr. Richmond poked the fire;
Mr. Irvine opened the window. Raban sat down by Dolly, and began telling
her of a communication he had had from Yorkshire, from his old
grandfather, who seemed disposed to take him into favour again, and who
wanted him to go back and manage the estate.
'I am very much exercised about it,' said Frank. 'It is going into the
land of bondage, you know. The old couple have used me very ill.'
'But of course you must go to them,' said Dolly, trying to be
interested, and to forget her own perplexities. 'We shall miss you
dreadfully, but you must go.'
'You will not miss me as I shall miss you,' said Frank.
And as he spoke, Robert's head appeared at the window.
'The fly is come; don't keep it waiting, Dora,' said Robert,
impatiently.
'And you will let me know if ever I can do anything for you?' persisted
Frank, in defiance of Henley's black looks.
'Of course I will. I shall never forget your kindness,' said Dolly,
quickly putting on her shawl.
The bells were clanging all over the place for an evening service. Doors
were banging, voices calling, figures came flitting from every archway.
'There goes the reader! he is late,' said Tom Morgan, as a shrouded form
darted across their path. Then he pointed out the Rector, a stately
figure in a black and rustling silk, issuing from a side door; and then
Rector, friendly young men, arches, gable-ends had vanished, and Dolly
and Robert were driving and jolting through the streets together,
jolting along through explanation and misunderstanding, and over one
another's susceptibilities, and over chance ruts and stones on their way
to the station. He began immediately:
'We were interrupted in our talk just now; but I have really very little
more to say. If you are dissatisfied, if you really wish to break off
your engagement, it is much better to say so at once, without making me
appear ridiculous before all those men. Perhaps,' said Henley, 'we may
have both made some great mistake, and you have seen some one whom you
would prefer to myself?'
'You must not say such things, Robert,' answered Dolly, with some
emotion. 'You know how unhappy I am. I only want you to let me love you.
What more can I say?'
'Your actions and your words scarcely agree, then,' said Henley, jealous
and implacable. 'I confess I shall be greatly surprised, on my return
from India at some indefinite period, to find you still in the same
mind. I myself make no professions of extra constancy----'
'Oh, you are too cruel,' cried poor Dolly, exasperated.
'Will you promise me never to see Raban, for instance?' said Robert.
'How can I make such a promise?' cried Dolly, indignant. 'To turn off a
kind friend for an unjust fancy! If you trust me, Robert, you must
believe what I say. Anyhow, you are free. Only remember that I shall
trust in your love until you yourself tell me that you no longer care
for me.'
The carriage stopped as she spoke. Robert got out and helped her down,
produced the tickets, and paid the flyman.
The two went back in a dreary _tete-a-tete_; she wanted a heart's
sympathy, and he placed a rug at her feet and pulled up the carriage
window for fear of a draught. She could not thank him, nor look pleased.
Her head ached, her heart ached; one expression of love, one word of
faithful promise would have made the world a different place, but he had
not spoken it. He had taken her at her word. She was to be bound, and he
was to be free. The old gentleman opposite never looked at them, but
instantly composed himself to sleep; the old lady in the corner thought
she had rarely seen a more amiable and attentive young man, a more
ungracious young lady.
Once only Robert made any allusion to what had passed. 'There will be no
need to enter into explanations at present,' he said, in a somewhat
uneasy manner. 'You may change your mind, Dora.'
'I shall never change my mind.' said Dolly, wearily, 'but it is no use
troubling mamma and Aunt Sarah; I will tell them that I am not going
away. They shall know all when you are gone.'
Dolly might have safely told Mrs. Palmer, who was not often disquieted
by other people's sacrifices. With Lady Sarah it was different. But she
was ill, and she had lost her grasp of life. She asked no question, only
she seemed to revive from the day when Dolly told her that she was not
going to leave her. It was enough for her that the girl's hand was in
hers.
What is Dolly thinking of, as she stands by the sick bed, holding the
frail hand? To what future does it guide her? Is it to that which Dolly
has sometimes imagined contained within the walls of a home; simple, as
some people's lives are, and hedged with wholesome briers, and darling
home-ties, and leading straight, with great love and much happiness and
sacred tears, to the great home of love? or is it to a broad way,
unhedged, unfenced, with a distant horizon, a way unsheltered in stormy
weather, easily missed, but wide and free and unshackled...?
Mrs. Palmer, who troubled herself little about the future, was for ever
going off to Dean's Yard, where the Henleys were comfortably
established. The eldest daughter was married, but there were two lively
girls still at home; there were young officers coming and going about
the place. There was poor Jonah preparing to depart on his glorious
expedition. He was in good spirits, he had a new uniform. One day,
hearing his aunt's voice, he came in to show himself, accoutred and
clanking with chains. He was disappointed to find that Dolly was not
there as he had expected. Bell admired loudly, but her mother almost
screamed to him to go and take the hideous thing off. The dry,
brisk-tongued little woman was feeling his departure very acutely. She
still made an effort to keep up her old cynical talk, but she broke
down, poor soul, again and again; she had scarcely spirit left to
contradict Philippa, or even to forbid her the house.
The first time she had seen Dolly, she had been prepared to criticise
the girl; Norah and Bell were more cordial, but Lady Henley offered her
niece a kid glove and a kid cheek, and was slightly disappointed to find
that Dolly's frivolity, upon which she had been descanting all the way
to Church House, consisted in an old grey gown and a black apron, and in
two black marks under her eyes, for poor Dolly had not had much sleep
after that dismal talk with Robert. This was the day after the Cambridge
expedition. Miss Vanborough was looking very handsome, notwithstanding
the black marks, and she unconsciously revenged herself upon Lady Henley
by a certain indifference and pre-occupation, which seemed to put her
beyond the reach of that lady's passing shafts; but one of them wounded
her at last.
'I suppose Lady Sarah will be left to servants when you go?' says Lady
Henley. 'Your mother is certainly not to be counted on; Hawtry is a much
better nurse than she is. Poor dear Philippa! she sees everything
reflected in a looking-glass. Your school is a different one altogether
from our plain, old-fashioned country ways.'
Dolly looked surprised; she had not deserved this unprovoked attack from
the little gaily-dressed lady perched upon the sofa. Norah was very much
distressed by her mother's rudeness; Bell was struggling with a nervous
inclination to giggle, which was the effect it always produced upon her.
'I have no doubt mamma would take care of my aunt if it were necessary,'
said Dolly, blushing with annoyance. 'But I am not going away,' she
said. 'Robert and I have settled that it is best I should stay behind.
We have made up our minds to part.'
The two girls were listening open-eared. 'Then she has never cared for
him, after all,' thought Bell.
But Lady Henley knew better: notwithstanding a more than usual share of
jealousy and cross-grainedness, she was not without a heart. Dolly's
last words had been spoken very quietly, but they told the whole story.
'My dear,' said the little woman, jumping up suddenly and giving her a
kiss, 'I did not know this' (there were tears shining among the new
green bonnet-strings)--'my trial is close at hand. You must forgive me,
I--I am very unhappy.' She made a struggle, and recovered herself
quickly, but from that minute Dolly and her Aunt Joanna were good
friends.
The next time Robert called in Dean's Yard he was put through a
cross-examination by Lady Henley. 'When was he coming back for Dolly?
what terms were they on?' Sir Thomas came in to hear all about it, and
then Jonah sauntered in. 'Only wish I could get a chance,' said Jonah.
Robert felt disinclined to give Jonah the chance he wished for. Lady
Henley was now praising Dolly as much as she had abused her before, and
Robert agreed to everything. But he gave no clue to the state of his
mind. He was surprised to find how entirely Lady Henley ignored his
feelings and sympathised with Dolly's determination to remain behind. He
walked away thinking that it was far from his intention to break
entirely with Dolly, but he had not forgiven her yet; he was not sorry
to feel his liberty in his own hands again. He meant to come back, but
he chose to do it of his own free will, and not because he was bound by
any promise.
As for Dolly, she was absorbed, she was not feeling very much just then,
she had been over-wrought and over-strained. A dull calm had succeeded
to her agitation, and besides Robert was not yet gone.