THE CRAWLEYS ARE INFORMED.
Major Grantly made an early start, knowing that he had a long day's
work before him. He had written over-night to Mr. Toogood, naming the
hour at which he would reach "The Dragon," and was there punctual
to the moment. When the attorney came out and got into the open
carriage, while the groom held the steps for him, it was plain
to be seen that the respect in which he was held at "The Dragon"
was greatly increased. It was already known that he was going to
Plumstead that night, and it was partly understood that he was
engaged with the Grantly and Arabin faction in defending Mr. Crawley
the clergyman against the Proudie faction. Dan Stringer, who was
still at the inn, as he saw his enemy get into the Plumstead
carriage, felt himself to be one of the palace party, and felt that
if Mrs. Proudie had only lived till after the assizes all this heavy
trouble would not have befallen him. The waiter with the dirty napkin
stood at the door and bowed, thinking perhaps that as the Proudie
party was going down in Barchester, it might be as well to be civil
to Mr. Toogood. The days of the Stringers were probably drawing to a
close at "The Dragon of Wantly," and there was no knowing who might
be the new landlord.
Henry Grantly and the lawyer found very little to say to each other
on their long way out to Hogglestock. They were thinking, probably,
much of the coming interview, and hardly knew how to express
their thoughts to each other. "I will not take the carriage up to
the house," said the major, as they were entering the parish of
Hogglestock; "particularly as the man must feed the horses." So they
got out at a farmhouse about half a mile from the church, where the
offence of the carriage and livery-servant would be well out of
Mr. Crawley's sight, and from thence walked towards the parsonage.
The church, and the school close to it, lay on their way, and as
they passed by the school door they heard voices within. "I'll bet
twopence he's there," said Toogood. "They tell me he's always either
in one shop or the other. I'll slip in and bring him out." Mr.
Toogood had assumed a comfortable air, as though the day's work was
to be good pastime, and even made occasional attempts at drollery. He
had had his jokes about Dan Stringer, and had attempted to describe
the absurdities of Mr. Crawley's visit to Bedford Row. All this would
have angered the major, had he not seen that it was assumed to cover
something below of which Mr. Toogood was a little ashamed, but of
which, as the major thought, Mr. Toogood had no cause to be ashamed.
When, therefore, Toogood proposed to go into the school and bring
Mr. Crawley out, as though the telling of their story would be the
easiest thing in the world, the major did not stop him. Indeed he
had no plan of his own ready. His mind was too intent on the tragedy
which had occurred, and which was now to be brought to a close, to
enable him to form any plan as to the best way of getting up the last
scene. So Mr. Toogood, with quick and easy steps, entered the school,
leaving the major still standing in the road. Mr. Crawley was in the
school;--as was also Jane Crawley. "So here you are," said Toogood.
"That's fortunate. I hope I find you pretty well?"
"If I am not mistaken in the identity, my wife's relative, Mr.
Toogood?" said Mr. Crawley, stepping down from his humble desk.
"Just so, my friend," said Toogood, with his hand extended, "just so;
and there's another gentleman outside who wants to have a word with
you also. Perhaps you won't mind stepping out. These are the young
Hogglestockians; are they?"
[Illustration: "These are the young Hogglestockians, are they?"]
The young Hogglestockians stared at him, and so did Jane. Jane, who
had before heard of him, did not like him at first sight, seeing
that her father was clearly displeased by the tone of the visitor's
address. Mr. Crawley was displeased. There was a familiarity about
Mr. Toogood which made him sore, as having been exhibited before his
pupils. "If you will be pleased to step out, sir, I will follow you,"
he said, waving his hand towards the door. "Jane, my dear, if you
will remain with the children, I will return to you presently. Bobby
Studge has failed in saying his Belief. You had better set him on
again from the beginning. Now, Mr. Toogood." And again he waved with
his hand towards the door.
"So that's my young cousin, is it?" said Toogood, stretching over and
just managing to touch Jane's fingers,--of which act of touching Jane
was very chary. Then he went forth, and Mr. Crawley followed him.
There was the major standing in the road, and Toogood was anxious to
be the first to communicate the good news. It was the only reward he
had proposed to himself for the money he had expended and the time he
had lost and the trouble he had taken. "It's all right, old fellow,"
he said, clapping his hand on Crawley's shoulder. "We've got the
right sow by the ear at last. We know all about it." Mr. Crawley
could hardly remember the time when he had been called an old fellow
last, and now he did not like it; nor, in the confusion of his mind,
could he understand the allusion to the right sow. He supposed that
Mr. Toogood had come to him about his trial, but it did not occur to
him that the lawyer might be bringing him news which might make the
trial altogether unnecessary. "If my eyes are not mistaken, there is
my friend, Major Grantly," said Mr. Crawley.
"There he is, as large as life," said Toogood. "But stop a moment
before you go to him, and give me your hand. I must have the first
shake of it." Hereupon Crawley extended his hand. "That's right. And
now let me tell you we know all about the cheque,--Soames's cheque.
We know where you got it. We know who stole it. We know how it came
to the person who gave it to you. It's all very well talking, but
when you're in trouble always go to a lawyer."
By this time Mr. Crawley was looking full into Mr. Toogood's face,
and seeing that his cousin's eyes were streaming with tears, began
to get some insight into the man's character, and also some very
dim insight into the facts which the man intended to communicate to
himself. "I do not as yet fully understand you, sir," said he, "being
perhaps in such matters somewhat dull of intellect, but it seemeth to
me that you are a messenger of glad tidings, whose feet are beautiful
upon the mountains."
"Beautiful!" said Toogood. "By George, I should think they are
beautiful! Don't you hear me tell you that we have found out all
about the cheque, and that you're as right as a trivet?" They were
still on the little causeway leading from the school up to the road,
and Henry Grantly was waiting for them at the small wicket-gate. "Mr.
Crawley," said the major, "I congratulate you with all my heart. I
could not but accompany my friend, Mr. Toogood, when he brought you
this good news."
"I do not even yet altogether comprehend what has been told to me,"
said Crawley, now standing out on the road between the other two men.
"I am doubtless dull,--very dull. May I beg some clearer word of
explanation before I ask you to go with me to my wife?"
"The cheque was given to you by my aunt Eleanor."
"Your aunt Eleanor!" said Crawley, now altogether in the clouds. Who
was the major's aunt Eleanor? Though he had, no doubt, at different
times heard all the circumstances of the connection, he had never
realized the fact that his daughter's lover was the nephew of his old
friend, Arabin.
"Yes; by my aunt, Mrs. Arabin."
"She put it into the envelope with the notes," said
Toogood;--"slipped it in without saying a word to any one. I never
heard of a woman doing such a mad thing in my life before. If she had
died, or if we hadn't caught her, where should we all have been? Not
but what I think I should have run Dan Stringer to ground too, and
worked it out of him."
"Then, after all, it was given to me by the dean?" said Crawley,
drawing himself up.
"It was in the envelope, but the dean did not know it," said the
major.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Crawley, "I was sure of it. I knew it. Weak as
my mind may be,--and at times it is very weak,--I was certain that
I could not have erred in such a matter. The more I struggled with
my memory, the more fixed with me became the fact,--which I had
forgotten but for a moment,--that the document had formed a part of
that small packet handed to me by the dean. But look you, sirs,--bear
with me yet for a moment. I said that it was so, and the dean denied
it."
"The dean did not know it, man," said Toogood, almost in a passion.
"Bear with me yet awhile. So far have I been from misdoubting the
dean,--whom I have long known to be in all things a true and honest
gentleman,--that I postponed the elaborated result of my own memory
to his word. And I felt myself the more constrained to do this,
because, in a moment of forgetfulness, in the wantonness of
inconsiderate haste, with wicked thoughtlessness, I had allowed
myself to make a false statement,--unwittingly false, indeed,
nathless very false, unpardonably false. I had declared, without
thinking, that the money had come to me from the hands of Mr. Soames,
thereby seeming to cast a reflection upon that gentleman. When I had
been guilty of so great a blunder, of so gross a violation of that
ordinary care which should govern all words between man and man,
especially when any question of money may be in doubt,--how could I
expect that any one should accept my statement when contravened by
that made by the dean? How, in such an embarrassment, could I believe
my own memory? Gentlemen, I did not believe my own memory. Though all
the little circumstances of that envelope, with its rich but perilous
freightage, came back upon me from time to time with an exactness
that has appeared to me to be almost marvellous, yet I have told
myself that it was not so! Gentlemen, if you please, we will go
into the house; my wife is there, and should no longer be left in
suspense." They passed on in silence for a few steps, till Crawley
spoke again. "Perhaps you will allow me the privilege to be alone
with her for one minute,--but for a minute. Her thanks shall not be
delayed, where thanks are so richly due."
"Of course," said Toogood, wiping his eyes with a large red bandana
handkerchief. "By all means. We'll take a little walk. Come along,
major." The major had turned his face away, and he also was weeping.
"By George! I never heard such a thing in all my life," said Toogood.
"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it. I wouldn't, indeed.
If I were to tell that up in London, nobody would believe me."
"I call that man a hero," said Grantly.
"I don't know about being a hero. I never quite knew what makes a
hero, if it isn't having three or four girls dying in love for you
at once. But to find a man who was going to let everything in the
world go against him, because he believed another fellow better than
himself! There's many a chap thinks another man is wool-gathering;
but this man has thought he was wool-gathering himself! It's not
natural; and the world wouldn't go on if there were many like that.
He's beckoning, and we had better go in."
Mr. Toogood went first, and the major followed him. When they entered
the front door they saw the skirt of a woman's dress flitting away
through the door at the end of the passage, and on entering the room
to the left they found Mr. Crawley alone. "She has fled, as though
from an enemy," he said, with a little attempt at a laugh; "but I
will pursue her, and bring her back."
"No, Crawley, no," said the lawyer. "She's a little upset, and all
that kind of thing. We know what women are. Let her alone."
"Nay, Mr. Toogood; but then she would be angered with herself
afterwards, and would lack the comfort of having spoken a word of
gratitude. Pardon me, Major Grantly; but I would not have you leave
us till she has seen you. It is as her cousin says. She is somewhat
over-excited. But still it will be best that she should see you.
Gentlemen, you will excuse me."
Then he went out to fetch his wife, and while he was away not a word
was spoken. The major looked out of one window and Mr. Toogood out
of the other, and they waited patiently till they heard the coming
steps of the husband and wife. When the door was opened, Mr. Crawley
appeared, leading his wife by the hand. "My dear," he said, "you know
Major Grantly. This is your cousin, Mr. Toogood. It is well that
you know him too, and remember his great kindness to us." But Mrs.
Crawley could not speak. She could only sink on the sofa, and hide
her face, while she strove in vain to repress her sobs. She had been
very strong through all her husband's troubles,--very strong in
bearing for him what he could not bear for himself, and in fighting
on his behalf battles in which he was altogether unable to couch
a lance; but the endurance of so many troubles, and the great
overwhelming sorrow at last, had so nearly overpowered her, that she
could not sustain the shock of this turn in their fortunes. "She was
never like this, sirs, when ill news came to us," said Mr. Crawley,
standing somewhat apart from her.
The major sat himself by her side, and put his hand upon hers, and
whispered some word to her about her daughter. Upon this she threw
her arms around him, and kissed his face, and then his hands, and
then looked up into his face through her tears. She murmured some few
words, or attempted to do so. I doubt whether the major understood
their meaning, but he knew very well what was in her heart.
"And now I think we might as well be moving," said Mr. Toogood. "I'll
see about having the indictment quashed. I'll arrange all that with
Walker. It may be necessary that you should go into Barchester the
first day the judges sit; and if so, I'll come and fetch you. You may
be sure I won't leave the place till it's all square."
As they were going, Grantly,--speaking now altogether with
indifference as to Toogood's presence,--asked Mr. Crawley's leave to
be the bearer of these tidings to his daughter.
"She can hear it in no tones that can be more grateful to her," said
Mr. Crawley.
"I shall ask her for nothing for myself now," said Grantly. "It would
be ungenerous. But hereafter,--in a few days,--when she shall be more
at ease, may I then use your permission--?"
"Major Grantly," said Mr. Crawley, solemnly, "I respect you so
highly, and esteem you so thoroughly, that I give willingly that
which you ask. If my daughter can bring herself to regard you, as a
woman should regard her husband, with the love that can worship and
cling and be constant, she will, I think, have a fair promise of
worldly happiness. And for you, sir, in giving to you my girl,--if
so it be that she is given to you,--I shall bestow upon you a great
treasure." Had Grace been a king's daughter, with a queen's dowry,
the permission to address her could not have been imparted to her
lover with a more thorough appreciation of the value of the privilege
conferred.
"He is a rum 'un," said Mr. Toogood, as they got into the carriage
together; "but they say he's a very good 'un to go."
After their departure Jane was sent for, that she might hear the
family news; and when she expressed some feeling not altogether in
favour of Mr. Toogood, Mr. Crawley thus strove to correct her views.
"He is a man, my dear, who conceals a warm heart, and an active
spirit, and healthy sympathies, under an affected jocularity of
manner, and almost with a touch of assumed vulgarity. But when the
jewel itself is good, any fault in the casket may be forgiven."
"Then, papa, the next time I see him I'll like him,--if I can," said
Jane.
The village of Framley lies slightly off the road from Hogglestock
to Barchester,--so much so as to add perhaps a mile to the journey
if the traveller goes by the parsonage gate. On their route to
Hogglestock our two travellers had passed Framley without visiting
the village, but on the return journey the major asked Mr. Toogood's
permission to make the deviation. "I'm not in a hurry," said Toogood.
"I never was more comfortable in my life. I'll just light a cigar
while you go in and see your friends." Toogood lit his cigar, and
the major, getting down from the carriage, entered the parsonage. It
was his fortune to find Grace alone. Robarts was in Barchester, and
Mrs. Robarts was across the road, at Lufton Court. "Miss Crawley was
certainly in," the servant told him, and he soon found himself in
Miss Crawley's presence.
"I have only called to tell you the news about your father," said he.
"What news?"
"We have just come from Hogglestock,--your cousin, Mr. Toogood, that
is, and myself. They have found out all about the cheque. My aunt,
Mrs. Arabin, the dean's wife, you know,--she gave it to your father."
"Oh, Major Grantly!"
"It seems so easily settled, does it not?"
"And is it settled?"
"Yes; everything. Everything about that." Now he had hold of her hand
as if he were going. "Good-by. I told your father that I would just
call and tell you."
"It seems almost more than I can believe."
"You may believe it; indeed you may." He still held her hand. "You
will write to your mother I daresay to-night. Tell her I was here.
Good-by now."
"Good-by," she said. Her hand was still in his, as she looked up into
his face.
"Dear, dear, dearest Grace! My darling Grace!" Then he took her
into his arms and kissed her, and went his way without another word,
feeling that he had kept his word to her father like a gentleman.
Grace, when she was left alone, thought that she was the happiest
girl in Christendom. If she could only get to her mother, and tell
everything, and be told everything! She had no idea of any promise
that her lover might have made to her father, nor did she make
inquiry of her own thoughts as to his reasons for staying with her so
short a time; but looking back at it all she thought his conduct had
been perfect.
In the meantime the major, with Mr. Toogood, was driven home to
dinner at Plumstead.