I THINK HE IS LIGHT OF HEART.
[Illustration]
Mrs. Arabin remained one day in town. Mr. Toogood, in spite of his
asseveration that he would not budge from Barchester till he had seen
Mr. Crawley through all his troubles, did run up to London as soon
as the news reached him that John Eames had returned. He came up and
took Mrs. Arabin's deposition, which he sent down to Mr. Walker. It
might still be necessary, Mrs. Arabin was told, that she should go
into court, and there state on oath that she had given the cheque to
Mr. Crawley; but Mr. Walker was of opinion that the circumstances
would enable the judge to call upon the grand jury not to find a true
bill against Mr. Crawley, and that the whole affair, as far as Mr.
Crawley was concerned, would thus be brought to an end. Toogood was
still very anxious to place Dan Stringer in the dock, but Mr. Walker
declared that they would fail if they made the attempt. Dan had been
examined before the magistrates at Barchester, and had persisted
in his statement that he had heard nothing about Mr. Crawley and
the cheque. This he said in the teeth of the words which had fallen
from him unawares in the presence of Mr. Toogood. But they could not
punish him for a lie,--not even for such a lie as that! He was not
upon oath, and they could not make him responsible to the law because
he had held his tongue upon a matter as to which it was manifest
to them all that he had known the whole history during the entire
period of Mr. Crawley's persecution. They could only call upon him to
account for his possession of the cheque, and this he did by saying
it had been paid to him by Jem Scuttle, who received all moneys
appertaining to the hotel stables, and accounted for them once a
week. Jem Scuttle had simply told him that he had taken the cheque
from Mr. Soames, and Jem had since gone to New Zealand. It was
quite true that Jem's departure had followed suspiciously close upon
the payment of the rent to Mrs. Arabin, and that Jem had been in
close amity with Dan Stringer up to the moment of his departure.
That Dan Stringer had not become honestly possessed of the cheque,
everybody knew; but, nevertheless, the magistrates were of opinion,
Mr. Walker coinciding with them, that there was no evidence against
him sufficient to secure a conviction. The story, however, of Mr.
Crawley's injuries was so well known in Barchester, and the feeling
against the man who had permitted him to be thus injured was
so strong, that Dan Stringer did not altogether escape without
punishment. Some rough spirits in Barchester called one night at "The
Dragon of Wantly," and begged that Mr. Dan Stringer would be kind
enough to come out and take a walk with them that evening; and when
it was intimated to them that Dan Stringer had not just then any
desire for such exercise, they requested to be allowed to go into the
back parlour and make an evening with Dan Stringer in that recess.
There was a terrible row at "The Dragon of Wantly" that night, and
Dan with difficulty was rescued by the police. On the following
morning he was smuggled out of Barchester by an early train, and has
never more been seen in that city. Rumours of him, however, were soon
heard, from which it appeared that he had made himself acquainted
with the casual ward of more than one workhouse in London. His cousin
John left the inn almost immediately,--as, indeed, he must have done
had there been no question of Mr. Soames's cheque,--and then there
was nothing more heard of the Stringers in Barchester.
Mrs. Arabin remained in town one day, and would have remained longer,
waiting for her husband, had not a letter from her sister impressed
upon her that it might be as well that she should be with their
father as soon as possible. "I don't mean to make you think that
there is any immediate danger," Mrs. Grantly said, "and, indeed, we
cannot say that he is ill; but it seems that the extremity of old age
has come upon him almost suddenly, and that he is as weak as a child.
His only delight is with the children, especially with Posy, whose
gravity in her management of him is wonderful. He has not left his
room now for more than a week, and he eats very little. It may be
that he will live yet for years; but I should be deceiving you if I
did not let you know that both the archdeacon and I think that the
time of his departure from us is near at hand." After reading this
letter, Mrs. Arabin could not wait in town for her husband, even
though he was expected in two days, and though she had been told that
her presence at Barchester was not immediately required on behalf of
Mr. Crawley.
But during that one day she kept her promise to John Eames by going
to Lily Dale. Mrs. Arabin had become very fond of Johnny, and felt
that he deserved the prize which he had been so long trying to win.
The reader, perhaps, may not agree with Mrs. Arabin. The reader, who
may have caught a closer insight into Johnny's character than Mrs.
Arabin had obtained, may, perhaps, think that a young man who could
amuse himself with Miss Demolines was unworthy of Lily Dale. If so, I
may declare for myself that I and the reader are not in accord about
John Eames. It is hard to measure worth and worthlessness in such
matters, as there is no standard for such measurement. My old friend
John was certainly no hero,--was very unheroic in many phases of his
life; but then, if all the girls are to wait for heroes, I fear that
the difficulties in the way of matrimonial arrangements, great as
they are at present, will be very seriously enhanced. Johnny was not
ecstatic, nor heroic, nor transcendental, nor very beautiful in his
manliness; he was not a man to break his heart for love, or to have
his story written in an epic; but he was an affectionate, kindly,
honest young man; and I think most girls might have done worse than
take him. Whether he was wise to ask assistance in his love-making so
often as he had done, that may be another question.
Mrs. Arabin was intimately acquainted with Mrs. Thorne, and therefore
there was nothing odd in her going to Mrs. Thorne's house. Mrs.
Thorne was very glad to see her, and told her all the Barsetshire
news,--much more than Mrs. Arabin would have learned in a week at the
deanery; for Mrs. Thorne had a marvellous gift of picking up news.
She had already heard the whole story of Mr. Soames's cheque, and
expressed her conviction that the least that could be done in amends
to Mr. Crawley was to make him a bishop. "And you see the palace is
vacant," said Mrs. Thorne.
"The palace vacant!" said Mrs. Arabin.
"It is just as good. Now that Mrs. Proudie has gone I don't suppose
the poor bishop will count for much. I can assure you, Mrs. Arabin, I
felt that poor woman's death so much! She used to regard me as one
of the staunchest of the Proudieites! She once whispered to me such
a delightfully wicked story about the dean and the archdeacon. When
I told her that they were my particular friends, she put on a look
of horror. But I don't think she believed me." Then Emily Dunstable
entered the room, and with her came Lily Dale. Mrs. Arabin had never
before seen Lily, and of course they were introduced. "I am sorry to
say Miss Dale is going home to Allington to-morrow," said Emily. "But
she is coming to Chaldicotes in May," said Mrs. Thorne. "Of course,
Mrs. Arabin, you know what gala doings we are going to have in May?"
Then there were various civil little speeches made on each side, and
Mrs. Arabin expressed a wish that she might meet Miss Dale again in
Barsetshire. But all this did not bring her at all nearer to her
object.
"I particularly wish to say a word to Miss Dale,--here to-day, if she
will allow me," said Mrs. Arabin.
"I'm sure she will,--twenty words; won't you, Lily?" said Mrs.
Thorne, preparing to leave the room. Then Mrs. Arabin apologized,
and Mrs. Thorne, bustling up, said that it did not signify, and
Lily, remaining quite still on the sofa, wondered what it was all
about,--and in two minutes Lily and Mrs. Arabin were alone together.
Lily had just time to surmise that Mrs. Arabin's visit must have some
reference to Mr. Crosbie,--remembering that Crosbie had married his
wife out of Barsetshire, and forgetting altogether that Mrs. Arabin
had been just brought home from Italy by John Eames.
"I am afraid, Miss Dale, you will think me very impertinent," said
Mrs. Arabin.
"I am sure I shall not think that," said Lily.
"I believe you knew, before Mr. Eames started, that he was going to
Italy to find me and my husband?" said Mrs. Arabin. Then Lily put Mr.
Crosbie altogether out of her head, and became aware that he was not
to be the subject of the coming conversation. She was almost sorry
that it was so. There was no doubt in her mind as to what she would
have said to any one who might have taken up Crosbie's cause. On
that matter she could now have given a very decisive answer in a
few words. But on that other matter she was much more in doubt. She
remembered, however, every word of the note she had received from M.
D. She remembered also the words of John's note to that young woman.
And her heart was still hard against him. "Yes," she said; "Mr. Eames
came here one night and told us why he was going. I was very glad
that he was going, because I thought it was right."
"You know, of course, how successful he has been? It was I who gave
the cheque to Mr. Crawley."
"So Mrs. Thorne has heard. Dr. Thorne has written to tell her the
whole story."
"And now I've come to look for Mr. Eames's reward."
"His reward, Mrs. Arabin?"
"Yes; or rather to plead for him. You will not, I hope, be angry
with him because he has told me much of his history while we were
travelling home alone together."
"Oh, no," said Lily, smiling. "How could he have chosen a better
friend in whom to trust?"
"He could certainly have chosen none who would take his part more
sincerely. He is so good and so amiable! He is so pleasant in his
ways, and so fitted to make a woman happy! And then, Miss Dale, he is
also so devoted!"
"He is an old friend of ours, Mrs. Arabin."
"So he has told me."
"And we all of us love him dearly. Mamma is very much attached to
him."
"Unless he flatters himself, there is no one belonging to you who
would not wish that he should be nearer and dearer still."
"It may be so. I do not say that it is not so. Mamma and my uncle are
both fond of him."
"And does not that go a long way?" said Mrs. Arabin.
"It ought not to do so," said Lily. "It ought not to go any way at
all."
"Ought it not? It seems to me that I could never have brought myself
to marry any one whom my old friends had not liked."
"Ah! that is another thing."
"But is it not a recommendation to a man that he has been so
successful with your friends as to make them all feel that you might
trust yourself to him with perfect safety?" To this Lily made no
answer, and Mrs. Arabin went on to plead her friend's cause with all
the eloquence she could use, insisting on all his virtues, his good
temper, his kindness, his constancy,--and not forgetting the fact
that the world was inclined to use him very well. Still Lily made no
answer. She had promised Mrs. Arabin that she would not regard her
interference as impertinent, and therefore she refrained from any
word that might seem to show offence. Nor did she feel offence. It
was something gained by John Eames in Lily's estimation that he
should have such a friend as Mrs. Arabin to take an interest in his
welfare. But there was a self-dependence, perhaps one may call it an
obstinacy about Lily Dale, which made her determined that she would
not be driven hither or thither by any pressure from without. Why
had John Eames, at the very moment when he should have been doing
his best to drive from her breast the memory of past follies,--when
he would have striven to do so had he really been earnest in his
suit,--why at such a moment had he allowed himself to correspond in
terms of affection with such a woman as this M. D.? While Mrs. Arabin
was pleading for John Eames, Lily was repeating to herself certain
words which John had written to the woman--"Ever and always yours
unalterably." Such were not the exact words, but such was the form in
which Lily, dishonestly, chose to repeat them to herself. And why was
it so with her? In the old days she would have forgiven Crosbie any
offence at a word or a look,--any possible letter to any M. D., let
her have been ever so abominable! Nay,--had she not even forgiven him
the offence of deserting herself altogether on behalf of a woman as
detestable as could be any M. D. of Johnny's choosing;--a woman whose
only recommendation had been her title? And yet she would not forgive
John Eames, though the evidence against him was of so flimsy a
nature,--but rather strove to turn the flimsiness of that evidence
into strength! Why was it so? Unheroic as he might be, John Eames was
surely a better man and a bigger man than Adolphus Crosbie. It was
simply this;--she had fallen in love with the one, and had never
fallen in love with the other! She had fallen in love with the one
man, though in her simple way she had made a struggle against such
feeling; and she had not come to love the other man, though she had
told herself that it would be well that she should do so if it were
possible. Again and again she had half declared to herself that she
would take him as her husband and leave the love to come afterwards;
but when the moment came for doing so, she could not do it.
"May I not say a word of comfort to him?" said Mrs. Arabin.
"He will be very comfortable without any such word," said Lily,
laughing.
"But he is not comfortable; of that you may be very sure." "Yours
ever and unalterably, J. E.," said Lily to herself. "You do not doubt
his affection?" continued Mrs. Arabin.
"I neither doubt it nor credit it."
"Then I think you wrong him. And the reason why I have ventured to
come to you is that you may know the impression which he has made
upon one who was but the other day a stranger to him. I am sure that
he loves you."
"I think he is light of heart."
"Oh, no, Miss Dale."
"And how am I to become his wife unless I love him well enough
myself? Mrs. Arabin, I have made up my mind about it. I shall never
become any man's wife. Mamma and I are all in all together, and
we shall remain together." As soon as these words were out of her
mouth, she hated herself for having spoken them. There was a maudlin,
missish, namby-mamby sentimentality about them which disgusted her.
She specially desired to be straightforward, resolute of purpose,
honest-spoken, and free from all touch of affectation. And yet she
had excused herself from marrying John Eames after the fashion of a
sick schoolgirl. "It is no good talking about it any more," she said,
getting up from her chair quickly.
"You are not angry with me;--or at any rate you will forgive me?"
"I'm quite sure you have meant to be very good, and I am not a bit
angry."
"And you will see him before you go?"
"Oh, yes; that is if he likes to come to-day, or early to-morrow.
I go home to-morrow. I cannot refuse him, because he is such an old
friend,--almost like a brother. But it is of no use, Mrs. Arabin."
Then Mrs. Arabin kissed her and left her, telling her that Mr. Eames
would come to her that afternoon at half-past five. Lily promised
that she would be at home to receive him.
"Won't you ride with us for the last time?" said Emily Dunstable when
Lily gave notice that she would not want the horse on that afternoon.
"No; not to-day."
"You'll never have another opportunity of riding with Emily
Dunstable," said the bride elect;--"at least I hope not."
"Even under those circumstances I must refuse, though I would give a
guinea to be with you. John Eames is coming here to say good-by."
"Oh; then indeed you must not come with us. Lily, what will you say
to him?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, Lily, think of it."
"I have thought of it. I have thought of nothing else. I am tired of
thinking of it. It is not good to think of anything so much. What
does it matter?"
"It is very good to have some one to love one better than all the
world besides."
"I have some one," said Lily, thinking of her mother, but not caring
to descend again to the mawkish weakness of talking about her.
"Yes; but some one to be always with you, to do everything for you,
to be your very own."
"It is all very well for you," said Lily, "and I think that Bernard
is the luckiest fellow in the world; but it will not do for me. I
know in what college I'll take my degree, and I wish they'd let me
write the letters after my name as the men do."
"What letters, Lily?"
"O.M., for Old Maid. I don't see why it shouldn't be as good as B.A.
for Bachelor of Arts. It would mean a great deal more."