MR. COMFORT CALLS AT THE COTTAGE.
Mrs. Ray, in her trouble occasioned by Luke's letter, had walked up
to Mr. Comfort's house, but had not found him at home. Therefore
she had written to him, in his own study, a few very simple words,
telling the matter on which she wanted his advice. Almost any other
woman would have half hidden her real meaning under a cloud of
ambiguous words; but with her there was no question of hiding
anything from her clergyman. "Rachel has had a letter from young Mr.
Rowan," she said, "and I have begged her not to answer it till I have
shown it to you." So Mr. Comfort sent word down to Bragg's End that
he would call at the cottage, and fixed an hour for his coming. This
task was to be accomplished by him on the morning after Dr. Harford's
dinner; and he had thought much of the coming conference between
himself and Rachel's mother while Rowan's character was being
discussed at Dr. Harford's house: but on that occasion he had said
nothing to any one, not even to his daughter, of the application
which had been made to him by Mrs. Ray. At eleven o'clock he
presented himself at the cottage door, and, of course, found Mrs.
Ray alone. Rachel had taken herself over to Mrs. Sturt, and greatly
amazed that kindhearted person by her silence and confusion. "Why,
my dear," said Mrs. Sturt, "you hain't got a word to-day to throw at
a dog." Rachel acknowledged that she had not; and then Mrs. Sturt
allowed her to remain in her silence.
"Oh, Mr. Comfort, this is so good of you!" Mrs. Ray began as soon as
her friend was inside the parlour. "When I went up to the parsonage
I didn't think of bringing you down here all the way;--I didn't
indeed." Mr. Comfort assured her that he thought nothing of the
trouble, declared that he owed her a visit, and then asked after
Rachel.
"To tell you the truth, then, she's just stept across the green to
Mrs. Sturt's, so as to be out of the way. It's a trying time to her,
Mr. Comfort,--very; and whatever way it goes, she's a good girl,--a
very good girl."
"You needn't tell me that, Mrs. Ray."
"Oh! but I must. There's her sister thinks she's encouraged this
young man too freely, but--"
"By-the-by, Mrs. Ray, I've been told that Mrs. Prime is engaged to be
married herself."
"Have you, now?"
"Well, yes; I heard it in Baslehurst yesterday;--to Mr. Prong."
"She's kept it so close, Mr. Comfort, I didn't think anybody had
heard it."
"It is true, then?"
"I can't say she has accepted him yet. He has offered to
her;--there's no doubt about that, Mr. Comfort,--and she hasn't said
him no."
"Do let her look sharp after her money," said Mr. Comfort.
"Well, that's just it. She's not a bit inclined to give it up to him,
I can tell you."
"I can't say, Mrs. Ray, that the connexion is one that I like very
much, in any way. There's no reason at all why your eldest daughter
should not marry again, but--"
"What can I do, Mr. Comfort? Of course I know he's not just what he
should be,--that is, for a clergyman. When I knew he hadn't come
from any of the colleges, I never had any fancy for going to hear
him myself. But of course I should never have left your church, Mr.
Comfort,--not if anybody had come there. And if I could have had my
way with Dorothy, she would never have gone near him,--never. But
what could I do, Mr. Comfort? Of course she can go where she likes."
"Mr. Prime was a gentleman and a Christian," said the vicar.
"That he was, Mr. Comfort; and a husband for a young woman to be
proud of. But he was soon taken away from her--very soon! and she
hasn't thought much of this world since."
"I don't know what she's thinking of now."
"It isn't of herself, Mr. Comfort; not a bit. Dorothy is very stern;
but, to give her her due, it's not herself she's thinking of."
"Why does she want to marry him, then?"
"Because he's lonely without some one to do for him."
"Lonely!--and he should be lonely for me, Mrs. Ray."
"And because she says she can work in the vineyard better as a
clergyman's wife."
"Pshaw! work in the vineyard, indeed! But it's no business of mine;
and, as you say, I suppose you can't help it."
"Indeed I can't. She'd never think of asking me."
"I hope she'll look after her money, that's all. And what's all this
about my friend Rachel? I'd a great deal sooner hear that she was
going to be married,--if I knew that the man was worthy of her."
Then Mrs. Ray put her hand into her pocket, and taking out Rowan's
letter, gave it to the vicar to read. As she did so, she looked into
his face with eyes full of the most intense anxiety. She was herself
greatly frightened by the magnitude of this marriage question.
She feared the enmity of Mrs. Rowan; and she doubted the firmness
of Luke. She could not keep herself from reflecting that a young
man from London was very dangerous; that he might probably be a
wolf; that she could not be safe in trusting her one lamb into
such custody. But, nevertheless, she most earnestly hoped that Mr.
Comfort's verdict might be in the young man's favour. If he would
only say that the young man was not a wolf,--if he would only take
upon his own clerical shoulders the responsibility of trusting the
young man,--Mrs. Ray would become for the moment one of the happiest
women in Devonshire. With what a beaming face,--with what a true
joy,--with what smiles through her tears, would she then have
welcomed Rachel back from the farm-house! How she would have watched
her as she came across the green, beckoning to her eagerly, and
telling all her happy tale beforehand by the signs of her joy! But
there was to be no such happy tale as that told on this morning. She
watched the vicar's face as he read the letter, and soon perceived
that the verdict was to be given against the writer of it. I do not
know that Mrs. Ray was particularly quick at reading the countenances
of men, but, in this instance, she did read the countenance of Mr.
Comfort. We, all of us, read more in the faces of those with whom we
hold converse, than we are aware of doing. Of the truth, or want of
truth in every word spoken to us, we judge, in great part, by the
face of the speaker. By the face of every man and woman seen by us,
whether they speak or are silent, we form a judgment,--and in nine
cases out of ten our judgment is true. It is because our tenth
judgment,--that judgment which has been wrong,--comes back upon us
always with the effects of its error, that we teach ourselves to
say that appearances cannot be trusted. If we did not trust them
we should be walking ever in doubt, in darkness, and in ignorance.
As Mr. Comfort read the letter, Mrs. Ray knew that it would not be
allowed to her to speak words of happiness to Rachel on that day. She
knew that the young man was to be set down as dangerous; but she was
by no means aware that she was reading the vicar's face with precise
accuracy. Mr. Comfort had been slow in his perusal, weighing the
words of the letter; and when he had finished it he slowly refolded
the paper and put it back into its envelope. "He means what he says,"
said he, as he gave the letter back to Mrs. Ray.
"Yes; I think he means what he says."
"But we cannot tell how long he may mean it; nor can we tell as yet
whether such a connection would be good for Rachel, even if he should
remain stedfast in such meaning. If you ask me, Mrs. Ray--"
"I do ask you, Mr. Comfort."
"Then I think we should all of us know more about him, before we
allow Rachel to give him encouragement;--I do indeed."
Mrs. Ray could not quite repress in her heart a slight feeling of
anger against the vicar. She remembered the words,--so different not
only in their meaning, but in the tone in which they were spoken,--in
which he had sanctioned Rachel's going to the ball: "Young people
get to think of each other," he had then said, speaking with
good-humoured, cheery voice, as though such thinking were worthy of
all encouragement. He had spoken then of marriage being the happiest
condition for both men and women, and had inquired as to Rowan's
means. Every word that had then fallen from him had expressed his
opinion that Luke Rowan was an eligible lover. But now he was named
as though he were undoubtedly a wolf. Why had not Mr. Comfort said
then, at that former interview, when no harm had as yet been done,
that it would be desirable to know more of the young man before any
encouragement was given to him? Mrs. Ray felt that she was injured;
but, nevertheless, her trust in her counsellor was not on that
account the less.
"I suppose it must be answered," said Mrs. Ray.
"Oh, yes; of course it should be answered."
"And who should write it, Mr. Comfort?"
"Let Rachel write it herself. Let her tell him that she is not
prepared to correspond with him as yet, any further that is, you
understand, than the writing of that letter."
"And about,--about,--about what he says as to loving her, you know?
There has been a sort of promise between them, Mr. Comfort, and no
young man could have spoken more honestly than he did."
"And he meant honestly, no doubt; but you see, Mrs. Ray, it is
necessary to be so careful in these matters! It is quite evident his
mother doesn't wish this marriage."
"And he shouldn't have called her a goose; should he?"
"I don't think much about that."
"Don't you, now?"
"It was all meant in good-humour. But she thinks it a bad marriage
for him as regards money, and money considerations always go so far,
you know. And then he's away, and you've got no hold upon him."
"That's quite true, Mr. Comfort."
"He has quarrelled with the people here. And upon my word I'm
inclined to think he has not behaved very well to Mr. Tappitt."
"Hasn't he, now?"
"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Ray. They were talking about him last night in
Baslehurst, and I'm afraid he has behaved badly at the brewery. There
were words between him and Mr. Tappitt,--very serious words."
"Yes; I know that. He told Rachel as much as that. I think he said he
was going to law with Mr. Tappitt."
"And if so, the chances are that he may never be seen here again.
It's ill coming to a place where one is quarrelling with people. And
as to the lawsuit, it seems to me, from what I hear, that he would
certainly lose it. No doubt he has a considerable property in the
brewery; but he wants to be master of everything, and that can't be
reasonable, you know. And then, Mrs. Ray, there's worse than that
behind."
"Worse than that!" said Mrs. Ray, in whose heart every gleam of
comfort was quickly being extinguished by darkening shadows.
"They tell me that he has gone away without paying his debts. If that
is so, it shows that his means cannot be very good." Then why had Mr.
Comfort taken upon himself expressly to say that they were good at
that interview before Mrs. Tappitt's party? That was the thought in
the widow's mind at the present moment. Mr. Comfort, however, went
on with his caution. "And then, when the happiness of such a girl as
Rachel is concerned, it is impossible to be too careful. Where should
we all be if we found that we had given her to a scamp?"
"Oh dear, oh dear! I don't think he can be a scamp;--he did take his
tea so nicely."
"I don't say he is;--I don't judge him. But then we should be
careful. Why didn't he pay his debts before he went away? A young man
should always pay his debts."
"Perhaps he's sent it down in a money-order," said Mrs. Ray. "They
are so very convenient,--that is if you've got the money."
"If he hasn't I hope he will, for I can assure you I don't want to
think badly of him. Maybe he will turn out all right. And you may be
sure of this, Mrs. Ray, that if he is really attached to Rachel he
won't give her up, because she doesn't throw herself into his arms at
his first word. There's nothing becomes a young woman like a little
caution, or makes a young man think more of her. If Rachel fancies
that she likes him let her hold back a while and find out what sort
of stuff he's made of. If I were her I should just tell him that
I thought it better to wait a little before I made any positive
engagement."
"But, Mr. Comfort, how is she to begin it? You see he calls her
Dearest Rachel."
"Let her say Dear Mr. Rowan. There can't be any harm in that."
"She mustn't call him Luke, I suppose."
"I think she'd better not. Young men think so much of those things."
"And she's not to say 'Yours affectionately' at the end?"
"She'll understand all that when she comes to write the letter better
than we can tell her. Give her my love; and tell her from me I'm
quite sure she's a dear, good girl, and that it must be a great
comfort to you to know that you can trust her so thoroughly." Then,
having spoken these last words, Mr. Comfort took himself away.
Rachel, sitting in the window of Mrs. Sturt's large front kitchen on
the other side of the green, could see Mr. Comfort come forth from
the cottage and get into his low four-wheeled carriage, which, with
his boy in livery, had been standing at the garden gate during the
interview. Mrs. Sturt was away among the milk-pans, scalding cream or
preparing butter, and did not watch either Rachel or the visitor at
the cottage. But she knew with tolerable accuracy what was going on,
and with all her heart wished that her young friend might have luck
with her lover. Rachel waited for a minute or two till the little
carriage was out of sight, till the sound of the wheels could be no
longer heard, and then she prepared to move. She slowly got herself
up from her chair as though she were afraid to show herself upon the
green, and paused still a few moments longer before she left the
kitchen.
"So, thou's off," said Mrs. Sturt, coming in from the back regions of
her territory, with the sleeves of her gown tucked up, enveloped in a
large roundabout apron which covered almost all her dress. Mrs. Sturt
would no more have thought of doing her work in the front kitchen
than I should think of doing mine in the drawing-room. "So thou's off
home again, my lass," said Mrs. Sturt.
"Yes, Mrs. Sturt. Mr. Comfort has been with mamma,--about business;
and as I didn't want to be in the way I just came over to you."
"Thou art welcome, as flowers in May, morning or evening; but thee
knowest that, girl. As for Mr. Comfort,--it's cold comfort he is, I
always say. It's little I think of what clergymen says, unless it be
out of the pulpit or the like of that. What does they know about lads
and lasses?"
"He's a very old friend of mamma's."
"Old friends is always best, I'll not deny that. But, look thee here,
my girl; my man's an old friend too. He's know'd thee since he lifted
thee in his arms to pull the plums off that bough yonder; and he's
seen thee these ten years a deal oftener than Mr. Comfort. If they
say anything wrong of thy joe there, tell me, and Sturt 'll find out
whether it be true or no. Don't let ere a parson in Devonshire rob
thee of thy sweetheart. It's passing sweet, when true hearts meet.
But it breaks the heart, when true hearts part." With the salutary
advice contained in these ancient local lines Mrs. Sturt put her arms
round Rachel, and having kissed her, bade her go.
With slow step she made her way across the green, hardly daring to
look to the door of the cottage. But there was no figure standing
at the door; and let her have looked with all her eyes, there was
nothing there to have told her anything. She walked very slowly,
thinking as she went of Mrs. Sturt's words--"Don't let ere a parson
in Devonshire rob thee of thy sweetheart." Was it not hard upon her
that she should be subjected to the misery of such discussion, seeing
that she had given no hope, either to her lover or to herself, till
she had received full warranty for doing so? She would do what her
mother should bid her, let it be what it might; but she would be
wronged,--she felt that she would be wronged and injured, grievously
injured, if her mother should now bid her think of Rowan as one
thinks of those that are gone.
She entered the cottage slowly, and turning into the parlour, found
her mother seated there on the old sofa, opposite to the fireplace.
She was seated there in stiff composure, waiting the work which she
had to do. It was no customary place of hers, and she was a woman
who, in the ordinary occupations of her life, never deserted her
customary places. She had an old easy chair near the fireplace, and
another smaller chair close to the window, and in one of these she
might always be found, unless when, on special occasions like the
present, some great thing had occurred to throw her out of the
grooves of her life.
"Well, mamma?" said Rachel, coming in and standing before her mother.
Mrs. Ray, before she spoke, looked up into her child's face, and was
afraid. "Well, mamma, what has Mr. Comfort said?"
Was it not hard for Mrs. Ray that at such a moment she should have
had no sort of husband on whom to lean? Does the reader remember that
in the opening words of this story Mrs. Ray was described as a woman
who specially needed some standing-corner, some post, some strong
prop to bear her weight,--some marital authority by which she might
be guided? Such prop and such guiding she had never needed more
sorely than she needed them now. She looked up into Rachel's face
before she spoke, and was afraid. "He has been here, my dear," she
said, "and has gone away."
"Yes, mamma, I knew that," said Rachel. "I saw his phaeton drive off;
that's why I came over from Mrs. Sturt's."
Rachel's voice was hard, and there was no comfort in it. It was so
hard that Mrs. Ray felt it to be unkind. No doubt Rachel suffered;
but did not she suffer also? Would not she have given blood from her
breast, like the maternal pelican, to have secured from that clerical
counsellor a verdict that might have been comforting to her child?
Would she not have made any sacrifice of self for such a verdict,
even though the effecting of it must have been that she herself would
have been left alone and deserted in the world? Why, then, should
Rachel be stern to her? If misery was to fall on both of them, it was
not of her doing.
"I know you will think it's my fault, Rachel; but I cannot help it,
even though you should say so. Of course I was obliged to ask some
one; and who else was there that would be able to tell me so well
as Mr. Comfort? You would not have liked it at all if I had gone to
Dorothea; and as for Mr. Prong--"
"Oh! mamma, mamma, don't! I haven't said anything. I haven't
complained of Mr. Comfort. What has he said now? You forget that you
have not told me."
"No, my dear, I don't forget; I wish I could. He says that Mr. Rowan
has behaved badly to Mr. Tappitt, and that he hasn't paid his debts,
and that the lawsuit will be sure to go against him, and that he will
never show his face in Baslehurst again; and he says, too, that it
would be very wrong for you to correspond with him,--very; because a
young girl like you must be so careful about such things; and he says
he'll be much more likely to respect you if you don't,--don't,--don't
just throw yourself into his arms like. Those were his very words;
and then he says that if he really cares for you, he'll be sure to
come back again, and so you're to answer the letter, and you must
call him Dear Mr. Rowan. Don't call him Luke, because young men think
so much about those things. And you are to tell him that there isn't
to be any engagement, or any letter-writing, or anything of that sort
at all. But you can just say something friendly,--about hoping he's
quite well, or something of that kind. And then when you come to the
end, you had better sign yourself 'Yours truly.' It won't do to say
anything about affection, because one never knows how it may turn
out. And,--let me see; there was only one thing more. Mr. Comfort
says that you are a good girl, and that he is sure you have done
nothing wrong,--not even in a word or a thought; and I say so too.
You are my own beautiful child; and, Rachel,--I do so wish I could
make it all right between you."
Nobody can deny that Mrs. Ray had given, with very fair accuracy, an
epitome of Mr. Comfort's words; but they did not leave upon Rachel's
mind a very clear idea of what she was expected to do. "Go away in
debt!" she said; "who says so?"
"Mr. Comfort told me so just now. But perhaps he'll send the money in
a money-order, you know."
"I don't think he would go away in debt. And why should the lawsuit
go against him if he's got right on his side? He does not wish to do
any harm to Mr. Tappitt."
"I don't know about that, my dear; but at any rate they've
quarrelled."
"But why shouldn't that be Mr. Tappitt's fault as much as his? And as
for not showing his face in Baslehurst--! Oh, mamma! don't you know
him well enough to be sure that he will never be ashamed of showing
his face anywhere? He not show his face! Mamma, I don't believe a
word of it all,--not a word."
"Mr. Comfort said so; he did indeed." Then Mrs. Sturt's words came
back upon Rachel. "Don't let ere a parson in Devonshire rob thee of
thy sweetheart." This lover of hers was her only possession,--the
only thing of her own winning that she had ever valued. He was her
great triumph, the rich upshot of her own prowess,--and now she felt
that this parson was indeed robbing her. Had he been then present,
she would have risen up and spoken at him, as she had never spoken
before. The spirit of rebellion against all the world was strong
within her;--against all the world except that one weak woman who now
sat before her on the sofa. Her eyes were full of anger, and Mrs. Ray
saw that it was so; but still she was minded to obey her mother.
"It's no good talking," said Rachel; "but when they say that he's
afraid to show himself in Baslehurst, I don't believe them. Does he
look like a man afraid to show himself?"
"Looks are so deceitful, Rachel."
"And as for debts,--people, if they're called away by telegraph in a
minute, can't pay all that they owe. There are plenty of people in
Baslehurst that owe a deal more than he does, I'm sure. And he's got
his share in the brewery, so that nobody need be afraid."
"Mr. Comfort didn't say that you were to quarrel with him
altogether."
"Mr. Comfort! What's Mr. Comfort to me, mamma?" This was said in such
a tone that Mrs. Ray absolutely started up from her seat.
"But, Rachel, he is my oldest friend. He was your father's friend."
"Why did he not say it before, then? Why--why--why--? Mamma, I can't
throw him off now. Didn't I tell him that,--that,--that I would--love
him? Didn't you say that it might be so,--you yourself? How am I to
show my face, if I go back now? Mamma, I do love him, with all my
heart and all my strength, and nothing that anybody can say can make
any difference. If he owed ever so much money I should love him the
same. If he had killed Mr. Tappitt it wouldn't make any difference."
"Oh, Rachel!"
"No more it would. If Mr. Tappitt began it first, it wasn't his
fault."
"But Rachel, my darling,--what can we do? If he has gone away we
cannot make him come back again."
"But he wrote almost immediately."
"And you are going to answer it;--are you not?"
"Yes;--but what sort of an answer, mamma? How can I expect that he
will ever want to see me again when I have written to him in that
way? I won't say anything about hoping that he's very well. If I may
not tell him that he's my own, own, own Luke, and that I love him
with all my heart, I'll bid him stay away and not trouble himself any
further. I wonder what he'll think of me when I write in that way!"
"If he's constant-hearted he'll wait a while and then he'll come back
again."
"Why should he come back when I've treated him in that way? What have
I got to give him? Mamma, you may write the letter yourself, and put
in it what you please."
"Mr. Comfort said that you had better write it."
"Mr. Comfort! I don't know why I'm to do all that Mr. Comfort tells
me," and then those other words of Mrs. Sturt's recurred to her,
"It's little I think of what a clergyman says unless it be out of a
pulpit." After that there was nothing further said for some minutes.
Mrs. Ray still sat on the sofa, and as she gazed upon the table
which stood in the middle of the room, she wiped her eyes with her
handkerchief. Rachel was now seated in a chair with her back almost
turned to her mother, and was beating with her impatient fingers on
the table. She was very angry,--angry even with her mother; and she
was half broken-hearted, truly believing that such a letter as that
which she was desired to write would estrange her lover from her for
ever. So they sat, and for a few minutes no word was spoken between
them.
"Rachel," said Mrs. Ray at last, "if wrong has been done, is it not
better that it should be undone?"
"What wrong have I done?" said Rachel, jumping up.
"It is I that have done it,--not you."
"No, mamma; you have done no wrong."
"I should have known more before I let him come here and encouraged
you to think of him. It has been my fault. My dear, will you not
forgive me?"
"Mamma, there has been no fault. There is nothing to forgive."
"I have made you unhappy, my child," and then Mrs. Ray burst out into
open tears.
"No, mamma, I won't be unhappy;--or if I am I will bear it." Then she
got up and threw her arms round her mother's neck, and embraced her.
"I will write the letter, but I will not write it now. You shall see
it before it goes."