To explain the miller's sudden proposal it is only necessary to go back
to that moment when Anne, Festus, and Mrs. Garland were talking together
on the down. John Loveday had fallen behind so as not to interfere with
a meeting in which he was decidedly superfluous; and his father, who
guessed the trumpet-major's secret, watched his face as he stood. John's
face was sad, and his eyes followed Mrs. Garland's encouraging manner to
Festus in a way which plainly said that every parting of her lips was
tribulation to him. The miller loved his son as much as any miller or
private gentleman could do, and he was pained to see John's gloom at such
a trivial circumstance. So what did he resolve but to help John there
and then by precipitating a matter which, had he himself been the only
person concerned, he would have delayed for another six months.
He had long liked the society of his impulsive, tractable neighbour, Mrs.
Garland; had mentally taken her up and pondered her in connexion with the
question whether it would not be for the happiness of both if she were to
share his home, even though she was a little his superior in antecedents
and knowledge. In fact he loved her; not tragically, but to a very
creditable extent for his years; that is, next to his sons, Bob and John,
though he knew very well of that ploughed-ground appearance near the
corners of her once handsome eyes, and that the little depression in her
right cheek was not the lingering dimple it was poetically assumed to be,
but a result of the abstraction of some worn-out nether millstones within
the cheek by Rootle, the Budmouth man, who lived by such practices on the
heads of the elderly. But what of that, when he had lost two to each one
of hers, and exceeded her in age by some eight years! To do John a
service, then, he quickened his designs, and put the question to her
while they were standing under the eyes of the younger pair.
Mrs. Garland, though she had been interested in the miller for a long
time, and had for a moment now and then thought on this question as far
as, 'Suppose he should, 'If he were to,' and so on, had never thought
much further; and she was really taken by surprise when the question
came. She answered without affectation that she would think over the
proposal; and thus they parted.
Her mother's infirmity of purpose set Anne thinking, and she was suddenly
filled with a conviction that in such a case she ought to have some
purpose herself. Mrs. Garland's complacency at the miller's offer had,
in truth, amazed her. While her mother had held up her head, and
recommended Festus, it had seemed a very pretty thing to rebel; but the
pressure being removed an awful sense of her own responsibility took
possession of her mind. As there was no longer anybody to be wise or
ambitious for her, surely she should be wise and ambitious for herself,
discountenance her mother's attachment, and encourage Festus in his
addresses, for her own and her mother's good. There had been a time when
a Loveday thrilled her own heart; but that was long ago, before she had
thought of position or differences. To wake into cold daylight like
this, when and because her mother had gone into the land of romance, was
dreadful and new to her, and like an increase of years without living
them.
But it was easier to think that she ought to marry the yeoman than to
take steps for doing it; and she went on living just as before, only with
a little more thoughtfulness in her eyes.
Two days after the visit to the camp, when she was again in the garden,
Soldier Loveday said to her, at a distance of five rows of beans and a
parsley-bed--
'You have heard the news, Miss Garland?'
'No,' said Anne, without looking up from a book she was reading.
'The King is coming to-morrow.'
'The King?' She looked up then.
'Yes; to Gloucester Lodge; and he will pass this way. He can't arrive
till long past the middle of the night, if what they say is true, that he
is timed to change horses at Woodyates Inn--between Mid and South
Wessex--at twelve o'clock,' continued Loveday, encouraged by her interest
to cut off the parsley-bed from the distance between them.
Miller Loveday came round the corner of the house.
'Have ye heard about the King coming, Miss Maidy Anne?' he said.
Anne said that she had just heard of it; and the trumpet-major, who
hardly welcomed his father at such a moment, explained what he knew of
the matter.
'And you will go with your regiment to meet 'en, I suppose?' said old
Loveday.
Young Loveday said that the men of the German Legion were to perform that
duty. And turning half from his father, and half towards Anne, he added,
in a tentative tone, that he thought he might get leave for the night, if
anybody would like to be taken to the top of the Ridgeway over which the
royal party must pass.
Anne, knowing by this time of the budding hope in the gallant dragoon's
mind, and not wishing to encourage it, said, 'I don't want to go.'
The miller looked disappointed as well as John.
'Your mother might like to?'
'Yes, I am going indoors, and I'll ask her if you wish me to,' said she.
She went indoors and rather coldly told her mother of the proposal. Mrs.
Garland, though she had determined not to answer the miller's question on
matrimony just yet, was quite ready for this jaunt, and in spite of Anne
she sailed off at once to the garden to hear more about it. When she re-
entered, she said--
'Anne, I have not seen the King or the King's horses for these many
years; and I am going.'
'Ah, it is well to be you, mother,' said Anne, in an elderly tone.
'Then you won't come with us?' said Mrs. Garland, rather rebuffed.
'I have very different things to think of,' said her daughter with
virtuous emphasis, 'than going to see sights at that time of night.'
Mrs. Garland was sorry, but resolved to adhere to the arrangement. The
night came on; and it having gone abroad that the King would pass by the
road, many of the villagers went out to see the procession. When the two
Lovedays and Mrs. Garland were gone, Anne bolted the door for security,
and sat down to think again on her grave responsibilities in the choice
of a husband, now that her natural guardian could no longer be trusted.
A knock came to the door.
Anne's instinct was at once to be silent, that the comer might think the
family had retired.
The knocking person, however, was not to be easily persuaded. He had in
fact seen rays of light over the top of the shutter, and, unable to get
an answer, went on to the door of the mill, which was still going, the
miller sometimes grinding all night when busy. The grinder accompanied
the stranger to Mrs. Garland's door.
'The daughter is certainly at home, sir,' said the grinder. 'I'll go
round to t'other side, and see if she's there, Master Derriman.'
'I want to take her out to see the King,' said Festus.
Anne had started at the sound of the voice. No opportunity could have
been better for carrying out her new convictions on the disposal of her
hand. But in her mortal dislike of Festus, Anne forgot her principles,
and her idea of keeping herself above the Lovedays. Tossing on her hat
and blowing out the candle, she slipped out at the back door, and hastily
followed in the direction that her mother and the rest had taken. She
overtook them as they were beginning to climb the hill.
'What! you have altered your mind after all?' said the widow. 'How came
you to do that, my dear?'
'I thought I might as well come,' said Anne.
'To be sure you did,' said the miller heartily. 'A good deal better than
biding at home there.'
John said nothing, though she could almost see through the gloom how glad
he was that she had altered her mind. When they reached the ridge over
which the highway stretched they found many of their neighbours who had
got there before them idling on the grass border between the roadway and
the hedge, enjoying a sort of midnight picnic, which it was easy to do,
the air being still and dry. Some carriages were also standing near,
though most people of the district who possessed four wheels, or even
two, had driven into the town to await the King there. From this height
could be seen in the distance the position of the watering-place, an
additional number of lanterns, lamps, and candles having been lighted to-
night by the loyal burghers to grace the royal entry, if it should occur
before dawn.
Mrs. Garland touched Anne's elbow several times as they walked, and the
young woman at last understood that this was meant as a hint to her to
take the trumpet-major's arm, which its owner was rather suggesting than
offering to her. Anne wondered what infatuation was possessing her
mother, declined to take the arm, and contrived to get in front with the
miller, who mostly kept in the van to guide the others' footsteps. The
trumpet-major was left with Mrs. Garland, and Anne's encouraging pursuit
of them induced him to say a few words to the former.
'By your leave, ma'am, I'll speak to you on something that concerns my
mind very much indeed?'
'Certainly.'
'It is my wish to be allowed to pay my addresses to your daughter.'
'I thought you meant that,' said Mrs. Garland simply.
'And you'll not object?'
'I shall leave it to her. I don't think she will agree, even if I do.'
The soldier sighed, and seemed helpless. 'Well, I can but ask her,' he
said.
The spot on which they had finally chosen to wait for the King was by a
field gate, whence the white road could be seen for a long distance
northwards by day, and some little distance now. They lingered and
lingered, but no King came to break the silence of that beautiful summer
night. As half-hour after half-hour glided by, and nobody came, Anne
began to get weary; she knew why her mother did not propose to go back,
and regretted the reason. She would have proposed it herself, but that
Mrs. Garland seemed so cheerful, and as wide awake as at noonday, so that
it was almost a cruelty to disturb her.
The trumpet-major at last made up his mind, and tried to draw Anne into a
private conversation. The feeling which a week ago had been a vague and
piquant aspiration, was to-day altogether too lively for the reasoning of
this warm-hearted soldier to regulate. So he persevered in his intention
to catch her alone, and at last, in spite of her manoeuvres to the
contrary, he succeeded. The miller and Mrs. Garland had walked about
fifty yards further on, and Anne and himself were left standing by the
gate.
But the gallant musician's soul was so much disturbed by tender
vibrations and by the sense of his presumption that he could not begin;
and it may be questioned if he would ever have broached the subject at
all, had not a distant church clock opportunely assisted him by striking
the hour of three. The trumpet-major heaved a breath of relief.
'That clock strikes in G sharp,' he said.
'Indeed--G sharp?' said Anne civilly.
'Yes. 'Tis a fine-toned bell. I used to notice that note when I was a
boy.'
'Did you--the very same?'
'Yes; and since then I had a wager about that bell with the bandmaster of
the North Wessex Militia. He said the note was G; I said it wasn't. When
we found it G sharp we didn't know how to settle it.'
'It is not a deep note for a clock.'
'O no! The finest tenor bell about here is the bell of Peter's,
Casterbridge--in E flat. Tum-m-m-m--that's the note--tum-m-m-m.' The
trumpet-major sounded from far down his throat what he considered to be E
flat, with a parenthetic sense of luxury unquenchable even by his present
distraction.
'Shall we go on to where my mother is?' said Anne, less impressed by the
beauty of the note than the trumpet-major himself was.
'In one minute,' he said tremulously. 'Talking of music--I fear you
don't think the rank of a trumpet-major much to compare with your own?'
'I do. I think a trumpet-major a very respectable man.'
'I am glad to hear you say that. It is given out by the King's command
that trumpet-majors are to be considered respectable.'
'Indeed! Then I am, by chance, more loyal than I thought for.'
'I get a good deal a year extra to the trumpeters, because of my
position.'
'That's very nice.'
'And I am not supposed ever to drink with the trumpeters who serve
beneath me.'
'Naturally.'
'And, by the orders of the War Office, I am to exert over them (that's
the government word) exert over them full authority; and if any one
behaves towards me with the least impropriety, or neglects my orders, he
is to be confined and reported.'
'It is really a dignified post,' she said, with, however, a reserve of
enthusiasm which was not altogether encouraging.
'And of course some day I shall,' stammered the dragoon--'shall be in
rather a better position than I am at present.'
'I am glad to hear it, Mr. Loveday.'
'And in short, Mistress Anne,' continued John Loveday bravely and
desperately, 'may I pay court to you in the hope that--no, no, don't go
away!--you haven't heard yet--that you may make me the happiest of men;
not yet, but when peace is proclaimed and all is smooth and easy again? I
can't put it any better, though there's more to be explained.'
'This is most awkward,' said Anne, evidently with pain. 'I cannot
possibly agree; believe me, Mr. Loveday, I cannot.'
'But there's more than this. You would be surprised to see what snug
rooms the married trumpet- and sergeant-majors have in quarters.'
'Barracks are not all; consider camp and war.'
'That brings me to my strong point!' exclaimed the soldier hopefully. 'My
father is better off than most non-commissioned officers' fathers; and
there's always a home for you at his house in any emergency. I can tell
you privately that he has enough to keep us both, and if you wouldn't
hear of barracks, well, peace once established, I'd live at home as a
miller and farmer--next door to your own mother.'
'My mother would be sure to object,' expostulated Anne.
'No; she leaves it all to you.'
'What! you have asked her?' said Anne, with surprise.
'Yes. I thought it would not be honourable to act otherwise.'
'That's very good of you,' said Anne, her face warming with a generous
sense of his straightforwardness. 'But my mother is so entirely ignorant
of a soldier's life, and the life of a soldier's wife--she is so simple
in all such matters, that I cannot listen to you any more readily for
what she may say.'
'Then it is all over for me,' said the poor trumpet-major, wiping his
face and putting away his handkerchief with an air of finality.
Anne was silent. Any woman who has ever tried will know without
explanation what an unpalatable task it is to dismiss, even when she does
not love him, a man who has all the natural and moral qualities she would
desire, and only fails in the social. Would-be lovers are not so
numerous, even with the best women, that the sacrifice of one can be felt
as other than a good thing wasted, in a world where there are few good
things.
'You are not angry, Miss Garland?' said he, finding that she did not
speak.
'O no. Don't let us say anything more about this now.' And she moved
on.
When she drew near to the miller and her mother she perceived that they
were engaged in a conversation of that peculiar kind which is all the
more full and communicative from the fact of definitive words being few.
In short, here the game was succeeding which with herself had failed. It
was pretty clear from the symptoms, marks, tokens, telegraphs, and
general byplay between widower and widow, that Miller Loveday must have
again said to Mrs. Garland some such thing as he had said before, with
what result this time she did not know.
As the situation was delicate, Anne halted awhile apart from them. The
trumpet-major, quite ignorant of how his cause was entered into by the
white-coated man in the distance (for his father had not yet told him of
his designs upon Mrs. Garland), did not advance, but stood still by the
gate, as though he were attending a princess, waiting till he should be
called up. Thus they lingered, and the day began to break. Mrs. Garland
and the miller took no heed of the time, and what it was bringing to
earth and sky, so occupied were they with themselves; but Anne in her
place and the trumpet-major in his, each in private thought of no bright
kind, watched the gradual glory of the east through all its tones and
changes. The world of birds and insects got lively, the blue and the
yellow and the gold of Loveday's uniform again became distinct; the sun
bored its way upward, the fields, the trees, and the distant landscape
kindled to flame, and the trumpet-major, backed by a lilac shadow as tall
as a steeple, blazed in the rays like a very god of war.
It was half-past three o'clock. A short time after, a rattle of horses
and wheels reached their ears from the quarter in which they gazed, and
there appeared upon the white line of road a moving mass, which presently
ascended the hill and drew near.
Then there arose a huzza from the few knots of watchers gathered there,
and they cried, 'Long live King Jarge!' The cortege passed abreast. It
consisted of three travelling-carriages, escorted by a detachment of the
German Legion. Anne was told to look in the first carriage--a
post-chariot drawn by four horses--for the King and Queen, and was
rewarded by seeing a profile reminding her of the current coin of the
realm; but as the party had been travelling all night, and the spectators
here gathered were few, none of the royal family looked out of the
carriage windows. It was said that the two elder princesses were in the
same carriage, but they remained invisible. The next vehicle, a coach
and four, contained more princesses, and the third some of their
attendants.
'Thank God, I have seen my King!' said Mrs. Garland, when they had all
gone by.
Nobody else expressed any thankfulness, for most of them had expected a
more pompous procession than the bucolic tastes of the King cared to
indulge in; and one old man said grimly that that sight of dusty old
leather coaches was not worth waiting for. Anne looked hither and
thither in the bright rays of the day, each of her eyes having a little
sun in it, which gave her glance a peculiar golden fire, and kindled the
brown curls grouped over her forehead to a yellow brilliancy, and made
single hairs, blown astray by the night, look like lacquered wires. She
was wondering if Festus were anywhere near, but she could not see him.
Before they left the ridge they turned their attention towards the Royal
watering-place, which was visible at this place only as a portion of the
sea-shore, from which the night-mist was rolling slowly back. The sea
beyond was still wrapped in summer fog, the ships in the roads showing
through it as black spiders suspended in the air. While they looked and
walked a white jet of smoke burst from a spot which the miller knew to be
the battery in front of the King's residence, and then the report of guns
reached their ears. This announcement was answered by a salute from the
Castle of the adjoining Isle, and the ships in the neighbouring
anchorage. All the bells in the town began ringing. The King and his
family had arrived.