BULLHAMPTON NEWS.
When the matter was quite settled at Loring,--when Miss Marrable not
only knew that the engagement had been surrendered on both sides, but
that it had been so surrendered as to be incapable of being again
patched up, she bethought herself of her promise to Mr. Gilmore.
This did not take place for a fortnight after the farewell which
was spoken in the last chapter,--at which time Walter Marrable was
staying with his uncle, Sir Gregory, at Dunripple. Miss Marrable
had undertaken that Mr. Gilmore should be informed as soon as the
engagement was brought to an end, and had been told that this
information should reach him through Mrs. Fenwick. When a fortnight
had passed, Miss Marrable was aware that Mary had not herself written
to her friend at Bullhampton; and though she felt herself to be shy
of the subject, though she entertained a repugnance to make any
communication based on a hope that Mary might after a while receive
her old lover graciously,--for time must of course be needed before
such grace could be accorded,--she did write a few lines to Mrs.
Fenwick. She explained that Captain Marrable was to return to India,
and that he was to go as a free man. Mary, she said, bore her burden
well. Of course, it must be some time before the remembrance of her
cousin would cease to be a burden to her; but she went about her
heavy task with a good will,--so said Miss Marrable,--and would no
doubt conquer her own unhappiness after a time by the strength of her
personal character. Not a word was spoken of Mr. Gilmore, but Mrs.
Fenwick understood it all. The letter, she knew well, was a message
to Mr. Gilmore;--a message which it would be her duty to give as soon
as possible, that he might extract from it such comfort as it would
contain for him,--though it would be his duty not to act upon it for,
at any rate, many months to come. "And it will be a comfort to him,"
said her husband when he read Miss Marrable's letter.
"Of all the men I know, he is the most constant," said Mrs. Fenwick,
"and best deserves that his constancy should be rewarded."
"It is the man's nature," said the parson. "Of course, he will get
her at last; and when he has got her, he will be quite contented with
the manner in which he has won her. There's nothing like going on
with a thing. I believe I might be a bishop if I set my heart on it."
"Why don't you, then?"
"I am not sure that the beauty of the thing is so well-defined to me
as is Mary Lowther's to poor Harry. In perseverance and success of
that kind the man's mind should admit of no doubt. Harry is quite
clear of this,--that in spite of Mary's preference for her cousin, it
would be the grandest thing in the world to him that she should marry
him. The certainty of his condition will pull him through at last."
Two days after this Mrs. Fenwick put Miss Marrable's letter into Mr.
Gilmore's hand,--having perceived that it was specially written that
it might be so treated. She kept it in her pocket till she should
chance to see him, and at last handed it to him as she met him
walking on his own grounds. "I have a letter from Loring," she said.
"From Mary?"
"No;--from Mary's aunt. I have it here, and I think you had better
read it. To tell you the truth, Harry, I have been looking for you
ever since I got it. Only you must not make too much of it."
Then he read the letter. "What do you mean," he asked, "by making too
much of it?"
"You must not suppose that Mary is the same as before she saw this
cousin of hers."
"But she is the same."
"Well;--yes, in body and in soul, no doubt. But such an experience
leaves a mark which cannot be rubbed out quite at once."
"You mean that I must wait before I ask her again."
"Of course you must wait. The mark must be rubbed out first, you
know."
"I will wait; but as for the rubbing out of the mark, I take it that
will be altogether beyond me. Do you think, Mrs. Fenwick, that no
woman should ever, under any circumstances, marry one man when she
loves another?"
She could not bring herself to tell him that in her opinion Mary
Lowther would of all women be the least likely to do so. "That is one
of those questions," she said, "which it is almost impossible for a
person to answer. In the first place, before answering it, we should
have a clear definition of love."
"You know what I mean well enough."
"I do know what you mean, but I hardly do know how to answer you. If
you went to Mary Lowther now, she would take it almost as an insult;
and she would feel it in that light, because she is aware that you
know of this story of her cousin."
"Of course I shall not go to her at once."
"She will never forget him altogether."
"Such things cannot be forgotten," said Gilmore.
"Nevertheless," said Mrs. Fenwick, "it is probable that Mary will be
married some day. These wounds get themselves cured as do others."
"I shall never be cured of mine," said he, laughing. "As for Mary,
I hardly know what to think. I suppose girls do marry without caring
very much for the men they take. One sees it every day; and then
afterwards, they love their husbands. It isn't very romantic, but it
seems to me that it is so."
"Don't think of it too much, Harry," said Mrs. Fenwick. "If you still
are devoted to her--"
"Indeed I am."
"Then wait awhile, and we will have her at Bullhampton again. You
know at any rate what our wishes are."
Everything had been very quiet at Bullhampton during the last three
months. The mill was again in regular work, and Sam had remained at
home with fair average regularity. The Vicar had heard nothing more
of Carry Brattle, and had been unable to trace her or to learn where
she was living. He had taken various occasions to mention her name to
her mother, but Mrs. Brattle knew nothing of her, and believed that
Sam was equally ignorant with herself. Both she and the Vicar found
it impossible to speak to Sam on the subject, though they knew that
he had been with his sister more than once when she was living at
Pycroft Common. As for the miller himself, no one had mentioned
Carry's name to him since the day on which the Vicar had made his
attempt. And from that day to the present there had been, if not ill
blood, at least cold blood between Mr. Fenwick and old Brattle. The
Vicar had gone down to the mill as often as usual, having determined
that what had occurred should make no difference with him; and the
intercourse with Mrs. Brattle and Fanny had been as kind on each side
as usual;--but the miller had kept out of his way, retreating from
him openly, going from the house to the mill as soon as he appeared,
never speaking to him, and taking no other notice of him beyond a
slight touch of the hat. "Your husband is still angry with me," he
said one day to Mrs. Brattle. She shook her head and smiled sadly,
and said that it would pass over some day,--only that Jacob was so
persistent. With Sam, the Vicar held little or no communication.
Sam in these days never went to church, and though he worked at the
mill pretty constantly, he would absent himself from the village
occasionally for a day or two together, and tell no one where he had
been.
The strangest and most important piece of business going on at
this time in Bullhampton was the building of a new chapel or
tabernacle,--the people called it a Salem,--for Mr. Puddleham. The
first word as to the erection reached Mr. Fenwick's ears from Grimes,
the builder and carpenter, who, meeting him in Bullhampton Street,
pointed out to him a bit of spare ground just opposite the vicarage
gates,--a morsel of a green on which no building had ever yet stood,
and told him that the Marquis had given it for a chapel. "Indeed,"
said Fenwick. "I hope it may be convenient and large enough for them.
All the same, I wish it had been a little farther from my gate." This
he said in a cheery tone, showing thereby considerable presence of
mind. That such a building should be so placed was a trial to him,
and he knew at once that the spot must have been selected to annoy
him. Doubtless, the land in question was the property of the Marquis
of Trowbridge. When he came to think of it, he had no doubt on
the matter. Nevertheless, the small semi-circular piece of grass
immediately opposite to his own swinging gate, looked to all the
world as though it were an appendage of the Vicarage. A cottage
built there would have been offensive; but a staring brick Methodist
chapel, with the word Salem inserted in large letters over the door,
would, as he was aware, flout him every time he left or entered his
garden. He had always been specially careful to avoid any semblance
of a quarrel with the Methodist minister, and had in every way shown
his willingness to regard Mr. Puddleham's flock as being equal to his
own in the general gifts of civilisation. To Mr. Puddleham himself,
he had been very civil, sending him fruit and vegetables out of
the Vicarage garden, and lending him newspapers. When the little
Puddlehams were born, Mrs. Fenwick always inquired after the mother
and infant. The greatest possible care had been exercised at the
Vicarage since Mr. Fenwick's coming to show that the Established
Church did not despise the dissenting congregation. For the last
three years there had been talk of a new chapel, and Mr. Fenwick had
himself discussed the site with Mr. Puddleham. A large and commodious
spot of ground, remote from the vicarage, had, as he believed, been
chosen. When he heard those tidings, and saw what would be the effect
of the building, it seemed to him almost impossible that a Marquis
could condescend to such revenge. He went at once to Mr. Puddleham,
and learned from him that Grimes' story was true. This had been in
December. After Christmas, the foundations were to be begun at once,
said Mr. Puddleham, so that the brickwork might go on as soon as the
frosts were over. Mr. Puddleham was in high spirits, and expressed a
hope that he should be in his new chapel by next August. When the
Vicar asked why the change of site was made, being careful to show
no chagrin by the tone of his voice, Mr. Puddleham remarked that
the Marquis's agent thought that it would be an improvement, "in
which opinion I quite coincide," said Mr. Puddleham, looking very
stern,--showing his teeth, as it were, and displaying an inclination
for a parish quarrel. Fenwick, still prudent, made no objection to
the change, and dropped no word of displeasure in Mr. Puddleham's
hearing.
"I don't believe he can do it," said Mrs. Fenwick, boiling with
passion.
"He can, no doubt," said the Vicar.
"Do you mean to say the street is his;--to do what he likes with it?"
"The street is the Queen's highway,--which means that it belongs to
the public; but this is not the street. I take it that all the land
in the village belongs to the Marquis. I never knew of any common
right, and I don't believe there is any."
"It is the meanest thing I ever heard of in my life," said Mrs.
Fenwick.
"There I agree with you." Later in the day, when he had been thinking
of it for hours, he again spoke to his wife. "I shall write to the
Marquis and remonstrate. It will probably be of no avail; but I think
I ought to do so for the sake of those who come after me. I shall be
able to bother him a good deal, if I can do nothing else," he added,
laughing. "I feel, too, that I must quarrel with somebody, and I
won't quarrel with dear old Puddleham, if I can help it."