THAT week passed on without much incident. To Vincent and his mother, in
whose history days had, for some time past, been counting like years, it
might have seemed a very grateful pause, but for the thunderous
atmosphere of doubt and uncertainty which clouded over them on every
side. Susan's recovery did not progress; and Dr. Rider began to look as
serious over her utter languor and apathy, which nothing seemed able to
disturb, as he had done at her delirium. The Salem people stood aloof,
as Mrs. Vincent perceived, with keen feminine observation. She could not
persuade herself, as she had tried to persuade Mrs. Tozer, that the
landlady answered inquiries at the door by way of leaving the sick-room
quiet. The fact was, that except Lady Western's fine footman, the sight
of whom at the minister's door was far from desirable, nobody came to
make inquiries except Mrs. Tufton and Phoebe Tozer, the latter of whom
found no encouragement in her visits. Politic on all other points, the
widow could not deny herself, when circumstances put it in her power to
extinguish Phoebe. Mrs. Vincent would not have harmed a fly, but it
gave her a certain pleasure to wound the rash female bosom which had, as
she supposed, formed plans of securing her son. As for Tozer himself,
his visits had almost ceased. He was scarcely to be seen even in the
shop, into which sometimes the minister himself gazed disconsolately
when he strayed out in the twilight to walk his cares away. The good
butterman was otherwise employed. He was wrestling with Pigeon in many a
close encounter, holding little committees in the back parlour. On his
single arm and strength he felt it now to depend whether or not the
pastor could tide it over, and be pulled through.
As for Vincent himself, he had retired from the conflict. He paid no
visits; with a certain half-conscious falling back upon the one thing he
could do best, he devoted himself to his sermons. At least he shut
himself up to write morning after morning, and remained all day dull and
undisturbed, brooding over his work. The congregation somehow got to
hear of his abstraction. And to the offended mind of Salem there was
something imposing in the idea of the minister, misunderstood and
unappreciated, thus retiring from the field, and devoting himself to
"study." Even Mrs. Pigeon owned to herself a certain respect for the foe
who did not humble himself, but withdrew with dignity into the
intrenchments of his own position. It was fine; but it was not the thing
for Salem. Mrs. Brown had a tea-party on the Thursday, to which the
pastor was not even invited, but where there were great and manifold
discussions about him, and where the Tozers found themselves an angry
minority, suspected on all sides. "A pastor as makes himself agreeable
here and there, but don't take no thought for the good of the flock in
general, ain't a man to get on in our connection," said Mrs. Pigeon,
with a toss of her head at Phoebe, who blushed over all her pink arms
and shoulders with mingled gratification and discomposure. Mrs. Tozer
herself received this insinuation without any violent disclaimer. "For
my part, I can't say as the minister hasn't made himself very agreeable
as far as we are concerned," said that judicious woman. "It's well known
as friends can't come amiss to Tozer and me. Dinner or supper, we never
can be took wrong, not being fine folks but comfortable," said the
butterman's wife, directing her eyes visibly to Mrs. Pigeon, who was not
understood to be liberal in her house-keeping. Poor Phoebe was not so
discriminating. When she retired into a corner with her companions,
Phoebe's injured feelings disclosed themselves. "I am sure he never
said anything to me that he might not have said to any one," she
confessed to Maria Pigeon; "it is very hard to have people look so at me
when perhaps he means nothing at all," said Phoebe, half dejected,
half important. Mrs. Pigeon heard the unguarded confession, and made use
of it promptly, not careful for her consistency.
"I said when you had all set your hearts on a young man, that it was a
foolish thing to do," said poor Vincent's skilful opponent; "I said he'd
be sure to come a-dangling about our houses, and a-trifling with the
affections of our girls. It'll be well if it doesn't come too true; not
as I want to pretend to be wiser nor other folks--but I said so, as
you'll remember, Mrs. Brown, the very first day Mr. Vincent preached in
Salem. I said, 'He's not bad-looking, and he's young and has genteel
ways, and the girls don't know no better. You mark my words, if he don't
make some mischief in Carlingford afore all's done,'--and I only hope as
it won't come too true."
"Them as is used to giddy girls gets timid, as is natural," said Mrs.
Tozer; "it's different where there is only one, and she a quiet one. I
can't say as I ever thought a young man was more taking for being a
minister; but there can't be no doubt as it must be harder upon you,
ma'am, as has four daughters, than me as has only one--and she a quiet
one," added the deacon's wife, with a glance of maternal pride at
Phoebe, who was just then enfolding the spare form of Maria Pigeon in
an artless embrace, and who looked in her pink wreath and white muslin
dress, "quite the lady," at least in her mother's eyes.
"The quiet ones is the deep ones," said Tozer, interfering, as a wise
man ought, in the female duel, as it began to get intense. "Phoebe's
my girl, and I don't deny being fond of her, as is natural; but she
ain't so innocent as not to know how things is working, and what meaning
is in some folks' minds. But that's neither here nor there, and it's
time as we was going away."
"Not before we've had prayers," said Mrs. Brown. "I was surprised the
first time I see Mr. Vincent in your house, Mr. Tozer, as we all parted
like heathens without a blessing, specially being all chapel folks, and
of one way of thinking. Our ways is different in this house; and though
we're in a comfortless kind of condition, and no better than if we
hadn't no minister, still as there's you and Mr. Pigeon here----"
The tea-party thus concluded with a still more distinct sense of the
pastor's shortcomings. There was nobody to "give prayers" but Pigeon and
Tozer. For all social purposes, the flock in Salem might as well have
had no minister. The next little committee held in the back parlour at
the butter-shop was still more unsatisfactory. While it was in progress,
Mr. Vincent himself appeared, and had to be taken solemnly up-stairs to
the drawing-room, where there was no fire, and where the hum of the
voices below was very audible, as Mrs. Tozer and Phoebe, getting blue
with cold, sat vainly trying to occupy the attention of the pastor.
"Pa has some business people with him in the parlour," explained
Phoebe, who was very tender and sympathetic, as might be expected; but
it did not require a very brilliant intelligence to divine that the
business under discussion was the minister, even if Mrs. Tozer's
solemnity, and the anxious care with which he was conveyed past the
closed door of the parlour, had not already filled the mind of the
pastor with suspicion.
"Go down and let your pa know as Mr. Vincent's here," said Mrs. Tozer,
after this uncomfortable séance had lasted half an hour; "and he's not
to keep them men no longer than he can help; and presently we'll have a
bit of supper--that's what I enjoy, that is, Mr. Vincent; no ceremony
like there must be at a party, but just to take us as we are; and we
can't be took amiss, Tozer and me. There's always a bit of something
comfortable for supper; and no friend as could be made so welcome as the
minister," added the good woman, growing more and more civil as she came
to her wits' end; for had not Pigeon and Brown been asked to share that
something comfortable? For the first time it was a relief to the
butterman's household when the pastor declined the impromptu invitation,
and went resolutely away. His ears, sharpened by suspicion, recognised
the familiar voices in the parlour, where the door was ajar when he went
out again. Vincent could not have imagined that to feel himself
unwelcome at Tozer's would have had any effect whatever upon his
preoccupied mind, or that to pass almost within hearing of one of the
discussions which must inevitably be going on about him among the
managers of Salem, could quicken his pulse or disturb his composure. But
it was so notwithstanding. He had come out at the entreaty of his
mother, half unwillingly, anticipating, with the liveliest realisation
of all its attendant circumstances, an evening spent at that big table
in the back parlour, and something comfortable to supper. He came back
again tingling with curiosity, indignation, and suppressed defiance. The
something comfortable had not this time been prepared for him. He was
being discussed, not entertained, in the parlour; and Mrs. Tozer and
Phoebe, in the chill fine drawing-room up-stairs, where the gas was
blazing in a vain attempt to make up for the want of the fire--shivering
with cold and civility--had been as much disconcerted by his appearance
as if they too were plotting against him. Mr. Vincent returned to his
sermon not without some additional fire. He had spent a great deal of
time over his sermon that week; it was rather learned and very
elaborate, and a little--dull. The poor minister felt very conscious of
the fact, but could not help it. He was tempted to put it in the fire,
and begin again, when he returned that Friday evening, smarting with
those little stinging arrows of slight and injury; but it was too late:
and this was the beginning of the "coorse" which Tozer had laid so much
store by. Vincent concluded the elaborate production by a few sharp
sentences, which he was perfectly well aware did not redeem it, and
explained to his mother, with a little ill-temper, as she thought, that
he had changed his mind about visiting the Tozers that night. Mrs.
Vincent did Arthur injustice as she returned to Susan's room, where
again matters looked very sadly; and so the troubled week came to a
close.