CHAPTER III.
DR. HARFORD.
The current of events forced upon Rachel a delay of three or fourdays in answering her letter, or rather forced upon her that delay inlearning whether or no she might answer it; and this was felt by herto be a grievous evil. It had been arranged that she should not writeuntil such writing should have received what might almost be calleda parochial sanction, and no idea of acting in opposition to thatarrangement ever occurred to her; but the more she thought of itthe more she was vexed; and the more she thought of it the more shelearned to doubt whether or no her mother was placing her in safetutelage. During these few weeks a great change came upon the girl'scharacter. When first Mrs. Prime had brought home tidings that MissPucker had seen her walking and talking with the young man from thebrewery, angry as she had been with her sister, and disgusted as shehad been with Miss Pucker, she had acknowledged to herself that suchtalking and walking were very dangerous, if not very improper, andshe had half resolved that there should be no more of them. And whenMrs. Prime had seen her standing at the stile, and had brought homethat second report, Rachel, knowing what had occurred at that stile,had then felt sure that she was in danger. At that time, though shehad thought much of Luke Rowan, she had not thought of him as a manwho could possibly be her husband. She had thought of him as havingno right to call her Rachel, because he could not possibly becomeso. There had been great danger;--there had been conduct which shebelieved to be improper though she could not tell herself that shehad been guilty. In her outlook into the world nothing so beautifulhad promised itself to her as having such a man to love her as LukeRowan. Though her mother was not herself ascetic,--liking tea andbuttered toast dearly, and liking also little soft laughter withher child,--she had preached ascetisms till Rachel had learned tothink that the world was all either ascetic or reprobate. The Dorcasmeetings had become distasteful to her because the women were vulgar;but yet she had half believed herself to be wrong in avoiding thework and the vulgarity together. Idle she had never been. Since aneedle had come easy to her hand, and the economies of a householdhad been made intelligible to her, she had earned her bread andassisted in works of charity. She had read no love stories, and beentaught to expect no lover. She was not prepared to deny,--did notdeny even to herself,--that it was wrong that she should even like totalk to Luke Rowan.
Then came the ball; or, rather, first came the little evening party,which afterwards grew to be a ball. She had been very desirous ofgoing, not for the sake of any pleasure that she promised herself;not for the sake of such pleasure as girls do promise themselves atsuch gatherings; but because her female pride told her that it waswell for her to claim the right of meeting this young man,--well forher to declare that nothing had passed between them which should makeher afraid to meet him. That some other hopes had crept in as theevening had come nigh at hand,--hopes of which she had been madeaware only by her efforts in repressing them,--may not be denied. Shehad been accused because of him; and she would show that no suchaccusation had daunted her. But would he,--would he give occasion forfurther accusation? She believed he would not; nay, she was sure; atany rate she hoped he would not. She told herself that such was herhope; but had he not noticed her she would have been wretched.
We know now in what manner he had noticed her, and we know alsowhether she had been wretched. She had certainly fled from him. Whenshe left the brewery-house, inducing Mrs. Cornbury to bring her away,she did so in order that she might escape from him. But she ran fromhim as one runs from some great joy in order that the mind may revelover it in peace. Then, little as she knew it, her love had beengiven. Her heart was his. She had placed him upon her pinnacle,and was prepared to worship him. She was ready to dress herself inhis eyes, to believe that to be good which he thought good, and torepudiate that which he repudiated. When she bowed her head over hisbreast a day or two afterwards, she could have spoken to him with thefull words of passionate love had not maiden fear repressed her.
But she had not even bowed her head for him, she had not acknowledgedto herself that such love was possible to her, till her mother hadconsented. That her mother's consent had been wavering, doubtful,expressed without intention of such expression,--so expressed thatMrs. Ray hardly knew that she had expressed it,--was not understoodby Rachel. Her mother had consented, and, that consent having beengiven, Rachel was not now disposed to allow of any steps backwards.She seemed to have learned her rights, or to have assumed that shehad rights. Hitherto her obedience to her mother had been pure andsimple, although, from the greater force of her character, she hadin many things been her mother's leader. But now, though she wasill inclined to rebel, though in this matter of the letter she hadobeyed, she was beginning to feel that obedience might become ahardship. She did not say to herself, "They have let me love him, andnow they must not put out their hands to hold back my love;" but thecurrent of her feelings ran as though such unspoken words had passedacross her mind. She had her rights; and though she did not presumethat she could insist on them in opposition to her mother or hermother's advisers, she knew that she would be wronged if thoserights were withheld from her. The chief of those rights was thepossession of her lover. If he was taken from her she would be as oneimprisoned unjustly,--as one robbed by those who should have beenhis friends,--as one injured, wounded, stricken in the dark, andtreacherously mutilated by hands that should have protected him.During these days she was silent, and sat with that look upon herbrow which her mother feared.
"I could not make Mr. Comfort come any sooner, Rachel," said Mrs.Ray.
"No, mamma."
"I can see how impatient you are."
"I don't know that I'm impatient. I'm sure that I haven't saidanything."
"If you said anything I shouldn't mind it so much; but I can't bearto see you with that unhappy look. I'm sure I only wish to do what'sbest. You can't think it right that you should be writing letters toa gentleman without being sure that it is proper."
"Oh, mamma, don't talk about it!"
"You don't like me to ask your sister; and I'm sure it's natural Ishould want to ask somebody. He's nearly seventy years old, and hehas known you ever since you were born. And then he's a clergyman,and therefore he'll be sure to know what's right. Not that I shouldhave liked to have said a word about it to Mr. Prong, because there'sa difference when they come from one doesn't know where."
"Pray, mamma, don't. I haven't made any objection to Mr. Comfort. Itisn't nice to be talked over in that way by anybody, that's all."
"But what was I to do? I'm sure I liked the young man very much. Inever knew a young man who took his tea so pleasant. And as for hismanners and his way of talking, I had it in my heart to fall in lovewith him myself. I had indeed. As far as that goes, he's just theyoung man that I could make a son of."
"Dear mamma! my own dearest mamma!" and Rachel, jumping up, threwherself upon her mother's neck. "Stop there. You shan't say anotherword."
"I'm sure I didn't mean to say anything unpleasant."
"No, you did not; and I won't be impatient."
"Only I can't bear that look. And you know what his mother said,--andMrs. Tappitt. Not that I care about Mrs. Tappitt; only a person'smother is his mother, and he shouldn't have called her a goose."
It must be acknowledged that Rachel's position was not comfortable;and it certainly would not have been improved had she known how manypeople in Baslehurst were talking about her and Rowan. That Rowan wasgone everybody knew; that he had made love to Rachel everybody said;that he never meant to come back any more most professed to believe.Tappitt's tongue was loud in proclaiming his iniquities; and herfollies and injuries Mrs. Tappitt whispered into the ears of all herfemale acquaintances.
"I'm sorry for her," Miss Harford said, mildly. Mrs. Tappitt wascalling at the rectory, and had made her way in. Mr. Tappitt wasan upholder of the old rector, and there was a fellow-townsman'sfriendship between them.
"Oh yes;--very sorry for her," said Mrs. Tappitt.
"Very so
rry indeed," said Augusta, who was with her mother.
"She always seemed to me a pretty, quiet, well-behaved girl," saidMiss Harford.
"Still waters run deepest, you know, Miss Harford," said Mrs.Tappitt. "I should never have imagined it of her;--never. But shecertainly met him half-way."
"But we all thought he was respectable, you know," said Miss Harford.
Miss Harford was thoroughly good-natured; and though she had nevergone half-way herself, and had perhaps lost her chance from havingbeen unable to go any part of the way, she was not disposed tocondemn a girl for having been willing to be admired by such a one asLuke Rowan.
"Well;--yes; at first we did. He had the name of money, you know, andthat goes so far with some girls. We were on our guard,"--and shelooked proudly round on Augusta,--"till we should hear what the youngman really was. He has thrown off his sheep's clothing now with avengeance. Mr. Tappitt feels quite ashamed that he should haveintroduced him to any of the people here; he does indeed."
"That may be her misfortune, and not her fault," said Miss Harford,who in defending Rachel was well enough inclined to give up Luke.Indeed, Baslehurst was beginning to have a settled mind that Luke wasa wolf.
"Oh, quite so," said Mrs. Tappitt. "The poor girl has been veryunfortunate no doubt."
After that she took her leave of the rectory.
On that evening Mr. Comfort dined with Dr. Harford, as did alsoButler Cornbury and his wife, and one or two others. The chances ofthe election formed, of course, the chief subject of conversationboth in the drawing-room and at the dinner-table; but in talking ofthe election they came to talk of Mr. Tappitt, and in talking ofTappitt they came to talk of Luke Rowan.
It has already been said that Dr. Harford had been rector ofBaslehurst for many years at the period to which this story refers.He had nearly completed half a century of work in that capacity, andhad certainly been neither an idle nor an inefficient clergyman. But,now in his old age, he was discontented and disgusted by the changeswhich had come upon him; and though some bodily strength for furtherservice still remained to him, he had no longer any aptitude foruseful work. A man cannot change as men change. Individual men arelike the separate links of a rotatory chain. The chain goes on withcontinuous easy motion as though every part of it were capable ofadapting itself to a curve, but not the less is each link as stiffand sturdy as any other piece of wrought iron. Dr. Harford had in histime been an active, popular man,--a man possessing even some liberaltendencies in politics, though a country rector of nearly half acentury's standing. In his parish he had been more than a clergyman.He had been a magistrate, and a moving man in municipal affairs. Hehad been a politician, and though now for many years he had supportedthe Conservative candidate, he had been loudly in favour of theReform Bill when Baslehurst was a close borough in the possession ofa great duke, who held property hard by. But liberal politics hadgone on and had left Dr. Harford high and dry on the standing-groundwhich he had chosen for himself in the early days of his manhood. Andthen had come that pestilent act of the legislature under which hisparish had been divided. Not that the Act of Parliament itself hadbeen violently condemned by the doctor on its becoming law. I doubtwhether he had then thought much of it.
But when men calling themselves Commissioners came actually uponhim and his, and separated off from him a district of his own town,taking it away altogether from his authority, and giving it over tosuch inexperienced hands as chance might send thither,--then Dr.Harford became a violent Tory. And my readers must not conceive thatthis was a question touching his pocket. One might presume that hispocket would be in some degree benefited, seeing that he was savedfrom the necessity of supplying the spiritual wants of a certainportion of his parish. No shilling was taken from his own income,which, indeed, was by no means excessive. His whole parish gave himbarely six hundred a year, out of which he had kept always one, andlatterly two curates. It was no question of money in any degree.Sooner than be invaded and mutilated he would have submitted to anorder calling upon him to find a third curate,--could any powerhave given such order. His parish had been invaded and his clericalauthority mutilated. He was no longer _totus teres atque rotundus_.The beauty of his life was over, and the contentment of his mindwas gone. He knew that it was only left for him to die, spendingsuch days as remained to him in vague prophecies of evil against hisdevoted country,--a country which had allowed its ancient parochiallandmarks to be moved, and its ecclesiastical fastnesses to beinvaded!
But perhaps hatred of Mr. Prong was the strongest passion of Dr.Harford's heart at the present moment. He had ever hated thedissenting ministers by whom he was surrounded. In Devonshire dissenthas waxed strong for many years, and the pastors of the dissentingflocks have been thorns in the side of the Church of Englandclergymen. Dr. Harford had undergone his full share of sufferingfrom such thorns. But they had caused him no more than a pleasantirritation in comparison with what he endured from the presence ofMr. Prong in Baslehurst. He would sooner have entertained all thedissenting ministers of the South Hams together than have put hislegs under the same mahogany with Mr. Prong. Mr. Prong was to him theevil thing! Anathema! He believed all bad things of Mr. Prong withan absolute faith, but without any ground on which such faith shouldhave been formed. He thought that Mr. Prong drank spirits; thathe robbed his parishioners;--Dr. Harford would sooner have losthis tongue than have used such a word with reference to those whoattended Mr. Prong's chapel;--that he had left a deserted wife onsome parish; that he was probably not in truth ordained. There wasnothing which Dr. Harford could not believe of Mr. Prong. Now allthis was, to say the least of it, a pity, for it disfigured the closeof a useful and conscientious life.
Dr. Harford of course intended to vote for Mr. Cornbury, but hewould not join loudly in condemnation of Mr. Tappitt. Tappitt hadstood stanchly by him in all parochial contests regarding the newdistrict. Tappitt opposed the Prong faction at all points. Tappitt aschurchwarden had been submissive to the doctor. Church of Englandprinciples had always been held at the brewery, and Bungall had beenever in favour with Dr. Harford's predecessor.
"He calls himself a Liberal, and always has done," said the doctor."You can't expect that he should desert his own party."
"But a Jew!" said old Mr. Comfort.
"Well; why not a Jew?" said the doctor. Whereupon Mr. Comfort, andButler Cornbury, and Dr. Harford's own curate, young Mr. Calclough,and Captain Byng, an old bachelor, who lived in Baslehurst, allstared at him; as Dr. Harford had intended that they should. "Uponmy word," said he, "I don't see the use for caring for that kind ofthing any longer; I don't indeed. In the way we are going on now, andfor the sort of thing we do, I don't see why Jews shouldn't serveus as well in Parliament as Christians. If I am to have my brainsknocked out, I'd sooner have it done by a declared enemy than by onewho calls himself my friend."
"But our brains are not knocked out yet," said Butler Cornbury.
"I don't know anything about yours, but mine are."
"I don't think the world's coming to an end yet," said the captain.
"Nor do I. I said nothing about the world coming to an end. But ifyou saw a part of your ship put under the command of a landlubber,who didn't know one side of the vessel from the other, you'd thinkthe world had better come to an end than be carried on in that way."
"It's not the same thing, you know," said the captain. "You couldn'tdivide a ship."
"Oh, well; you'll see."
"I don't think any Christian should vote for a Jew," said the curate."A verdict has gone out against them, and what is man that he shouldreverse it?"
"Are you quite sure that you are reversing it by putting them intoParliament?" said Dr. Harford. "May not that be a carrying on of thecurse?"
"There's consolation in that idea for Butler if he loses hiselection," said Mr. Comfort.
"Parliament isn't what it was," said the doctor. "There's no doubtabout that."
"And who is to blame?" said Mr. Comfort, who had never supported theReform Bill a
s his neighbour had done.
"I say nothing about blame. It's natural that things should get worseas they grow older."
"Dr. Harford thinks Parliament is worn out," said Butler Cornbury.
"And what if I do think so? Have not other things as great fallenand gone into decay? Did not the Roman senate wear out, as you callit? And as for these Jews, of whom you are speaking, what was thecurse upon them but the wearing out of their grace and wisdom? I aminclined to think that we are wearing out; only I wish the garmentcould have lasted my time without showing so many thin places."
"Now I believe just the contrary," said the captain. "I don't thinkwe have come to our full growth yet."
"Could we lick the French as we did at Trafalgar and Waterloo?" saidthe doctor.
The captain thought a while before he answered, and then spoke withmuch solemnity. "Yes," said he, "I think we could. And I hope thetime will soon come when we may."
"We shan't do it if we send Jews to Parliament," said Mr. Comfort.
"I must say I think Tappitt wrong," said young Cornbury. "Of course,near as the thing is going, I'm sorry to lose his vote; but I'm notspeaking because of that. He has always pretended to hold on to theChurch party here, and the Church party has held on to him. His beeris none of the best, and I think he'd have been wise to stick to hisold friends."
"I don't see the argument about the beer," said the doctor.
"He shouldn't provoke his neighbours to look at his faults."
"But the Jew's friends would find out that the beer is bad as well asyours."
"The truth is," said Cornbury, "that Tappitt thinks he has a personalgrievance against me. He's as cross as a bear with a sore head at thepresent moment, because this young fellow who was to have been hispartner has turned against him. There's some love affair, and my wifehas been there and made a mess of it. It's hard upon me, for I don'tknow that I ever saw the young man in my life."
"I believe that fellow is a scamp," said the doctor.
"I hope not," said Mr. Comfort, thinking of Rachel and her hopes.
"We all hope he isn't, of course," said the doctor. "But we can'tprevent men being scamps by hoping. There are other scamps inthis town in whom, if my hoping would do any good, a very greatchange would be made."--Everybody present knew that the doctoralluded especially to Mr. Prong, whose condition, however, if thedoctor's hopes could have been carried out, would not have beenenviable.--"But I fear this fellow Rowan is a scamp, and I think hehas treated Tappitt badly. Tappitt told me all about it only thismorning."
"Audi alteram partem," said Mr. Comfort.
"The scamp's party you mean," said the doctor. "I haven't the meansof doing that. If in this world we suspend our judgment till we'veheard all that can be said on both sides of every question, we shouldnever come to any judgment at all. I hear that he's in debt; Ibelieve he behaved very badly to Tappitt himself, so that Tappittwas forced to use personal violence to defend himself; and he hascertainly threatened to open a new brewery here. Now that's bad, ascoming from a young man related to the old firm."
"I think he should leave the brewery alone," said Mr. Comfort.
"Of course he should," said the doctor. "And I hear, moreover, thathe is playing a wicked game with a girl in your parish."
"I don't know about a wicked game," said the other. "It won't be awicked game if he marries her."
Then Rachel's chances of matrimonial success were discussed witha degree of vigour which must have been felt by her to be highlycomplimentary, had she been aware of it. But I grieve to say thatpublic opinion, as expressed in Dr. Harford's dining-room, wentagainst Luke Rowan. Mr. Tappitt was not a great man, either as acitizen or as a brewer: he was not one to whom Baslehurst would evenrejoice to raise a monument; but such as he was he had been known formany years. No one in that room loved or felt for him anything likereal friendship; but the old familiarity of the place was in hisfavour, and his form was known of old upon the High Street. He wasnot a drunkard, he lived becomingly with his wife, he had paid hisway, and was a fellow-townsman. What was it to Dr. Harford, oreven to Mr. Comfort, that he brewed bad beer? No man was compelledto drink it. Why should not a man employ himself, openly andlegitimately, in the brewing of bad beer, if the demand for bad beerwere so great as to enable him to live by the occupation? On theother hand, Luke Rowan was personally known to none of them; and theywere jealous that a change should come among them with any view ofteaching them a lesson or improving their condition. They believed,or thought they believed, that Mr. Tappitt had been ill-treated inhis counting-house. It was grievous to them that a man with a wifeand three daughters should have been threatened by a young unmarriedman,--by a man whose shoulders were laden with no family burden.Whether Rowan's propositions had been in truth good or evil, justor unjust, they had not inquired, and would not probably haveascertained had they done so. But they judged the man and condemnedhim. Mr. Comfort was brought round to condemn him as thoroughlyas did Dr. Harford,--not reflecting, as he did so, how fatal hiscondemnation might be to the happiness of poor Rachel Ray.
"The fact is, Butler," said the doctor, when Mr. Comfort had leftthem, and gone to the drawing-room;--"the fact is, your wife has notplayed her cards at the brewery as well as she usually does playthem. She has been taking this young fellow's part; and after that Idon't know how she was to expect that Tappitt would stand by you."
"No general can succeed always," said Cornbury, laughing.
"Well; some generals do. But I must confess your wife is generallyvery successful. Come; we'll go up-stairs; and don't you tell herthat I've been finding fault. She's as good as gold, and I can'tafford to quarrel with her; but I think she has tripped here."
When the old doctor and Butler Cornbury reached the drawing-room thenames of Rowan and Tappitt had not been as yet banished from theconversation; but to them had been added some others. Rachel's namehad been again mentioned, as had also that of Rachel's sister.
"Papa, who do you think is going to be married?" said Miss Harford.
"Not you, my dear, is it?" said the doctor.
"Mr. Prong is going to be married to Mrs. Prime," said Miss Harford,showing by the solemnity of her voice that she regarded the subjectas one which should by its nature repress any further joke.
Nor was Dr. Harford inclined to joke when he heard such tidings asthese. "Mr. Prong!" said he. "Nonsense; who told you?"
"Well, it was Baker told me." Mrs. Baker was the housekeeper at theBaslehurst rectory, and had been so for the last thirty years. "Shelearned it at Drabbit's in the High Street, where Mrs. Prime had beenliving since she left her mother's cottage."
"If that's true, Comfort," said the doctor, "I congratulate you onyour parishioner."
"Mrs. Prime is no parishioner of mine," said the vicar of Cawston."If it's true, I'm very sorry for her mother,--very sorry."
"I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Cornbury.
"Poor, wretched, unfortunate woman!" said the doctor. "Her little bitof money is all in her own hands; is it not?"
"I believe it is," said Mr. Comfort.
"Ah, yes; I dare say it's true," said the vicar. "She's been runningafter him ever since he's been here. I don't doubt it's true. Poorcreature!--poor creature! Poor thing!" And the doctor absolutelysighed as he thought of the misery in store for Mr. Prong's futurebride. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," he said aftera while. "He'll go off, no doubt, when he has got the money in hishand, and we shall be rid of him. Poor thing;--poor thing!"
Before the evening was over Mrs. Cornbury and her father had againdiscussed the question of Rachel's possible engagement with LukeRowan. Mr. Comfort had declared his conviction that it would bedangerous to encourage any such hopes; whereas his daughter protestedthat she would not see Rachel thrown over if she could help it."Don't condemn him yet, papa," she said.
"I don't condemn him at all, my dear; but I hardly think we shallsee him back at Baslehurst. And he shouldn't have gone away withoutpaying his debts, Patty!"<
br />