CHAPTER XLIV
DR MIDDLETON: THE LADIES ELEANOR AND ISABEL: AND MR. DALE
Clara looked up at the flying clouds. She travelled with them now, andtasted freedom, but she prudently forbore to vex her father; she heldherself in reserve.
They were summoned by the midday bell.
Few were speakers at the meal, few were eaters. Clara was impelled tojoin it by her desire to study Mrs. Mountstuart's face. Willoughby wasobliged to preside. It was a meal of an assembly of mutes and plates,that struck the ear like the well-known sound of a collection ofofferings in church after an impressive exhortation from the pulpit. Asally of Colonel De Craye's met the reception given to a charity-boy'smuffled burst of animal spirits in the silence of the sacred edifice.Willoughby tried politics with Dr. Middleton, whose regular appetitepreserved him from uncongenial speculations when the hour for appeasingit had come; and he alone did honour to the dishes, replying to hishost:
"Times are bad, you say, and we have a Ministry doing with us what theywill. Well, sir, and that being so, and opposition a manner of kickingthem into greater stability, it is the time for wise men to retirewithin themselves, with the steady determination of the seed in theearth to grow. Repose upon nature, sleep in firm faith, and abide theseasons. That is my counsel to the weaker party."
The counsel was excellent, but it killed the topic.
Dr. Middleton's appetite was watched for the signal to rise and breathefreely; and such is the grace accorded to a good man of an untroubledconscience engaged in doing his duty to himself, that he perceivednothing of the general restlessness; he went through the dishes calmly,and as calmly he quoted Milton to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel, whenthe company sprung up all at once upon his closing his repast. Vernonwas taken away from him by Willoughby. Mrs Mountstuart beckonedcovertly to Clara. Willoughby should have had something to say to him,Dr. Middleton thought: the position was not clear. But the situationwas not disagreeable; and he was in no serious hurry, though he wishedto be enlightened.
"This," Dr. Middleton said to the spinster aunts, as he accompaniedthem to the drawing-room, "shall be no lost day for me if I may devotethe remainder of it to you."
"The thunder, we fear, is not remote," murmured one.
"We fear it is imminent," sighed the other.
They took to chanting in alternation.
"--We are accustomed to peruse our Willoughby, and we know him by ashadow."
"--From his infancy to his glorious youth and his established manhood."
"--He was ever the soul of chivalry."
"--Duty: duty first. The happiness of his family. The well-being of hisdependants."
"--If proud of his name it was not an overweening pride; it was foundedin the conscious possession of exalted qualities. He could be humblewhen occasion called for it."
Dr Middleton bowed to the litany, feeling that occasion called forhumbleness from him.
"Let us hope . . . !" he said, with unassumed penitence on behalf ofhis inscrutable daughter.
The ladies resumed:--
"--Vernon Whitford, not of his blood, is his brother!"
"--A thousand instances! Laetitia Dale remembers them better than we."
"--That any blow should strike him!"
"--That another should be in store for him!"
"--It seems impossible he can be quite misunderstood!"
"Let us hope . . . !" said Dr. Middleton.
"--One would not deem it too much for the dispenser of goodness toexpect to be a little looked up to!"
"--When he was a child he one day mounted a chair, and there he stoodin danger, would not let us touch him because he was taller than we,and we were to gaze. Do you remember him, Eleanor? 'I am the sun of thehouse!' It was inimitable!"
"--Your feelings; he would have your feelings! He was fourteen when hiscousin Grace Whitford married, and we lost him. They had been thegreatest friends; and it was long before he appeared among us. He hasnever cared to see her since."
"--But he has befriended her husband. Never has he failed ingenerosity. His only fault is--"
"--His sensitiveness. And that is--"
"--His secret. And that--"
"--You are not to discover! It is the same with him in manhood. No onewill accuse Willoughby Patterne of a deficiency of manlinesss: but whatis it?--he suffers, as none suffer, if he is not loved. He himself isinalterably constant in affection."
"--What it is no one can say. We have lived with him all his life, andwe know him ready to make any sacrifice; only, he does demand the wholeheart in return. And if he doubts, he looks as we have seen himto-day."
"--Shattered: as we have never seen him look before."
"We will hope," said Dr. Middleton, this time hastily. He tingled tosay, "what it was": he had it in him to solve perplexity in theirinquiry. He did say, adopting familiar speech to suit the theme, "Youknow, ladies, we English come of a rough stock. A dose of rough dealingin our youth does us no harm, braces us. Otherwise we are likely tofeel chilly: we grow too fine where tenuity of stature is necessarilybuffetted by gales, namely, in our self-esteem. We are barbarians, on aforcing soil of wealth, in a conservatory of comfortable security; butstill barbarians. So, you see, we shine at our best when we areplucked out of that, to where hard blows are given, in a state of war.In a state of war we are at home, our men are high-minded fellows,Scipios and good legionaries. In the state of peace we do not live inpeace: our native roughness breaks out in unexpected places, underextraordinary aspects--tyrannies, extravagances, domestic exactions:and if we have not had sharp early training . . . within and without. . . the old-fashioned island-instrument to drill into us thecivilization of our masters, the ancients, we show it by running hereand there to some excess. Ahem. Yet," added the Rev. Doctor,abandoning his effort to deliver a weighty truth obscurely for thecomprehension of dainty spinster ladies, the superabundance of whom inEngland was in his opinion largely the cause of our decay as a people,"Yet I have not observed this ultra-sensitiveness in Willoughby. He hasborne to hear more than I, certainly no example of the frailty, couldhave endured."
"He concealed it," said the ladies. "It is intense."
"Then is it a disease?"
"It bears no explanation; it is mystic."
"It is a cultus, then, a form of self-worship."
"Self!" they ejaculated. "But is not Self indifferent to others? Is itSelf that craves for sympathy, love, and devotion?"
"He is an admirable host, ladies."
"He is admirable in all respects."
"Admirable must he be who can impress discerning women, his life-longhousemates, so favourably. He is, I repeat, a perfect host."
"He will be a perfect husband."
"In all probability."
"It is a certainty. Let him be loved and obeyed, he will be guided.That is the secret for her whom he so fatally loves. That, if we haddared, we would have hinted to her. She will rule him through her loveof him, and through him all about her. And it will not be a rule hesubmits to, but a love he accepts. If she could see it!"
"If she were a metaphysician!" sighed Dr. Middleton.
"--But a sensitiveness so keen as his might--"
"--Fretted by an unsympathizing mate--"
"--In the end become, for the best of us is mortal--"
"--Callous!"
"--He would feel perhaps as much--"
"--Or more!--"
"--He would still be tender--"
"--But he might grow outwardly hard!"
Both ladies looked up at Dr. Middleton, as they revealed the dreadfulprospect.
"It is the story told of corns!" he said, sad as they.
The three stood drooping: the ladies with an attempt to digest hisremark; the Rev. Doctor in dejection lest his gallantry should nolonger continue to wrestle with his good sense.
He was rescued.
The door opened and a footman announced:--
"Mr. Dale."
Miss Eleanor and Miss Isabel made a sign to
one another of raisingtheir hands.
They advanced to him, and welcomed him.
"Pray be seated, Mr. Dale. You have not brought us bad news of ourLaetitia?"
"So rare is the pleasure of welcoming you here, Mr. Dale, that we arein some alarm, when, as we trust, it should be matter for unmixedcongratulation."
"Has Doctor Corney been doing wonders?"
"I am indebted to him for the drive to your house, ladies," said Mr.Dale, a spare, close-buttoned gentleman, with an Indian complexiondeadened in the sick-chamber. "It is unusual for me to stir from myprecincts."
"The Rev. Dr. Middleton."
Mr. Dale bowed. He seemed surprised.
"You live in a splendid air, sir," observed the Rev. Doctor.
"I can profit little by it, sir," replied Mr. Dale. He asked theladies: "Will Sir Willoughby be disengaged?"
They consulted. "He is with Vernon. We will send to him."
The bell was rung.
"I have had the gratification of making the acquaintance of yourdaughter, Mr. Dale, a most estimable lady," said Dr. Middleton.
Mr. Dale bowed. "She is honoured by your praises, sir. To the best ofmy belief--I speak as a father--she merits them. Hitherto I have had nodoubts."
"Of Laetitia?" exclaimed the ladies; and spoke of her as gentleness andgoodness incarnate.
"Hitherto I have devoutly thought so," said Mr. Dale.
"Surely she is the very sweetest nurse, the most devoted of daughters."
"As far as concerns her duty to her father, I can say she is that,ladies."
"In all her relations, Mr. Dale!"
"It is my prayer," he said.
The footman appeared. He announced that Sir Willoughby was in thelaboratory with Mr. Whitford, and the door locked.
"Domestic business," the ladies remarked. "You know Willoughby'sdiligent attention to affairs, Mr. Dale."
"He is well?" Mr. Dale inquired.
"In excellent health."
"Body and mind?"
"But, dear Mr. Dale, he is never ill."
"Ah! for one to hear that who is never well! And Mr. Whitford is quitesound?"
"Sound? The question alarms me for myself," said Dr. Middleton. "Soundas our Constitution, the Credit of the country, the reputation of ourPrince of poets. I pray you to have no fears for him."
Mr. Dale gave the mild little sniff of a man thrown deeper intoperplexity.
He said: "Mr. Whitford works his head; he is a hard student; he may notbe always, if I may so put it, at home on worldly affairs."
"Dismiss that defamatory legend of the student, Mr. Dale; and take myword for it, that he who persistently works his head has the strongestfor all affairs."
"Ah! Your daughter, sir, is here?"
"My daughter is here, sir, and will be most happy to present herrespects to the father of her friend, Miss Dale."
"They are friends?"
"Very cordial friends."
Mr. Dale administered another feebly pacifying sniff to himself.
"Laetitia!" he sighed, in apostrophe, and swept his forehead with ahand seen to shake.
The ladies asked him anxiously whether he felt the heat of the room;and one offered him a smelling-bottle.
He thanked them. "I can hold out until Sir Willoughby comes."
"We fear to disturb him when his door is locked, Mr. Dale; but, if youwish it, we will venture on a message. You have really no bad news ofour Laetitia? She left us hurriedly this morning, without anyleave-taking, except a word to one of the maids, that your conditionrequired her immediate presence."
"My condition! And now her door is locked to me! We have spoken throughthe door, and that is all. I stand sick and stupefied between twolocked doors, neither of which will open, it appears, to give me theenlightenment I need more than medicine."
"Dear me!" cried Dr. Middleton, "I am struck by your description ofyour position, Mr. Dale. It would aptly apply to our humanity of thepresent generation; and were these the days when I sermonized, I couldpropose that it should afford me an illustration for the pulpit. For mypart, when doors are closed I try not their locks; and I attribute myperfect equanimity, health even, to an uninquiring acceptation of thefact that they are closed to me. I read my page by the light I have. Onthe contrary, the world of this day, if I may presume to quote you formy purpose, is heard knocking at those two locked doors of the secretof things on each side of us, and is beheld standing sick and stupefiedbecause it has got no response to its knocking. Why, sir, let the worldcompare the diverse fortunes of the beggar and the postman: knock togive, and it is opened unto you: knock to crave, and it continues shut.I say, carry a letter to your locked door, and you shall have a goodreception: but there is none that is handed out. For which reason. . ."
Mr. Dale swept a perspiring forehead, and extended his hand insupplication. "I am an invalid, Dr. Middleton," he said. "I am unableto cope with analogies. I have but strength for the slow digestion offacts."
"For facts, we are bradypeptics to a man, sir. We know not yet ifnature be a fact or an effort to master one. The world has not yetassimilated the first fact it stepped on. We are still in the endeavourto make good blood of the fact of our being." Pressing his hands at histemples, Mr. Dale moaned: "My head twirls; I did unwisely to come out.I came on an impulse; I trust, honourable. I am unfit--I cannot followyou, Dr. Middleton. Pardon me."
"Nay, sir, let me say, from my experience of my countrymen, that if youdo not follow me and can abstain from abusing me in consequence, youare magnanimous," the Rev. Doctor replied, hardly consenting to let gothe man he had found to indemnify him for his gallant service ofacquiescing as a mute to the ladies, though he knew his breathingrobustfulness to be as an East wind to weak nerves, and himself anengine of punishment when he had been torn for a day from his books.
Miss Eleanor said: "The enlightenment you need, Mr. Dale? Can weenlighten you?"
"I think not," he answered, faintly. "I think I will wait for SirWilloughby . . . or Mr. Whitford. If I can keep my strength. Or could Iexchange--I fear to break down--two words with the young lady who is,was . . ."
"Miss Middleton, my daughter, sir? She shall be at your disposition; Iwill bring her to you." Dr. Middleton stopped at the window. "She, itis true, may better know the mind of Miss Dale than I. But I flattermyself I know the gentleman better. I think, Mr. Dale, addressing youas the lady's father, you will find me a persuasive, I could be animpassioned, advocate in his interests."
Mr. Dale was confounded; the weakly sapling caught in a gust falls backas he did.
"Advocate?" he said. He had little breath.
"His impassioned advocate, I repeat; for I have the highest opinion ofhim. You see, sir, I am acquainted with the circumstances. I believe,"Dr. Middleton half turned to the ladies, "we must, until your potentinducements, Mr. Dale, have been joined to my instances, and weovercome what feminine scruples there may be, treat the circumstancesas not generally public. Our Strephon may be chargeable with shyness.But if for the present it is incumbent on us, in proper considerationfor the parties, not to be nominally precise, it is hardly requisite inthis household that we should be. He is now for protesting indifferenceto the state. I fancy we understand that phase of amatory frigidity.Frankly, Mr. Dale, I was once in my life myself refused by a lady, andI was not indignant, merely indifferent to the marriage-tie."
"My daughter has refused him, sir?"
"Temporarily it would appear that she has declined the proposal."
"He was at liberty? . . . he could honourably? . . ."
"His best friend and nearest relative is your guarantee."
"I know it; I hear so; I am informed of that: I have heard of theproposal, and that he could honourably make it. Still, I am helpless, Icannot move, until I am assured that my daughter's reasons are such asa father need not underline."
"Does the lady, perchance, equivocate?"
"I have not seen her this morning; I rise late. I hear an astoundingaccount of the cause for her depart
ure from Patterne, and I find herdoor locked to me--no answer."
"It is that she had no reasons to give, and she feared the demand forthem."
"Ladies!" dolorously exclaimed Mr. Dale.
"We guess the secret, we guess it!" they exclaimed in reply; and theylooked smilingly, as Dr. Middleton looked.
"She had no reasons to give?" Mr. Dale spelled these words to hisunderstanding. "Then, sir, she knew you not adverse?"
"Undoubtedly, by my high esteem for the gentleman, she must have knownme not adverse. But she would not consider me a principal. She couldhardly have conceived me an obstacle. I am simply the gentleman'sfriend. A zealous friend, let me add."
Mr. Dale put out an imploring hand; it was too much for him.
"Pardon me; I have a poor head. And your daughter the same, sir?"
"We will not measure it too closely, but I may say, my daughter thesame, sir. And likewise--may I not add--these ladies."
Mr. Dale made sign that he was overfilled. "Where am I! And Laetitiarefused him?"
"Temporarily, let us assume. Will it not partly depend on you, Mr.Dale?"
"But what strange things have been happening during my daughter'sabsence from the cottage!" cried Mr. Dale, betraying an elixir in hisveins. "I feel that I could laugh if I did not dread to be thoughtinsane. She refused his hand, and he was at liberty to offer it? Mygirl! We are all on our heads. The fairy-tales were right and thelesson-books were wrong. But it is really, it is really verydemoralizing. An invalid--and I am one, and no momentary exhilarationwill be taken for the contrary--clings to the idea of stability, order.The slightest disturbance of the wonted course of things unsettles him.Why, for years I have been prophesying it! and for years I have hadeverything against me, and now when it is confirmed, I am wonderingthat I must not call myself a fool!"
"And for years, dear Mr. Dale, this union, in spite of counter-currentsand human arrangements, has been our Willoughby's constantpreoccupation," said Miss Eleanor.
"His most cherished aim," said Miss Isabel.
"The name was not spoken by me," said Dr. Middleton.
"But it is out, and perhaps better out, if we would avoid the chance ofmystifications. I do not suppose we are seriously committing a breachof confidence, though he might have wished to mention it to you firsthimself. I have it from Willoughby that last night he appealed to yourdaughter, Mr. Dale--not for the first time, if I apprehend himcorrectly; and unsuccessfully. He despairs. I do not: supposing, thatis, your assistance vouchsafed to us. And I do not despair, because thegentleman is a gentleman of worth, of acknowledged worth. You know himwell enough to grant me that. I will bring you my daughter to help mein sounding his praises."
Dr Middleton stepped through the window to the lawn on an elastic foot,beaming with the happiness he felt charged to confer on his friend Mr.Whitford.
"Ladies! it passes all wonders," Mr. Dale gasped.
"Willoughby's generosity does pass all wonders," they said in chorus.
The door opened; Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer were announced.