CHAPTER XIV.
MAJOR GRANTLY CONSULTS A FRIEND.
Grace Crawley passed through Silverbridge on her way to Allington onthe Monday, and on the Tuesday morning Major Grantly received a veryshort note from Miss Prettyman, telling him that she had done so."Dear Sir,--I think you will be glad to learn that our friend MissCrawley went from us yesterday on a visit to her friend, Miss Dale,at Allington.--Yours truly, Annabella Prettyman." The note said nomore than that. Major Grantly was glad to get it, obtaining from itthat satisfaction which a man always feels when he is presumed tobe concerned in the affairs of the lady with whom he is in love.And he regarded Miss Prettyman with favourable eyes,--as a discreetand friendly woman. Nevertheless, he was not altogether happy. Thevery fact that Miss Prettyman should write to him on such a subjectmade him feel that he was bound to Grace Crawley. He knew enoughof himself to be sure that he could not give her up without makinghimself miserable. And yet, as regarded her father, things were goingfrom bad to worse. Everybody now said that the evidence was so strongagainst Mr. Crawley as to leave hardly a doubt of his guilt. Eventhe ladies in Silverbridge were beginning to give up his cause,acknowledging that the money could not have come rightfully into hishands, and excusing him on the plea of partial insanity. "He haspicked it up and put it by for months, and then thought that it washis own." The ladies of Silverbridge could find nothing better tosay for him than that; and when young Mr. Walker remarked that suchlittle mistakes were the customary causes of men being taken toprison, the ladies of Silverbridge did not know how to answer him.It had come to be their opinion that Mr. Crawley was affected with apartial lunacy, which ought to be forgiven in one to whom the worldhad been so cruel; and when young Mr. Walker endeavoured to explainto them that a man must be sane altogether or mad altogether, andthat Mr. Crawley must, if sane, be locked up as a thief, and if mad,locked up as a madman, they sighed, and were convinced that until theworld should have been improved by a new infusion of romance, and astronger feeling of poetic justice, Mr. John Walker was right.
And the result of this general opinion made its way out to MajorGrantly, and made its way, also, to the archdeacon at Plumstead. Asto the major, in giving him his due, it must be explained that themore certain he became of the father's guilt, the more certain alsohe became of the daughter's merits. It was very hard. The whole thingwas cruelly hard. It was cruelly hard upon him that he should bebrought into this trouble, and be forced to take upon himself thearmour of a knight-errant for the redress of the wrong on the partof the young lady. But when alone in his house, or with his child,he declared to himself that he would do so. It might well be thathe could not live in Barsetshire after he had married Mr. Crawley'sdaughter. He had inherited from his father enough of that longingfor ascendancy among those around him to make him feel that insuch circumstances he would be wretched. But he would be made morewretched by the self-knowledge that he had behaved badly to thegirl he loved; and the world beyond Barsetshire was open to him. Hewould take her with him to Canada, to New Zealand, or to some otherfar-away country, and there begin his life again. Should his fatherchoose to punish him for so doing by disinheriting him, they would bepoor enough; but, in his present frame of mind, the major was able toregard such poverty as honourable and not altogether disagreeable.
He had been out shooting all day at Chaldicotes, with Dr. Thorne anda party who were staying in the house there, and had been talkingabout Mr. Crawley, first with one man and then with another. LordLufton had been there, and young Gresham from Greshamsbury, and Mr.Robarts the clergyman, and news had come among them of the attemptmade by the bishop to stop Mr. Crawley from preaching. Mr. Robartshad been of opinion that Mr. Crawley should have given way; and LordLufton, who shared his mother's intense dislike of everything thatcame from the palace, had sworn that he was right to resist. Thesympathy of the whole party had been with Mr. Crawley; but they hadall agreed that he had stolen the money.
"I fear he'll have to give way to the bishop at last," Lord Luftonhad said.
"And what on earth will become of his children?" said the doctor."Think of the fate of that pretty girl; for she is a very prettygirl. It will be ruin to her. No man will allow himself to fallin love with her when her father shall have been found guilty ofstealing a cheque for twenty pounds."
"We must do something for the whole family," said the lord. "I say,Thorne, you haven't half the game here that there used to be in poorold Sowerby's time."
"Haven't I?" said the doctor. "You see Sowerby had been at it all hisdays, and never did anything else. I only began late in life."
The major had intended to stay and dine at Chaldicotes, but whenhe heard what was said about Grace, his heart became sad, and hemade some excuse as to his child, and returned home. Dr. Thorne haddeclared that no man could allow himself to fall in love with her.But what if a man had fallen in love with her beforehand? What if aman had not only fallen in love, but spoken of his love? Had he beenalone with the doctor, he would, I think, have told him the whole ofhis trouble; for in all the county there was no man whom he wouldsooner have trusted with his secret. This Dr. Thorne was known farand wide for his soft heart, his open hand, and his well-sustainedindifference to the world's opinions on most of those social matterswith which the world meddles; and therefore the words which he hadspoken had more weight with Major Grantly than they would have hadfrom other lips. As he drove home he almost made up his mind that hewould consult Dr. Thorne upon the matter. There were many younger menwith whom he was very intimate,--Frank Gresham, for instance, andLord Lufton himself; but this was an affair which he hardly knew howto discuss with a young man. To Dr. Thorne he thought that he couldbring himself to tell the whole story.
In the evening there came to him a messenger from Plumstead, with aletter from his father and some present for the child. He knew atonce that the present had been thus sent as an excuse for the letter.His father might have written by the post, of course; but that wouldhave given to his letter a certain air and tone which he had notwished it to bear. After some message from the major's mother, andsome allusion to Edith, the archdeacon struck off upon the matterthat was near his heart.
"I fear it is all up with that unfortunate man at Hogglestock," hesaid. "From what I hear of the evidence which came out before themagistrates, there can, I think, be no doubt as to his guilt. Haveyou heard that the bishop sent over on the following day to stop himfrom preaching? He did so, and sent again on the Sunday. But Crawleywould not give way, and so far I respect the man; for, as a matterof course, whatever the bishop did, or attempted to do, he would dowith an extreme of bad taste, probably with gross ignorance as to hisown duty and as to the duty of the man under him. I am told that onthe first day Crawley turned out of his house the messenger sent tohim,--some stray clergyman whom Mrs. Proudie keeps about the house;and that on the Sunday the stairs to the reading-desk and pulpitwere occupied by a lot of brickmakers, among whom the parson fromBarchester did not venture to attempt to make his way, although hewas fortified by the presence of one of the cathedral vergers and byone of the palace footmen. I can hardly believe about the verger andthe footman. As for the rest, I have no doubt it is all true. I pityCrawley from my heart. Poor, unfortunate man! The general opinionseems to be that he is not in truth responsible for what he has done.As for his victory over the bishop, nothing on earth could be better.
"Your mother particularly wishes you to come over to us before theend of the week, and to bring Edith. Your grandfather will be here,and he is becoming so infirm that he will never come to us foranother Christmas. Of course you will stay over the new year."
Though the letter was full of Mr. Crawley and his affairs there wasnot a word in it about Grace. This, however, was quite natural. MajorGrantly perfectly well understood his father's anxiety to carry hispoint without seeming to allude to the disagreeable subject. "Myfather is very clever," he said to himself, "very clever. But heisn't so clever but one can see how clever he is."
On the next day he went into
Silverbridge, intending to call on MissPrettyman. He had not quite made up his mind what he would say toMiss Prettyman; nor was he called upon to do so, as he never got asfar as that lady's house. While walking up the High Street he sawMrs. Thorne in her carriage, and, as a matter of course, he stoppedto speak to her. He knew Mrs. Thorne quite as intimately as he didher husband, and liked her quite as well. "Major Grantly," she said,speaking out loud to him, half across the street; "I was very angrywith you yesterday. Why did you not come up to dinner? We had a roomready for you and everything."
"I was not quite well, Mrs. Thorne."
"Fiddlestick. Don't tell me of not being well. There was Emilybreaking her heart about you."
"I'm sure Miss Dunstable--"
"To tell you the truth, I think she'll get over it. It won't bemortal with her. But do tell me, Major Grantly, what are we to thinkabout this poor Mr. Crawley? It was so good of you to be one of hisbailsmen."
"He would have found twenty in Silverbridge, if he had wanted them."
"And do you hear that he has defied the bishop? I do so like him forthat. Not but what poor Mrs. Proudie is the dearest friend I have inthe world, and I'm always fighting a battle with old Lady Lufton onher behalf. But one likes to see one's friends worsted sometimes, youknow."
"I don't quite understand what did happen at Hogglestock on Sunday,"said the major.
"Some say he had the bishop's chaplain put under the pump. I don'tbelieve that; but there is no doubt that when the poor fellow triedto get into the pulpit, they took him and carried him neck and heelsout of the church. But, tell me, Major Grantly, what is to become ofthe family?"
"Heaven knows!"
"Is it not sad? And that eldest girl is so nice! They tell methat she is perfect,--not only in beauty, but in manners andaccomplishments. Everybody says that she talks Greek just as well asshe does English, and that she understands philosophy from the top tothe bottom."
"At any rate, she is so good and so lovely that one cannot but pityher now," said the major.
"You know her, then, Major Grantly? By-the-by, of course you do, asyou were staying with her at Framley."
"Yes, I know her."
"What is to become of her? I'm going your way. You might as wellget into the carriage, and I'll drive you home. If he is sent toprison,--and they say he must be sent to prison,--what is to becomeof them?" Then Major Grantly did get into the carriage, and, beforehe got out again, he had told Mrs. Thorne the whole story of hislove.
She listened to him with the closest attention only interruptinghim now and then with little words, intended to signify her approval.He, as he told his tale, did not look her in the face, but sat withhis eyes fixed upon her muff. "And now," he said, glancing up at heralmost for the first time as he finished his speech, "and now, Mrs.Thorne, what am I to do?"
"Marry her, of course," said she, raising her hand aloft and bringingit down heavily upon his knee as she gave her decisive reply.
"H--sh--h," he exclaimed, looking back in dismay towards theservants.
"Oh, they never hear anything up there. They're thinking about thelast pot of porter they had, or the next they're to get. Deary me,I am so glad! Of course you'll marry her."
"You forget my father."
"No, I don't. What has a father to do with it? You're old enough toplease yourself without asking your father. Besides, Lord bless me,the archdeacon isn't the man to bear malice. He'll storm and threatenand stop the supplies for a month or so. Then he'll double them, andtake your wife to his bosom, and kiss her and bless her, and all thatkind of thing. We all know what parental wrath means in such cases asthat."
"But my sister--"
"As for your sister, don't talk to me about her. I don't care twostraws about your sister. You must excuse me, Major Grantly, but LadyHartletop is really too big for my powers of vision."
"And Edith,--of course, Mrs. Thorne, I can't be blind to the factthat in many ways such a marriage would be injurious to her. No manwishes to be connected with a convicted thief."
"No, Major Grantly; but a man does wish to marry the girl that heloves. At least, I suppose so. And what man ever was able to give amore touching proof of his affection than you can do now? If I wereyou, I'd be at Allington before twelve o'clock to-morrow,--I wouldindeed. What does it matter about the trumpery cheque? Everybodyknows it was a mistake, if he did take it. And surely you would notpunish her for that."
"No,--no; but I don't suppose she'd think it a punishment."
"You go and ask her, then. And I'll tell you what. If she hasn'ta house of her own to be married from, she shall be married fromChaldicotes. We'll have such a breakfast! And I'll make as muchof her as if she were the daughter of my old friend, the bishophimself,--I will indeed."
This was Mrs. Thorne's advice. Before it was completed, Major Grantlyhad been carried half-way to Chaldicotes. When he left his impetuousfriend he was too prudent to make any promise, but he declared thatwhat she had said should have much weight with him.
"You won't mention it to anybody?" said the major.
"Certainly not, without your leave," said Mrs. Thorne. "Don't youknow that I'm the soul of honour?"