The Small House at Allington
and hold a conference with her; but it either happened that Lady
Julia was too keen in her duties as a hostess, or else, as was more
possible, Bell avoided the meeting. No opportunity for such an
interview offered itself, though he hung about the drawing-room all
the morning. "You had better wait for luncheon, now," Lady Julia said
to him about twelve. But this he declined; and taking himself away
hid himself about the place for the next hour and a half. During this
time he considered much whether it would be better for him to ride or
walk. If she should give him any hope, he could ride back triumphant
as a field-marshal. Then the horse would be delightful to him. But
if she should give him no hope,--if it should be his destiny to be
rejected utterly on that morning,--then the horse would be terribly
in the way of his sorrow. Under such circumstances what could he do
but roam wide about across the fields, resting when he might choose
to rest, and running when it might suit him to run. "And she is not
like other girls," he thought to himself. "She won't care for my
boots being dirty." So at last he elected to walk.
"Stand up to her boldly, man," the earl had said to him. "By George,
what is there to be afraid of? It's my belief they'll give most to
those who ask for most. There's nothing sets 'em against a man like
being sheepish." How the earl knew so much, seeing that he had not
himself given signs of any success in that walk of life, I am not
prepared to say. But Eames took his advice as being in itself good,
and resolved to act upon it. "Not that any resolution will be of any
use," he said to himself, as he walked along. "When the moment comes
I know that I shall tremble before her, and I know that she'll see
it; but I don't think it will make any difference in her."
He had last seen her on the lawn behind the Small House, just at that
time when her passion for Crosbie was at the strongest. Eames had
gone thither impelled by a foolish desire to declare to her his
hopeless love, and she had answered him by telling him that she loved
Mr. Crosbie better than all the world besides. Of course she had done
so, at that time; but, nevertheless, her manner of telling him had
seemed to him to be cruel. And he also had been cruel. He had told
her that he hated Crosbie,--calling him "that man," and assuring her
that no earthly consideration should induce him to go into "that
man's house." Then he had walked away moodily wishing him all manner
of evil. Was it not singular that all the evil things which he, in
his mind, had meditated for the man, had fallen upon him. Crosbie
had lost his love! He had so proved himself to be a villain that his
name might not be so much as mentioned! He had been ignominiously
thrashed! But what good would all this be if his image were still
dear to Lily's heart? "I told her that I loved her then," he said to
himself, "though I had no right to do so. At any rate I have a right
to tell her now."
When he reached Allington he did not go in through the village and up
to the front of the Small House by the cross street, but turned by
the church gate and passed over the squire's terrace, and by the end
of the Great House through the garden. Here he encountered Hopkins.
"Why, if that b'aint Mr. Eames!" said the gardener. "Mr. John, may I
make so bold!" and Hopkins held out a very dirty hand, which Eames of
course took, unconscious of the cause of this new affection.
"I'm just going to call at the Small House, and I thought I'd come
this way."
"To be sure; this way, or that way, or any way, who's so welcome, Mr.
John? I envies you; I envies you more than I envies any man. If I
could a got him by the scuff of the neck, I'd a treated him jist like
any wermin;--I would, indeed! He was wermin! I ollays said it. I
hated him ollays; I did indeed, Mr. John, from the first moment when
he used to be nigging away at them foutry balls, knocking them in
among the rhododendrons, as though there weren't no flower blossoms
for next year. He never looked at one as though one were a Christian;
did he, Mr. John?"
"I wasn't very fond of him myself, Hopkins."
"Of course you weren't very fond of him. Who was?--only she, poor
young lady. She'll be better now, Mr. John, a deal better. He wasn't
a wholesome lover,--not like you are. Tell me, Mr. John, did you give
it him well when you got him? I heard you did;--two black eyes, and
all his face one mash of gore!" And Hopkins, who was by no means a
young man, stiffly put himself into a fighting attitude.
Eames passed on over the little bridge, which seemed to be in a state
of fast decay, unattended to by any friendly carpenter, now that the
days of its use were so nearly at an end; and on into the garden,
lingering on the spot where he had last said farewell to Lily. He
looked about as though he expected still to find her there; but there
was no one to be seen in the garden, and no sound to be heard. As
every step brought him nearer to her whom he was seeking, he became
more and more conscious of the hopelessness of his errand. Him she
had never loved, and why should he venture to hope that she would
love him now? He would have turned back had he not been aware that
his promise to others required that he should persevere. He had said
that he would do this thing, and he would be as good as his word. But
he hardly ventured to hope that he might be successful. In this frame
of mind he slowly made his way up across the lawn.
"My dear, there is John Eames," said Mrs. Dale, who had first seen
him from the parlour window.
"Don't go, mamma."
"I don't know; perhaps it will be better that I should."
"No, mamma, no; what good can it do? It can do no good. I like him as
well as I can like any one. I love him dearly. But it can do no good.
Let him come in here, and be very kind to him; but do not go away and
leave us. Of course I knew he would come, and I shall be very glad to
see him."
Then Mrs. Dale went round to the other room, and admitted her visitor
through the window of the drawing-room. "We are in terrible
confusion, John, are we not?"
"And so you are really going to live in Guestwick?"
"Well, it looks like it, does it not? But, to tell you a
secret,--only it must be a secret; you must not mention it at
Guestwick Manor; even Bell does not know;--we have half made up our
minds to unpack all our things and stay where we are."
Eames was so intent on his own purpose, and so fully occupied with
the difficulty of the task before him, that he could hardly receive
Mrs. Dale's tidings with all the interest which they deserved.
"Unpack them all again," he said. "That will be very troublesome. Is
Lily with you, Mrs. Dale?"
"Yes, she is in the parlour. Come and see her." So he followed Mrs.
Dale through the hall, and found himself in the presence of his love.
"How do you do, John?" "How do you do, Lily?" We all know the way
in which such meetings are commenced. Each longed to be tender and
affectionate to the other,--each in a different way; but neither knew
how to throw any tenderness into this first greeting. "So you're
staying at the Manor House," said Lily.
"Yes; I'm staying there. Your uncle and Bell came yesterday
afternoon."
"Have you heard about Bell?" said Mrs. Dale.
"Oh, yes; Mary told me. I'm so glad of it. I always liked Dr. Crofts
very much. I have not congratulated her, because I didn't know
whether it was a secret. But Crofts was there last night, and if it
is a secret he didn't seem to be very careful about keeping it."
"It is no secret," said Mrs. Dale. "I don't know that I am fond
of such secrets." But as she said this, she thought of Crosbie's
engagement, which had been told to every one, and of its
consequences.
"Is it to be soon?" he asked.
"Well, yes; we think so. Of course nothing is settled."
"It was such fun," said Lily. "James, who took, at any rate, a year
or two to make his proposal, wanted to be married the next day
afterwards."
"No, Lily; not quite that."
"Well, mamma, it was very nearly that. He thought it could all be
done this week. It has made us so happy, John! I don't know anybody I
should so much like for a brother. I'm very glad you like him;--very
glad. I hope you'll be friends always." There was some little
tenderness in this,--as John acknowledged to himself.
"I'm sure we shall,--if he likes it. That is, if I ever happen to see
him. I'll do anything for him I can if he ever comes up to London.
Wouldn't it be a good thing, Mrs. Dale, if he settled himself in
London?"
"No, John; it would be a very bad thing. Why should he wish to rob me
of my daughter?"
Mrs. Dale was speaking of her eldest daughter; but the very allusion
to any such robbery covered John Eames's face with a blush, made him
hot up to the roots of his hair, and for the moment silenced him.
"You think he would have a better career in London?" said Lily,
speaking under the influence of her superior presence of mind.
She had certainly shown defective judgment in desiring her mother not
to leave them alone; and of this Mrs. Dale soon felt herself aware.
The thing had to be done, and no little precautionary measure, such
as this of Mrs. Dale's enforced presence, would prevent it. Of this
Mrs. Dale was well aware; and she felt, moreover, that John was
entitled to an opportunity of pleading his own cause. It might be
that such opportunity would avail him nothing, but not the less
should he have it of right, seeing that he desired it. But yet Mrs.
Dale did not dare to get up and leave the room. Lily had asked her
not to do so, and at the present period of their lives all Lily's
requests were sacred. They continued for some time to talk of Crofts
and his marriage; and when that subject was finished, they discussed
their own probable,--or, as it seemed now, improbable,--removal to
Guestwick. "It's going too far, mamma," said Lily, "to say that you
think we shall not go. It was only last night that you suggested it.
The truth is, John, that Hopkins came in and discoursed with the
most wonderful eloquence. Nobody dared to oppose Hopkins. He made us
almost cry; he was so pathetic."
"He has just been talking to me, too," said John, "as I came through
the squire's garden."
"And what has he been saying to you?" said Mrs. Dale.
"Oh, I don't know; not much." John, however, remembered well, at this
moment, all that the gardener had said to him. Did she know of that
encounter between him and Crosbie? and if she did know of it, in what
light did she regard it?
They had sat thus for an hour together, and Eames was not as yet an
inch nearer to his object. He had sworn to himself that he would not
leave the Small House without asking Lily to be his wife. It seemed
to him as though he would be guilty of falsehood towards the earl if
he did so. Lord De Guest had opened his house to him, and had asked
all the Dales there, and had offered himself up as a sacrifice at the
cruel shrine of a serious dinner-party, to say nothing of that easier
and lighter sacrifice which he had made in a pecuniary point of view,
in order that this thing might be done. Under such circumstances
Eames was too honest a man not to do it, let the difficulties in his
way be what they might.
He had sat there for an hour, and Mrs. Dale still remained with her
daughter. Should he get up boldly and ask Lily to put on her bonnet
and come out into the garden? As the thought struck him, he rose and
grasped at his hat. "I am going to walk back to Guestwick," said he.
"It was very good of you to come so far to see us."
"I was always fond of walking," he said. "The earl wanted me to ride,
but I prefer being on foot when I know the country, as I do here."
"Have a glass of wine before you go."