The Small House at Allington
turned again towards Lily, addressing her, as was his wont in these
days, with an affection that was almost vexatious to her; "but, my
darling, why should you not go? A change of scene like that will do
you all the good in the world, just when you are getting well. Mary,
tell the girls that they ought to go."
Mrs. Dale stood silent, again reading the note, and Lily came down
from the ladder. When she reached the floor she went directly up to
her uncle, and taking his hand turned him round with herself towards
one of the windows, so that they stood with their backs to the room.
"Uncle," she said, "do not be angry with me. I can't go;" and then
she put up her face to kiss him.
He stooped and kissed her and still held her hand. He looked into her
face and read it all. He knew well, now, why she could not go; or,
rather, why she herself thought that she could not go. "Cannot you,
my darling?" he said.
"No, uncle. It is very kind,--very kind; but I cannot go. I am not
fit to go anywhere."
"But you should get over that feeling. You should make a struggle."
"I am struggling, and I shall succeed; but I cannot do it all at
once. At any rate I could not go there. You must give my love to Lady
Julia, and not let her think me cross. Perhaps Bell will go."
What would be the good of Bell's going--or the good of his putting
himself out of the way, by a visit which would of itself be so
tiresome to him, if the one object of the visit could not be carried
out? The earl and his sister had planned the invitation with the
express intention of bringing Lily and Eames together. It seemed
that Lily was firm in her determination to resist this intention;
and, if so, it would be better that the whole thing should fall to
the ground. He was very vexed, and yet he was not angry with her.
Everybody lately had opposed him in everything. All his intended
family arrangements had gone wrong. But yet he was seldom angry
respecting them. He was so accustomed to be thwarted that he hardly
expected success. In this matter of providing Lily with a second
lover, he had not come forward of his own accord. He had been
appealed to by his neighbour the earl, and had certainly answered the
appeal with much generosity. He had been induced to make the attempt
with eagerness, and a true desire for its accomplishment; but in
this, as in all his own schemes, he was met at once by opposition and
failure.
"I will leave you to talk it over among yourselves," he said. "But,
Mary, you had better see me before you send your answer. If you will
come up by-and-by, Ralph shall take the two notes over together in
the afternoon." So saying, he left the Small House, and went back to
his own solitary home.
"Lily, dear," said Mrs. Dale, as soon as the front door had been
closed, "this is meant for kindness to you,--for most affectionate
kindness."
"I know it, mamma; and you must go to Lady Julia, and must tell her
that I know it. You must give her my love. And, indeed, I do love her
now. But--"
"You won't go, Lily?" said Mrs. Dale, beseechingly.
"No, mamma; certainly I will not go." Then she escaped out of the
room by herself, and for the next hour neither of them dared to go to
her.
CHAPTER L.
MRS. DALE IS THANKFUL FOR A GOOD THING.
On that day they dined early at the Small House, as they had been in
the habit of doing since the packing had commenced. And after dinner
Mrs. Dale went through the gardens, up to the other house, with a
written note in her hand. In that note she had told Lady Julia, with
many protestations of gratitude, that Lily was unable to go out so
soon after her illness, and that she herself was obliged to stay with
Lily. She explained also, that the business of moving was in hand,
and that, therefore, she could not herself accept the invitation. But
her other daughter, she said, would be very happy to accompany her
uncle to Guestwick Manor. Then, without closing her letter, she took
it up to the squire in order that it might be decided whether it
would or would not suit his views. It might well be that he would not
care to go to Lord De Guest's with Bell alone.
"Leave it with me," he said; "that is, if you do not object."
"Oh dear, no!"
"I'll tell you the plain truth at once, Mary. I shall go over myself
with it, and see the earl. Then I will decline it or not, according
to what passes between me and him. I wish Lily would have gone."
"Ah! she could not."
"I wish she could. I wish she could. I wish she could." As he
repeated the words over and over again, there was an eagerness in his
voice that filled Mrs. Dale's heart with tenderness towards him.
"The truth is," said Mrs. Dale, "she could not go there to meet John
Eames."
"Oh, I know," said the squire: "I understand it. But that is just
what we want her to do. Why should she not spend a week in the same
house with an honest young man whom we all like."
"There are reasons why she would not wish it."
"Ah, exactly; the very reasons which should make us induce her to go
there if we can. Perhaps I had better tell you all. Lord De Guest has
taken him by the hand, and wishes him to marry. He has promised to
settle on him an income which will make him comfortable for life."
"That is very generous; and I am delighted to hear it,--for John's
sake."
"And they have promoted him at his office."
"Ah! then he will do well."
"He will do very well. He is private secretary now to their head man.
And, Mary, so that she, Lily, should not be empty-handed if this
marriage can be arranged, I have undertaken to settle a hundred a
year on her,--on her and her children, if she will accept him. Now
you know it all. I did not mean to tell you; but it is as well that
you should have the means of judging. That other man was a villain.
This man is honest. Would it not be well that she should learn to
like him? She always did like him, I thought, before that other
fellow came down here among us."
"She has always liked him--as a friend."
"She will never get a better lover."
Mrs. Dale sat silent, thinking over it all. Every word that the
squire said was true. It would be a healing of wounds most desirable
and salutary; an arrangement advantageous to them all; a destiny for
Lily most devoutly to be desired,--if only it were possible. Mrs.
Dale firmly believed that if her daughter could be made to accept
John Eames as her second lover in a year or two all would be well.
Crosbie would then be forgotten or thought of without regret, and
Lily would become the mistress of a happy home. But there are
positions which cannot be reached, though there be no physical or
material objection in the way. It is the view which the mind takes of
a thing which creates the sorrow that arises from it. If the heart
were always malleable and the feelings could be controlled, who would
permit himself to be tormented by any of the reverses which affection
meets? Death would create no sorrow; ingratitude would lose its
sting; and the betrayal of love would do no injury beyond that which
it might entail upon worldly circumstances. But the heart is not
malleable; nor will the feelings admit of such control.
"It is not possible for her," said Mrs. Dale. "I fear it is not
possible. It is too soon."
"Six months," pleaded the squire.
"It will take years,--not months," said Mrs. Dale.
"And she will lose all her youth."
"Yes; he has done all that by his treachery. But it is done, and we
cannot now go back. She loves him yet as dearly as she ever loved
him."
Then the squire muttered certain words below his
breath,--ejaculations against Crosbie, which were hardly voluntary;
but even as involuntary ejaculations were very improper. Mrs. Dale
heard them, and was not offended either by their impropriety or their
warmth. "But you can understand," she said, "that she cannot bring
herself to go there." The squire struck the table with his fist,
and repeated his ejaculations. If he could only have known how very
disagreeable Lady Alexandrina was making herself, his spirit might,
perhaps, have been less vehemently disturbed. If, also, he could have
perceived and understood the light in which an alliance with the De
Courcy family was now regarded by Crosbie, I think that he would have
received some consolation from that consideration. Those who offend
us are generally punished for the offence they give; but we so
frequently miss the satisfaction of knowing that we are avenged! It
is arranged, apparently, that the injurer shall be punished, but that
the person injured shall not gratify his desire for vengeance.
"And will you go to Guestwick yourself?" asked Mrs. Dale.
"I will take the note," said the squire, "and will let you know
to-morrow. The earl has behaved so kindly that every possible
consideration is due to him. I had better tell him the whole truth,
and go or stay, as he may wish. I don't see the good of going. What
am I to do at Guestwick Manor? I did think that if we had all been
there it might have cured some difficulties."
Mrs. Dale got up to leave him, but she could not go without saying
some word of gratitude for all that he had attempted to do for
them. She well knew what he meant by the curing of difficulties.
He had intended to signify that had they lived together for a week
at Guestwick the idea of flitting from Allington might possibly
have been abandoned. It seemed now to Mrs. Dale as though her
brother-in-law were heaping coals of fire on her head in return
for that intention. She felt half-ashamed of what she was doing,
almost acknowledging to herself that she should have borne with his
sternness in return for the benefits he had done to her daughters.
Had she not feared their reproaches she would, even now, have given
way.
"I do not know what I ought to say to you for your kindness."
"Say nothing,--either for my kindness or unkindness; but stay where
you are, and let us live like Christians together, striving to
think good and not evil." These were kind, loving words, showing in
themselves a spirit of love and forbearance; but they were spoken in
a harsh, unsympathizing voice, and the speaker, as he uttered them,
looked gloomily at the fire. In truth the squire, as he spoke, was
half-ashamed of the warmth of what he said.
"At any rate I will not think evil," Mrs. Dale answered, giving him
her hand. After that she left him, and returned home. It was too late
for her to abandon her project of moving and remain at the Small
House; but as she went across the garden she almost confessed to
herself that she repented of what she was doing.
In these days of the cold early spring, the way from the lawn into
the house, through the drawing-room window, was not as yet open, and
it was necessary to go round by the kitchen-garden on to the road,
and thence in by the front door; or else to pass through the back
door, and into the house by the kitchen. This latter mode of entrance
Mrs. Dale now adopted; and as she made her way into the hall Lily
came upon her, with very silent steps, out from the parlour, and
arrested her progress. There was a smile upon Lily's face as she
lifted up her finger as if in caution, and no one looking at her
would have supposed that she was herself in trouble. "Mamma," she
said, pointing to the drawing-room door, and speaking almost in a
whisper, "you must not go in there; come into the parlour."
"Who's there? Where's Bell?" and Mrs. Dale went into the parlour as
she was bidden. "But who is there?" she repeated.
"He's there!"
"Who is he?"
"Oh, mamma, don't be a goose! Dr. Crofts is there, of course. He's
been nearly an hour. I wonder how he is managing, for there is
nothing on earth to sit upon but the old lump of a carpet. The room
is strewed about with crockery, and Bell is such a figure! She has