The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  GRACE CRAWLEY RETURNS HOME.

  About this time Grace Crawley received two letters, the first ofthem reaching her while John Eames was still at the cottage, andthe other immediately after his return to London. They both help totell our story, and our reader shall, therefore, read them if heso please,--or, rather, he shall read the first and as much of thesecond as is necessary for him. Grace's answer to the first letter heshall see also. Her answer to the second will be told in a very fewwords. The first was from Major Grantly, and the task of answeringthat was by no means easy to Grace.

  Cosby Lodge, -- February, 186--.

  DEAREST GRACE,

  I told you when I parted from you, that I should write to you, and I think it best to do so at once, in order that you may fully understand me. Spoken words are soon forgotten,--

  "I shall never forget his words," Grace said to herself as she readthis;--

  and are not always as plain as they might be. Dear Grace, I suppose I ought not to say so, but I fancied when I parted from you at Allington, that I had succeeded in making myself dear to you. I believe you to be so true in spirit, that you were unable to conceal from me the fact that you love me. I shall believe that this is so, till I am deliberately and solemnly assured by yourself that it is not so;--and I conjure you to think what is due both to yourself and to myself, before you allow yourself to think of making such an assurance unless it be strictly true.

  I have already told my own friends that I have asked you to be my wife. I tell you this, in order that you may know how little effect your answer to me has had towards inducing me to give you up. What you said about your father and your family has no weight with me, and ought ultimately to have none with you. This business of your father's is a great misfortune,--so great that, probably, had we not known each other before it happened, it might have prevented our becoming intimate when we chanced to meet. But we had met before it happened, and before it happened I had determined to ask you to be my wife. What should I have to think of myself if I allowed my heart to be altered by such a cause as that?

  I have only further to say that I love you better than any one in the world, and that it is my best hope that you will be my wife. I will not press you till this affair of your father's has been settled; but when that is over I shall look for my reward without reference to its result. Not that I doubt the result if there be anything like justice in England; but that your debt to me, if you owe me any debt, will be altogether irrespective of that. If, as I suppose, you will remain at Allington for some time longer, I shall not see you till after the trial is over. As soon as that is done, I will come to you wherever you are. In the meantime I shall look for an answer to this; and if it be true that you love me, dear, dear Grace, pray have the courage to tell me so.

  Most affectionately your own,

  HENRY GRANTLY.

  When the letter was given to Grace across the breakfast-table, bothMrs. Dale and Lily suspected that it came from Major Grantly, but nota word was spoken about it. When Grace with hesitating hand broke theenvelope, neither of her friends looked at her. Lily had a letterof her own, and Mrs. Dale opened the newspaper. But still it wasimpossible not to perceive that her face became red with blushes,and then they knew that the letter must be from Major Grantly. Graceherself could not read it, though her eye ran down over the two pagescatching a word here and a word there. She had looked at the name atonce, and had seen the manner of his signature. "Most affectionatelyyour own!" What was she to say to him? Twice, thrice, as she sat atthe breakfast-table she turned the page of the letter, and at eachturning she read the signature. And she read the beginning, "DearestGrace." More than that she did not really read till she had got theletter away with her into the seclusion of her own room.

  She read the beginning--"Dearest Grace."]

  Not a word was said about the letter at breakfast. Poor Grace went oneating or pretending to eat, but could not bring herself to utter aword. Mrs. Dale and Lily spoke of various matters, which were quiteindifferent to them; but even with them the conversation was sodifficult that Grace felt it to be forced, and was conscious thatthey were thinking about her and her lover. As soon as she could makean excuse she left the room, and hurrying upstairs took the letterfrom her pocket and read it in earnest.

  "That was from Major Grantly, mamma," said Lily.

  "I daresay it was, my dear."

  "And what had we better do; or what had we better say?"

  "Nothing,--I should say. Let him fight his own battle. If weinterfere, we may probably only make her more stubborn in clinging toher old idea."

  "I think she will cling to it."

  "For a time she will, I daresay. And it will be best that she should.He himself will respect her for it afterwards." Thus it was agreedbetween them that they should say nothing to Grace about the letterunless Grace should first speak to them.

  Grace read her letter over and over again. It was the firstlove-letter she had ever had;--the first letter she had ever receivedfrom any man except her father and brother,--the first, almost, thathad ever been written to her by any other than her own old specialfriends. The words of it were very strange to her ear. He had toldher when he left her that he would write to her, and therefore shehad looked forward to the event which had now come; but she hadthought that it would be much more distant,--and she had tried tomake herself believe that when it did come it would be very differentfrom this letter which she now possessed. "He will tell me that hehas altered his mind. He ought to do so. It is not proper that heshould still think of me when we are in such disgrace." But now theletter had come, and she acknowledged the truth of his saying thatwritten words were clearer in their expression than those simplyspoken. "Not that I could ever forget a syllable that he said." Yet,as she held the letter in her hand she felt that it was a possession.It was a thing at which she could look in coming years, when he andshe might be far apart,--a thing at which she could look with pridein remembering that he had thought her worthy of it.

  Neither on that day nor on the next did she think of her answer, noron the third or the fourth with any steady thinking. She knew that ananswer would have to be written, and she felt that the sooner it waswritten the easier might be the writing; but she felt also that itshould not be written too quickly. A week should first elapse, shethought, and therefore a week was allowed to elapse, and then the dayfor writing her answer came. She had spoken no word about it eitherto Mrs. Dale or to Lily. She had longed to do so, but had feared.Even though she should speak to Lily she could not be led by Lily'sadvice. Her letter, whatever it might be, must be her own letter. Shewould admit of no dictation. She must say her own say, let her say itever so badly. As to the manner of saying it, Lily's aid would havebeen invaluable; but she feared that she could not secure that aidwithout compromising her own power of action,--her own individuality;and therefore she said no word about the letter either to Lily or toLily's mother.

  On a certain morning she fixed herself at her desk to write herletter. She had known that the task would be difficult, but she hadlittle known how difficult it would be. On that day of her firstattempt she did not get it written at all. How was she to begin? Hehad called her "Dearest Grace;" and this mode of beginning seemed aseasy as it was sweet. "It is very easy for a gentleman," she said toherself, "because he may say just what he pleases." She wrote thewords, "Dearest Henry," on a scrap of paper, and immediately tore itinto fragments as though she were ashamed of having written them. Sheknew that she would not dare to send away a letter beginning withsuch words. She would not even have dared to let such words in herown handwriting remain within the recesses of her own little desk."Dear Major Grantly," she began at length. It seemed to her tobe very ugly, but after much consideration she believed it to becorrect. On the second day the letter was written as follows:--

  Allington, Thursday.

  MY DEAR MAJOR GR
ANTLY,--

  I do not know how I ought to answer your kind letter, but I must tell you that I am very much flattered by your great goodness to me. I cannot understand why you should think so much of me, but I suppose it is because you have felt for all our misfortunes. I will not say anything about what might have happened, if it had not been for papa's sorrow and disgrace; and as far as I can help it, I will not think of it; but I am sure that I ought not to think about loving any one, that is, in the way you mean, while we are in such trouble at home. I should not dare to meet any of your great friends, knowing that I had brought nothing with me but disgrace. And I should feel that I was doing an injury to _dear_ Edith, which would be worse to me than anything.

  Pray believe that I am quite in earnest about this. I know that a gentleman ought not to marry any girl to do himself and his family an injury by it; and I know that if I were to make such a marriage I should be unhappy ever afterwards, even though I loved the man ever so dearly, with all my heart.

  These last words she had underscored at first, but the doing so hadbeen the unconscious expression of her own affection, and had beendone with no desire on her part to convey that expression to him. Buton reading the words she discovered their latent meaning, and wroteit all again.

  Therefore I know that it will be best that I should wish you good-by, and I do so, thanking you again and again for your goodness to me.

  Believe me to be, Yours very sincerely,

  GRACE CRAWLEY.

  The letter when it was written was hateful to her; but she hadtried her hand at it again and again, and had found that she coulddo nothing better. There was much in his letter that she had notattempted to answer. He had implored her to tell him whether or noshe did in truth love him. Of course she loved him. He knew that wellenough. Why should she answer any such question? There was a way ofanswering it indeed which might serve her turn,--or rather serve his,of which she was thinking more than of her own. She might say thatshe did not love him. It would be a lie, and he would know thatit would be a lie. But still it might serve the turn. She did notlike the idea of writing such a lie as that, but nevertheless sheconsidered the matter. It would be very wicked; but still, if itwould serve the turn, might it not be well to write it? But at lastshe reflected that, after all, the doing of the thing was in herown hands. She could refuse to marry this man without burdening herconscience with any lie about it. It only required that she shouldbe firm. She abstained, therefore, from the falsehood, and left herlover's question unanswered. So she put up her letter and directedit, and carried it herself to the village post-office.

  On the day after this she got the second letter, and that she showedimmediately to Mrs. Dale. It was from her mother, and was written totell her that her father was seriously ill. "He went up to London tosee a lawyer about this weary work of the trial," said Mrs. Crawley."The fatigue was very great, and on the next day he was so weak thathe could not leave his bed. Dr. Turner, who has been very kind, saysthat we need not frighten ourselves, but he thinks it must be sometime before he can leave the house. He has a low fever on him, andwants nourishment. His mind has wandered once or twice, and he hasasked for you, and I think it will be best, love, that you shouldcome home. I know you will not mind it when I say that I think hewould like to have you here. Dr. Turner says that the illness ischiefly owing to his not having proper food."

  Of course she would go at once. "Dear Mrs. Dale," she said, "I mustgo home. Can you send me to the station?" Then Mrs. Dale read theletter. Of course they would send her. Would she go on that day, oron the next? Might it not be better to write first, and say that shewas going? But Grace would go at once. "I know it will be a comfortto mamma; and I know that he is worse than mamma says." Of coursethere was no more to be said, and she was despatched to the station.Before she went Mrs. Dale asked after her purse. "If there is anytrouble about money,--for your journey, or anything, you will notscruple to come to me as to an old friend." But Grace assured herthat there was no trouble about money--for her journey. Then Lilytook her aside and produced two clean new five-pound notes. "Grace,dear, you won't be ill-natured. You know I have a little fortune ofmy own. You know I can give them without missing them." Grace threwherself into her friend's arms and wept, but would have none of hermoney. "Buy a present from me for your mother,--whom I love thoughI do not know her." "I will give her your love," Grace said, "butnothing else." And then she went.