The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LVI.

  THE ARCHDEACON GOES TO FRAMLEY.

  By some of those unseen telegraphic wires which carry news about thecountry and make no charge for the conveyance, Archdeacon Grantlyheard that his son the major was at Framley. Now in that itself therewould have been nothing singular. There had been for years muchintimacy between the Lufton family and the Grantly family,--so muchthat an alliance between the two houses had once been planned, theelders having considered it expedient that the young lord shouldmarry that Griselda who had since mounted higher in the world eventhan the elders had then projected for her. There had come no suchalliance; but the intimacy had not ceased, and there was nothing initself surprising in the fact that Major Grantly should be staying atFramley Court. But the archdeacon, when he heard the news, bethoughthim at once of Grace Crawley. Could it be possible that his oldfriend Lady Lufton,--Lady Lufton whom he had known and trusted allhis life, whom he had ever regarded as a pillar of the church inBarsetshire,--should now be untrue to him in a matter so closelyaffecting his interests? Men when they are worried by fears andteased by adverse circumstances become suspicious of those on whomsuspicion should never rest. It was hardly possible, the archdeaconthought, that Lady Lufton should treat him so unworthily,--but thecircumstances were strong against his friend. Lady Lufton had inducedMiss Crawley to go to Framley, much against his advice, at a timewhen such a visit seemed to him to be very improper; and it nowappeared that his son was to be there at the same time,--a fact ofwhich Lady Lufton had made no mention to him whatever. Why had notLady Lufton told him that Henry Grantly was coming to Framley Court?The reader, whose interest in the matter will be less keen thanwas the archdeacon's, will know very well why Lady Lufton had saidnothing about the major's visit. The reader will remember that LadyLufton, when she saw the archdeacon, was as ignorant as to theintended visit as was the archdeacon himself. But the archdeacon wasuneasy, troubled, and suspicious;--and he suspected his old friendunworthily.

  He spoke to his wife about it within a very few hours of the arrivalof the tidings by those invisible wires. He had already told her thatMiss Crawley was to go to Framley parsonage, and that he thought thatMrs. Robarts was wrong to receive her at such a time. "It is onlyintended for good-nature," Mrs. Grantly had said. "It is misplacedgood-nature at the present moment," the archdeacon had replied. Mrs.Grantly had not thought it worth her while to undertake at the momentany strong defence of the Framley people. She knew well how odiouswas the name of Crawley in her husband's ears, and she felt that theless that was said at present about the Crawleys the better for thepeace of the rectory at Plumstead. She had therefore allowed theexpression of his disapproval to pass unchallenged. But now he cameupon her with a more bitter grievance, and she was obliged to arguethe matter with him.

  "What do you think?" said he; "Henry is at Framley."

  "He can hardly be staying there," said Mrs. Grantly, "because I knowthat he is so very busy at home." The business at home of which themajor's mother was speaking was his projected moving from CosbyLodge, a subject which was also very odious to the archdeacon. He didnot wish his son to move from Cosby Lodge. He could not endure theidea that his son should be known throughout the county to be givingup a residence because he could not afford to keep it. The archdeaconcould have afforded to keep up two Cosby Lodges for his son, andwould have been well pleased to do so, if only his son would notmisbehave against him so shamefully! He could not bear that hisson should be punished, openly, before the eyes of all Barsetshire.Indeed he did not wish that his son should be punished at all. Hesimply desired that his son should recognize his father's power toinflict punishment. It would be henbane to Archdeacon Grantly to havea poor son,--a son living at Pau,--among Frenchmen!--because he couldnot afford to live in England. Why had the archdeacon been careful ofhis money, adding house to house and field to field? He himself wascontented,--so he told himself,--to die as he had lived in a countryparsonage, working with the collar round his neck up to the day ofhis death, if God would allow him so to do. He was ambitious ofno grandeur for himself. So he would tell himself,--being partlyoblivious of certain episodes in his own life. All his wealth hadbeen got together for his children. He desired that his sons shouldbe fitting brothers for their August sister. And now the son who wasnearest to him, whom he was bent upon making a squire in his owncounty, wanted to marry the daughter of a man who had stolen twentypounds, and when objection was made to so discreditable a connexion,replied by packing up all his things and saying that he would go andlive--at Pau! The archdeacon therefore did not like to hear of hisson being very busy at home.

  "I don't know whether he's busy or not," said the archdeacon, "but Itell you he is staying at Framley."

  "From whom have you heard it?"

  "What matter does that make if it is so? I heard it from Flurry."

  "Flurry may have been mistaken," said Mrs. Grantly.

  "It is not at all likely. Those people always know about such things.He heard it from the Framley keeper. I don't doubt but it's true, andI think that it's a great shame."

  "A great shame that Henry should be at Framley! He has been there twoor three times every year since he has lived in the county."

  "It is a great shame that he should be had over there just at thetime when that girl is there also. It is impossible to believe thatsuch a thing is an accident."

  "But, archdeacon, you do not mean to say that you think that LadyLufton has arranged it?"

  "I don't know who has arranged it. Somebody has arranged it. If it isRobarts, that is almost worse. One could forgive a woman in such amatter better than one could a man."

  "Psha!" Mrs. Grantly's temper was never bitter, but at this moment itwas not sweetened by her husband's very uncivil reference to her sex."The whole idea is nonsense, and you should get it out of your head."

  "Am I to get it out of my head that Henry wants to make this girl hiswife, and that the two are at this moment at Framley together?" Inthis the archdeacon was wrong as to his facts. Major Grantly had leftFramley on the previous day, having stayed there only one night."It is coming to that that one can trust no one--no one--literallyno one." Mrs. Grantly perfectly understood that the archdeacon,in the agony of the moment, intended to exclude even herself fromhis confidence by that "no one;" but to this she was indifferent,understanding accurately when his words should be accepted asexpressing his thoughts, and when they should be supposed to expressonly his anger.

  "The probability is that no one at Lufton knew anything about Henry'spartiality for Miss Crawley," said Mrs. Grantly.

  "I tell you I think they are both at Framley together."

  "And I tell you that if they are, which I doubt, they are theresimply by an accident. Besides, what does it matter? If they chooseto marry each other, you and I cannot prevent them. They don't wantany assistance from Lady Lufton, or anybody else. They have simplygot to make up their own minds, and then no one can hinder them."

  "And, therefore, you would like to see them brought together?"

  "I say nothing about that, archdeacon but I do say that we must takethese things as they come. What can we do? Henry may go and stay withLady Lufton if he pleases. You and I cannot prevent him."

  After this the archdeacon walked away, and would not argue the matterany further with his wife at that moment. He knew very well that hecould not get the better of her, and was apt at such moments to thinkthat she took an unfair advantage of him by keeping her temper. Buthe could not get out of his head the idea that perhaps on this veryday things were being arranged between his son and Grace Crawley atFramley; and he resolved that he himself would go over and see whatmight be done. He would, at any rate, tell all his trouble to LadyLufton, and beg his old friend to assist him. He could not think thatsuch a one as he had always known Lady Lufton to be would approve ofa marriage between Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley. At any rate, hewould learn the truth. He had once been told that Grace Crawley hadherself refused to marry his son, feeling that she would do wrong
toinflict so great an injury upon any gentleman. He had not believedin so great a virtue. He could not believe in it now,--now, when heheard that Miss Crawley and his son were staying together in thesame parish. Somebody must be doing him an injury. It could hardlybe chance. But his presence at Framley might even yet have a goodeffect, and he would at least learn the truth. So he had himselfdriven to Barchester, and from Barchester he took post-horses toFramley.

  As he came near to the village, he grew to be somewhat ashamed ofhimself, or, at least, nervous as to the mode in which he wouldproceed. The driver, turning round to him, had suggested that hesupposed he was to drive to "My lady's." This injustice to LordLufton, to whom the house belonged, and with whom his mother livedas a guest, was very common in the county; for old Lady Lufton hadlived at Framley Court through her son's long minority, and had keptthe house there till his marriage; and even since his marriage shehad been recognized as its presiding genius. It certainly was notthe fault of old Lady Lufton, as she always spoke of everything asbelonging either to her son or to her daughter-in-law. The archdeaconhad been in doubt whether he would go to the Court or to theparsonage. Could he have done exactly as he wished, he would haveleft the chaise and walked to the parsonage, so as to reach itwithout the noise and fuss incidental to a postilion's arrival. Butthat was impossible. He could not drop into Framley as though he hadcome from the clouds, and, therefore, he told the man to do as hehad suggested. "To my lady's?" said the postilion. The archdeaconassented, and the man, with loud cracks of his whip, and with aspasmodic gallop along the short avenue, took the archdeacon up tothe door of Lord Lufton's house. He asked for Lord Lufton first,putting on his pleasantest smile, so that the servant should notsuspect the purpose, of which he was somewhat ashamed. Was LordLufton at home? Lord Lufton was not at home. Lord Lufton had gone upto London that morning, intending to return the day after to-morrow;but both my ladies were at home. So the archdeacon was shown into theroom where both my ladies were sitting,--and with them he found Mrs.Robarts. Any one who had become acquainted with the habits of theFramley ladies would have known that this might very probably be thecase. The archdeacon himself was as well aware as any one of themodes of life at Framley. The lord's wife was the parson's sister,and the parson's wife had from her infancy been the petted friend ofthe old lady. Of course they all lived very much together. Of courseMrs. Robarts was as much at home in the drawing-room of Framley Courtas she was in her own drawing-room at the parsonage. Nevertheless,the archdeacon thought himself to be hardly used when he found thatMrs. Robarts was at the house.

  "My dear archdeacon, who ever expected to see you?" said old LadyLufton. Then the two younger women greeted him. And they all smiledon him pleasantly, and seemed overjoyed to see him. He was, in truth,a great favourite at Framley, and each of the three was glad towelcome him. They believed in the archdeacon at Framley, and felt forhim that sort of love which ladies in the country do feel for theirelderly male friends. There was not one of the three who would nothave taken much trouble to get anything for the archdeacon whichthey had thought the archdeacon would like. Even old Lady Luftonremembered what was his favourite soup, and always took care that heshould have it when he dined at the Court. Young Lady Lufton wouldbring his tea to him as he sat in his chair. He was petted in thehouse, was allowed to poke the fire if he pleased, and called theservants by their names as though he were at home. He was compelled,therefore, to smile and to seem pleased; and it was not till afterhe had eaten his lunch, and had declared that he must return hometo dinner, that the dowager gave him an opportunity of having theprivate conversation which he desired.

  "Can I have a few minutes' talk with you?" he said to her, whisperinginto her ear as they left the drawing-room together. So she led theway into her own sitting-room, telling him, as she asked him tobe seated, that she had supposed that something special must havebrought him over to Framley. "I should have asked you to come uphere, even if you had not spoken," she said.

  "Then perhaps you know what has brought me over?" said thearchdeacon.

  "Not in the least," said Lady Lufton. "I have not an idea. But Idid not flatter myself that you would come so far on a morningcall, merely to see us three ladies. I hope you did not want to seeLudovic, because he will not be back till to-morrow?"

  "I wanted to see you, Lady Lufton."

  "That is lucky, as here I am. You may be pretty sure to find me hereany day in the year."

  After this there was a little pause. The archdeacon hardly knew howto begin his story. In the first place he was in doubt whether LadyLufton had ever heard of the preposterous match which his son hadproposed to himself to make. In his anger at Plumstead he had feltsure that she knew all about it, and that she was assisting his son.But this belief had dwindled as his anger had dwindled; and as thechaise had entered the parish of Framley he had told himself thatit was quite impossible that she should know anything about it. Hermanner had certainly been altogether in her favour since he had beenin her house. There had been nothing of the consciousness of guilt inher demeanour. But, nevertheless, there was the coincidence! How hadit come to pass that Grace Crawley and his son should be at Framleytogether? It might, indeed, be just possible that Flurry might havebeen wrong, and that his son had not been there at all.

  "I suppose Miss Crawley is at the parsonage?" he said at last.

  "Oh, yes; she is still there, and will remain there I should thinkfor the next ten days."

  "Oh; I did not know," said the archdeacon very coldly.

  It seemed to Lady Lufton, who was as innocent as an unborn babein the matter of the projected marriage, that her old friend thearchdeacon was in a mind to persecute the Crawleys. He had on aformer occasion taken upon himself to advise that Grace Crawleyshould not be entertained at Framley, and now it seemed that he hadcome all the way from Plumstead to say something further in the samestrain. Lady Lufton, if he had anything further to say of that kind,would listen to him as a matter of course. She would listen to himand reply to him without temper. But she did not approve of it. Shetold herself silently that she could not approve of persecution or ofinterference. She therefore drew herself up, and pursed her mouth,and put on something of that look of severity which she could assumevery visibly, if it so pleased her.

  "Yes; she is still there, and I think that her visit will do her agreat deal of good," said Lady Lufton.

  "When we talk of doing good to people," said the archdeacon, "weoften make terrible mistakes. It so often happens that we don't knowwhen we are doing good and when we are doing harm."

  "That is true, of course, Dr. Grantly, and must be so necessarily,as our wisdom here below is so very limited. But I should think,--asfar as I can see, that is,--that the kindness which my friend Mrs.Robarts is showing to this young lady must be beneficial. You know,archdeacon, I explained to you before that I could not quite agreewith you in what you said as to leaving these people alone till afterthe trial. I thought that help was necessary to them at once."

  The archdeacon sighed deeply. He ought to have been somewhatrenovated in spirit by the tone in which Lady Lufton spoke to him,as it conveyed to him almost an absolute conviction that his firstsuspicion was incorrect. But any comfort which might have come to himfrom this source was marred by the feeling that he must announce hisown disgrace. At any rate he must do so, unless he were contented togo back to Plumstead without having learned anything by his journey.He changed the tone of his voice, however, and asked a question,--asit might be altogether on a different subject. "I heard yesterday,"he said, "that Henry was over here."

  "He was here yesterday. He came the evening before, and dined andslept here, and went home yesterday morning."

  "Was Miss Crawley with you that evening?"

  "Miss Crawley? No; she would not come. She thinks it best not to goout while her father is in his present unfortunate position and sheis right."

  "She is quite right in that," said the archdeacon and then he pausedagain. He thought that it would be best for him to make a c
leanbreast of it, and to trust to Lady Lufton's sympathy. "Did Henry goup to the parsonage?" he asked.

  But still Lady Lufton did not suspect the truth. "I think he did,"she replied, with an air of surprise. "I think I heard that he wentup there to call on Mrs. Robarts after breakfast."

  "No, Lady Lufton, he did not go up there to call on Mrs. Robarts. Hewent up there because he is making a fool of himself about that MissCrawley. That is the truth. Now you understand it all. I hope thatMrs. Robarts does not know it. I do hope for her own sake that Mrs.Robarts does not know it."

  The archdeacon certainly had no longer any doubt as to Lady Lufton'sinnocence when he looked at her face as she heard these tidings. Shehad predicted that Grace Crawley would "make havoc," and could not,therefore, be altogether surprised at the idea that some gentlemanshould have fallen in love with her; but she had never supposedthat the havoc might be made so early in her days, or on so great aquarry. "You don't mean to tell me that Henry Grantly is in love withGrace Crawley?" she replied.

  "I mean to say that he says he is."

  "Dear, dear, dear! I'm sure, archdeacon, that you will believe mewhen I say that I knew nothing about it."

  "I am quite sure of that," said the archdeacon dolefully.

  "Or I certainly should not have been glad to see him here. But thehouse, you know, is not mine, Dr. Grantly. I could have done nothingif I had known it. But only to think--; well, to be sure. She has notlost time, at any rate."

  Now this was not at all the light in which the archdeacon wished thatthe matter should be regarded. He had been desirous that Lady Luftonshould be horror-stricken by the tidings, but it seemed to him thatshe regarded the iniquity almost as a good joke. What did it matterhow young or how old the girl might be? She came of poor people,--ofpeople who had no friends,--of disgraced people; and Lady Luftonought to feel that such a marriage would be a terrible misfortune anda terrible crime. "I need hardly tell you, Lady Lufton," said thearchdeacon, "that I shall set my face against it as far as it is inmy power to do so."

  "If they both be resolved I suppose you can hardly prevent it."

  "Of course I cannot prevent it. Of course I cannot prevent it. If hewill break my heart and his mother's,--and his sister's,--of courseI cannot prevent it. If he will ruin himself, he must have his ownway."

  "Ruin himself, Dr. Grantly!"

  "They will have enough to live upon,--somewhere in Spain or France."The scorn expressed in the archdeacon's voice as he spoke of Pau asbeing "somewhere in Spain or France," should have been heard to beunderstood. "No doubt they will have enough to live upon."

  "Do you mean to say that it will make a difference as to your ownproperty, Dr. Grantly?"

  "Certainly it will, Lady Lufton. I told Henry when I first heardof the thing,--before he had definitely made any offer to thegirl,--that I should withdraw from him altogether the allowance thatI now make him, if he married her. And I told him also, that if hepersisted in his folly I should think it my duty to alter my will."

  "I am sorry for that, Dr. Grantly."

  "Sorry! And am not I sorry? Sorrow is no sufficient word. I ambroken-hearted. Lady Lufton, it is killing me. It is indeed. I lovehim; I love him;--I love him as you have loved your son. But what isthe use? What can he be to me when he shall have married the daughterof such a man as that?"

  Lady Lufton sat for a while silent, thinking of a certain episodein her own life. There had been a time when her son was desirousof making a marriage which she had thought would break her heart.She had for a time moved heaven and earth,--as far as she knewhow to move them,--to prevent the marriage. But at last she hadyielded,--not from lack of power, for the circumstances had been suchthat at the moment of yielding she had still the power in her hand ofstaying the marriage,--but she had yielded because she had perceivedthat her son was in earnest. She had yielded, and had kissed thedust; but from the moment in which her lips had so touched theground, she had taken great joy in the new daughter whom her sonhad brought into the house. Since that she had learned to thinkthat young people might perhaps be right, and that old people mightperhaps be wrong. This trouble of her friend the archdeacon's wasvery like her own old trouble. "And he is engaged to her now?" shesaid, when those thoughts had passed through her mind.

  "Yes;--that is, no. I am not sure. I do not know how to make myselfsure."

  "I am sure Major Grantly will tell you all the truth as it exists."

  "Yes; he'll tell me the truth,--as far as he knows it. I do not seethat there is much anxiety to spare me in the matter. He is desirousrather of making me understand that I have no power of saving himfrom his own folly. Of course I have no power of saving him."

  "But is he engaged to her?"

  "He says that she has refused him. But of course that means nothing."

  Again the archdeacon's position was very like Lady Lufton's position,as it had existed before her son's marriage. In that case also theyoung lady, who was now Lady Lufton's own daughter and dearestfriend, had refused the lover who proposed to her, although themarriage was so much to her advantage,--loving him, too, the while,with her whole heart, as it was natural to suppose that Grace Crawleymight so love her lover. The more she thought of the similarity ofthe stories, the stronger were her sympathies on the side of poorGrace. Nevertheless, she would comfort her old friend if she knewhow; and of course she could not but admit to herself that the matchwas one which must be a cause of real sorrow to him. "I don't knowwhy her refusal should mean nothing," said Lady Lufton.

  "Of course a girl refuses at first,--a girl, I mean, in suchcircumstances as hers. She can't but feel that more is offered toher than she ought to take, and that she is bound to go through theceremony of declining. But my anger is not with her, Lady Lufton."

  "I do not see how it can be."

  "No; it is not with her. If she becomes his wife I trust that I maynever see her."

  "Oh, Dr. Grantly!"

  "I do; I do. How can it be otherwise with me? But I shall have noquarrel with her. With him I must quarrel."

  "I do not see why," said Lady Lufton.

  "You do not? Does he not set me at defiance?"

  "At his age surely a son has a right to marry as he pleases."

  "If he took her out of the streets, then it would be the same?" saidthe archdeacon with bitter anger.

  "No;--for such a one would herself be bad."

  "Or if she were the daughter of a huxter out of the city?"

  "No again;--for in that case her want of education would probablyunfit her for your society."

  "Her father's disgrace, then, should be a matter of indifference tome, Lady Lufton?"

  "I did not say so. In the first place, her father is notdisgraced,--not as yet; and we do not know whether he may ever bedisgraced. You will hardly be disposed to say that persecution fromthe palace disgraces a clergyman in Barsetshire."

  "All the same, I believe that the man was guilty," said thearchdeacon.

  "Wait and see, my friend, before you condemn him altogether. But, bethat as it may, I acknowledge that the marriage is one which mustnaturally be distasteful to you."

  "Oh, Lady Lufton! if you only knew! If you only knew!"

  "I do know; and I feel for you. But I think that your son has aright to expect that you should not show the same repugnance to sucha marriage as this as you would have had a right to show had hesuggested to himself such a wife as those at which you just nowhinted. Of course you can advise him, and make him understand yourfeelings; but I cannot think you will be justified in quarrellingwith him, or in changing your views towards him as regards money,seeing that Miss Crawley is an educated lady, who has done nothing toforfeit your respect." A heavy cloud came upon the archdeacon's browas he heard these words, but he did not make any immediate answer."Of course, my friend," continued Lady Lufton, "I should not haveventured to say so much to you, had you not come to me, as it were,for my opinion."

  "I came here because I thought Henry was here," said the archdeacon.

 
; "If I have said too much I beg your pardon."

  "No; you have not said too much. It is not that. You and I are suchold friends that either may say almost anything to the other."

  "Yes;--just so. And therefore I have ventured to speak my mind," saidLady Lufton.

  "Of course;--and I am obliged to you. But, Lady Lufton, you do notunderstand yet how this hits me. Everything in life that I have done,I have done for my children. I am wealthy, but I have not used mywealth for myself, because I have desired that they should be ableto hold their heads high in the world. All my ambition has been forthem, and all the pleasure which I have anticipated for myself inmy old age is that which I have hoped to receive from their credit.As for Henry, he might have had anything he wanted from me in theway of money. He expressed a wish, a few months since, to go intoParliament, and I promised to help him as far as ever I could go. Ihave kept up the game altogether for him. He, the younger son of aworking parish parson, has had everything that could be given to theeldest son of a country gentleman,--more than is given to the eldestson of many a peer. I have hoped that he would marry again, but Ihave never cared that he should marry for money. I have been willingto do anything for him myself. But, Lady Lufton, a father does feelthat he should have some return for all this. No one can imaginethat Henry ever supposed that a bride from that wretched place atHogglestock could be welcomed among us. He knew that he would breakour hearts, and he did not care for it. That is what I feel. Ofcourse he has the power to do as he likes;--and of course I have thepower to do as I like also with what is my own."

  Lady Lufton was a very good woman, devoted to her duties,affectionate and just to those about her, truly religious, andcharitable from her nature; but I doubt whether the thoroughworldliness of the archdeacon's appeal struck her as it will strikethe reader. People are so much more worldly in practice than theyare in theory, so much keener after their own gratification indetail than they are in the abstract, that the narrative of many anadventure would shock us, though the same adventure would not shockus in the action. One girl tells another how she has changed her mindin love; and the friend sympathizes with the friend, and perhapsapplauds. Had the story been told in print, the friend who hadlistened with equanimity would have read of such vacillation withindignation. She who vacillated herself would have hated her ownperformance when brought before her judgment as a matter in whichshe had no personal interest. Very fine things are written every dayabout honesty and truth, and men read them with a sort of externalconviction that a man, if he be anything of a man at all, is ofcourse honest and true. But when the internal convictions arebrought out between two or three who are personally interestedtogether,--between two or three who feel that their little gatheringis, so to say, "tiled,"--those internal convictions differ very muchfrom the external convictions. This man, in his confidences, assertsbroadly that he does not mean to be thrown over, and that man has aproject for throwing over somebody else; and the intention of each isthat scruples are not to stand in the way of his success. The "Ruatcoelum, fiat justitia," was said, no doubt, from an outside balconyto a crowd, and the speaker knew that he was talking buncombe. The"Rem, si possis recte, si non, quocunque modo," was whispered intothe ear in a club smoking-room, and the whisperer intended that hiswords should prevail.

  Lady Lufton had often heard her friend the archdeacon preach, andshe knew well the high tone which he could take as to the necessityof trusting to our hopes for the future for all our true happiness;and yet she sympathized with him when he told her that he wasbroken-hearted because his son would take a step which might possiblyinterfere with his worldly prosperity. Had the archdeacon beenpreaching about matrimony, he would have recommended young men, intaking wives to themselves, especially to look for young women whofeared the Lord. But in talking about his own son's wife, no wordas to her eligibility or non-eligibility in this respect escapedhis lips. Had he talked on the subject till nightfall no such wordwould have been spoken. Had any friend of his own, man or woman,in discussing such a matter with him and asking his advice uponit, alluded to the fear of the Lord, the allusion would have beendistasteful to him and would have smacked to his palate of hypocrisy.Lady Lufton, who understood as well as any woman what it was to be"tiled" with a friend, took all this in good part. The archdeaconhad spoken out of his heart what was in his heart. One of hischildren had married a marquis. Another might probably becomea bishop,--perhaps an archbishop. The third might be a countysquire,--high among county squires. But he could only so becomeby walking warily;--and now he was bent on marrying the pennilessdaughter of an impoverished half-mad country curate, who was about tobe tried for stealing twenty pounds! Lady Lufton, in spite of all herarguments, could not refuse her sympathy to her old friend.

  "After all, from what you say, I suppose they are not engaged."

  "I do not know," said the archdeacon. "I cannot tell!"

  "And what do you wish me to do?"

  "Oh,--nothing. I came over, as I said before, because I thoughthe was here. I think it right, before he has absolutely committedhimself, to take every means in my power to make him understand thatI shall withdraw from him all pecuniary assistance,--now and for thefuture."

  "My friend, that threat seems to me to be so terrible."

  "It is the only power I have left to me."

  "But you, who are so affectionate by nature, would never adhere toit."

  "I will try. I will do my best to be firm. I will at once puteverything beyond my control after my death." The archdeacon, ashe uttered these terrible words,--words which were awful to LadyLufton's ears,--resolved that he would endeavour to nurse his ownwrath; but, at the same time, almost hated himself for his ownpusillanimity, because he feared that his wrath would die away beforehe should have availed himself of its heat.

  "I would do nothing rash of that kind," said Lady Lufton. "Yourobject is to prevent the marriage,--not to punish him for it whenonce he has made it."

  "He is not to have his own way in everything, Lady Lufton."

  "But you should first try to prevent it."

  "What can I do to prevent it?"

  Lady Lufton paused for a couple of minutes before she replied. Shehad a scheme in her head, but it seemed to her to savour of cruelty.And yet at present it was her chief duty to assist her old friend,if any assistance could be given. There could hardly be a doubt thatsuch a marriage as this, of which they were speaking, was in itselfan evil. In her case, the case of her son, there had been no questionof a trial, of money stolen, of aught that was in truth disgraceful."I think if I were you, Dr. Grantly," she said, "that I would see theyoung lady while I was here."

  "See her myself?" said the archdeacon. The idea of seeing GraceCrawley himself had, up to this moment, never entered his head.

  "I think I would do so."

  "I think I will," said the archdeacon, after a pause. Then he got upfrom his chair. "If I am to do it, I had better do it at once."

  "Be gentle with her, my friend." The archdeacon paused again. Hecertainly had entertained the idea of encountering Miss Crawley withseverity rather than gentleness. Lady Lufton rose from her seat, andcoming up to him, took one of his hands between her own two. "Begentle to her," she said. "You have owned that she has done nothingwrong." The archdeacon bowed his head in token of assent and left theroom.

  Poor Grace Crawley!