The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXXVII.

  THE SHATTERED TREE.

  When Mrs. Arabin saw Johnny in the middle of that day, she couldhardly give him much encouragement. And yet she felt by no means surethat he might not succeed even yet. Lily had been very positive inher answers, and yet there had been something, either in her wordsor in the tone of her voice, which had made Mrs. Arabin feel thateven Lily was not quite sure of herself. There was still room forrelenting. Nothing, however, had been said which could justify her inbidding John Eames simply "to go in and win." "I think he is light ofheart," Lily had said. Those were the words which, of all that hadbeen spoken, most impressed themselves on Mrs. Arabin's memory. Shewould not repeat them to her friend, but she would graft upon themsuch advice as she had to give him.

  And this she did, telling him that she thought that perhaps Lilydoubted his actual earnestness. "I would marry her this moment," saidJohnny. But that was not enough, as Mrs. Arabin knew, to prove hisearnestness. Many men, fickle as weathercocks, are ready to marryat the moment,--are ready to marry at the moment, because they arefickle, and think so little about it. "But she hears, perhaps, ofyour liking other people," said Mrs. Arabin. "I don't care a strawfor any other person," said Johnny. "I wonder whether if I was toshut myself up in a cage for six months, it would do any good?" "Ifshe had the keeping of the cage, perhaps it might," said Mrs. Arabin.She had nothing more to say to him on that subject, but to tell himthat Miss Dale would expect him that afternoon at half-past five. "Itold her that you would come to wish her good-by, and she promised tosee you."

  "I wish she'd say she wouldn't see me. Then there would be somechance," said Johnny.

  Between him and Mrs. Arabin the parting was very affectionate. Shetold him how thankful she was for his kindness in coming to her,and how grateful she would ever be,--and the dean also,--for hisattention to her. "Remember, Mr. Eames, that you will always be mostwelcome at the deanery of Barchester. And I do hope that before longyou may be there with your wife." And so they parted.

  He left her at about two, and went to Mr. Toogood's office in BedfordRow. He found his uncle, and the two went out to lunch together inHolborn. Between them there was no word said about Lily Dale, andJohn was glad to have some other subject in his mind for half anhour. Toogood was full of his triumph about Mr. Crawley and of hissuccesses in Barsetshire. He gave John a long account of his visitto Plumstead, and expressed his opinion that if all clergymen werelike the archdeacon there would not be so much room for Dissenters."I've seen a good many parsons in my time," said Toogood; "but Idon't think I ever saw such a one as him. You know he is a clergymansomehow, and he never lets you forget it; but that's about all. Mostof 'em are never contented without choking you with their whitecravats all the time you're with 'em. As for Crawley himself," Mr.Toogood continued, "he's not like anybody else that ever was born,saint or sinner, parson or layman. I never heard of such a man in allmy experience. Though he knew where he got the cheque as well as Iknow it now, he wouldn't say so, because the dean had said it wasn'tso. Somebody ought to write a book about it,--indeed they ought."Then he told the whole story of Dan Stringer, and how he had foundDan out, looking at the top of Dan's hat through the little aperturein the wall of the inn parlour. "When I saw the twitch in his hat,John, I knew he had handled the cheque himself. I don't mean to saythat I'm sharper than another man, and I don't think so; but I domean to say that when you are in any difficulty of that sort, youought to go to a lawyer. It's his business, and a man does what ishis business with patience and perseverance. It's a pity, though,that that scoundrel should get off." Then Eames gave his uncle anaccount of his Italian trip, to and fro, and was congratulated alsoupon his success. John's great triumph lay in the fact that he hadbeen only two nights in bed, and that he would not have so farcondescended on those occasions but for the feminine weakness of hisfellow-traveller. "We shan't forget it all in a hurry,--shall we,John?" said Mr. Toogood, in a pleasant voice, as they parted at thedoor of the luncheon-house in Holborn. Toogood was returning to hisoffice, and John Eames was to prepare himself for his last attempt.

  He went home to his lodgings, intending at first to change hisdress,--to make himself smart for the work before him,--but afterstanding for a moment or two leaning on the chest of drawers in hisbed-room, he gave up this idea. "After all that's come and gone," hesaid to himself, "if I cannot win her as I am now, I cannot win herat all." And then he swore to himself a solemn oath, resolving thathe would repeat the purport of it to Lily herself,--that this shouldbe the last attempt. "What's the use of it? Everybody ridicules me.And I am ridiculous. I am an ass. It's all very well wanting to beprime minister; but if you can't be prime minister, you must dowithout being prime minister." Then he attempted to sing the oldsong--"Shall I, sighing in despair, die because a woman's fair? Ifshe be not fair for me, what care I how fair she be?" But he didcare, and he told himself that the song did him no good. As it wasnot time for him as yet to go to Lily, he threw himself on the sofa,and strove to read a book. Then all the weary nights of his journeyprevailed over him, and he fell asleep.

  When he awoke it wanted a quarter to six. He sprang up, and rushingout, jumped into a cab. "Berkeley Square,--as hard as you can go," hesaid. "Number --." He thought of Rosalind, and her counsels to loversas to the keeping of time, and reflected that in such an emergency ashis, he might really have ruined himself by that unfortunate slumber.When he got to Mrs. Thorne's door he knocked hurriedly, and bustledup to the drawing-room as though everything depended on his saving aminute. "I'm afraid I'm ever so much behind my time," he said.

  "It does not matter in the least," said Lily. "As Mrs. Arabin saidthat perhaps you might call, I would not be out of the way. Isupposed that Sir Raffle was keeping you and that you wouldn't come."

  "Sir Raffle was not keeping me. I fell asleep. That is the truth ofit."

  "I am so sorry that you should have been disturbed!"

  "Do not laugh at me, Lily,--to-day. I had been travelling a gooddeal, and I suppose I was tired."

  "I won't laugh at you," she said, and of a sudden her eyes becamefull of tears,--she did not know why. But there they were, and shewas ashamed to put up her handkerchief, and she could not bringherself to turn away her face, and she had no resource but that heshould see them.

  "Lily!" he said.

  "What a paladin you have been, John, rushing all about Europe on yourfriend's behalf!"

  "Don't talk about that."

  "And such a successful paladin too! Why am I not to talk about it? Iam going home to-morrow, and I mean to talk about nothing else for aweek. I am so very, very, very glad that you have saved your cousin."Then she did put up her handkerchief, making believe that her tearshad been due to Mr. Crawley. But John Eames knew better than that.

  "Lily," he said, "I've come for the last time. It sounds as though Imeant to threaten you; but you won't take it in that way. I think youwill know what I mean. I have come for the last time--to ask you tobe my wife." She had got up to greet him when he entered, and theywere both still standing. She did not answer him at once, but turningaway from him walked towards the window. "You knew why I was comingto-day, Lily?"

  "Mrs. Arabin told me. I could not be away when you were coming, butperhaps it would have been better."

  "Is it so? Must it be so? Must you say that to me, Lily? Think of itfor a moment, dear."

  "I have thought of it."

  "One word from you, yes or no, spoken now is to be everything to mefor always. Lily, cannot you say yes?" She did not answer him, butwalked further away from him to another window. "Try to say yes. Lookround at me with one look that may only half mean it;--that may tellme that it shall not positively be no for ever." I think that shealmost tried to turn her face to him; but be that as it may, she kepther eyes steadily fixed upon the window-pane. "Lily," he said, "it isnot that you are hard-hearted,--perhaps not altogether that you donot like me. I think that you believe things against me that are nottrue." As she heard this she moved her foot angrily u
pon the carpet.She had almost forgotten M. D., but now he had reminded her of thenote. She assured herself that she had never believed anythingagainst him except on evidence that was incontrovertible. But shewas not going to speak to him on such a matter as that! It wouldnot become her to accuse him. "Mrs. Arabin tells me that you doubtwhether I am in earnest," he said.

  Upon hearing this she flashed round upon him almost angrily. "I neversaid that."

  "If you will ask me for any token of earnestness, I will give ityou."

  "I want no token."

  "The best sign of earnestness a man can give generally in such amatter, is to show how ready he is to be married."

  "I never said anything about earnestness."

  "At the risk of making you angry I will go on, Lily. Of course whenyou tell me that you will have nothing to say to me, I try to amusemyself"--"Yes; by writing love-letters to M. D.," said Lily toherself.--"What is a poor fellow to do? I tell you fairly that whenI leave you I swear to myself that I will make love to the first girlI can see who will listen to me--to twenty, if twenty will let me.I feel I have failed, and it is so I punish myself for my failure."There was something in this which softened her brow, though she didnot intend that it should be so; and she turned away again, that hemight not see that her brow was softened. "But, Lily, the hope evercomes back again, and then neither the one nor the twenty are ofavail,--even to punish me. When I look forward and see what it mightbe if you were with me, how green it all looks and how lovely, inspite of all the vows I have made, I cannot help coming back again."She was now again near the window, and he had not followed her. Asshe neither turned towards him nor answered him, he moved from thetable near which he was standing on to the rug before the fire, andleaned with both his elbows on the mantelpiece. He could still watchher in the mirror over the fireplace, and could see that she wasstill seeming to gaze out upon the street. And had he not moved her?I think he had so far moved her now, that she had ceased to think ofthe woman who had written to her,--that she had ceased to reject himin her heart on the score of such levities as that! If there were M.D.'s, like sunken rocks, in his course, whose fault was it? He wasready enough to steer his bark into the tranquil blue waters, if onlyshe would aid him. I think that all his sins on that score were atthis moment forgiven him. He had told her now what to him would begreen and beautiful, and she did not find herself able to disbelievehim. She had banished M. D. out of her mind, but in doing so sheadmitted other reminiscences into it. And then,--was she in a momentto be talked out of the resolution of years; and was she to giveup herself, not because she loved, but because the man who talkedto her talked so well that he deserved a reward? Was she now to beas light, as foolish, as easy, as in those former days from whichshe had learned her wisdom? A picture of green lovely things couldbe delicious to her eyes as to his; but even for such a picture asthat the price might be too dear! Of all living men,--of all menliving in their present lives,--she loved best this man who was nowwaiting for some word of answer to his words, and she did love himdearly; she would have tended him if sick, have supplied him if inwant, have mourned for him if dead, with the bitter grief of trueaffection--but she could not say to herself that he should be herlord and master, the head of her house, the owner of herself, theruler of her life. The shipwreck to which she had once come, andthe fierce regrets which had thence arisen, had forced her to thinktoo much of these things. "Lily," he said, still facing towards themirror, "will you not come to me and speak to me?" She turned round,and stood a moment looking at him, and then, having again resolvedthat it could not be as he wished, she drew near to him. "Certainly Iwill speak to you, John. Here I am." And she came close to him.

  The last Denial.]

  He took both her hands, and looked into her eyes. "Lily, will you bemine?"

  "No, dear; it cannot be so."

  "Why not, Lily?"

  "Because of that other man."

  "And is that to be a bar for ever?"

  "Yes; for ever."

  "Do you still love him?"

  "No; no, no!"

  "Then why should this be so?"

  "I cannot tell, dear. It is so. If you take a young tree and splitit, it still lives, perhaps. But it isn't a tree. It is only afragment."

  "Then be my fragment."

  "So I will, if it can serve you to give standing ground to such afragment in some corner of your garden. But I will not have myselfplanted out in the middle, for people to look at. What there is leftwould die soon." He still held her hands, and she did not attempt todraw them away. "John," she said, "next to mamma, I love you betterthan all the world. Indeed I do. I can't be your wife, but you neednever be afraid that I shall be more to another than I am to you."

  "That will not serve me," he said, grasping both her hands till healmost hurt them, but not knowing that he did so. "That is no good."

  "It is all the good that I can do you. Indeed I can do you,--can dono one any good. The trees that the storms have splintered are neverof use."

  "And is this to be the end of all, Lily?"

  "Not of our loving friendship."

  "Friendship! I hate the word. I hear some one's step, and I hadbetter leave you. Good-by."

  "Good-by, John. Be kinder than that to me as you are going." Heturned back for a moment, took her hand, and held it tight againsthis heart, and then he left her. In the hall he met Mrs. Thorne, but,as she said afterwards, he had been too much knocked about to be ableto throw a word to a dog.

  To Mrs. Thorne Lily said hardly a word about John Eames, and when hercousin Bernard questioned her about him she was dumb. And in thesedays she could assume a manner, and express herself with her eyes aswell as with her voice, after a fashion, which was apt to silenceunwelcome questioners, even though they were as intimate with her aswas her cousin Bernard. She had described her feelings more plainlyto her lover than she had ever done to any one,--even to her mother;and having done so she meant to be silent on that subject forevermore. But of her settled purpose she did say some word to EmilyDunstable that night. "I do feel," she said, "that I have got thething settled at last."

  "And you have settled it, as you call it, in opposition to the wishesof all your friends?"

  "That is true; and yet I have settled it rightly, and I would not forworlds have it unsettled again. There are matters on which friendsshould not have wishes, or at any rate should not express them."

  "Is that meant to be severe to me?"

  "No; not to you. I was thinking about mamma, and Bell, and my uncle,and Bernard, who all seem to think that I am to be looked upon as aregular castaway because I am not likely to have a husband of my own.Of course you, in your position, must think a girl a castaway whoisn't going to be married?"

  "I think that a girl who is going to be married has the best of it."

  "And I think a girl who isn't going to be married has the best ofit;--that's all. But I feel that the thing is done now, and I amcontented. For the last six or eight months there has come up, Iknow not how, a state of doubt which has made me so wretched that Ihave done literally nothing. I haven't been able to finish old Mrs.Heard's tippet, literally because people would talk to me about thatdearest of all dear fellows, John Eames. And yet all along I haveknown how it would be,--as well as I do now."

  "I cannot understand you, Lily; I can't indeed."

  "I can understand myself. I love him so well,--with that intimate,close, familiar affection,--that I could wash his clothes for himto-morrow, out of pure personal regard, and think it no shame. Hecould not ask me to do a single thing for him,--except the onething,--that I would refuse. And I'll go further. I would soonermarry him than any man in the world I ever saw, or, as I believe,that I ever shall see. And yet I am very glad that it is settled."

  On the next day Lily Dale went down to the Small House of Allington,and so she passes out of our sight. I can only ask the reader tobelieve that she was in earnest, and express my own opinion, in thislast word that I shall ever write respecting her, that she will livean
d die as Lily Dale.