An Old Man's Love

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  AGAIN AT CROKER'S HALL.

  About three o'clock on that day Mr Whittlestaff came home. Thepony-carriage had gone to meet him, but Mary remained purposely outof the way. She could not rush out to greet him, as she would havedone had his absence been occasioned by any other cause. But he hadno sooner taken his place in the library than he sent for her. He hadbeen thinking about it all the way down from London, and had in somesort prepared his words. During the next half hour he did promisehimself some pleasure, after that his life was to be altogether ablank to him. He would go. To that only had he made up his mind. Hewould tell Mary that she should be happy. He would make Mrs Baggettunderstand that for the sake of his property she must remain atCroker's Hall for some period to which he would decline to name anend. And then he would go.

  "Well, Mary," he said, smiling, "so I have got back safe."

  "Yes; I see you have got back."

  "I saw a friend of yours when I was up in London."

  "I have had a letter, you know, from Mr Gordon."

  "He has written, has he? Then he has been very sudden."

  "He said he had your leave to write."

  "That is true. He had. I thought that, perhaps, he would have takenmore time to think about it."

  "I suppose he knew what he had to say," said Mary. And then sheblushed, as though fearing that she had appeared to have been quitesure that her lover would not have been so dull.

  "I daresay."

  "I didn't quite mean that I knew."

  "But you did."

  "Oh, Mr Whittlestaff! But I will not attempt to deceive you. If youleft it to him, he would know what to say,--immediately."

  "No doubt! No doubt!"

  "When he had come here all the way from South Africa on purpose tosee me, as he said, of course he would know. Why should there be anypretence on my part?"

  "Why, indeed?"

  "But I have not answered him;--not as yet."

  "There need be no delay."

  "I would not do it till you had come. I may have known what he wouldsay to me, but I may be much in doubt what I should say to him."

  "You may say what you like." He answered her crossly, and sheheard the tone. But he was aware of it also, and felt that he wasdisgracing himself. There was none of the half-hour of joy whichhe had promised himself. He had struggled so hard to give hereverything, and he might, at any rate, have perfected his gift withgood humour. "You know you have my full permission," he said, with asmile. But he was aware that this smile was not pleasant,--was notsuch a smile as would make her happy. But it did not signify. When hewas gone away, utterly abolished, then she would be happy.

  "I do not know that I want your permission."

  "No, no; I daresay not."

  "You asked me to be your wife."

  "Yes; I did."

  "And I accepted you. The matter was settled then."

  "But you told me of him,--even at first. And you said that you wouldalways think of him."

  "Yes; I told you what I knew to be true. But I accepted you; and Idetermined to love you with all my heart,--with all my heart."

  "And you knew that you would love him without any determination."

  "I think that I have myself under more control. I think that intime,--in a little time,--I would have done my duty by youperfectly."

  "As how?"

  "Loving you with all my heart."

  "And now?" It was a hard question to put to her, and so unnecessary!"And now?"

  "You have distrusted me somewhat. I begged you not to go to London. Ibegged you not to go."

  "You cannot love two men." She looked into his face, as thoughimploring him to spare her. For though she did know what wascoming,--though had she asked herself, she would have said that sheknew,--yet she felt herself bound to disown Mr Gordon as her veryown while Mr Whittlestaff thus tantalised her. "No; you cannot lovetwo men. You would have tried to love me and have failed. You wouldhave tried not to love him, and have failed then also."

  "Then I would not have failed. Had you remained here, and have takenme, I should certainly not have failed then."

  "I have made it easy for you, my dear;--very easy. Write your letter.Make it as loving as you please. Write as I would have had you writeto me, could it have been possible. O, Mary! that ought to have beenmy own! O, Mary! that would have made beautiful for me my futuredownward steps! But it is not for such a purpose that a young lifesuch as yours should be given. Though he should be unkind to you,though money should be scarce with you, though the ordinary troublesof the world should come upon you, they will be better for you thanthe ease I might have prepared for you. It will be nearer to humannature. I, at any rate, shall be here if troubles come; or if I amgone, that will remain which relieves troubles. You can go now andwrite your letter."

  She could not speak a word as she left the room. It was not onlythat her throat was full of sobs, but that her heart was laden withmingled joy and sorrow, so that she could not find a word to expressherself. She went to her bedroom and took out her letter-case to doas he had bidden her;--but she found that she could not write. Thisletter should be one so framed as to make John Gordon joyful; but itwould be impossible to bring her joy so to the surface as to satisfyhim even with contentment. She could only think how far it might yetbe possible to sacrifice herself and him. She sat thus an hour, andthen went back, and, hearing voices, descended to the drawing-room.There she found Mr Blake and Kattie Forrester and Evelina Hall. Theyhad come to call upon Mr Whittlestaff and herself, and were full oftheir own news. "Oh, Miss Lawrie, what do you think?" said Mr Blake.Miss Lawrie, however, could not think, nor could Mr Whittlestaff."Think of whatever is the greatest joy in the world," said Mr Blake.

  "Don't make yourself such a goose," said Kattie Forrester.

  "Oh, but I am in earnest. The greatest joy in all the world."

  "I suppose you mean you're going to be married," said MrWhittlestaff.

  "Exactly. How good you are at guessing! Kattie has named the day.This day fortnight. Oh dear, isn't it near?"

  "If you think so, it shall be this day fortnight next year," saidKattie.

  "Oh dear no! I didn't mean that at all. It can't be too near. And youcouldn't put it off now, you know, because the Dean has been bespoke.It is a good thing to have the Dean to fasten the knot. Don't youthink so, Miss Lawrie?"

  "I suppose one clergyman is just the same as another," said Mary.

  "So I tell him. It will all be one twenty years hence. After all, theDean is an old frump, and papa does not care a bit about him."

  "But how are you to manage with Mr Newface?" asked Mr Whittlestaff.

  "That's the best part of it all. Mr Hall is such a brick, that whenwe come back from the Isle of Wight he is going to take us all in."

  "If that's the best of it, you can be taken in without me," saidKattie.

  "But it is good; is it not? We two, and her maid. She's to bepromoted to nurse one of these days."

  "If you're such a fool, I never will have you. It's not too late yet,remember that." All which rebukes--and there were many of them--MrMontagu Blake received with loud demonstrations of joy. "And so, MissLawrie, you're to be in the same boat too," said Mr Blake. "I knowall about it."

  Mary blushed, and looked at Mr Whittlestaff. But he took uponhimself the task of answering the clergyman's remarks. "But how doyou know anything about Miss Lawrie?"

  "You think that no one can go up to London but yourself, MrWhittlestaff. I was up there myself yesterday;--as soon as ever thisgreat question of the day was positively settled, I had to look aftermy own _trousseau_. I don't see why a gentleman isn't to have a_trousseau_ as well as a lady. At any rate, I wanted a new blacksuit, fit for the hymeneal altar. And when there I made out JohnGordon, and soon wormed the truth out of him. At least he did nottell me downright, but he let the cat so far out of the bag thatI soon guessed the remainder. I always knew how it would be, MissLawrie."

  "You didn't know anything at all about it
," said Mr Whittlestaff."It would be very much more becoming if you would learn sometimes tohold your tongue."

  Then Miss Evelina Hall struck in. Would Miss Lawrie come over toLittle Alresford Park, and stay there for a few days previous to thewedding? Kattie Forrester meant to bring down a sister with her asa bridesmaid. Two of the Miss Halls were to officiate also, and itwould be taken as a great favour if Miss Lawrie would make a fourth.A great deal was said to press upon her this view of the case, towhich, however, she made many objections. There was, indeed, atragedy connected with her own matrimonial circumstances, which didnot make her well inclined to join such a party. Her heart was not atease within her as to her desertion of Mr Whittlestaff. Whatever thefuture might bring forth, the present could not be a period of joyBut in the middle of the argument, Mr Whittlestaff spoke with thevoice of authority. "Accept Mr Hall's kindness," he said, "and goover for a while to Little Alresford."

  "And leave you all alone?"

  "I'm sure Mr Hall will be delighted if you will come too," said MrBlake, ready at the moment to answer for the extent of his patron'shouse and good-nature.

  "Quite out of the question," said Mr Whittlestaff, in a tone ofvoice intended to put an end to that matter. "But I can manage tolive alone for a few days, seeing that I shall be compelled to do sobefore long, by Miss Lawrie's marriage." Again Mary looked up intohis face. "It is so, my dear. This young gentleman has managed toferret out the truth, while looking for his wedding garments. Willyou tell your papa, Miss Evelina, that Mary will be delighted toaccept his kindness?"

  "And Gordon can come down to me," said Blake, uproariously, rubbinghis hands; "and we can have three or four final days together, liketwo jolly young bachelors."

  "Speaking for yourself alone," said Kattie,--"you'll have to remain ajolly young bachelor a considerable time still, if you don't mendyour manners."

  "I needn't mend my manners till after I'm married, I suppose." Butthey who knew Mr Blake well were wont to declare that in the matterof what Miss Forrester called his manners, there would not be much tomake his wife afraid.

  The affair was settled as far as it could be settled in Mr Gordon'sabsence. Miss Lawrie was to go over and spend a fortnight at LittleAlresford just previous to Kattie Forrester's marriage, and Gordonwas to come down to the marriage, so as to be near to Mary, if hecould be persuaded to do so. Of this Mr Blake spoke with greatcertainty. "Why shouldn't he come and spoon a bit, seeing that henever did so yet in his life? Now I have had a lot of it."

  "Not such a lot by any means," said Miss Forrester.

  "According to all accounts he's got to begin it. He told me that hehadn't even proposed regular. Doesn't that seem odd to you, Kattie?"

  "It seemed very odd when you did it." Then the three of them wentaway, and Mary was left to discuss the prospects of her future lifewith Mr Whittlestaff. "You had better both of you come and livehere," he said. "There would be room enough." Mary thought probablyof the chance there might be of newcomers, but she said nothing. "Ishould go away, of course," said Mr Whittlestaff.

  "Turn you out of your own house!"

  "Why not? I shan't stay here any way. I am tired of the place, andthough I shan't care to sell it, I shall make a move. A man ought tomake a move every now and again. I should like to go to Italy, andlive at one of those charming little towns."

  "Without a soul to speak to."

  "I shan't want anybody to speak to. I shall take with me just a fewbooks to read. I wonder whether Mrs Baggett would go with me. Shecan't have much more to keep her in England than I have." But thisplan had not been absolutely fixed when Mary retired for the night,with the intention of writing her letter to John Gordon before shewent to bed. Her letter took her long to write. The thinking of itrather took too long. She sat leaning with her face on her hands,and with a tear occasionally on her cheek, into the late night,meditating rather on the sweet goodness of Mr Whittlestaff than onthe words of the letter. It had at last been determined that JohnGordon should be her husband. That the fates seem to have decided,and she did acknowledge that in doing so the fates had beenaltogether propitious. It would have been very difficult,--now atlast she owned that truth to herself,--it would have been verydifficult for her to have been true to the promise she had made,altogether to eradicate John Gordon from her heart, and to fill upthe place left with a wife's true affection for Mr Whittlestaff. Tothe performance of such a task as that she would not be subjected.But on the other hand, John Gordon must permit her to entertain andto evince a regard for Mr Whittlestaff, not similar at all to theregard which she would feel for her husband, but almost equal in itsdepth.

  At last she took the paper and did write her letter, as follows:--

  DEAR MR GORDON,--I am not surprised at anything that Mr Whittlestaff should do which shows the goodness of his disposition and the tenderness of his heart. He is, I think, the most unselfish of mankind. I believe you to be so thoroughly sincere in the affection which you express for me, that you must acknowledge that he is so. If you love me well enough to make me your wife, what must you think of him who has loved me well enough to surrender me to one whom I had known before he had taken me under his fostering care?

  You know that I love you, and am willing to become your wife. What can I say to you now, except that it is so. It is so. And in saying that, I have told you everything as to myself. Of him I can only say, that his regard for me has been more tender even than that of a father.--Yours always most lovingly,

  MARY LAWRIE.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  CONCLUSION.

  The day came at last on which Mary's visit to Little Alresford was tocommence. Two days later John Gordon was to arrive at the Parsonage,and Mary's period of being "spooned" was to be commenced,--accordingto Mr Blake's phraseology. "No, my dear; I don't think I need gowith you," said Mr Whittlestaff, when the very day was there.

  "Why not come and call?"

  "I don't much care about calling," said Mr Whittlestaff. This wasexactly the state of mind to which Mary did not wish to see herfriend reduced,--that of feeling it to be necessary to avoid hisfellow-creatures.

  "You think Mr Blake is silly. He is a silly young man, I allow; butMr Hall has been very civil. As I am to go there for a week, youmight as well take me." As she spoke she put her arm around him,caressing him.

  "I don't care particularly for Mr Blake; but I don't think I'll goto Little Alresford." Mary understood, when he said this the secondtime, that the thing was fixed as fate. He would not go to LittleAlresford. Then, in about a quarter of an hour, he began again--"Ithink you'll find me gone when you come back again."

  "Gone! where shall you have gone?"

  "I'm not quite comfortable here. Don't look so sad, you dear, deargirl." Then he crossed the room and kissed her tenderly. "I have anervous irritable feeling which will not let me remain quiet. Ofcourse, I shall come for your marriage, whenever that may be fixed."

  "Oh, Mr Whittlestaff, do not talk in that way! That will be a yearto come, or perhaps two or three. Do not let it disturb you in thatway, or I shall swear that I will not be married at all. Why should Ibe married if you are to be miserable?"

  "It has been all settled, my dear. Mr Gordon is to be the lord ofall that. And though you will be supposed to have fixed the day, itis he that will really fix it;--he, or the circumstances of his life.When a young lady has promised a young gentleman, the marriage may bedelayed to suit the young gentleman's convenience, but never to suithers. To tell the truth, it will always be felt convenient that sheshall be married as soon as may be after the promise has been given.You will see Mr Gordon in a day or two, and will find out then whatare his wishes."

  "Do you think that I shall not consult your wishes?"

  "Not in the least, my dear. I, at any rate, shall have nowishes,--except what may be best for your welfare. Of course I mustsee him, and settle some matters that will have to be settled. Therewill be money matters."

  "I have no money," said Mary,
--"not a shilling! He knows that."

  "Nevertheless there will be money matters, which you will have thegoodness to leave to me. Are you not my daughter, Mary, my onlychild? Don't trouble yourself about such matters as these, but do asyou're bid. Now it is time for you to start, and Hayonotes will beready to go with you." Having so spoken, Mr Whittlestaff put herinto the carriage, and she was driven away to Little Alresford.

  It then wanted a week to the Blake-cum-Forrester marriage, and theyoung clergyman was beginning to mix a little serious timidity withhis usual garrulous high spirits. "Upon my word, you know I'm notat all sure that they are going to do it right," he said with muchemphasis to Miss Lawrie. "The marriage is to be on Tuesday. She's togo home on the Saturday. I insist upon being there on the Monday. Itwould make a fellow so awfully nervous travelling on the same day.But the other girls--and you're one of them, Miss Lawrie--are to gointo Winchester by train on Tuesday morning, under the charge of JohnGordon. If any thing were to happen to any of you, only think, whereshould I be?"

  "Where should we be?" said Miss Lawrie.

  "It isn't your marriage, you know. But I suppose the wedding could goon even if one of you didn't come. It would be such an awful thingnot to have it done when the Dean is coming." But Mary comforted him,assuring him that the Halls were very punctual in all their comingsand goings when any event was in hand.

  Then John Gordon came, and, to tell the truth, Mary was subjected forthe first time to the ceremony of spooning. When he walked up to thedoor across from the Parsonage, Mary Lawrie took care not to be inthe way. She took herself to her own bedroom, and there remained,with feverish, palpitating heart, till she was summoned by Miss Hall."You must come down and bid him welcome, you know."

  "I suppose so; but--"

  "Of course you must come. It must be sooner or later. He is lookingso different from what he was when he was here before. And so heought, when one considers all things."

  "He has not got another journey before him to South Africa."

  "Without having got what he came for," said Miss Hall. Then whenthey went down, Mary was told that John Gordon had passed throughthe house into the shrubbery, and was invited to follow him. Mary,declaring that she would go alone, took up her hat and boldly wentafter him. As she passed on, across the lawn, she saw his figuredisappearing among the trees. "I don't think it very civil for ayoung lady's young man to vanish in that way," said Miss Hall. ButMary boldly and quickly followed him, without another word.

  "Mary," he said, turning round upon her as soon as they were both outof sight among the trees. "Mary, you have come at last."

  "Yes; I have come."

  "And yet, when I first showed myself at your house, you would hardlyreceive me." But this he said holding her by the hand, and lookinginto her face with his brightest smile. "I had postponed my comingalmost too late."

  "Yes, indeed. Was it my fault?"

  "No;--nor mine. When I was told that I was doing no good about thehouse, and reminded that I was penniless, what could I do but goaway?"

  "But why go so far?"

  "I had to go where money could be earned. Considering all things, Ithink I was quick enough. Where else could I have found diamonds butat the diamond-fields? And I have been perhaps the luckiest fellowthat has gone and returned."

  "So nearly too late!"

  "But not too late."

  "But you were too late,--only for the inexpressible goodness ofanother. Have you thought what I owe--what you and I owe--to MrWhittlestaff?"

  "My darling!"

  "But I am his darling. Only it sounds so conceited in any girl to sayso. Why should he care so much about me?--or why should you, for thematter of that?"

  "Mary, Mary, come to me now." And he held out both his hands. Shelooked round, fearing intrusive eyes, but seeing none, she allowedhim to embrace her. "My own,--at last my own. How well you understoodme in those old days. And yet it was all without a word,--almostwithout a sign." She bowed her head before she had escaped from hisarms. "Now I am a happy man."

  "It is he that has done it for you."

  "Am I not thankful?"

  "How can I be thankful as I ought? Think of the gratitude that Iowe him,--think of all the love! What man has loved as he has done?Who has brought himself so to abandon to another the reward he hadthought it worth his while to wish for? You must not count the valueof the thing."

  "But I do."

  "But the price he had set upon it! I was to be the comfort of hislife to come. And it would have been so, had he not seen and had henot believed. Because another has loved, he has given up that whichhe has loved himself."

  "It was not for my sake."

  "But it was for mine. You had come first, and had won my poor heart.I was not worth the winning to either of you."

  "It was for me to judge of that."

  "Just so. But you do not know his heart. How prone he is to hold bythat which he knows he has made his own. I was his own."

  "You told him the truth when he came to you."

  "I was his own," said Mary, firmly. "Had he bade me never to seeyou again, I should never have seen you. Had he not gone after youhimself, you would never have come back."

  "I do not know how that might be."

  "It would have been to no good. Having consented to take everythingfrom his hands, I could never have been untrue to him. I tell youthat I should as certainly have become his wife, as that girl willbecome the wife of that young clergyman. Of course I was unhappy."

  "Were you, dear?"

  "Yes. I was very unhappy. When you flashed upon me there at Croker'sHall, I knew at once all the joy that had fallen within my reach. Youwere there, and you had come for me! All the way from Kimberley, justfor me to smile upon you! Did you not?"

  "Indeed I did."

  "When you had found your diamonds, you thought of me,--was it notso?"

  "Of you only."

  "You flatterer! You dear, bonny lover. You whom I had always lovedand prayed for, when I knew not where you were! You who had not leftme to be like Mariana, but had hurried home at once for me when yourman's work was done,--doing just what a girl would think that aman should do for her sake. But it had been all destroyed by thenecessity of the case. I take no blame to myself."

  "No; none."

  "Looking back at it all, I was right. He had chosen to want me, andhad a right to me. I had taken his gifts, given with a full hand.And where were you, my own one? Had I a right to think that you werethinking of me?"

  "I was thinking of you."

  "Yes; because you have turned out to be one in a hundred: but I wasnot to have known that. Then he asked me, and I thought it best thathe should know the truth and take his choice. He did take his choicebefore he knew the truth,--that you were so far on your way to seekmy hand."

  "I was at that very moment almost within reach of it."

  "But still it had become his. He did not toss it from him then as athing that was valueless. With the truest, noblest observance, hemade me understand how much it might be to him, and then surrenderedit without a word of ill humour, because he told himself that intruth my heart was within your keeping. If you will keep it well,you must find a place for his also." It was thus that Mary Lawriesuffered the spooning that was inflicted upon her by John Gordon.

  * * * * * *

  The most important part of our narrative still remains. When the daycame, the Reverend Montagu Blake was duly married to Miss CatherineForrester in Winchester Cathedral, by the Very Reverend the Dean,assisted by the young lady's father; and it is pleasant to think thaton that occasion the two clergymen behaved to each other with extremecivility. Mr Blake at once took his wife over to the Isle of Wight,and came back at the end of a month to enjoy the hospitality of MrHall. And with them came that lady's maid, of whose promotion toa higher sphere in life we shall expect soon to hear. Then came aperiod of thorough enjoyment for Mr Blake in superintending the workof Mr Newface.

  "What a pity it is that the
house should ever be finished!" saidthe bride to Augusta Hall; "because as things are now, Montagu issupremely happy: he will never be so happy again."

  "Unless when the baby comes," said Augusta.

  "I don't think he'll care a bit about the baby," said the bride.

  The writer, however, is of a different opinion, as he is inclinedto think that the Reverend Montagu Blake will be a pattern for allfathers. One word more we must add of Mr Whittlestaff and his futurelife,--and one word of Mrs Baggett. Mr Whittlestaff did not leaveCroker's Hall. When October had come round, he was present at Mary'smarriage, and certainly did not carry himself then with any showof outward joy. He was moody and silent, and, as some said, almostuncourteous to John Gordon. But before Mary went down to the train,in preparation of her long wedding-tour, he took her up to hisbedroom, and there said a final word to her. "Give him my love."

  "Oh, my darling! you have made me so happy."

  "You will find me better when you come back, though I shall nevercease to regret all that I have lost."

  Mrs Baggett accepted her destiny, and remained in supreme dominionover all women-kind at Croker's Hall. But there was private pecuniaryarrangement between her and her master, of which I could never learnthe details. It resulted, however, in the sending of a money-orderevery Saturday morning to an old woman in whose custody the Sergeantwas left.

  * * * * * *

  Transcriber's notes:

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Specific changes in wording of the text are listed below.

  Chapter II, paragraph 1. The word "man's" has been substituted for "man his" in the sentence: In some things his life had been successful; but these were matters in which the world does not write down a MAN'S good luck as being generally conducive to his happiness.

  Chapter V, paragraph 47. The words "living here" have been substituted for "loving him" in the sentence: After all that has passed between us, you can hardly go on LIVING HERE as you have done.

  Chapter VI, last paragraph. The words "than that" have been substituted for "that than" in the sentence: The weather is very hot, and from morning till night there is no occupation other THAN THAT of looking for diamonds, and the works attending it.

  Chapter IX, paragraph 8. The sentence, "There isn't a better fellow living than Mr Furnival, or his wife, or his four daughters." might leave the reader wondering who is Mr Furnival, as the name does not appear again in the text. The man referred to is later called Mr Hall.

  Chapter XV, paragraph 12. The word "his" has been inserted in the sentence: "Have you seen HIS diamonds, Miss Lawrie?"

  Chapter XV, paragraph 32. The word "as" has been inserted in the sentence: "I don't know any spot on God's earth that I should be less likely to choose AS my abiding resting-place."

  Chapter XIX, paragraph 56. The word "gone" has been substituted for "come" in the sentence: "What is it he means, Miss?" said Mrs Baggett, when the master was GONE.

  Chapter XXI, paragraph 35. The word "it" has been inserted in the sentence: "What is IT that you wish, Mr Whittlestaff?" he asked.

  Chapter XXII, paragraph 42. The word "had" has been substituted for "has" in the sentence: For indeed her life in public,--her life, that is, to which Mrs Baggett HAD access,--had been in some degree disturbed since the departure of the master of the house.

  Chapter XXIV, paragraph 34. The word "those" has been substituted for "these" in the sentence: How well you understood me in THOSE old days.

  Chapter XXIV, paragraph 53. The word "were" has been substitute for "was" in the sentence: You whom I had always loved and prayed for, when I knew not where you WERE!