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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/21847-8.txt b/21847-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3987a0e --- /dev/null +++ b/21847-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8777 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Dr. Wortle's School, by Anthony Trollope + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Dr. Wortle's School + + +Author: Anthony Trollope + + + +Release Date: June 18, 2007 [eBook #21847] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL*** + + +E-text prepared by Stanford Carmack + + + +Transcriber's note: + + This e-text was taken from the first edition of this novel and + attempts to reproduce the original spelling, punctuation etc. + Some corrections have been made--a complete list of changes and + items to note is at the end of the e-text. + + Two words in the text contain an oe-ligature, indicated in this + e-text by [oe]. + + The Table of Contents of Volume II is located at the beginning + of that volume. + + + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +A Novel. + +BY + +ANTHONY TROLLOPE. + +IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I. + + + + + + + +London: +Chapman and Hall, Limited, 193, Piccadilly. +1881. + +London: +R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers, +Bread Street Hill. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + + PART I. + + CHAPTER I. DR. WORTLE + + CHAPTER II. THE NEW USHER + + CHAPTER III. THE MYSTERY + + PART II. + + CHAPTER IV. THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION + + CHAPTER V. "THEN WE MUST GO" + + CHAPTER VI. LORD CARSTAIRS + + PART III. + + CHAPTER VII. ROBERT LEFROY + + CHAPTER VIII. THE STORY IS TOLD + + CHAPTER IX. MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE + + PART IV. + + CHAPTER X. MR. PEACOCKE GOES + + CHAPTER XI. THE BISHOP + + CHAPTER XII. THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +PART I. + +CHAPTER I. + +DR. WORTLE. + +THE Rev. Jeffrey Wortle, D.D., was a man much esteemed by others,--and by +himself. He combined two professions, in both of which he had been +successful,--had been, and continued to be, at the time in which we speak +of him. I will introduce him to the reader in the present tense as Rector +of Bowick, and proprietor and head-master of the school established in the +village of that name. The seminary at Bowick had for some time enjoyed a +reputation under him;--not that he had ever himself used so new-fangled +and unpalatable a word in speaking of his school. Bowick School had been +established by himself as preparatory to Eton. Dr. Wortle had been +elected to an assistant-mastership at Eton early in life soon after he had +become a Fellow of Exeter. There he had worked successfully for ten +years, and had then retired to the living of Bowick. On going there he +had determined to occupy his leisure, and if possible to make his fortune, +by taking a few boys into his house. By dint of charging high prices and +giving good food,--perhaps in part, also, by the quality of the education +which he imparted,--his establishment had become popular and had outgrown +the capacity of the parsonage. He had been enabled to purchase a field or +two close abutting on the glebe gardens, and had there built convenient +premises. He now limited his number to thirty boys, for each of which he +charged £200 a-year. It was said of him by his friends that if he would +only raise his price to £250, he might double the number, and really make +a fortune. In answer to this, he told his friends that he knew his own +business best;--he declared that his charge was the only sum that was +compatible both with regard to himself and honesty to his customers, and +asserted that the labours he endured were already quite heavy enough. In +fact, he recommended all those who gave him advice to mind their own +business. + +It may be said of him that he knew his own so well as to justify him in +repudiating counsel from others. There are very different ideas of what +"a fortune" may be supposed to consist. It will not be necessary to give +Dr. Wortle's exact idea. No doubt it changed with him, increasing as his +money increased. But he was supposed to be a comfortable man. He paid +ready money and high prices. He liked that people under him should +thrive,--and he liked them to know that they throve by his means. He +liked to be master, and always was. He was just, and liked his justice to +be recognised. He was generous also, and liked that, too, to be known. +He kept a carriage for his wife, who had been the daughter of a poor +clergyman at Windsor, and was proud to see her as well dressed as the wife +of any county squire. But he was a domineering husband. As his wife +worshipped him, and regarded him as a Jupiter on earth from whose nod +there could be and should be no appeal, but little harm came from this. +If a tyrant, he was an affectionate tyrant. His wife felt him to be so. +His servants, his parish, and his school all felt him to be so. They +obeyed him, loved him, and believed in him. + +So, upon the whole, at the time with which we are dealing, did the +diocese, the county, and that world of parents by whom the boys were sent +to his school. But this had not come about without some hard fighting. +He was over fifty years of age, and had been Rector of Bowick for nearly +twenty. During that time there had been a succession of three bishops, +and he had quarrelled more or less with all of them. It might be juster +to say that they had all of them had more or less of occasion to find +fault with him. Now Dr. Wortle,--or Mr. Wortle, as he should be called in +reference to that period,--was a man who would bear censure from no human +being. He had left his position at Eton because the Head-master had +required from him some slight change of practice. There had been no +quarrel on that occasion, but Mr. Wortle had gone. He at once commenced +his school at Bowick, taking half-a-dozen pupils into his own house. The +bishop of that day suggested that the cure of the souls of the +parishioners of Bowick was being subordinated to the Latin and Greek of +the sons of the nobility. The bishop got a response which gave an +additional satisfaction to his speedy translation to a more comfortable +diocese. Between the next bishop and Mr. Wortle there was, unfortunately, +misunderstanding, and almost feud for the entire ten years during which +his lordship reigned in the Palace of Broughton. This Bishop of Broughton +had been one of that large batch of Low Church prelates who were brought +forward under Lord Palmerston. Among them there was none more low, more +pious, more sincere, or more given to interference. To teach Mr. Wortle +his duty as a parish clergyman was evidently a necessity to such a bishop. +To repudiate any such teaching was evidently a necessity to Mr. Wortle. +Consequently there were differences, in all of which Mr. Wortle carried +his own. What the good bishop suffered no one probably knew except his +wife and his domestic chaplain. What Mr. Wortle enjoyed,--or Dr. Wortle, +as he came to be called about this time,--was patent to all the county and +all the diocese. The sufferer died, not, let us hope, by means of the +Doctor; and then came the third bishop. He, too, had found himself +obliged to say a word. He was a man of the world,--wise, prudent, not +given to interference or fault-finding, friendly by nature, one who +altogether hated a quarrel, a bishop beyond all things determined to be +the friend of his clergymen;--and yet he thought himself obliged to say a +word. There were matters in which Dr. Wortle affected a peculiarly +anti-clerical mode of expression, if not of feeling. He had been foolish +enough to declare openly that he was in search of a curate who should have +none of the "grace of godliness" about him. He was wont to ridicule the +piety of young men who devoted themselves entirely to their religious +offices. In a letter which he wrote he spoke of one youthful divine as "a +conceited ass who had preached for forty minutes." He not only disliked, +but openly ridiculed all signs of a special pietistic bearing. It was +said of him that he had been heard to swear. There can be no doubt that +he made himself wilfully distasteful to many of his stricter brethren. +Then it came to pass that there was a correspondence between him and the +bishop as to that outspoken desire of his for a curate without the grace +of godliness. But even here Dr. Wortle was successful. The management of +his parish was pre-eminently good. The parish school was a model. The +farmers went to church. Dissenters there were none. The people of Bowick +believed thoroughly in their parson, and knew the comfort of having an +open-handed, well-to-do gentleman in the village. This third episcopal +difficulty did not endure long. Dr. Wortle knew his man, and was willing +enough to be on good terms with his bishop so long as he was allowed to be +in all things his own master. + +There had, too, been some fighting between Dr. Wortle and the world about +his school. He was, as I have said, a thoroughly generous man, but he +required, himself, to be treated with generosity. Any question as to the +charges made by him as schoolmaster was unendurable. He explained to all +parents that he charged for each boy at the rate of two hundred a-year for +board, lodging, and tuition, and that anything required for a boy's +benefit or comfort beyond that ordinarily supplied would be charged for as +an extra at such price as Dr. Wortle himself thought to be an equivalent. +Now the popularity of his establishment no doubt depended in a great +degree on the sufficiency and comfort of the good things of the world +which he provided. The beer was of the best; the boys were not made to +eat fat; their taste in the selection of joints was consulted. The +morning coffee was excellent. The cook was a great adept at cakes and +puddings. The Doctor would not himself have been satisfied unless +everything had been plentiful, and everything of the best. He would have +hated a butcher who had attempted to seduce him with meat beneath the +usual price. But when he had supplied that which was sufficient according +to his own liberal ideas, he did not give more without charging for it. +Among his customers there had been a certain Honourable Mr. Stantiloup, +and,--which had been more important,--an Honourable Mrs. Stantiloup. Mrs. +Stantiloup was a lady who liked all the best things which the world could +supply, but hardly liked paying the best price. Dr. Wortle's school was +the best thing the world could supply of that kind, but then the price was +certainly the very best. Young Stantiloup was only eleven, and as there +were boys at Bowick as old as seventeen,--for the school had not +altogether maintained its old character as being merely preparatory,--Mrs. +Stantiloup had thought that her boy should be admitted at a lower fee. +The correspondence which had ensued had been unpleasant. Then young +Stantiloup had had the influenza, and Mrs. Stantiloup had sent her own +doctor. Champagne had been ordered, and carriage exercise. Mr. +Stantiloup had been forced by his wife to refuse to pay sums demanded for +these undoubted extras. Ten shillings a-day for a drive for a little boy +seemed to her a great deal,--seemed so to Mrs. Stantiloup. Ought not the +Doctor's wife to have been proud to take out her little boy in her own +carriage? And then £2 10_s_. for champagne for the little boy! It was +monstrous. Mr. Stantiloup remonstrated. Dr. Wortle said that the little +boy had better be taken away and the bill paid at once. The little boy +was taken away and the money was offered, short of £5. The matter was +instantly put into the hands of the Doctor's lawyer, and a suit commenced. +The Doctor, of course, got his money, and then there followed an +acrimonious correspondence in the "Times" and other newspapers. Mrs. +Stantiloup did her best to ruin the school, and many very eloquent +passages were written not only by her or by her own special scribe, but by +others who took the matter up, to prove that two hundred a-year was a +great deal more than ought to be paid for the charge of a little boy +during three quarters of the year. But in the course of the next twelve +months Dr. Wortle was obliged to refuse admittance to a dozen eligible +pupils because he had not room for them. + +No doubt he had suffered during these contests,--suffered, that is, in +mind. There had been moments in which it seemed that the victory would be +on the other side, that the forces congregated against him were too many +for him, and that not being able to bend he would have to be broken; but +in every case he had fought it out, and in every case he had conquered. +He was now a prosperous man, who had achieved his own way, and had made +all those connected with him feel that it was better to like him and obey +him, than to dislike him and fight with him. His curates troubled him as +little as possible with the grace of godliness, and threw off as far as +they could that zeal which is so dear to the youthful mind but which so +often seems to be weak and flabby to their elders. His ushers or +assistants in the school fell in with his views implicitly, and were +content to accept compensation in the shape of personal civilities. It +was much better to go shares with the Doctor in a joke than to have to +bear his hard words. + +It is chiefly in reference to one of these ushers that our story has to be +told. But before we commence it, we must say a few more words as to the +Doctor and his family. Of his wife I have already spoken. She was +probably as happy a woman as you shall be likely to meet on a summer's +day. She had good health, easy temper, pleasant friends, abundant means, +and no ambition. She went nowhere without the Doctor, and whenever he +went she enjoyed her share of the respect which was always shown to him. +She had little or nothing to do with the school, the Doctor having many +years ago resolved that though it became him as a man to work for his +bread, his wife should not be a slave. When the battles had been going +on,--those between the Doctor and the bishops, and the Doctor and Mrs. +Stantiloup, and the Doctor and the newspapers,--she had for a while been +unhappy. It had grieved her to have it insinuated that her husband was an +atheist, and asserted that her husband was a cormorant; but his courage +had sustained her, and his continual victories had taught her to believe +at last that he was indomitable. + +They had one child, a daughter, Mary, of whom it was said in Bowick that +she alone knew the length of the Doctor's foot. It certainly was so that, +if Mrs. Wortle wished to have anything done which was a trifle beyond her +own influence, she employed Mary. And if the boys collectively wanted to +carry a point, they would "collectively" obtain Miss Wortle's aid. But +all this the Doctor probably knew very well; and though he was often +pleased to grant favours thus asked, he did so because he liked the +granting of favours when they had been asked with a proper degree of care +and attention. She was at the present time of the age in which fathers +are apt to look upon their children as still children, while other men +regard them as being grown-up young ladies. It was now June, and in the +approaching August she would be eighteen. It was said of her that of the +girls all round she was the prettiest; and indeed it would be hard to find +a sweeter-favoured girl than Mary Wortle. Her father had been all his +life a man noted for the manhood of his face. He had a broad forehead, +with bright grey eyes,--eyes that had always a smile passing round them, +though the smile would sometimes show that touch of irony which a smile +may contain rather than the good-humour which it is ordinarily supposed to +indicate. His nose was aquiline, not hooky like a true bird's-beak, but +with that bend which seems to give to the human face the clearest +indication of individual will. His mouth, for a man, was perhaps a little +too small, but was admirably formed, as had been the chin with a deep +dimple on it, which had now by the slow progress of many dinners become +doubled in its folds. His hair had been chestnut, but dark in its hue. +It had now become grey, but still with the shade of the chestnut through +it here and there. He stood five feet ten in height, with small hands and +feet. He was now perhaps somewhat stout, but was still as upright on his +horse as ever, and as well able to ride to hounds for a few fields when by +chance the hunt came in the way of Bowick. Such was the Doctor. Mrs. +Wortle was a pretty little woman, now over forty years of age, of whom it +was said that in her day she had been the beauty of Windsor and those +parts. Mary Wortle took mostly after her father, being tall and comely, +having especially her father's eyes; but still they who had known Mrs. +Wortle as a girl declared that Mary had inherited also her mother's +peculiar softness and complexion. + +For many years past none of the pupils had been received within the +parsonage,--unless when received there as guests, which was of frequent +occurrence. All belonging to the school was built outside the glebe land, +as a quite separate establishment, with a door opening from the parsonage +garden to the school-yard. Of this door the rule was that the Doctor and +the gardener should have the only two keys; but the rule may be said to +have become quite obsolete, as the door was never locked. Sometimes the +bigger boys would come through unasked,--perhaps in search of a game of +lawn-tennis with Miss Wortle, perhaps to ask some favour of Mrs. Wortle, +who always was delighted to welcome them, perhaps even to seek the Doctor +himself, who never on such occasions would ask how it came to pass that +they were on that side of the wall. Sometimes Mrs. Wortle would send her +housekeeper through for some of the little boys. It would then be a good +time for the little boys. But this would generally be during the Doctor's +absence. + +Here, on the school side of the wall, there was a separate establishment +of servants, and a separate kitchen. There was no sending backwards or +forwards of food or of clothes,--unless it might be when some special +delicacy was sent in if a boy were unwell. For these no extra charge was +ever made, as had been done in the case of young Stantiloup. Then a +strange doctor had come, and had ordered the wine and the carriage. There +was no extra charge for the kindly glasses of wine which used to be +administered in quite sufficient plenty. + +Behind the school, and running down to the little river Pin, there is a +spacious cricket-ground, and a court marked out for lawn-tennis. Up close +to the school is a racket-court. No doubt a good deal was done to make +the externals of the place alluring to those parents who love to think +that their boys shall be made happy at school. Attached to the school, +forming part of the building, is a pleasant, well-built residence, with +six or eight rooms, intended for the senior or classical assistant-master. +It had been the Doctor's scheme to find a married gentleman to occupy this +house, whose wife should receive a separate salary for looking after the +linen and acting as matron to the school,--doing what his wife did till he +became successful,--while the husband should be in orders and take part of +the church duties as a second curate. But there had been a difficulty in +this. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE NEW USHER. + +THE Doctor had found it difficult to carry out the scheme described in the +last chapter. They indeed who know anything of such matters will be +inclined to call it Utopian, and to say that one so wise in worldly +matters as our schoolmaster should not have attempted to combine so many +things. He wanted a gentleman, a schoolmaster, a curate, a matron, and a +lady,--we may say all in one. Curates and ushers are generally unmarried. +An assistant schoolmaster is not often in orders, and sometimes is not a +gentleman. A gentleman, when he is married, does not often wish to +dispose of the services of his wife. A lady, when she has a husband, has +generally sufficient duties of her own to employ her, without undertaking +others. The scheme, if realised, would no doubt be excellent, but the +difficulties were too many. The Stantiloups, who lived about twenty miles +off, made fun of the Doctor and his project; and the Bishop was said to +have expressed himself as afraid that he would not be able to license as +curate any one selected as usher to the school. One attempt was made +after another in vain;--but at last it was declared through the country +far and wide that the Doctor had succeeded in this, as in every other +enterprise that he had attempted. There had come a Rev. Mr. Peacocke and +his wife. Six years since, Mr. Peacocke had been well known at Oxford as +a Classic, and had become a Fellow of Trinity. Then he had taken orders, +and had some time afterwards married, giving up his Fellowship as a matter +of course. Mr. Peacocke, while living at Oxford, had been well known to a +large Oxford circle, but he had suddenly disappeared from that world, and +it had reached the ears of only a few of his more intimate friends that he +had undertaken the duties of vice-president of a classical college at +Saint Louis in the State of Missouri. Such a disruption as this was for a +time complete; but after five years Mr. Peacocke appeared again at Oxford, +with a beautiful American wife, and the necessity of earning an income by +his erudition. + +It would at first have seemed very improbable that Dr. Wortle should have +taken into his school or into his parish a gentleman who had chosen the +United States as a field for his classical labours. The Doctor, whose +mind was by no means logical, was a thoroughgoing Tory of the old school, +and therefore considered himself bound to hate the name of a republic. He +hated rolling stones, and Mr. Peacocke had certainly been a rolling stone. +He loved Oxford with all his heart, and some years since had been heard to +say hard things of Mr. Peacocke, when that gentleman deserted his college +for the sake of establishing himself across the Atlantic. But he was one +who thought that there should be a place of penitence allowed to those who +had clearly repented of their errors; and, moreover, when he heard that +Mr. Peacocke was endeavouring to establish himself in Oxford as a "coach" +for undergraduates, and also that he was a married man without any +encumbrance in the way of family, there seemed to him to be an additional +reason for pardoning that American escapade. Circumstances brought the +two men together. There were friends at Oxford who knew how anxious the +Doctor was to carry out that plan of his in reference to an usher, a +curate, and a matron, and here were the very things combined. Mr. +Peacocke's scholarship and power of teaching were acknowledged; he was +already in orders; and it was declared that Mrs. Peacocke was undoubtedly +a lady. Many inquiries were made. Many meetings took place. Many +difficulties arose. But at last Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke came to Bowick, and +took up their abode in the school. + +All the Doctor's requirements were not at once fulfilled. Mrs. Peacocke's +position was easily settled. Mrs. Peacocke, who seemed to be a woman +possessed of sterling sense and great activity, undertook her duties +without difficulty. But Mr. Peacocke would not at first consent to act as +curate in the parish. He did, however, after a time perform a portion of +the Sunday services. When he first came to Bowick he had declared that he +would undertake no clerical duty. Education was his profession, and to +that he meant to devote himself exclusively. Nor for the six or eight +months of his sojourn did he go back from this; so that the Doctor may be +said even still to have failed in carrying out his purpose. But at last +the new schoolmaster appeared in the pulpit of the parish church and +preached a sermon. + +All that had passed in private conference between the Doctor and his +assistant on the subject need not here be related. Mr. Peacocke's +aversion to do more than attend regularly at the church services as one of +the parishioners had been very strong. The Doctor's anxiety to overcome +his assistant's reasoning had also been strong. There had no doubt been +much said between them. Mr. Peacocke had been true to his principles, +whatever those principles were, in regard to his appointment as a +curate,--but it came to pass that he for some months preached regularly +every Sunday in the parish church, to the full satisfaction of the +parishioners. For this he had accepted no payment, much to the Doctor's +dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, it was certainly the case that they who +served the Doctor gratuitously never came by the worse of the bargain. + +Mr. Peacocke was a small wiry man, anything but robust in appearance, but +still capable of great bodily exertion. He was a great walker. Labour in +the school never seemed to fatigue him. The addition of a sermon to +preach every week seemed to make no difference to his energies in the +school. He was a constant reader, and could pass from one kind of mental +work to another without fatigue. The Doctor was a noted scholar, but it +soon became manifest to the Doctor himself, and to the boys, that Mr. +Peacocke was much deeper in scholarship than the Doctor. Though he was a +poor man, his own small classical library was supposed to be a repository +of all that was known about Latin and Greek. In fact, Mr. Peacocke grew +to be a marvel; but of all the marvels about him, the thing most +marvellous was the entire faith which the Doctor placed in him. Certain +changes even were made in the old-established "curriculum" of +tuition,--and were made, as all the boys supposed, by the advice of Mr. +Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke was treated with a personal respect which almost +seemed to imply that the two men were equal. This was supposed by the +boys to come from the fact that both the Doctor and the assistant had been +Fellows of their colleges at Oxford; but the parsons and other gentry +around could see that there was more in it than that. Mr. Peacocke had +some power about him which was potent over the Doctor's spirit. + +Mrs. Peacocke, in her line, succeeded almost as well. She was a woman +something over thirty years of age when she first came to Bowick, in the +very pride and bloom of woman's beauty. Her complexion was dark and +brown,--so much so, that it was impossible to describe her colour +generally by any other word. But no clearer skin was ever given to a +woman. Her eyes were brown, and her eye-brows black, and perfectly +regular. Her hair was dark and very glossy, and always dressed as simply +as the nature of a woman's head will allow. Her features were regular, +but with a great show of strength. She was tall for a woman, but without +any of that look of length under which female altitude sometimes suffers. +She was strong and well made, and apparently equal to any labour to which +her position might subject her. When she had been at Bowick about three +months, a boy's leg had been broken, and she had nursed him, not only with +assiduity, but with great capacity. The boy was the youngest son of the +Marchioness of Altamont; and when Lady Altamont paid a second visit to +Bowick, for the sake of taking her boy home as soon as he was fit to be +moved, her ladyship made a little mistake. With the sweetest and most +caressing smile in the world, she offered Mrs. Peacocke a ten-pound note. +"My dear madam," said Mrs. Peacocke, without the slightest reserve or +difficulty, "it is so natural that you should do this, because you cannot +of course understand my position; but it is altogether out of the +question." The Marchioness blushed, and stammered, and begged a hundred +pardons. Being a good-natured woman, she told the whole story to Mrs. +Wortle. "I would just as soon have offered the money to the Marchioness +herself," said Mrs. Wortle, as she told it to her husband. "I would have +done it a deal sooner," said the Doctor. "I am not in the least afraid of +Lady Altamont; but I stand in awful dread of Mrs. Peacocke." Nevertheless +Mrs. Peacocke had done her work by the little lord's bed-side, just as +though she had been a paid nurse. + +And so she felt herself to be. Nor was she in the least ashamed of her +position in that respect. If there was aught of shame about her, as some +people said, it certainly did not come from the fact that she was in the +receipt of a salary for the performance of certain prescribed duties. +Such remuneration was, she thought, as honourable as the Doctor's income; +but to her American intelligence, the acceptance of a present of money +from a Marchioness would have been a degradation. + +It certainly was said of her by some persons that there must have been +something in her former life of which she was ashamed. The Honourable +Mrs. Stantiloup, to whom all the affairs of Bowick had been of consequence +since her husband had lost his lawsuit, and who had not only heard much, +but had inquired far and near about Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, declared +diligently among her friends, with many nods and winks, that there was +something "rotten in the state of Denmark." She did at first somewhat +imprudently endeavour to spread a rumour abroad that the Doctor had become +enslaved by the lady's beauty. But even those hostile to Bowick could not +accept this. The Doctor certainly was not the man to put in jeopardy the +respect of the world and his own standing for the beauty of any woman; +and, moreover, the Doctor, as we have said before, was over fifty years of +age. But there soon came up another ground on which calumny could found a +story. It was certainly the case that Mrs. Peacocke had never accepted +any hospitality from Mrs. Wortle or other ladies in the neighbourhood. It +reached the ears of Mrs. Stantiloup, first, that the ladies had called +upon each other, as ladies are wont to do who intend to cultivate a mutual +personal acquaintance, and then that Mrs. Wortle had asked Mrs. Peacocke +to dinner. But Mrs. Peacocke had refused not only that invitation, but +subsequent invitations to the less ceremonious form of tea-drinking. + +All this had been true, and it had been true also,--though of this Mrs. +Stantiloup had not heard the particulars,--that Mrs. Peacocke had +explained to her neighbour that she did not intend to put herself on a +visiting footing with any one. "But why not, my dear?" Mrs. Wortle had +said, urged to the argument by precepts from her husband. "Why should you +make yourself desolate here, when we shall be so glad to have you?" "It +is part of my life that it must be so," Mrs. Peacocke had answered. "I am +quite sure that the duties I have undertaken are becoming a lady; but I do +not think that they are becoming to one who either gives or accepts +entertainments." + +There had been something of the same kind between the Doctor and Mr. +Peacocke. "Why the mischief shouldn't you and your wife come and eat a +bit of mutton, and drink a glass of wine, over at the Rectory, like any +other decent people?" I never believed that accusation against the Doctor +in regard to swearing; but he was no doubt addicted to expletives in +conversation, and might perhaps have indulged in a strong word or two, had +he not been prevented by the sanctity of his orders. "Perhaps I ought to +say," replied Mr. Peacocke, "because we are not like any other decent +people." Then he went on to explain his meaning. Decent people, he +thought, in regard to social intercourse, are those who are able to give +and take with ease among each other. He had fallen into a position in +which neither he nor his wife could give anything, and from which, though +some might be willing to accept him, he would be accepted only, as it +were, by special favour. "Bosh!" ejaculated the Doctor. Mr. Peacocke +simply smiled. He said it might be bosh, but that even were he inclined +to relax his own views, his wife would certainly not relax hers. So it +came to pass that although the Doctor and Mr. Peacocke were really +intimate, and that something of absolute friendship sprang up between the +two ladies, when Mr. Peacocke had already been more than twelve months in +Bowick neither had he nor Mrs. Peacocke broken bread in the Doctor's +house. + +And yet the friendship had become strong. An incident had happened early +in the year which had served greatly to strengthen it. At the school +there was a little boy, just eleven years old, the only son of a Lady De +Lawle, who had in early years been a dear friend to Mrs. Wortle. Lady De +Lawle was the widow of a baronet, and the little boy was the heir to a +large fortune. The mother had been most loath to part with her treasure. +Friends, uncles, and trustees had declared that the old prescribed form of +education for British aristocrats must be followed,--a t'other school, +namely, then Eton, and then Oxford. No; his mother might not go with him, +first to one, and then to the other. Such going and living with him would +deprive his education of all the real salt. Therefore Bowick was chosen +as the t'other school, because Mrs. Wortle would be more like a mother to +the poor desolate boy than any other lady. So it was arranged, and the +"poor desolate boy" became the happiest of the young pickles whom it was +Mrs. Wortle's special province to spoil whenever she could get hold of +them. + +Now it happened that on one beautiful afternoon towards the end of April, +Mrs. Wortle had taken young De Lawle and another little boy with her over +the foot-bridge which passed from the bottom of the parsonage garden to +the glebe-meadow which ran on the other side of a little river, and with +them had gone a great Newfoundland dog, who was on terms equally friendly +with the inmates of the Rectory and the school. Where this bridge passed +across the stream the gardens and the field were on the same level. But +as the water ran down to the ground on which the school-buildings had been +erected, there arose a steep bank over a bend in the river, or, rather, +steep cliff; for, indeed, it was almost perpendicular, the force of the +current as it turned at this spot having washed away the bank. In this +way it had come to pass that there was a precipitous fall of about a dozen +feet from the top of the little cliff into the water, and that the water +here, as it eddied round the curve, was black and deep, so that the bigger +boys were wont to swim in it, arrangements for bathing having been made on +the further or school side. There had sometimes been a question whether a +rail should not be placed for protection along the top of this cliff, but +nothing of the kind had yet been done. The boys were not supposed to play +in this field, which was on the other side of the river, and could only be +reached by the bridge through the parsonage garden. + +On this day young De Lawle and his friend and the dog rushed up the hill +before Mrs. Wortle, and there began to romp, as was their custom. Mary +Wortle, who was one of the party, followed them, enjoining the children to +keep away from the cliff. For a while they did so, but of course +returned. Once or twice they were recalled and scolded, always asserting +that the fault was altogether with Neptune. It was Neptune that knocked +them down and always pushed them towards the river. Perhaps it was +Neptune; but be that as it might, there came a moment very terrible to +them all. The dog in one of his gyrations came violently against the +little boy, knocked him off his legs, and pushed him over the edge. Mrs. +Wortle, who had been making her way slowly up the hill, saw the fall, +heard the splash, and fell immediately to the ground. + +Other eyes had also seen the accident. The Doctor and Mr. Peacocke were +at the moment walking together in the playgrounds at the school side of +the brook. When the boy fell they had paused in their walk, and were +standing, the Doctor with his back to the stream, and the assistant with +his face turned towards the cliff. A loud exclamation broke from his lips +as he saw the fall, but in a moment,--almost before the Doctor had +realised the accident which had occurred,--he was in the water, and two +minutes afterwards young De Lawle, drenched indeed, frightened, and out of +breath, but in nowise seriously hurt, was out upon the bank; and Mr. +Peacocke, drenched also, but equally safe, was standing over him, while +the Doctor on his knees was satisfying himself that his little charge had +received no fatal injury. It need hardly be explained that such a +termination as this to such an accident had greatly increased the good +feeling with which Mr. Peacocke was regarded by all the inhabitants of the +school and Rectory. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE MYSTERY. + +MR. PEACOCKE himself said that in this matter a great deal of fuss was +made about nothing. Perhaps it was so. He got a ducking, but, being a +strong swimmer, probably suffered no real danger. The boy, rolling down +three or four feet of bank, had then fallen down six or eight feet into +deep water. He might, no doubt, have been much hurt. He might have +struck against a rock and have been killed,--in which case Mr. Peacocke's +prowess would have been of no avail. But nothing of this kind happened. +Little Jack De Lawle was put to bed in one of the Rectory bed-rooms, and +was comforted with sherry-negus and sweet jelly. For two days he rejoiced +thoroughly in his accident, being freed from school, and subjected only to +caresses. After that he rebelled, having become tired of his bed. But by +that time his mother had been most unnecessarily summoned. Unless she was +wanted to examine the forlorn condition of his clothes, there was nothing +that she could do. But she came, and, of course, showered blessings on +Mr. Peacocke's head,--while Mrs. Wortle went through to the school and +showered blessings on Mrs. Peacocke. What would they have done had the +Peacockes not been there? + +"You must let them have their way, whether for good or bad," the Doctor +said, when his assistant complained rather of the blessings,--pointing out +at any rate their absurdity. "One man is damned for ever, because, in the +conscientious exercise of his authority, he gives a little boy a rap which +happens to make a small temporary mark on his skin. Another becomes a +hero because, when in the equally conscientious performance of a duty, he +gives himself a ducking. I won't think you a hero; but, of course, I +consider myself very fortunate to have had beside me a man younger than +myself, and quick and ready at such an emergence. Of course I feel +grateful, but I shan't bother you by telling you so." + +But this was not the end of it. Lady De Lawle declared that she could not +be happy unless Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke would bring Jack home for the +holidays to De Lawle Park. Of course she carried her blessings up into +Mrs. Peacocke's little drawing-room, and became quite convinced, as was +Mrs. Wortle, that Mrs. Peacocke was in all respects a lady. She heard of +Mr. Peacocke's antecedents at Oxford, and expressed her opinion that they +were charming people. She could not be happy unless they would promise to +come to De Lawle Park for the holidays. Then Mrs. Peacocke had to explain +that in her present circumstances she did not intend to visit anywhere. +She was very much flattered, and delighted to think that the dear little +boy was none the worse for his accident; but there must be an end of it. +There was something in her manner, as she said this, which almost overawed +Lady De Lawle. She made herself, at any rate, understood, and no further +attempt was made for the next six weeks to induce her or Mr. Peacocke to +enter the Rectory dining-room. But a good deal was said about Mr. +Peacocke,--generally in his favour. + +Generally in his favour,--because he was a fine scholar, and could swim +well. His preaching perhaps did something for him, but the swimming did +more. But though there was so much said of good, there was something also +of evil. A man would not altogether refuse society for himself and his +wife unless there were some cause for him to do so. He and she must have +known themselves to be unfit to associate with such persons as they would +have met at De Lawle Park. There was a mystery, and the mystery, when +unravelled, would no doubt prove to be very deleterious to the character +of the persons concerned. Mrs. Stantiloup was quite sure that such must +be the case. "It might be very well," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "for Dr. +Wortle to obtain the services of a well-educated usher for his school, but +it became quite another thing when he put a man up to preach in the +church, of whose life, for five years, no one knew anything." Somebody +had told her something as to the necessity of a bishop's authority for the +appointment of a curate; but no one had strictly defined to her what a +curate is. She was, however, quite ready to declare that Mr. Peacocke had +no business to preach in that pulpit, and that something very disagreeable +would come of it. + +Nor was this feeling altogether confined to Mrs. Stantiloup, though it had +perhaps originated with what she had said among her own friends. "Don't +you think it well you should know something of his life during these five +years?" This had been said to the Rector by the Bishop himself,--who +probably would have said nothing of the kind had not these reports reached +his ears. But reports, when they reach a certain magnitude, and attain a +certain importance, require to be noticed. + +So much in this world depends upon character that attention has to be paid +to bad character even when it is not deserved. In dealing with men and +women, we have to consider what they believe, as well as what we believe +ourselves. The utility of a sermon depends much on the idea that the +audience has of the piety of the man who preaches it. Though the words of +God should never have come with greater power from the mouth of man, they +will come in vain if they be uttered by one who is known as a breaker of +the Commandments;--they will come in vain from the mouth of one who is +even suspected to be so. To all this, when it was said to him by the +Bishop in the kindest manner, Dr. Wortle replied that such suspicions were +monstrous, unreasonable, and uncharitable. He declared that they +originated with that abominable virago, Mrs. Stantiloup. "Look round the +diocese," said the Bishop in reply to this, "and see if you can find a +single clergyman acting in it, of the details of whose life for the last +five years you know absolutely nothing." Thereupon the Doctor said that he +would make inquiry of Mr. Peacocke himself. It might well be, he thought, +that Mr. Peacocke would not like such inquiry, but the Doctor was quite +sure that any story told to him would be true. On returning home he found +it necessary, or at any rate expedient, to postpone his questions for a +few days. It is not easy to ask a man what he has been doing with five +years of his life, when the question implies a belief that these five +years have been passed badly. And it was understood that the questioning +must in some sort apply to the man's wife. The Doctor had once said to +Mrs. Wortle that he stood in awe of Mrs. Peacocke. There had certainly +come upon him an idea that she was a lady with whom it would not be easy +to meddle. She was obedient, diligent, and minutely attentive to any wish +that was expressed to her in regard to her duties; but it had become +manifest to the Doctor that in all matters beyond the school she was +independent, and was by no means subject to external influences. She was +not, for instance, very constant in her own attendance at church, and +never seemed to feel it necessary to apologise for her absence. The +Doctor, in his many and familiar conversations with Mr. Peacocke, had not +found himself able to allude to this; and he had observed that the husband +did not often speak of his own wife unless it were on matters having +reference to the school. So it came to pass that he dreaded the +conversation which he proposed to himself, and postponed it from day to +day with a cowardice which was quite unusual to him. + +And now, O kind-hearted reader, I feel myself constrained, in the telling +of this little story, to depart altogether from those principles of +story-telling to which you probably have become accustomed, and to put the +horse of my romance before the cart. There is a mystery respecting Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke which, according to all laws recognised in such matters, +ought not to be elucidated till, let us say, the last chapter but two, so +that your interest should be maintained almost to the end,--so near the +end that there should be left only space for those little arrangements +which are necessary for the well-being, or perhaps for the evil-being, of +our personages. It is my purpose to disclose the mystery at once, and to +ask you to look for your interest,--should you choose to go on with my +chronicle,--simply in the conduct of my persons, during this disclosure, +to others. You are to know it all before the Doctor or the +Bishop,--before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or Lady De Lawle. +You are to know it all before the Peacockes become aware that it must +necessarily be disclosed to any one. It may be that when I shall have +once told the mystery there will no longer be any room for interest in the +tale to you. That there are many such readers of novels I know. I doubt +whether the greater number be not such. I am far from saying that the +kind of interest of which I am speaking,--and of which I intend to deprive +myself,--is not the most natural and the most efficacious. What would the +'Black Dwarf' be if every one knew from the beginning that he was a rich +man and a baronet?--or 'The Pirate,' if all the truth about Norna of the +Fitful-head had been told in the first chapter? Therefore, put the book +down if the revelation of some future secret be necessary for your +enjoyment. Our mystery is going to be revealed in the next paragraph,--in +the next half-dozen words. Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were not man and wife. + +The story how it came to be so need not be very long;--nor will it, as I +think, entail any great degree of odious criminality either upon the man +or upon the woman. At St. Louis Mrs. Peacocke had become acquainted with +two brothers named Lefroy, who had come up from Louisiana, and had +achieved for themselves characters which were by no means desirable. They +were sons of a planter who had been rich in extent of acres and number of +slaves before the war of the Secession. General Lefroy had been in those +days a great man in his State, had held command during the war, and had +been utterly ruined. When the war was over the two boys,--then seventeen +and sixteen years of age,--were old enough to remember and to regret all +that they had lost, to hate the idea of Abolition, and to feel that the +world had nothing left for them but what was to be got by opposition to +the laws of the Union, which was now hateful to them. They were both +handsome, and, in spite of the sufferings of their State, an attempt had +been made to educate them like gentlemen. But no career of honour had +been open to them, and they had fallen by degrees into dishonour, +dishonesty, and brigandage. + +The elder of these, when he was still little more than a stripling, had +married Ella Beaufort, the daughter of another ruined planter in his +State. She had been only sixteen when her father died, and not seventeen +when she married Ferdinand Lefroy. It was she who afterwards came to +England under the name of Mrs. Peacocke. + +Mr. Peacocke was Vice-President of the College at Missouri when he first +saw her, and when he first became acquainted with the two brothers, each +of whom was called Colonel Lefroy. Then there arose a great scandal in +the city as to the treatment which the wife received from her husband. He +was about to go away South, into Mexico, with the view of pushing his +fortune there with certain desperadoes, who were maintaining a perpetual +war against the authorities of the United States on the borders of Texas, +and he demanded that his wife should accompany him. This she refused to +do, and violence was used to force her. Then it came to pass that certain +persons in St. Louis interfered on her behalf, and among these was the +Reverend Mr. Peacocke, the Vice-President of the College, upon whose +feelings the singular beauty and dignified demeanour of the woman, no +doubt, had had much effect. The man failed to be powerful over his wife, +and then the two brothers went away together. The woman was left to +provide for herself, and Mr. Peacocke was generous in the aid he gave to +her in doing so. + +It may be understood that in this way an intimacy was created, but it must +not be understood that the intimacy was of such a nature as to be +injurious to the fair fame of the lady. Things went on in this way for +two years, during which Mrs. Lefroy's conduct drew down upon her +reproaches from no one. Then there came tidings that Colonel Lefroy had +perished in making one of those raids in which the two brothers were +continually concerned. But which Colonel Lefroy had perished? If it were +the younger brother, that would be nothing to Mr. Peacocke. If it were +the elder, it would be everything. If Ferdinand Lefroy were dead, he +would not scruple at once to ask the woman to be his wife. That which the +man had done, and that which he had not done, had been of such a nature as +to solve all bonds of affection. She had already allowed herself to speak +of the man as one whose life was a blight upon her own; and though there +had been no word of out-spoken love from her lips to his ears, he thought +that he might succeed if it could be made certain that Ferdinand Lefroy +was no longer among the living. + +"I shall never know," she said in her misery. "What I do hear I shall +never believe. How can one know anything as to what happens in a country +such as that?" + +Then he took up his hat and staff, and, vice-president, professor, and +clergyman as he was, started off for the Mexican border. He did tell her +that he was going, but barely told her. "It's a thing that ought to be +found out," he said, "and I want a turn of travelling. I shall be away +three months." She merely bade God bless him, but said not a word to +hinder or to encourage his going. + +He was gone just the three months which he had himself named, and then +returned elate with his news. He had seen the younger brother, Robert +Lefroy, and had learnt from him that the elder Ferdinand had certainly +been killed. Robert had been most ungracious to him, having even on one +occasion threatened his life; but there had been no doubt that he, Robert, +was alive, and that Ferdinand had been killed by a party of United States +soldiers. + +Then the clergyman had his reward, and was accepted by the widow with a +full and happy heart. Not only had her release been complete, but so was +her present joy; and nothing seemed wanting to their happiness during the +six first months after their union. Then one day, all of a sudden, +Ferdinand Lefroy was standing within her little drawing-room at the +College of St. Louis. + +Dead? Certainly he was not dead! He did not believe that any one had +said that he was dead! She might be lying or not,--he did not care; he, +Peacocke, certainly had lied;--so said the Colonel. He did not believe +that Peacocke had ever seen his brother Robert. Robert was dead,--must +have been dead, indeed, before the date given for that interview. The +woman was a bigamist,--that is, if any second marriage had ever been +perpetrated. Probably both had wilfully agreed to the falsehood. For +himself he should resolve at once what steps he meant to take. Then he +departed, it being at that moment after nine in the evening. In the +morning he was gone again, and from that moment they had never either +heard of him or seen him. + +How was it to be with them? They could have almost brought themselves to +think it a dream, were it not that others besides themselves had seen the +man, and known that Colonel Ferdinand Lefroy had been in St. Louis. Then +there came to him an idea that even she might disbelieve the words which +he had spoken;--that even she might think his story to have been false. +But to this she soon put an end. "Dearest," she said, "I never knew a +word that was true to come from his mouth, or a word that was false from +yours." + +Should they part? There is no one who reads this but will say that they +should have parted. Every day passed together as man and wife must be a +falsehood and a sin. There would be absolute misery for both in +parting;--but there is no law from God or man entitling a man to escape +from misery at the expense of falsehood and sin. Though their hearts +might have burst in the doing of it, they should have parted. Though she +would have been friendless, alone, and utterly despicable in the eyes of +the world, abandoning the name which she cherished, as not her own, and +going back to that which she utterly abhorred, still she should have done +it. And he, resolving, as no doubt he would have done under any +circumstances, that he must quit the city of his adoption,--he should have +left her with such material sustenance as her spirit would have enabled +her to accept, should have gone his widowed way, and endured as best he +might the idea that he had left the woman whom he loved behind, in the +desert, all alone! That he had not done so the reader is aware. That he +had lived a life of sin,--that he and she had continued in one great +falsehood,--is manifest enough. Mrs. Stantiloup, when she hears it all, +will have her triumph. Lady De Lawle's soft heart will rejoice because +that invitation was not accepted. The Bishop will be unutterably shocked; +but, perhaps, to the good man there will be some solace in the feeling +that he had been right in his surmises. How the Doctor bore it this story +is intended to tell,--and how also Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke bore it, when the +sin and the falsehood were made known to all the world around them. The +mystery has at any rate been told, and they who feel that on this account +all hope of interest is at an end had better put down the book. + + + +Part II. + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION. + +THE Doctor, instigated by the Bishop, had determined to ask some questions +of Mr. Peacocke as to his American life. The promise had been given at +the Palace, and the Doctor, as he returned home, repented himself in that +he had made it. His lordship was a gossip, as bad as an old woman, as bad +as Mrs. Stantiloup, and wanted to know things in which a man should feel +no interest. So said the Doctor to himself. What was it to him, the +Bishop, or to him, the Doctor, what Mr. Peacocke had been doing in +America? The man's scholarship was patent, his morals were unexceptional, +his capacity for preaching undoubted, his peculiar fitness for his place +at Bowick unquestionable. Who had a right to know more? That the man had +been properly educated at Oxford, and properly ordained on entering his +Fellowship, was doubted by no man. Even if there had been some temporary +backslidings in America,--which might be possible, for which of us have +not backslided at some time of our life?--why should they be raked up? +There was an uncharitableness in such a proceeding altogether opposed to +the Doctor's view of life. He hated severity. It may almost be said that +he hated that state of perfection which would require no pardon. He was +thoroughly human, quite content with his own present position, +anticipating no millennium for the future of the world, and probably, in +his heart, looking forward to heaven as simply the better alternative when +the happiness of this world should be at an end. He himself was in no +respect a wicked man, and yet a little wickedness was not distasteful to +him. + +And he was angry with himself in that he had made such a promise. It had +been a rule of life with him never to take advice. The Bishop had his +powers, within which he, as Rector of Bowick, would certainly obey the +Bishop; but it had been his theory to oppose his Bishop, almost more +readily than any one else, should the Bishop attempt to exceed his power. +The Bishop had done so in giving this advice, and yet he had promised. He +was angry with himself, but did not on that account think that the promise +should be evaded. Oh no! Having said that he would do it, he would do +it. And having said that he would do it, the sooner that he did it the +better. When three or four days had passed by, he despised himself +because he had not yet made for himself a fit occasion. "It is such a +mean, sneaking thing to do," he said to himself. But still it had to be +done. + +It was on a Saturday afternoon that he said this to himself, as he +returned back to the parsonage garden from the cricket-ground, where he +had left Mr. Peacocke and the three other ushers playing cricket with ten +or twelve of the bigger boys of the school. There was a French master, a +German master, a master for arithmetic and mathematics with the adjacent +sciences, besides Mr. Peacocke, as assistant classical master. Among them +Mr. Peacocke was _facile princeps_ in rank and supposed ability; but they +were all admitted to the delights of the playground. Mr. Peacocke, in +spite of those years of his spent in America where cricket could not have +been familiar to him, remembered well his old pastime, and was quite an +adept at the game. It was ten thousand pities that a man should be +disturbed by unnecessary questionings who could not only teach and preach, +but play cricket also. But nevertheless it must be done. When, +therefore, the Doctor entered his own house, he went into his study and +wrote a short note to his assistant;-- + + +"MY DEAR PEACOCKE,--Could you come over and see me in my study this +evening for half an hour? I have a question or two which I wish to ask +you. Any hour you may name will suit me after eight.--Yours most +sincerely, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +In answer to this there came a note to say that at half-past eight Mr. +Peacocke would be with the Doctor. + +At half-past eight Mr. Peacocke came. He had fancied, on reading the +Doctor's note, that some further question would be raised as to money. +The Doctor had declared that he could no longer accept gratuitous clerical +service in the parish, and had said that he must look out for some one +else if Mr. Peacocke could not oblige him by allowing his name to be +referred in the usual way to the Bishop. He had now determined to say, in +answer to this, that the school gave him enough to do, and that he would +much prefer to give up the church;--although he would always be happy to +take a part occasionally if he should be wanted. The Doctor had been +sitting alone for the last quarter of an hour when his assistant entered +the room, and had spent the time in endeavouring to arrange the +conversation that should follow. He had come at last to a conclusion. He +would let Mr. Peacocke know exactly what had passed between himself and +the Bishop, and would then leave it to his usher either to tell his own +story as to his past life, or to abstain from telling it. He had promised +to ask the question, and he would ask it; but he would let the man judge +for himself whether any answer ought to be given. + +"The Bishop has been bothering me about you, Peacocke," he said, standing +up with his back to the fireplace, as soon as the other man had shut the +door behind him. The Doctor's face was always expressive of his inward +feelings, and at this moment showed very plainly that his sympathies were +not with the Bishop. + +"I'm sorry that his lordship should have troubled himself," said the +other, "as I certainly do not intend to take any part in his diocese." + +"We'll sink that for the present," said the Doctor. "I won't let that be +mixed up with what I have got to say just now. You have taken a certain +part in the diocese already, very much to my satisfaction. I hope it may +be continued; but I won't bother about that now. As far as I can see, you +are just the man that would suit me as a colleague in the parish." Mr. +Peacocke bowed, but remained silent. "The fact is," continued the Doctor, +"that certain old women have got hold of the Bishop, and made him feel +that he ought to answer their objections. That Mrs. Stantiloup has a +tongue as loud as the town-crier's bell." + +"But what has Mrs. Stantiloup to say about me?" + +"Nothing, except in so far as she can hit me through you." + +"And what does the Bishop say?" + +"He thinks that I ought to know something of your life during those five +years you were in America." + +"I think so also," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"I don't want to know anything for myself. As far as I am concerned, I am +quite satisfied. I know where you were educated, how you were ordained, +and I can feel sure, from your present efficiency, that you cannot have +wasted your time. If you tell me that you do not wish to say anything, I +shall be contented, and I shall tell the Bishop that, as far as I am +concerned, there must be an end of it." + +"And what will he do?" asked Mr. Peacocke. + +"Well; as far as the curacy is concerned, of course he can refuse his +licence." + +"I have not the slightest intention of applying to his lordship for a +licence." + +This the usher said with a tone of self-assertion which grated a little on +the Doctor's ear, in spite of his good-humour towards the speaker. "I +don't want to go into that," he said. "A man never can say what his +intentions may be six months hence." + +"But if I were to refuse to speak of my life in America," said Mr. +Peacocke, "and thus to decline to comply with what I must confess would be +no more than a rational requirement on your part, how then would it be +with myself and my wife in regard to the school?" + +"It would make no difference whatever," said the Doctor. + +"There is a story to tell," said Mr. Peacocke, very slowly. + +"I am sure that it cannot be to your disgrace." + +"I do not say that it is,--nor do I say that it is not. There may be +circumstances in which a man may hardly know whether he has done right or +wrong. But this I do know,--that, had I done otherwise, I should have +despised myself. I could not have done otherwise and have lived." + +"There is no man in the world," said the Doctor, earnestly, "less anxious +to pry into the secrets of others than I am. I take things as I find +them. If the cook sends me up a good dish I don't care to know how she +made it. If I read a good book, I am not the less gratified because there +may have been something amiss with the author." + +"You would doubt his teaching," said Mr. Peacocke, "who had gone astray +himself." + +"Then I must doubt all human teaching, for all men have gone astray. You +had better hold your tongue about the past, and let me tell those who ask +unnecessary questions to mind their own business." + +"It is very odd, Doctor," said Mr. Peacocke, "that all this should have +come from you just now." + +"Why odd just now?" + +"Because I had been turning it in my mind for the last fortnight whether I +ought not to ask you as a favour to listen to the story of my life. That +I must do so before I could formally accept the curacy I had determined. +But that only brought me to the resolution of refusing the office. I +think,--I think that, irrespective of the curacy, it ought to be told. +But I have not quite made up my mind." + +"Do not suppose that I am pressing you." + +"Oh no; nor would your pressing me influence me. Much as I owe to your +undeserved kindness and forbearance, I am bound to say that. Nothing can +influence me in the least in such a matter but the well-being of my wife, +and my own sense of duty. And it is a matter in which I can unfortunately +take counsel from no one. She, and she alone, besides myself, knows the +circumstances, and she is so forgetful of herself that I can hardly ask +her for an opinion." + +The Doctor by this time had no doubt become curious. There was a +something mysterious with which he would like to become acquainted. He +was by no means a philosopher, superior to the ordinary curiosity of +mankind. But he was manly, and even at this moment remembered his former +assurances. "Of course," said he, "I cannot in the least guess what all +this is about. For myself I hate secrets. I haven't a secret in the +world. I know nothing of myself which you mightn't know too for all that +I cared. But that is my good fortune rather than my merit. It might well +have been with me as it is with you; but, as a rule, I think that where +there is a secret it had better be kept. No one, at any rate, should +allow it to be wormed out of him by the impertinent assiduity of others. +If there be anything affecting your wife which you do not wish all the +world on this side of the water to know, do not tell it to any one on this +side of the water." + +"There is something affecting my wife that I do not wish all the world to +know." + +"Then tell it to no one," said Dr. Wortle, authoritatively. + +"I will tell you what I will do," said Mr. Peacocke; "I will take a week +to think of it, and then I will let you know whether I will tell it or +whether I will not; and if I tell it I will let you know also how far I +shall expect you to keep my secret, and how far to reveal it. I think the +Bishop will be entitled to know nothing about me unless I ask to be +recognised as one of the clergy of his diocese." + +"Certainly not; certainly not," said the Doctor. And then the interview +was at an end. + +Mr. Peacocke, when he went away from the Rectory, did not at once return +to his own house, but went off for a walk alone. It was now nearly +midsummer, and there was broad daylight till ten o'clock. It was after +nine when he left the Doctor's, but still there was time for a walk which +he knew well through the fields, which would take him round by Bowick +Wood, and home by a path across the squire's park and by the church. An +hour would do it, and he wanted an hour to collect his thoughts before he +should see his wife, and discuss with her, as he would be bound to do, all +that had passed between him and the Doctor. He had said that he could not +ask her advice. In this there had been much of truth. But he knew also +that he would do nothing as to which he had not received at any rate her +assent. She, for his sake, would have annihilated herself, had that been +possible. Again and again, since that horrible apparition had showed +itself in her room at St. Louis, she had begged that she might leave +him,--not on her own behalf, not from any dread of the crime that she was +committing, not from shame in regard to herself should her secret be found +out, but because she felt herself to be an impediment to his career in the +world. As to herself, she had no pricks of conscience. She had been true +to the man,--brutal, abominable as he had been to her,--until she had in +truth been made to believe that he was dead; and even when he had +certainly been alive,--for she had seen him,--he had only again seen her, +again to desert her. Duty to him she could owe never. There was no sting +of conscience with her in that direction. But to the other man she owed, +as she thought, everything that could be due from a woman to a man. He +had come within her ken, and had loved her without speaking of his love. +He had seen her condition, and had sympathised with her fully. He had +gone out, with his life in his hand,--he, a clergyman, a quiet man of +letters,--to ascertain whether she was free; and finding her, as he +believed, to be free, he had returned to take her to his heart, and to +give her all that happiness which other women enjoy, but which she had +hitherto only seen from a distance. Then the blow had come. It was +necessary, it was natural, that she should be ruined by such a blow. +Circumstances had ruined her. That fate had betaken her which so often +falls upon a woman who trusts herself and her life to a man. But why +should he fall also with her fall? There was still a career before him. +He might be useful; he might be successful; he might be admired. +Everything might still be open to him,--except the love of another woman. +As to that, she did not doubt his truth. Why should he be doomed to drag +her with him as a log tied to his foot, seeing that a woman with a +misfortune is condemned by the general voice of the world, whereas for a +man to have stumbled is considered hardly more than a matter of course? +She would consent to take from him the means of buying her bread; but it +would be better,--she had said,--that she should eat it on her side of the +water, while he might earn it on the other. + +We know what had come of these arguments. He had hitherto never left her +for a moment since that man had again appeared before their eyes. He had +been strong in his resolution. If it were a crime, then he would be a +criminal. If it were a falsehood, then would he be a liar. As to the +sin, there had no doubt been some divergence of opinion between him and +her. The teaching that he had undergone in his youth had been that with +which we, here, are all more or less acquainted, and that had been +strengthened in him by the fact of his having become a clergyman. She had +felt herself more at liberty to proclaim to herself a gospel of her own +for the guidance of her own soul. To herself she had never seemed to be +vicious or impure, but she understood well that he was not equally free +from the bonds which religion had imposed upon him. For his sake,--for +his sake, it would be better that she should be away from him. + +All this was known to him accurately, and all this had to be considered by +him as he walked across the squire's park in the gloaming of the evening. +No doubt,--he now said to himself,--the Doctor should have been made +acquainted with his condition before he or she had taken their place at +the school. Reticence under such circumstances had been a lie. Against +his conscience there had been many pricks. Living in his present +condition he certainly should not have gone up into that pulpit to preach +the Word of God. Though he had been silent, he had known that the evil +and the deceit would work round upon him. But now what should he do? +There was only one thing on which he was altogether decided;--nothing +should separate them. As he had said so often before, he said again +now,--"If there be sin, let it be sin." But this was clear to him,--were +he to give Dr. Wortle a true history of what had happened to him in +America, then must he certainly leave Bowick. And this was equally +certain, that before telling his tale, he must make known his purpose to +his wife. + +But as he entered his own house he had determined that he would tell the +Doctor everything. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"THEN WE MUST GO." + +"I THOUGHT you were never going to have done with that old Jupiter," said +Mrs. Peacocke, as she began at that late hour of the evening to make tea +for herself and her husband. + +"Why have you waited for me?" + +"Because I like company. Did you ever know me go to tea without you when +there was a chance of your coming? What has Jupiter been talking about +all this time?" + +"Jupiter has not been talking all this time. Jupiter talked only for half +an hour. Jupiter is a very good fellow." + +"I always thought so. Otherwise I should never have consented to have +been one of his satellites, or have been contented to see you doing chief +moon. But you have been with him an hour and a half." + +"Since I left him I have walked all round by Bowick Lodge. I had +something to think of before I could talk to you,--something to decide +upon, indeed, before I could return to the house." + +"What have you decided?" she asked. Her voice was altogether changed. +Though she was seated in her chair and had hardly moved, her appearance +and her carriage of herself were changed. She still held the cup in her +hand which she had been about to fill, but her face was turned towards +his, and her large brown speaking eyes were fixed upon him. + +"Let me have my tea," he said, "and then I will tell you." While he +drank his tea she remained quite quiet, not touching her own, but waiting +patiently till it should suit him to speak. "Ella," he said, "I must tell +it all to Dr. Wortle." + +"Why, dearest?" As he did not answer at once, she went on with her +question. "Why now more than before?" + +"Nay, it is not now more than before. As we have let the before go by, we +can only do it now." + +"But why at all, dear? Has the argument, which was strong when we came, +lost any of its force?" + +"It should have had no force. We should not have taken the man's good +things, and have subjected him to the injury which may come to him by our +bad name." + +"Have we not given him good things in return?" + +"Not the good things which he had a right to expect,--not that +respectability which is all the world to such an establishment as this." + +"Let me go," she said, rising from her chair and almost shrieking. + +"Nay, Ella, nay; if you and I cannot talk as though we were one flesh, +almost with one soul between us, as though that which is done by one is +done by both, whether for weal or woe,--if you and I cannot feel ourselves +to be in a boat together either for swimming or for sinking, then I think +that no two persons on this earth ever can be bound together after that +fashion. 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will +lodge. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee +and me."' Then she rose from her chair, and flinging herself on her knees +at his feet, buried her face in his lap. "Ella," he said, "the only +injury you can do me is to speak of leaving me. And it is an injury which +is surely unnecessary because you cannot carry it beyond words. Now, if +you will sit up and listen to me, I will tell you what passed between me +and the Doctor." Then she raised herself from the ground and took her seat +at the tea-table, and listened patiently as he began his tale. "They have +been talking about us here in the county." + +"Who has found it necessary to talk about one so obscure as I?" + +"What does it matter who they might be? The Doctor in his kindly +wrath,--for he is very wroth,--mentions this name and the other. What +does it matter? Obscurity itself becomes mystery, and mystery of course +produces curiosity. It was bound to be so. It is not they who are in +fault, but we. If you are different from others, of course you will be +inquired into." + +"Am I so different?" + +"Yes;--different in not eating the Doctor's dinners when they are offered +to you; different in not accepting Lady De Lawle's hospitality; different +in contenting yourself simply with your duties and your husband. Of +course we are different. How could we not be different? And as we are +different, so of course there will be questions and wonderings, and that +sifting and searching which always at last finds out the facts. The +Bishop says that he knows nothing of my American life." + +"Why should he want to know anything?" + +"Because I have been preaching in one of his churches. It is +natural;--natural that the mothers of the boys should want to know +something. The Doctor says that he hates secrets. So do I." + +"Oh, my dearest!" + +"A secret is always accompanied by more or less of fear, and produces more +or less of cowardice. But it can no more be avoided than a sore on the +flesh or a broken bone. Who would not go about, with all his affairs such +as the world might know, if it were possible? But there come gangrenes in +the heart, or perhaps in the pocket. Wounds come, undeserved wounds, as +those did to you, my darling; but wounds which may not be laid bare to all +eyes. Who has a secret because he chooses it?" + +"But the Bishop?" + +"Well,--yes, the Bishop. The Bishop has told the Doctor to examine me, +and the Doctor has done it. I give him the credit of saying that the task +has been most distasteful to him. I do him the justice of acknowledging +that he has backed out of the work he had undertaken. He has asked the +question, but has said in the same breath that I need not answer it unless +I like." + +"And you? You have not answered it yet?" + +"No; I have answered nothing as yet. But I have, I think, made up my mind +that the question must be answered." + +"That everything should be told?" + +"Everything,--to him. My idea is to tell everything to him, and to leave +it to him to decide what should be done. Should he refuse to repeat the +story any further, and then bid us go away from Bowick, I should think +that his conduct had been altogether straightforward and not +uncharitable." + +"And you,--what would you do then?" + +"I should go. What else?" + +"But whither?" + +"Ah! on that we must decide. He would be friendly with me. Though he +might think it necessary that I should leave Bowick, he would not turn +against me violently." + +"He could do nothing." + +"I think he would assist me rather. He would help me, perhaps, to find +some place where I might still earn my bread by such skill as I +possess;--where I could do so without dragging in aught of my domestic +life, as I have been forced to do here." + +"I have been a curse to you," exclaimed the unhappy wife. + +"My dearest blessing," he said. "That which you call a curse has come +from circumstances which are common to both of us. There need be no more +said about it. That man has been a source of terrible trouble to us. The +trouble must be discussed from time to time, but the necessity of enduring +it may be taken for granted." + +"I cannot be a philosopher such as you are," she said. + +"There is no escape from it. The philosophy is forced upon us. When an +evil thing is necessary, there remains only the consideration how it may +be best borne." + +"You must tell him, then?" + +"I think so. I have a week to consider of it; but I think so. Though he +is very kind at this moment in giving me the option, and means what he +says in declaring that I shall remain even though I tell him nothing, yet +his mind would become uneasy, and he would gradually become discontented. +Think how great is his stake in the school! How would he feel towards me, +were its success to be gradually diminished because he kept a master here +of whom people believed some unknown evil?" + +"There has been no sign of any such falling off?" + +"There has been no time for it. It is only now that people are beginning +to talk. Had nothing of the kind been said, had this Bishop asked no +questions, had we been regarded as people simply obscure, to whom no +mystery attached itself, the thing might have gone on; but as it is, I am +bound to tell him the truth." + +"Then we must go?" + +"Probably." + +"At once?" + +"When it has been so decided, the sooner the better. How could we endure +to remain here when our going shall be desired?" + +"Oh no!" + +"We must flit, and again seek some other home. Though he should keep our +secret,--and I believe he will if he be asked,--it will be known that +there is a secret, and a secret of such a nature that its circumstances +have driven us hence. If I could get literary work in London, perhaps we +might live there." + +"But how,--how would you set about it? The truth is, dearest, that for +work such as yours you should either have no wife at all, or else a wife +of whom you need not be ashamed to speak the whole truth before the +world." + +"What is the use of it?" he said, rising from his chair as in anger. "Why +go back to all that which should be settled between us, as fixed by fate? +Each of us has given to the other all that each has to give, and the +partnership is complete. As far as that is concerned, I at any rate am +contented." + +"Ah, my darling!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms round his neck. + +"Let there be an end to distinctions and differences, which, between you +and me, can have no effect but to increase our troubles. You are a woman, +and I am a man; and therefore, no doubt, your name, when brought in +question, is more subject to remark than mine,--as is my name, being that +of a clergyman, more subject to remark than that of one not belonging to a +sacred profession. But not on that account do I wish to unfrock myself; +nor certainly on that account do I wish to be deprived of my wife. For +good or bad, it has to be endured together; and expressions of regret as +to that which is unavoidable, only aggravate our trouble." After that, he +seated himself, and took up a book as though he were able at once to carry +off his mind to other matters. She probably knew that he could not do so, +but she sat silent by him for a while, till he bade her take herself to +bed, promising that he would follow without delay. + +For three days nothing further was said between them on the subject, nor +was any allusion made to it between the Doctor and his assistant. The +school went on the same as ever, and the intercourse between the two men +was unaltered as to its general mutual courtesy. But there did +undoubtedly grow in the Doctor's mind a certain feverish feeling of +insecurity. At any rate, he knew this, that there was a mystery, that +there was something about the Peacockes,--something referring especially +to Mrs. Peacocke,--which, if generally known, would be held to be +deleterious to their character. So much he could not help deducing from +what the man had already told him. No doubt he had undertaken, in his +generosity, that although the man should decline to tell his secret, no +alteration should be made as to the school arrangements; but he became +conscious that in so promising he had in some degree jeopardised the +well-being of the school. He began to whisper to himself that persons in +such a position as that filled by this Mr. Peacocke and his wife should +not be subject to peculiar remarks from ill-natured tongues. A weapon was +afforded by such a mystery to the Stantiloups of the world, which the +Stantiloups would be sure to use with all their virulence. To such an +establishment as his school, respectability was everything. Credit, he +said to himself, is a matter so subtle in its essence, that, as it may be +obtained almost without reason, so, without reason, may it be made to melt +away. Much as he liked Mr. Peacocke, much as he approved of him, much as +there was in the man of manliness and worth which was absolutely dear to +him,--still he was not willing to put the character of his school in peril +for the sake of Mr. Peacocke. Were he to do so, he would be neglecting a +duty much more sacred than any he could owe to Mr. Peacocke. It was thus +that, during these three days, he conversed with himself on the subject, +although he was able to maintain outwardly the same manner and the same +countenance as though all things were going well between them. When they +parted after the interview in the study, the Doctor, no doubt, had so +expressed himself as rather to dissuade his usher from telling his secret +than to encourage him to do so. He had been free in declaring that the +telling of the secret should make no difference in his assistant's +position at Bowick. But in all that, he had acted from his habitual +impulse. He had since told himself that the mystery ought to be +disclosed. It was not right that his boys should be left to the charge of +one who, however competent, dared not speak of his own antecedents. It +was thus he thought of the matter, after consideration. He must wait, of +course, till the week should be over before he made up his mind to +anything further. + +"So Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?" + +This was said to the Doctor by Mr. Pearson, the squire, in the course of +those two or three days of which we are speaking. Mr. Pearson was an old +gentleman, who did not live often at Bowick, being compelled, as he always +said, by his health, to spend the winter and spring of every year in +Italy, and the summer months by his family in London. In truth, he did +not much care for Bowick, but had always been on good terms with the +Doctor, and had never opposed the school. Mr. Pearson had been good also +as to Church matters,--as far as goodness can be shown by generosity,--and +had interested himself about the curates. So it had come to pass that the +Doctor did not wish to snub his neighbour when the question was asked. "I +rather think not," said the Doctor. "I fear I shall have to look out for +some one else." He did not prolong the conversation; for, though he wished +to be civil, he did not wish to be communicative. Mr. Pearson had shown +his parochial solicitude, and did not trouble himself with further +questions. + +"So Mr. Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?" This, the very same +question in the very same words, was put to the Doctor on the next morning +by the vicar of the next parish. The Rev. Mr. Puddicombe, a clergyman +without a flaw who did his duty excellently in every station of life, was +one who would preach a sermon or take a whole service for a brother parson +in distress, and never think of reckoning up that return sermons or return +services were due to him,--one who gave dinners, too, and had pretty +daughters;--but still our Doctor did not quite like him. He was a little +too pious, and perhaps given to ask questions. "So Mr. Peacocke isn't +going to take the curacy?" + +There was a certain animation about the asking of this question by Mr. +Puddicombe very different from Mr. Pearson's listless manner. It was +clear to the Doctor that Mr. Puddicombe wanted to know. It seemed to the +Doctor that something of condemnation was implied in the tone of the +question, not only against Mr. Peacocke, but against himself also, for +having employed Mr. Peacocke. "Upon my word I can't tell you," he said, +rather crossly. + +"I thought that it had been all settled. I heard that it was decided." + +"Then you have heard more than I have." + +"It was the Bishop told me." + +Now it certainly was the case that in that fatal conversation which had +induced the Doctor to interrogate Mr. Peacocke about his past life, the +Doctor himself had said that he intended to look out for another curate. +He probably did not remember that at the moment. "I wish the Bishop would +confine himself to asserting things that he knows," said the Doctor, +angrily. + +"I am sure the Bishop intends to do so," said Mr. Puddicombe, very +gravely. "But I apologise. I had not intended to touch a subject on +which there may perhaps be some reserve. I was only going to tell you of +an excellent young man of whom I have heard. But, good morning." Then Mr. +Puddicombe withdrew. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +LORD CARSTAIRS. + +DURING the last six months Mr. Peacocke's most intimate friend at Bowick, +excepting of course his wife, had been one of the pupils at the school. +The lad was one of the pupils, but could not be said to be one of the +boys. He was the young Lord Carstairs, eldest son of Earl Bracy. He had +been sent to Bowick now six years ago, with the usual purpose of +progressing from Bowick to Eton. And from Bowick to Eton he had gone in +due course. But there, things had not gone well with the young lord. +Some school disturbance had taken place when he had been there about a +year and a half, in which he was, or was supposed to have been, a +ringleader. It was thought necessary, for the preservation of the +discipline of the school, that a victim should be made;--and it was +perhaps thought well, in order that the impartiality of the school might +be made manifest, that the victim should be a lord. Earl Bracy was +therefore asked to withdraw his son; and young Lord Carstairs, at the age +of seventeen, was left to seek his education where he could. It had been, +and still was, the Earl's purpose to send his son to Oxford, but there was +now an interval of two years before that could be accomplished. During +one year he was sent abroad to travel with a tutor, and was then reported +to have been all that a well-conducted lad ought to be. He was declared +to be quite worthy of all that Oxford would do for him. It was even +suggested that Eton had done badly for herself in throwing off from her +such a young nobleman. But though Lord Carstairs had done well with his +French and German on the Continent, it would certainly be necessary that +he should rub up his Greek and Latin before he went to Christ Church. +Then a request was made to the Doctor to take him in at Bowick in some +sort as a private pupil. After some demurring the Doctor consented. It +was not his wont to run counter to earls who treated him with respect and +deference. Earl Bracy had in a special manner been his friend, and Lord +Carstairs himself had been a great favourite at Bowick. When that +expulsion from Eton had come about, the Doctor had interested himself, and +had declared that a very scant measure of justice had been shown to the +young lord. He was thus in a measure compelled to accede to the request +made to him, and Lord Carstairs was received back at Bowick, not without +hesitation, but with a full measure of affectionate welcome. His bed-room +was in the parsonage-house, and his dinner he took with the Doctor's +family. In other respects he lived among the boys. + +"Will it not be bad for Mary?" Mrs. Wortle had said anxiously to her +husband when the matter was first discussed. + +"Why should it be bad for Mary?" + +"Oh, I don't know;--but young people together, you know? Mightn't it be +dangerous?" + +"He is a boy, and she is a mere child. They are both children. It will +be a trouble, but I do not think it will be at all dangerous in that way." +And so it was decided. Mrs. Wortle did not at all agree as to their both +being children. She thought that her girl was far from being a child. +But she had argued the matter quite as much as she ever argued anything +with the Doctor. So the matter was arranged, and young Lord Carstairs +came back to Bowick. + +As far as the Doctor could see, nothing could be nicer than his young +pupil's manners. He was not at all above playing with the other boys. He +took very kindly to his old studies and his old haunts, and of an evening, +after dinner, went away from the drawing-room to the study in pursuit of +his Latin and his Greek, without any precocious attempt at making +conversation with Miss Wortle. No doubt there was a good deal of +lawn-tennis of an afternoon, and the lawn-tennis was generally played in +the rectory garden. But then this had ever been the case, and the +lawn-tennis was always played with two on a side; there were no +_tête-à-tête_ games between his lordship and Mary, and whenever the game +was going on, Mrs. Wortle was always there to see fair-play. Among other +amusements the young lord took to walking far afield with Mr. Peacocke. +And then, no doubt, many things were said about that life in America. +When a man has been much abroad, and has passed his time there under +unusual circumstances, his doings will necessarily become subjects of +conversation to his companions. To have travelled in France, Germany, or +in Italy, is not uncommon; nor is it uncommon to have lived a year or +years in Florence or in Rome. It is not uncommon now to have travelled +all through the United States. The Rocky Mountains or Peru are hardly +uncommon, so much has the taste for travelling increased. But for an +Oxford Fellow of a college, and a clergyman of the Church of England, to +have established himself as a professor in Missouri, is uncommon, and it +could hardly be but that Lord Carstairs should ask questions respecting +that far-away life. + +Mr. Peacocke had no objection to such questions. He told his young friend +much about the manners of the people of St. Louis,--told him how far the +people had progressed in classical literature, in what they fell behind, +and in what they excelled youths of their own age in England, and how far +the college was a success. Then he described his own life,--both before +and after his marriage. He had liked the people of St. Louis well +enough,--but not quite well enough to wish to live among them. No doubt +their habits were very different from those of Englishmen. He could, +however, have been happy enough there,--only that circumstances arose. + +"Did Mrs. Peacocke like the place?" the young lord asked one day. + +"She is an American, you know." + +"Oh yes; I have heard. But did she come from St. Louis?" + +"No; her father was a planter in Louisiana, not far from New Orleans, +before the abolition of slavery." + +"Did she like St. Louis?" + +"Well enough, I think, when we were first married. She had been married +before, you know. She was a widow." + +"Did she like coming to England among strangers?" + +"She was glad to leave St. Louis. Things happened there which made her +life unhappy. It was on that account I came here, and gave up a position +higher and more lucrative than I shall ever now get in England." + +"I should have thought you might have had a school of your own," said the +lad. "You know so much, and get on so well with boys. I should have +thought you might have been tutor at a college." + +"To have a school of my own would take money," said he, "which I have not +got. To be tutor at a college would take---- But never mind. I am very +well where I am, and have nothing to complain of." He had been going to +say that to be tutor of a college he would want high standing. And then +he would have been forced to explain that he had lost at his own college +that standing which he had once possessed. + +"Yes," he said on another occasion, "she is unhappy; but do not ask her +any questions about it." + +"Who,--I? Oh dear, no! I should not think of taking such a liberty." + +"It would be as a kindness, not as a liberty. But still, do not speak to +her about it. There are sorrows which must be hidden, which it is better +to endeavour to bury by never speaking of them, by not thinking of them, +if that were possible." + +"Is it as bad as that?" the lad asked. + +"It is bad enough sometimes. But never mind. You remember that Roman +wisdom,--'Dabit Deus his quoque finem.' And I think that all things are +bearable if a man will only make up his mind to bear them. Do not tell +any one that I have complained." + +"Who,--I? Oh, never!" + +"Not that I have said anything which all the world might not know; but +that it is unmanly to complain. Indeed I do not complain, only I wish +that things were lighter to her." Then he went off to other matters; but +his heart was yearning to tell everything to this young lad. + +Before the end of the week had arrived, there came a letter to him which +he had not at all expected, and a letter also to the Doctor,--both from +Lord Bracy. The letter to Mr. Peacocke was as follows:-- + + +"MY DEAR SIR,--I have been much gratified by what I have heard both from +Dr. Wortle and my son as to his progress. He will have to come home in +July, when the Doctor's school is broken up, and, as you are probably +aware, will go up to Oxford in October. I think it would be very +expedient that he should not altogether lose the holidays, and I am aware +how much more he would do with adequate assistance than without it. The +meaning of all this is, that I and Lady Bracy will feel very much obliged +if you and Mrs. Peacocke will come and spend your holidays with us at +Carstairs. I have written to Dr. Wortle on the subject, partly to tell +him of my proposal, because he has been so kind to my son, and partly to +ask him to fix the amount of remuneration, should you be so kind as to +accede to my request. + +"His mother has heard on more than one occasion from her son how very +good-natured you have been to him.--Yours faithfully, + +"BRACY." + + +It was, of course, quite out of the question. Mr. Peacocke, as soon as he +had read the letter, felt that it was so. Had things been smooth and easy +with him, nothing would have delighted him more. His liking for the lad +was most sincere, and it would have been a real pleasure to him to have +worked with him during the holidays. But it was quite out of the +question. He must tell Lord Carstairs that it was so, and must at the +moment give such explanation as might occur to him. He almost felt that +in giving that explanation he would be tempted to tell his whole story. + +But the Doctor met him before he had an opportunity of speaking to Lord +Carstairs. The Doctor met him, and at once produced the Earl's letter. +"I have heard from Lord Bracy, and you, I suppose, have had a letter too," +said the Doctor. His manner was easy and kind, as though no disagreeable +communication was due to be made on the following day. + +"Yes," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have had a letter." + +"Well?" + +"His lordship has asked me to go to Carstairs for the holidays; but it is +out of the question." + +"It would do Carstairs all the good in the world," said the Doctor; "and I +do not see why you should not have a pleasant visit and earn twenty-five +pounds at the same time." + +"It is quite out of the question." + +"I suppose you would not like to leave Mrs. Peacocke," said the Doctor. + +"Either to leave her or to take her! To go myself under any circumstances +would be altogether out of the question. I shall come to you to-morrow, +Doctor, as I said I would last Saturday. What hour will suit you?" Then +the Doctor named an hour in the afternoon, and knew that the revelation +was to be made to him. He felt, too, that that revelation would lead to +the final departure of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke from Bowick, and he was +unhappy in his heart. Though he was anxious for his school, he was +anxious also for his friend. There was a gratification in the feeling +that Lord Bracy thought so much of his assistant,--or would have been but +for this wretched mystery! + +"No," said Mr. Peacocke to the lad. "I regret to say that I cannot go. I +will tell you why, perhaps, another time, but not now. I have written to +your father by this post, because it is right that he should be told at +once. I have been obliged to say that it is impossible." + +"I am so sorry! I should so much have liked it. My father would have +done everything to make you comfortable, and so would mamma." In answer +to all this Mr. Peacocke could only say that it was impossible. This +happened on Friday afternoon, Friday being a day on which the school was +always very busy. There was no time for the doing of anything special, as +there would be on the following day, which was a half-holiday. At night, +when the work was altogether over, he showed the letter to his wife, and +told her what he had decided. + +"Couldn't you have gone without me?" she asked. + +"How can I do that," he said, "when before this time to-morrow I shall +have told everything to Dr. Wortle? After that, he would not let me go. +He would do no more than his duty in telling me that if I proposed to go +he must make it all known to Lord Bracy. But this is a trifle. I am at +the present moment altogether in the dark as to what I shall do with +myself when to-morrow evening comes. I cannot guess, because it is so +hard to know what are the feelings in the breast of another man. It may +so well be that he should refuse me permission to go to my desk in the +school again." + +"Will he be hard like that?" + +"I can hardly tell myself whether it would be hard. I hardly know what I +should feel it my duty to do in such a position myself. I have deceived +him." + +"No!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes; I have deceived him. Coming to him as I did, I gave him to +understand that there was nothing wrong;--nothing to which special +objection could be made in my position." + +"Then we are deceiving all the world in calling ourselves man and wife." + +"Certainly we are; but to that we had made up our mind! We are not +injuring all the world. No doubt it is a lie,--but there are +circumstances in which a lie can hardly be a sin. I would have been the +last to say so before all this had come upon me, but I feel it to be so +now. It is a lie to say that you are my wife." + +"Is it? Is it?" + +"Is it not? And yet I would rather cut my tongue out than say otherwise. +To give you my name is a lie,--but what should I think of myself were I to +allow you to use any other? What would you have thought if I had asked +you to go away and leave me when that bad hour came upon us?" + +"I would have borne it." + +"I could not have borne it. There are worse things than a lie. I have +found, since this came upon us, that it may be well to choose one sin in +order that another may be shunned. To cherish you, to comfort you, to +make the storm less sharp to you,--that has already been my duty as well +as my pleasure. To do the same to me is your duty." + +"And my pleasure; and my pleasure,--my only pleasure." + +"We must cling to each other, let the world call us what names it may. +But there may come a time in which one is called on to do a special act of +justice to others. It has come now to me. From the world at large I am +prepared, if possible, to keep my secret, even though I do it by +lying;--but to this one man I am driven to tell it, because I may not +return his friendship by doing him an evil." + +Morning school at this time of the year at Bowick began at half-past +seven. There was an hour of school before breakfast, at which the Doctor +did not himself put in an appearance. He was wont to tell the boys that +he had done all that when he was young, and that now in his old age it +suited him best to have his breakfast before he began the work of the day. +Mr. Peacocke, of course, attended the morning school. Indeed, as the +matutinal performances were altogether classical, it was impossible that +much should be done without him. On this Saturday morning, however, he +was not present; and a few minutes after the proper time, the mathematical +master took his place. "I saw him coming across out of his own door," +little Jack Talbot said to the younger of the two Clifford boys, "and +there was a man coming up from the gate who met him." + +"What sort of a man?" asked Clifford. + +"He was a rummy-looking fellow, with a great beard, and a queer kind of +coat. I never saw any one like him before." + +"And where did they go?" + +"They stood talking for a minute or two just before the front door, and +then Mr. Peacocke took him into the house. I heard him tell Carstairs to +go through and send word up to the Doctor that he wouldn't be in school +this morning." + +It had all happened just as young Talbot had said. A very "rummy-looking +fellow" had at that early hour been driven over from Broughton to Bowick, +and had caught Mr. Peacocke just as he was going into the school. He was +a man with a beard, loose, flowing on both sides, as though he were winged +like a bird,--a beard that had been black, but was now streaked through +and through with grey hairs. The man had a coat with frogged buttons that +must have been intended to have a military air when it was new, but which +was now much the worse for wear. The coat was so odd as to have caught +young Talbot's attention at once. And the man's hat was old and seedy. +But there was a look about him as though he were by no means ashamed +either of himself or of his present purpose. "He came in a gig," said +Talbot to his friend; "for I saw the horse standing at the gate, and the +man sitting in the gig." + +"You remember me, no doubt," the stranger said, when he encountered Mr. +Peacocke. + +"I do not remember you in the least," the schoolmaster answered. + +"Come, come; that won't do. You know me well enough. I'm Robert Lefroy." + +Then Mr. Peacocke, looking at him again, knew that the man was the brother +of his wife's husband. He had not seen him often, but he recognised him +as Robert Lefroy, and having recognised him he took him into the house. + + + +Part III. + +CHAPTER VII. + +ROBERT LEFROY. + +FERDINAND LEFROY, the man who had in truth been the woman's husband, had, +during that one interview which had taken place between him and the man +who had married his wife, on his return to St. Louis, declared that his +brother Robert was dead. But so had Robert, when Peacocke encountered him +down at Texas, declared that Ferdinand was dead. Peacocke knew that no +word of truth could be expected from the mouths of either of them. But +seeing is believing. He had seen Ferdinand alive at St. Louis after his +marriage, and by seeing him, had been driven away from his home back to +his old country. Now he also saw this other man, and was aware that his +secret was no longer in his own keeping. + +"Yes, I know you now. Why, when I saw you last, did you tell me that your +brother was dead? Why did you bring so great an injury on your +sister-in-law?" + +"I never told you anything of the kind." + +"As God is above us you told me so." + +"I don't know anything about that, my friend. Maybe I was cut. I used to +be drinking a good deal them days. Maybe I didn't say anything of the +kind,--only it suited you to go back and tell her so. Anyways I +disremember it altogether. Anyways he wasn't dead. And I ain't dead +now." + +"I can see that." + +"And I ain't drunk now. But I am not quite so well off as a fellow would +wish to be. Can you get me breakfast?" + +"Yes, I can get you breakfast," he said, after pausing for a while. Then +he rang the bell and told the girl to bring some breakfast for the +gentleman as soon as possible into the room in which they were sitting. +This was in a little library in which he was in the habit of studying and +going through lessons with the boys. He had brought the man here so that +his wife might not come across him. As soon as the order was given, he +ran up-stairs to her room, to save her from coming down. + +"A man;--what man?" she asked. + +"Robert Lefroy. I must go to him at once. Bear yourself well and boldly, +my darling. It is he, certainly. I know nothing yet of what he may have +to say, but it will be well that you should avoid him if possible. When I +have heard anything I will tell you all." Then he hurried down and found +the man examining the book-shelves. + +"You have got yourself up pretty tidy again, Peacocke," said Lefroy. + +"Pretty well." + +"The old game, I suppose. Teaching the young idea. Is this what you call +a college, now, in your country?" + +"It is a school." + +"And you're one of the masters." + +"I am the second master." + +"It ain't as good, I reckon, as the Missouri College." + +"It's not so large, certainly." + +"What's the screw?" he said. + +"The payment, you mean. It can hardly serve us now to go into matters +such as that. What is it that has brought you here, Lefroy?" + +"Well, a big ship, an uncommonly bad sort of railway car, and the +ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to. Them's +what's brought me here." + +"I suppose you have something to say, or you would not have come," said +Peacocke. + +"Yes, I've a good deal to say of one kind or another. But here's the +breakfast, and I'm well-nigh starved. What, cold meat! I'm darned if I +can eat cold meat. Haven't you got anything hot, my dear?" Then it was +explained to him that hot meat was not to be had, unless he would choose +to wait, to have some lengthened cooking accomplished. To this, however, +he objected, and then the girl left the room. + +"I've a good many things to say of one kind or another," he continued. +"It's difficult to say, Peacocke, how you and I stand with each other." + +"I do not know that we stand with each other at all, as you call it." + +"I mean as to relationship. Are you my brother-in-law, or are you not?" +This was a question which in very truth the schoolmaster found it hard to +answer. He did not answer it at all, but remained silent. "Are you my +brother-in-law, or are you not? You call her Mrs. Peacocke, eh?" + +"Yes, I call her Mrs. Peacocke." + +"And she is here living with you?" + +"Yes, she is here." + +"Had she not better come down and see me? She is my sister-in-law, +anyway." + +"No," said Mr. Peacocke; "I think, on the whole, that she had better not +come down and see you." + +"You don't mean to say she isn't my sister-in-law? She's that, whatever +else she is. She's that, whatever name she goes by. If Ferdinand had +been ever so much dead, and that marriage at St. Louis had been ever so +good, still she'd been my sister-in-law." + +"Not a doubt about it," said Mr. Peacocke. "But still, under all the +circumstances, she had better not see you." + +"Well, that's a queer beginning, anyway. But perhaps you'll come round +by-and-by. She goes by Mrs. Peacocke?" + +"She is regarded as my wife," said the husband, feeling himself to become +more and more indignant at every word, but knowing at the same time how +necessary it was that he should keep his indignation hidden. + +"Whether true or false?" asked the brother-in-law. + +"I will answer no such question as that." + +"You ain't very well disposed to answer any question, as far as I can see. +But I shall have to make you answer one or two before I've done with you. +There's a Doctor here, isn't there, as this school belongs to?" + +"Yes, there is. It belongs to Dr. Wortle." + +"It's him these boys are sent to?" + +"Yes, he is the master; I am only his assistant." + +"It's him they comes to for education, and morals, and religion?" + +"Quite so." + +"And he knows, no doubt, all about you and my sister-in-law;--how you came +and married her when she was another man's wife, and took her away when +you knew as that other man was alive and kicking?" Mr. Peacocke, when +these questions were put to him, remained silent, because literally he did +not know how to answer them. He was quite prepared to take his position +as he found it. He had told himself before this dreadful man had +appeared, that the truth must be made known at Bowick, and that he and his +wife must pack up and flit. It was not that the man could bring upon him +any greater evil than he had anticipated. But the questions which were +asked him were in themselves so bitter! The man, no doubt, was his wife's +brother-in-law. He could not turn him out of the house as he would a +stranger, had a stranger come there asking such questions without any +claim of family. Abominable as the man was to him, still he was there +with a certain amount of right upon his side. + +"I think," said he, "that questions such as those you've asked can be of +no service to you. To me they are intended only to be injurious." + +"They're as a preface to what is to come," said Robert Lefroy, with an +impudent leer upon his face. "The questions, no doubt, are disagreeable +enough. She ain't your wife no more than she's mine. You've no business +with her; and that you knew when you took her away from St. Louis. You +may, or you mayn't, have been fooled by some one down in Texas when you +went back and married her in all that hurry. But you knew what you were +doing well enough when you took her away. You won't dare to tell me that +you hadn't seen Ferdinand when you two mizzled off from the College?" +Then he paused, waiting again for a reply. + +"As I told you before," he said, "no further conversation on the subject +can be of avail. It does not suit me to be cross-examined as to what I +knew or what I did not know. If you have anything for me to hear, you can +say it. If you have anything to tell to others, go and tell it to them." + +"That's just it," said Lefroy. + +"Then go and tell it." + +"You're in a terrible hurry, Mister Peacocke. I don't want to drop in and +spoil your little game. You're making money of your little game. I can +help you as to carrying on your little game, better than you do at +present. I don't want to blow upon you. But as you're making money out +of it, I'd like to make a little too. I am precious hard up,--I am." + +"You will make no money of me," said the other. + +"A little will go a long way with me; and remember, I have got tidings now +which are worth paying for." + +"What tidings?" + +"If they're worth paying for, it's not likely that you are going to get +them for nothing." + +"Look here, Colonel Lefroy; whatever you may have to say about me will +certainly not be prevented by my paying you money. Though you might be +able to ruin me to-morrow I would not give you a dollar to save myself." + +"But her," said Lefroy, pointing as it were up-stairs, with his thumb over +his shoulder. + +"Nor her," said Peacocke. + +"You don't care very much about her, then?" + +"How much I may care I shall not trouble myself to explain to you. I +certainly shall not endeavour to serve her after that fashion. I begin to +understand why you have come, and can only beg you to believe that you +have come in vain." + +Lefroy turned to his food, which he had not yet finished, while his +companion sat silent at the window, trying to arrange in his mind the +circumstances of the moment as best he might. He declared to himself that +had the man come but one day later, his coming would have been matter of +no moment. The story, the entire story, would then have been told to the +Doctor, and the brother-in-law, with all his malice, could have added +nothing to the truth. But now it seemed as though there would be a race +which should tell the story first. Now the Doctor would, no doubt, be led +to feel that the narration was made because it could no longer be kept +back. Should this man be with the Doctor first, and should the story be +told as he would tell it, then it would be impossible for Mr. Peacocke, in +acknowledging the truth of it all, to bring his friend's mind back to the +condition in which it would have been had this intruder not been in the +way. And yet he could not make a race of it with the man. He could not +rush across, and, all but out of breath with his energy, begin his +narration while Lefroy was there knocking at the door. There would be an +absence of dignity in such a mode of proceeding which alone was sufficient +to deter him. He had fixed an hour already with the Doctor. He had said +that he would be there in the house at a certain time. Let the man do +what he would he would keep exactly to his purpose, unless the Doctor +should seek an earlier interview. He would, in no tittle, be turned from +his purpose by the unfortunate coming of this wretched man. "Well!" said +Lefroy, as soon as he had eaten his last mouthful. + +"I have nothing to say to you," said Peacocke. + +"Nothing to say?" + +"Not a word." + +"Well, that's queer. I should have thought there'd have been a many +words. I've got a lot to say to somebody, and mean to say it;--precious +soon too. Is there any hotel here, where I can put this horse up? I +suppose you haven't got stables of your own? I wonder if the Doctor would +give me accommodation?" + +"I haven't got a stable, and the Doctor certainly will not give you +accommodation. There is a public-house less than a quarter of a mile +further on, which no doubt your driver knows very well. You had better go +there yourself, because after what has taken place, I am bound to tell you +that you will not be admitted here." + +"Not admitted?" + +"No. You must leave this house, and will not be admitted into it again as +long as I live in it." + +"The Doctor will admit me." + +"Very likely. I, at any rate, shall do nothing to dissuade him. If you +go down to the road you'll see the gate leading up to his house. I think +you'll find that he is down-stairs by this time." + +"You take it very cool, Peacocke." + +"I only tell you the truth. With you I will have nothing more to do. You +have a story which you wish to tell to Dr. Wortle. Go and tell it to +him." + +"I can tell it to all the world," said Lefroy. + +"Go and tell it to all the world." + +"And I ain't to see my sister?" + +"No; you will not see your sister-in-law here. Why should she wish to see +one who has only injured her?" + +"I ain't injured her;--at any rate not as yet. I ain't done nothing;--not +as yet. I've been as dark as the grave;--as yet. Let her come down, and +you go away for a moment, and let us see if we can't settle it." + +"There is nothing for you to settle. Nothing that you can do, nothing +that you can say, will influence either her or me. If you have anything +to tell, go and tell it." + +"Why should you smash up everything in that way, Peacocke? You're +comfortable here; why not remain so? I don't want to hurt you. I want to +help you;--and I can. Three hundred dollars wouldn't be much to you. You +were always a fellow as had a little money by you." + +"If this box were full of gold," said the schoolmaster, laying his hand +upon a black desk which stood on the table, "I would not give you one cent +to induce you to hold your tongue for ever. I would not condescend even +to ask it of you as a favour. You think that you can disturb our +happiness by telling what you know of us to Dr. Wortle. Go and try." + +Mr. Peacocke's manner was so firm that the other man began to doubt +whether in truth he had a secret to tell. Could it be possible that Dr. +Wortle knew it all, and that the neighbours knew it all, and that, in +spite of what had happened, the position of the man and of the woman was +accepted among them? They certainly were not man and wife, and yet they +were living together as such. Could such a one as this Dr. Wortle know +that it was so? He, when he had spoken of the purposes for which the boys +were sent there, asking whether they were not sent for education, for +morals and religion, had understood much of the Doctor's position. He had +known the peculiar value of his secret. He had been aware that a +schoolmaster with a wife to whom he was not in truth married must be out +of place in an English seminary such as this. But yet he now began to +doubt. "I am to be turned out, then?" he asked. + +"Yes, indeed, Colonel Lefroy. The sooner you go the better." + +"That's a pretty sort of welcome to your wife's brother-in-law, who has +just come over all the way from Mexico to see her." + +"To get what he can out of her by his unwelcome presence," said Peacocke. +"Here you can get nothing. Go and do your worst. If you remain much +longer I shall send for the policeman to remove you." + +"You will?" + +"Yes, I shall. My time is not my own, and I cannot go over to my work +leaving you in my house. You have nothing to get by my friendship. Go +and see what you can do as my enemy." + +"I will," said the Colonel, getting up from his chair; "I will. If I'm to +be treated in this way it shall not be for nothing. I have offered you +the right hand of an affectionate brother-in-law." + +"Bosh," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"And you tell me that I am an enemy. Very well; I will be an enemy. I +could have put you altogether on your legs, but I'll leave you without an +inch of ground to stand upon. You see if I don't." Then he put his hat +on his head, and stalked out of the house, down the road towards the gate. + +Mr. Peacocke, when he was left alone, remained in the room collecting his +thoughts, and then went up-stairs to his wife. + +"Has he gone?" she asked. + +"Yes, he has gone." + +"And what has he said?" + +"He has asked for money,--to hold his tongue." + +"Have you given him any?" + +"Not a cent. I have given him nothing but hard words. I have bade him go +and do his worst. To be at the mercy of such a man as that would be worse +for you and for me than anything that fortune has sent us even yet." + +"Did he want to see me?" + +"Yes; but I refused. Was it not better?" + +"Yes; certainly, if you think so. What could I have said to him? +Certainly it was better. His presence would have half killed me. But +what will he do, Henry?" + +"He will tell it all to everybody that he sees." + +"Oh, my darling!" + +"What matter though he tells it at the town-cross? It would have been +told to-day by myself." + +"But only to one." + +"It would have been the same. For any purpose of concealment it would +have been the same. I have got to hate the concealment. What have we +done but clung together as a man and woman should who have loved each +other, and have had a right to love? What have we done of which we should +be ashamed? Let it be told. Let it all be known. Have you not been good +and pure? Have not I been true to you? Bear up your courage, and let the +man do his worst. Not to save even you would I cringe before such a man +as that. And were I to do so, I should save you from nothing." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE STORY IS TOLD. + +DURING the whole of that morning the Doctor did not come into the school. +The school hours lasted from half-past nine to twelve, during a portion of +which time it was his practice to be there. But sometimes, on a Saturday, +he would be absent, when it was understood generally that he was preparing +his sermon for the Sunday. Such, no doubt, might be the case now; but +there was a feeling among the boys that he was kept away by some other +reason. It was known that during the hour of morning school Mr. Peacocke +had been occupied with that uncouth stranger, and some of the boys might +have observed that the uncouth stranger had not taken himself altogether +away from the premises. There was at any rate a general feeling that the +uncouth stranger had something to do with the Doctor's absence. + +Mr. Peacocke did his best to go on with the work as though nothing had +occurred to disturb the usual tenor of his way, and as far as the boys +were aware he succeeded. He was just as clear about his Greek verbs, just +as incisive about that passage of Cæsar, as he would have been had Colonel +Lefroy remained on the other side of the water. But during the whole time +he was exercising his mind in that painful process of thinking of two +things at once. He was determined that Cæsar should be uppermost; but it +may be doubted whether he succeeded. At that very moment Colonel Lefroy +might be telling the Doctor that his Ella was in truth the wife of another +man. At that moment the Doctor might be deciding in his anger that the +sinful and deceitful man should no longer be "officer of his." The +hour was too important to him to leave his mind at his own disposal. +Nevertheless he did his best. "Clifford, junior," he said, "I shall never +make you understand what Cæsar says here or elsewhere if you do not give +your entire mind to Cæsar." + +"I do give my entire mind to Cæsar," said Clifford, junior. + +"Very well; now go on and try again. But remember that Cæsar wants all +your mind." As he said this he was revolving in his own mind how he would +face the Doctor when the Doctor should look at him in his wrath. If the +Doctor were in any degree harsh with him, he would hold his own against +the Doctor as far as the personal contest might go. At twelve the boys +went out for an hour before their dinner, and Lord Carstairs asked him to +play a game of rackets. + +"Not to-day, my Lord," he said. + +"Is anything wrong with you?" + +"Yes, something is very wrong." They had strolled out of the building, +and were walking up and down the gravel terrace in front when this was +said. + +"I knew something was wrong, because you called me my Lord." + +"Yes, something is so wrong as to alter for me all the ordinary ways of my +life. But I wasn't thinking of it. It came by accident,--just because I +am so troubled." + +"What is it?" + +"There has been a man here,--a man whom I knew in America." + +"An enemy?" + +"Yes,--an enemy. One who is anxious to do me all the injury he can." + +"Are you in his power, Mr. Peacocke?" + +"No, thank God; not that. I am in no man's power. He cannot do me any +material harm. Anything which may happen would have happened whether he +had come or not. But I am unhappy." + +"I wish I knew." + +"So do I,--with all my heart. I wish you knew; I wish you knew. I would +that all the world knew. But we shall live through it, no doubt. And if +we do not, what matter. 'Nil conscire sibi,--nulla pallescere culpa.' +That is all that is necessary to a man. I have done nothing of which I +repent;--nothing that I would not do again; nothing of which I am ashamed +to speak as far as the judgment of other men is concerned. Go, now. They +are making up sides for cricket. Perhaps I can tell you more before the +evening is over." + +Both Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were accustomed to dine with the boys at one, +when Carstairs, being a private pupil, only had his lunch. But on this +occasion she did not come into the dining-room. "I don't think I can +to-day," she said, when he bade her to take courage, and not be altered +more than she could help, in her outward carriage, by the misery of her +present circumstances. "I could not eat if I were there, and then they +would look at me." + +"If it be so, do not attempt it. There is no necessity. What I mean is, +that the less one shrinks the less will be the suffering. It is the man +who shivers on the brink that is cold, and not he who plunges into the +water. If it were over,--if the first brunt of it were over, I could find +means to comfort you." + +He went through the dinner, as he had done the Cæsar, eating the roast +mutton and the baked potatoes, and the great plateful of currant-pie that +was brought to him. He was fed and nourished, no doubt, but it may be +doubtful whether he knew much of the flavour of what he ate. But before +the dinner was quite ended, before he had said the grace which it was +always his duty to pronounce, there came a message to him from the +rectory. "The Doctor would be glad to see him as soon as dinner was +done." He waited very calmly till the proper moment should come for the +grace, and then, very calmly, he took his way over to the house. He was +certain now that Lefroy had been with the Doctor, because he was sent for +considerably before the time fixed for the interview. + +It was his chief resolve to hold his own before the Doctor. The Doctor, +who could read a character well, had so read that of Mr. Peacocke's as to +have been aware from the first that no censure, no fault-finding, would be +possible if the connection were to be maintained. Other ushers, other +curates, he had occasionally scolded. He had been very careful never even +to seem to scold Mr. Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke had been aware of it +too,--aware that he could not endure it, and aware also that the Doctor +avoided any attempt at it. He had known that, as a consequence of this, +he was bound to be more than ordinarily prompt in the performance of all +his duties. The man who will not endure censure has to take care that he +does not deserve it. Such had been this man's struggle, and it had been +altogether successful. Each of the two understood the other, and each +respected the other. Now their position must be changed. It was hardly +possible, Mr. Peacocke thought, as he entered the house, that he should +not be rebuked with grave severity, and quite out of the question that he +should bear any rebuke at all. + +The library at the rectory was a spacious and handsome room, in the centre +of which stood a large writing-table, at which the Doctor was accustomed +to sit when he was at work,--facing the door, with a bow-window at his +right hand. But he rarely remained there when any one was summoned into +the room, unless some one were summoned with whom he meant to deal in a +spirit of severity. Mr. Peacocke would be there perhaps three or four +times a-week, and the Doctor would always get up from his chair and stand, +or seat himself elsewhere in the room, and would probably move about with +vivacity, being a fidgety man of quick motions, who sometimes seemed as +though he could not hold his own body still for a moment. But now when +Mr. Peacocke entered the room he did not leave his place at the table. +"Would you take a chair?" he said; "there is something that we must talk +about." + +"Colonel Lefroy has been with you, I take it." + +"A man calling himself by that name has been here. Will you not take a +chair?" + +"I do not know that it will be necessary. What he has told you,--what I +suppose he has told you,--is true." + +"You had better at any rate take a chair. I do not believe that what he +has told me is true." + +"But it is." + +"I do not believe that what he has told me is true. Some of it cannot, I +think, be true. Much of it is not so,--unless I am more deceived in you +than I ever was in any man. At any rate sit down." Then the schoolmaster +did sit down. "He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, cruel +bigamist." + +"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his chair. + +"One who has been willing to sacrifice a woman to his passion." + +"No; no." + +"Who deceived her by false witnesses." + +"Never." + +"And who has now refused to allow her to see her own husband's brother, +lest she should learn the truth." + +"She is there,--at any rate for you to see." + +"Therefore the man is a liar. A long story has to be told, as to which at +present I can only guess what may be the nature. I presume the story will +be the same as that you would have told had the man never come here." + +"Exactly the same, Dr. Wortle." + +"Therefore you will own that I am right in asking you to sit down. The +story may be very long,--that is, if you mean to tell it." + +"I do,--and did. I was wrong from the first in supposing that the nature +of my marriage need be of no concern to others, but to herself and to me." + +"Yes,--Mr. Peacocke; yes. We are, all of us, joined together too closely +to admit of isolation such as that." There was something in this which +grated against the schoolmaster's pride, though nothing had been said as +to which he did not know that much harder things must meet his ears before +the matter could be brought to an end between him and the Doctor. The +"Mister" had been prefixed to his name, which had been omitted for the +last three or four months in the friendly intercourse which had taken +place between them; and then, though it had been done in the form of +agreeing with what he himself had said, the Doctor had made his first +complaint by declaring that no man had a right to regard his own moral +life as isolated from the lives of others around him. It was as much as +to declare at once that he had been wrong in bringing this woman to +Bowick, and calling her Mrs. Peacocke. He had said as much himself, but +that did not make the censure lighter when it came to him from the mouth +of the Doctor. "But come," said the Doctor, getting up from his seat at +the table, and throwing himself into an easy-chair, so as to mitigate the +austerity of the position; "let us hear the true story. So big a liar as +that American gentleman probably never put his foot in this room before." + +Then Mr. Peacocke told the story, beginning with all those incidents of +the woman's life which had seemed to be so cruel both to him and to others +at St. Louis before he had been in any degree intimate with her. Then +came the departure of the two men, and the necessity for pecuniary +assistance, which Mr. Peacocke now passed over lightly, saying nothing +specially of the assistance which he himself had rendered. "And she was +left quite alone?" asked the Doctor. + +"Quite alone." + +"And for how long?" + +"Eighteen months had passed before we heard any tidings. Then there came +news that Colonel Lefroy was dead." + +"The husband?" + +"We did not know which. They were both Colonels." + +"And then?" + +"Did he tell you that I went down into Mexico?" + +"Never mind what he told me. All that he told me were lies. What you +tell me I shall believe. But tell me everything." + +There was a tone of complete authority in the Doctor's voice, but mixed +with this there was a kindliness which made the schoolmaster determined +that he would tell everything as far as he knew how. "When I heard that +one of them was dead, I went away down to the borders of Texas, in order +that I might learn the truth." + +"Did she know that you were going?" + +"Yes;--I told her the day I started." + +"And you told her why?" + +"That I might find out whether her husband were still alive." + +"But----" The Doctor hesitated as he asked the next question. He knew, +however, that it had to be asked, and went on with it. "Did she know that +you loved her?" To this the other made no immediate answer. The Doctor +was a man who, in such a matter, was intelligent enough, and he therefore +put his question in another shape. "Had you told her that you loved her?" + +"Never,--while I thought that other man was living." + +"She must have guessed it," said the Doctor. + +"She might guess what she pleased. I told her that I was going, and I +went." + +"And how was it, then?" + +"I went, and after a time I came across the very man who is here now, this +Robert Lefroy. I met him and questioned him, and he told me that his +brother had been killed while fighting. It was a lie." + +"Altogether a lie?" asked the Doctor. + +"How altogether?" + +"He might have been wounded and given over for dead. The brother might +have thought him to be dead." + +"I do not think so. I believe it to have been a plot in order that the +man might get rid of his wife. But I believed it. Then I went back to +St. Louis,--and we were married." + +"You thought there was no obstacle but what you might become man and wife +legally?" + +"I thought she was a widow." + +"There was no further delay?" + +"Very little. Why should there have been delay?" + +"I only ask." + +"She had suffered enough, and I had waited long enough." + +"She owed you a great deal," said the Doctor. + +"It was not a case of owing," said Mr. Peacocke. "At least I think not. +I think she had learnt to love me as I had learnt to love her." + +"And how did it go with you then?" + +"Very well,--for some months. There was nothing to mar our +happiness,--till one day he came and made his way into our presence." + +"The husband?" + +"Yes; the husband, Ferdinand Lefroy, the elder brother;--he of whom I had +been told that he was dead; he was there standing before us, talking to +us,--half drunk, but still well knowing what he was doing." + +"Why had he come?" + +"In want of money, I suppose,--as this other one has come here." + +"Did he ask for money?" + +"I do not think he did then, though he spoke of his poor condition. But +on the next day he went away. We heard that he had taken the steamer down +the river for New Orleans. We have never heard more of him from that day +to this." + +"Can you imagine what caused conduct such as that?" + +"I think money was given to him that night to go; but if so, I do not know +by whom. I gave him none. During the next day or two I found that many +in St. Louis knew that he had been there." + +"They knew then that you----" + +"They knew that my wife was not my wife. That is what you mean to ask?" +The Doctor nodded his head. "Yes, they knew that." + +"And what then?" + +"Word was brought to me that she and I must part if I chose to keep my +place at the College." + +"That you must disown her?" + +"The President told me that it would be better that she should go +elsewhere. How could I send her from me?" + +"No, indeed;--but as to the facts?" + +"You know them all pretty well now. I could not send her from me. Nor +could I go and leave her. Had we been separated then, because of the law +or because of religion, the burden, the misery, the desolation, would all +have been upon her." + +"I would have clung to her, let the law say what it might," said the +Doctor, rising from his chair. + +"You would?" + +"I would;--and I think that I could have reconciled it to my God. But I +might have been wrong," he added; "I might have been wrong. I only say +what I should have done." + +"It was what I did." + +"Exactly; exactly. We are both sinners. Both might have been wrong. +Then you brought her over here, and I suppose I know the rest?" + +"You know everything now," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"And believe every word I have heard. Let me say that, if that may be any +consolation to you. Of my friendship you may remain assured. Whether you +can remain here is another question." + +"We are prepared to go." + +"You cannot expect that I should have thought it all out during the +hearing of the story. There is much to be considered;--very much. I can +only say this, as between man and man, that no man ever sympathized with +another more warmly than I do with you. You had better let me have till +Monday to think about it." + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE. + +IN this way nothing was said at the first telling of the story to decide +the fate of the schoolmaster and of the lady whom we shall still call his +wife. There certainly had been no horror displayed by the Doctor. +"Whether you can remain here is another question." The Doctor, during +the whole interview, had said nothing harder than that. Mr. Peacocke, +as he left the rectory, did feel that the Doctor had been very good to +him. There had not only been no horror, but an expression of the kindest +sympathy. And as to the going, that was left in doubt. He himself felt +that he ought to go;--but it would have been so very sad to have to go +without a friend left with whom he could consult as to his future +condition! + +"He has been very kind, then?" said Mrs. Peacocke to her husband when he +related to her the particulars of the interview. + +"Very kind." + +"And he did not reproach you." + +"Not a word." + +"Nor me?" + +"He declared that had it been he who was in question he would have clung +to you for ever and ever." + +"Did he? Then will he leave us here?" + +"That does not follow. I should think not. He will know that others must +know it. Your brother-in-law will not tell him only. Lefroy, when he +finds that he can get no money here, from sheer revenge will tell the +story everywhere. When he left the rectory, he was probably as angry with +the Doctor as he is with me. He will do all the harm that he can to all +of us." + +"We must go, then?" + +"I should think so. Your position here would be insupportable even if it +could be permitted. You may be sure of this;--everybody will know it." + +"What do I care for everybody?" she said. "It is not that I am ashamed of +myself." + +"No, dearest; nor am I,--ashamed of myself or of you. But there will be +bitter words, and bitter words will produce bitter looks and scant +respect. How would it be with you if the boys looked at you as though +they thought ill of you?" + +"They would not;--oh, they would not!" + +"Or the servants,--if they reviled you?" + +"Could it come to that?" + +"It must not come to that. But it is as the Doctor said himself just +now;--a man cannot isolate the morals, the manners, the ways of his life +from the morals of others. Men, if they live together, must live together +by certain laws." + +"Then there can be no hope for us." + +"None that I can see, as far as Bowick is concerned. We are too closely +joined in our work with other people. There is not a boy here with whose +father and mother and sisters we are not more or less connected. When I +was preaching in the church, there was not one in the parish with whom I +was not connected. Would it do, do you think, for a priest to preach +against drunkenness, whilst he himself was a noted drunkard?" + +"Are we like that?" + +"It is not what the drunken priest might think of himself, but what others +might think of him. It would not be with us the position which we know +that we hold together, but that which others would think it to be. If I +were in Dr. Wortle's case, and another were to me as I am to him, I should +bid him go." + +"You would turn him away from you; him and his--wife?" + +"I should. My first duty would be to my parish and to my school. If I +could befriend him otherwise I would do so;--and that is what I expect +from Dr. Wortle. We shall have to go, and I shall be forced to approve of +our dismissal." + +In this way Mr. Peacocke came definitely and clearly to a conclusion in +his own mind. But it was very different with Dr. Wortle. The story so +disturbed him, that during the whole of that afternoon he did not attempt +to turn his mind to any other subject. He even went so far as to send +over to Mr. Puddicombe and asked for some assistance for the afternoon +service on the following day. He was too unwell, he said, to preach +himself, and the one curate would have the two entire services unless Mr. +Puddicombe could help him. Could Mr. Puddicombe come himself and see him +on the Sunday afternoon? This note he sent away by a messenger, who came +back with a reply, saying that Mr. Puddicombe would himself preach in the +afternoon, and would afterwards call in at the rectory. + +For an hour or two before his dinner, the Doctor went out on horseback, +and roamed about among the lanes, endeavouring to make up his mind. He +was hitherto altogether at a loss as to what he should do in this present +uncomfortable emergency. He could not bring his conscience and his +inclination to come square together. And even when he counselled himself +to yield to his conscience, his very conscience,--a second conscience, as +it were,--revolted against the first. His first conscience told him that +he owed a primary duty to his parish, a second duty to his school, and a +third to his wife and daughter. In the performance of all these duties he +would be bound to rid himself of Mr. Peacocke. But then there came that +other conscience, telling him that the man had been more "sinned against +than sinning,"--that common humanity required him to stand by a man who +had suffered so much, and had suffered so unworthily. Then this second +conscience went on to remind him that the man was pre-eminently fit for +the duties which he had undertaken,--that the man was a God-fearing, +moral, and especially intellectual assistant in his school,--that were he +to lose him he could not hope to find any one that would be his equal, or +at all approaching to him in capacity. This second conscience went +further, and assured him that the man's excellence as a schoolmaster was +even increased by the peculiarity of his position. Do we not all know +that if a man be under a cloud the very cloud will make him more attentive +to his duties than another? If a man, for the wages which he receives, +can give to his employer high character as well as work, he will think +that he may lighten his work because of his character. And as to this +man, who was the very ph[oe]nix of school assistants, there would really be +nothing amiss with his character if only this piteous incident as to his +wife were unknown. In this way his second conscience almost got the +better of the first. + +But then it would be known. It would be impossible that it should not be +known. He had already made up his mind to tell Mr. Puddicombe, absolutely +not daring to decide in such an emergency without consulting some friend. +Mr. Puddicombe would hold his peace if he were to promise to do so. +Certainly he might be trusted to do that. But others would know it; the +Bishop would know it; Mrs. Stantiloup would know it. That man, of course, +would take care that all Broughton, with its close full of cathedral +clergymen, would know it. When Mrs. Stantiloup should know it there would +not be a boy's parent through all the school who would not know it. If he +kept the man he must keep him resolving that all the world should know +that he kept him, that all the world should know of what nature was the +married life of the assistant in whom he trusted. And he must be prepared +to face all the world, confiding in the uprightness and the humanity of +his purpose. + +In such case he must say something of this kind to all the world; "I know +that they are not married. I know that their condition of life is opposed +to the law of God and man. I know that she bears a name that is not, in +truth, her own; but I think that the circumstances in this case are so +strange, so peculiar, that they excuse a disregard even of the law of God +and man." Had he courage enough for this? And if the courage were there, +was he high enough and powerful enough to carry out such a purpose? Could +he beat down the Mrs. Stantiloups? And, indeed, could he beat down the +Bishop and the Bishop's phalanx;--for he knew that the Bishop and the +Bishop's phalanx would be against him? They could not touch him in his +living, because Mr. Peacocke would not be concerned in the services of the +church; but would not his school melt away to nothing in his hands, if he +were to attempt to carry it on after this fashion? And then would he not +have destroyed himself without advantage to the man whom he was anxious to +assist? + +To only one point did he make up his mind certainly during that ride. +Before he slept that night he would tell the whole story to his wife. He +had at first thought that he would conceal it from her. It was his rule +of life to act so entirely on his own will, that he rarely consulted her +on matters of any importance. As it was, he could not endure the +responsibility of acting by himself. People would say of him that he had +subjected his wife to contamination, and had done so without giving her +any choice in the matter. So he resolved that he would tell his wife. + +"Not married," said Mrs. Wortle, when she heard the story. + +"Married; yes. They were married. It was not their fault that the +marriage was nothing. What was he to do when he heard that they had been +deceived in this way?" + +"Not married properly! Poor woman!" + +"Yes, indeed. What should I have done if such had happened to me when we +had been six months married?" + +"It couldn't have been." + +"Why not to you as well as to another?" + +"I was only a young girl." + +"But if you had been a widow?" + +"Don't, my dear; don't! It wouldn't have been possible." + +"But you pity her?" + +"Oh yes." + +"And you see that a great misfortune has fallen upon her, which she could +not help?" + +"Not till she knew it," said the wife who had been married quite properly. + +"And what then? What should she have done then?" + +"Gone," said the wife, who had no doubt as to the comfort, the beauty, the +perfect security of her own position. + +"Gone?" + +"Gone away at once." + +"Whither should she go? Who would have taken her by the hand? Who would +have supported her? Would you have had her lay herself down in the first +gutter and die?" + +"Better that than what she did do," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Then, by all the faith I have in Christ, I think you are hard upon her. +Do you think what it is to have to go out and live alone;--to have to look +for your bread in desolation?" + +"I have never been tried, my dear," said she, clinging close to him. "I +have never had anything but what was good." + +"Ought we not to be kind to one to whom Fortune has been so unkind?" + +"If we can do so without sin." + +"Sin! I despise the fear of sin which makes us think that its contact +will soil us. Her sin, if it be sin, is so near akin to virtue, that I +doubt whether we should not learn of her rather than avoid her." + +"A woman should not live with a man unless she be his wife." Mrs. +Wortle said this with more of obstinacy than he had expected. + +"She was his wife, as far as she knew." + +"But when she knew that it was not so any longer,--then she should have +left him." + +"And have starved?" + +"I suppose she might have taken bread from him." + +"You think, then, that she should go away from here?" + +"Do not you think so? What will Mrs. Stantiloup say?" + +"And I am to turn them out into the cold because of a virago such as she +is? You would have no more charity than that?" + +"Oh, Jeffrey! what would the Bishop say?" + +"Cannot you get beyond Mrs. Stantiloup and beyond the Bishop, and think +what Justice demands?" + +"The boys would all be taken away. If you had a son, would you send him +where there was a schoolmaster living,--living----. Oh, you wouldn't." + +It is very clear to the Doctor that his wife's mind was made up on the +subject; and yet there was no softer-hearted woman than Mrs. Wortle +anywhere in the diocese, or one less likely to be severe upon a neighbour. +Not only was she a kindly, gentle woman, but she was one who always had +been willing to take her husband's opinion on all questions of right and +wrong. She, however, was decided that they must go. + +On the next morning, after service, which the schoolmaster did not attend, +the Doctor saw Mr. Peacocke, and declared his intention of telling the +story to Mr. Puddicombe. "If you bid me hold my tongue," he said, "I will +do so. But it will be better that I should consult another clergyman. He +is a man who can keep a secret." Then Mr. Peacocke gave him full authority +to tell everything to Mr. Puddicombe. He declared that the Doctor might +tell the story to whom he would. Everybody might know it now. He had, he +said, quite made up his mind about that. What was the good of affecting +secrecy when this man Lefroy was in the country? + +In the afternoon, after service, Mr. Puddicombe came up to the house, and +heard it all. He was a dry, thin, apparently unsympathetic man, but just +withal, and by no means given to harshness. He could pardon whenever he +could bring himself to believe that pardon would have good results; but he +would not be driven by impulses and softness of heart to save the faulty +one from the effect of his fault, merely because that effect would be +painful. He was a man of no great mental calibre,--not sharp, and quick, +and capable of repartee as was the Doctor, but rational in all things, and +always guided by his conscience. "He has behaved very badly to you," he +said, when he heard the story. + +"I do not think so; I have no such feeling myself." + +"He behaved very badly in bringing her here without telling you all the +facts. Considering the position that she was to occupy, he must have +known that he was deceiving you." + +"I can forgive all that," said the Doctor, vehemently. "As far as I +myself am concerned, I forgive everything." + +"You are not entitled to do so." + +"How--not entitled?" + +"You must pardon me if I seem to take a liberty in expressing myself too +boldly in this matter. Of course I should not do so unless you asked me." + +"I want you to speak freely,--all that you think." + +"In considering his conduct, we have to consider it all. First of all +there came a great and terrible misfortune which cannot but excite our +pity. According to his own story, he seems, up to that time, to have been +affectionate and generous." + +"I believe every word of it," said the Doctor. + +"Allowing for a man's natural bias on his own side, so do I. He had +allowed himself to become attached to another man's wife; but we need not, +perhaps, insist upon that." The Doctor moved himself uneasily in his +chair, but said nothing. "We will grant that he put himself right by his +marriage, though in that, no doubt, there should have been more of +caution. Then came his great misfortune. He knew that his marriage had +been no marriage. He saw the man and had no doubt." + +"Quite so; quite so," said the Doctor, impatiently. + +"He should, of course, have separated himself from her. There can be no +doubt about it. There is no room for any quibble." + +"Quibble!" said the Doctor. + +"I mean that no reference in our own minds to the pity of the thing, to +the softness of the moment,--should make us doubt about it. Feelings such +as these should induce us to pardon sinners, even to receive them back +into our friendship and respect,--when they have seen the error of their +ways and have repented." + +"You are very hard." + +"I hope not. At any rate I can only say as I think. But, in truth, in +the present emergency you have nothing to do with all that. If he asked +you for counsel you might give it to him, but that is not his present +position. He has told you his story, not in a spirit of repentance, but +because such telling had become necessary." + +"He would have told it all the same though this man had never come." + +"Let us grant that it is so, there still remains his relation to you. He +came here under false pretences, and has done you a serious injury." + +"I think not," said the Doctor. + +"Would you have taken him into your establishment had you known it all +before? Certainly not. Therefore I say that he has deceived you. I do +not advise you to speak to him with severity; but he should, I think, be +made to know that you appreciate what he has done." + +"And you would turn him off;--send him away at once, out about his +business?" + +"Certainly I would send him away." + +"You think him such a reprobate that he should not be allowed to earn his +bread anywhere?" + +"I have not said so. I know nothing of his means of earning his bread. +Men living in sin earn their bread constantly. But he certainly should +not be allowed to earn his here." + +"Not though that man who was her husband should now be dead, and he should +again marry,--legally marry,--this woman to whom he has been so true and +loyal?" + +"As regards you and your school," said Mr. Puddicombe, "I do not think it +would alter his position." + +With this the conference ended, and Mr. Puddicombe took his leave. As he +left the house the Doctor declared to himself that the man was a +strait-laced, fanatical, hard-hearted bigot. But though he said so to +himself, he hardly thought so; and was aware that the man's words had had +effect upon him. + + + +Part IV. + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. PEACOCKE GOES. + +THE Doctor had been all but savage with his wife, and, for the moment, had +hated Mr. Puddicombe, but still what they said had affected him. They +were both of them quite clear that Mr. Peacocke should be made to go at +once. And he, though he hated Mr. Puddicombe for his cold logic, could +not but acknowledge that all the man had said was true. According to the +strict law of right and wrong the two unfortunates should have parted when +they found that they were not in truth married. And, again, according to +the strict law of right and wrong, Mr. Peacocke should not have brought +the woman there, into his school, as his wife. There had been deceit. +But then would not he, Dr. Wortle himself, have been guilty of similar +deceit had it fallen upon him to have to defend a woman who had been true +and affectionate to him? Mr. Puddicombe would have left the woman to +break her heart and have gone away and done his duty like a Christian, +feeling no tugging at his heart-strings. It was so that our Doctor spoke +to himself of his counsellor, sitting there alone in his library. + +During his conference with Lefroy something had been said which had +impressed him suddenly with an idea. A word had fallen from the Colonel, +an unintended word, by which the Doctor was made to believe that the other +Colonel was dead, at any rate now. He had cunningly tried to lead up to +the subject, but Robert Lefroy had been on his guard as soon as he had +perceived the Doctor's object, and had drawn back, denying the truth of +the word he had before spoken. The Doctor at last asked him the question +direct. Lefroy then declared that his brother had been alive and well +when he left Texas, but he did this in such a manner as to strengthen in +the Doctor's mind the impression that he was dead. If it were so, then +might not all these crooked things be made straight? + +He had thought it better to raise no false hopes. He had said nothing of +this to Peacocke on discussing the story. He had not even hinted it to +his wife, from whom it might probably make its way to Mrs. Peacocke. He +had suggested it to Mr. Puddicombe,--asking whether there might not be a +way out of all their difficulties. Mr. Puddicombe had declared that there +could be no such way as far as the school was concerned. Let them marry, +and repent their sins, and go away from the spot they had contaminated, +and earn their bread in some place in which there need be no longer +additional sin in concealing the story of their past life. That seemed to +have been Mr. Puddicombe's final judgment. But it was altogether opposed +to Dr. Wortle's feelings. + +When Mr. Puddicombe came down from the church to the rectory, Lord +Carstairs was walking home after the afternoon service with Miss Wortle. +It was his custom to go to church with the family, whereas the school went +there under the charge of one of the ushers and sat apart in a portion of +the church appropriated to themselves. Mrs. Wortle, when she found that +the Doctor was not going to the afternoon service, declined to go herself. +She was thoroughly disturbed by all these bad tidings, and was, indeed, +very little able to say her prayers in a fit state of mind. She could +hardly keep herself still for a moment, and was as one who thinks that the +crack of doom is coming;--so terrible to her was her vicinity and +connection with this man, and with the woman who was not his wife. Then, +again, she became flurried when she found that Lord Carstairs and Mary +would have to walk alone together; and she made little abortive attempts +to keep first the one and then the other from going to church. Mary +probably saw no reason for staying away, while Lord Carstairs possibly +found an additional reason for going. Poor Mrs. Wortle had for some weeks +past wished that the charming young nobleman had been at home with his +father and mother, or anywhere but in her house. It had been arranged, +however, that he should go in July and not return after the summer +holidays. Under these circumstances, having full confidence in her girl, +she had refrained from again expressing her fears to the Doctor. But +there were fears. It was evident to her, though the Doctor seemed to see +nothing of it, that the young lord was falling in love. It might be that +his youth and natural bashfulness would come to her aid, and that nothing +should be said before that day in July which would separate them. But +when it suddenly occurred to her that they two would walk to and fro from +church together, there was cause for additional uneasiness. + +If she had heard their conversation as they came back she would have been +in no way disturbed by its tone on the score of the young man's tenderness +towards her daughter, but she might perhaps have been surprised by his +vehemence in another respect. She would have been surprised also at +finding how much had been said during the last twenty-four hours by others +besides herself and her husband about the affairs of Mr. and Mrs. +Peacocke. + +"Do you know what he came about?" asked Mary. The "he" had of course been +Robert Lefroy. + +"Not in the least; but he came up there looking so queer, as though he +certainly had come about something unpleasant." + +"And then he was with papa afterwards," said Mary. "I am sure papa and +mamma not coming to church has something to do with it. And Mr. Peacocke +hasn't been to church all day." + +"Something has happened to make him very unhappy," said the boy. "He told +me so even before this man came here. I don't know any one whom I like so +much as Mr. Peacocke." + +"I think it is about his wife," said Mary. + +"How about his wife?" + +"I don't know, but I think it is. She is so very quiet." + +"How quiet, Miss Wortle?" he asked. + +"She never will come in to see us. Mamma has asked her to dinner and to +drink tea ever so often, but she never comes. She calls perhaps once in +two or three months in a formal way, and that is all we see of her." + +"Do you like her?" he asked. + +"How can I say, when I so seldom see her." + +"I do. I like her very much. I go and see her often; and I'm sure of +this;--she is quite a lady. Mamma asked her to go to Carstairs for the +holidays because of what I said." + +"She is not going?" + +"No; neither of them will come. I wish they would; and oh, Miss Wortle, I +do so wish you were going to be there too." This is all that was said of +peculiar tenderness between them on that walk home. + +Late in the evening,--so late that the boys had already gone to bed,--the +Doctor sent again for Mr. Peacocke. "I should not have troubled you +to-night," he said, "only that I have heard something from Pritchett." +Pritchett was the rectory gardener who had charge also of the school +buildings, and was a person of great authority in the establishment. He, +as well the Doctor, held Mr. Peacocke in great respect, and would have +been almost as unwilling as the Doctor himself to tell stories to the +schoolmaster's discredit. "They are saying down at the Lamb"--the Lamb +was the Bowick public-house--"that Lefroy told them all yesterday----" the +Doctor hesitated before he could tell it. + +"That my wife is not my wife?" + +"Just so." + +"Of course I am prepared for it. I knew that it would be so; did not +you?" + +"I expected it." + +"I was sure of it. It may be taken for granted at once that there is no +longer a secret to keep. I would wish you to act just as though all the +facts were known to the entire diocese." After this there was a pause, +during which neither of them spoke for a few moments. The Doctor had not +intended to declare any purpose of his own on that occasion, but it seemed +to him now as though he were almost driven to do so. Then Mr. Peacocke +seeing the difficulty at once relieved him from it. "I am quite prepared +to leave Bowick," he said, "at once. I know that it must be so. I have +thought about it, and have perceived that there is no possible +alternative. I should like to consult with you as to whither I had better +go. Where shall I first take her?" + +"Leave her here," said the Doctor. + +"Here! Where?" + +"Where she is in the school-house. No one will come to fill your place +for a while." + +"I should have thought," said Mr. Peacocke very slowly, "that her +presence--would have been worse almost,--than my own." + +"To me,"--said the Doctor,--"to me she is as pure as the most unsullied +matron in the country." Upon this Mr. Peacocke, jumping from his chair, +seized the Doctor's hand, but could not speak for his tears; then he +seated himself again, turning his face away towards the wall. "To no one +could the presence of either of you be an evil. The evil is, if I may say +so, that the two of you should be here together. You should be +apart,--till some better day has come upon you." + +"What better day can ever come?" said the poor man through his tears. + +Then the Doctor declared his scheme. He told what he thought as to +Ferdinand Lefroy, and his reason for believing that the man was dead. "I +felt sure from his manner that his brother is now dead in truth. Go to +him and ask him boldly," he said. + +"But his word would not suffice for another marriage ceremony." + +To this the Doctor agreed. It was not his intention, he said, that they +should proceed on evidence as slight as that. No; a step must be taken +much more serious in its importance, and occupying a considerable time. +He, Peacocke, must go again to Missouri and find out all the truth. The +Doctor was of opinion that if this were resolved upon, and that if the +whole truth were at once proclaimed, then Mr. Peacocke need not hesitate +to pay Robert Lefroy for any information which might assist him in his +search. "While you are gone," continued the Doctor almost wildly, "let +bishops and Stantiloups and Puddicombes say what they may, she shall +remain here. To say that she will be happy is of course vain. There can +be no happiness for her till this has been put right. But she will be +safe; and here, at my hand, she will, I think, be free from insult. What +better is there to be done?" + +"There can be nothing better," said Peacocke drawing his breath,--as +though a gleam of light had shone in upon him. + +"I had not meant to have spoken to you of this till to-morrow. I should +not have done so, but that Pritchett had been with me. But the more I +thought of it, the more sure I became that you could not both +remain,--till something had been done; till something had been done." + +"I was sure of it, Dr. Wortle." + +"Mr. Puddicombe saw that it was so. Mr. Puddicombe is not all the world +to me by any means, but he is a man of common sense. I will be frank with +you. My wife said that it could not be so." + +"She shall not stay. Mrs. Wortle shall not be annoyed." + +"You don't see it yet," said the Doctor. "But you do. I know you do. +And she shall stay. The house shall be hers, as her residence, for the +next six months. As for money----" + +"I have got what will do for that, I think." + +"If she wants money she shall have what she wants. There is nothing I +will not do for you in your trouble,--except that you may not both be here +together till I shall have shaken hands with her as Mrs. Peacocke in very +truth." + +It was settled that Mr. Peacocke should not go again into the school, or +Mrs. Peacocke among the boys, till he should have gone to America and have +come back. It was explained in the school by the Doctor early,--for the +Doctor must now take the morning school himself,--that circumstances of +very grave import made it necessary that Mr. Peacocke should start at once +for America. That the tidings which had been published at the Lamb would +reach the boys, was more than probable. Nay; was it not certain? It +would of course reach all the boys' parents. There was no use, no +service, in any secrecy. But in speaking to the school not a word was +said of Mrs. Peacocke. The Doctor explained that he himself would take +the morning school, and that Mr. Rose, the mathematical master, would take +charge of the school meals. Mrs. Cane, the house-keeper, would look to +the linen and the bed-rooms. It was made plain that Mrs. Peacocke's +services were not to be required; but her name was not mentioned,--except +that the Doctor, in order to let it be understood that she was not to be +banished from the house, begged the boys as a favour that they would not +interrupt Mrs. Peacocke's tranquillity during Mr. Peacocke's absence. + +On the Tuesday morning Mr. Peacocke started, remaining, however, a couple +of days at Broughton, during which the Doctor saw him. Lefroy declared +that he knew nothing about his brother,--whether he were alive or dead. +He might be dead, because he was always in trouble, and generally drunk. +Robert, on the whole, thought it probable that he was dead, but could not +be got to say so. For a thousand dollars he would go over to Missouri, +and, if necessary to Texas, so as to find the truth. He would then come +back and give undeniable evidence. While making this benevolent offer, he +declared, with tears in his eyes, that he had come over intending to be a +true brother to his sister-in-law, and had simply been deterred from +prosecuting his good intentions by Peacocke's austerity. Then he swore a +most solemn oath that if he knew anything about his brother Ferdinand he +would reveal it. The Doctor and Peacocke agreed together that the man's +word was worth nothing; but that the man's services might be useful in +enabling them to track out the truth. They were both convinced, by words +which fell from him, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead; but this would be of +no avail unless they could obtain absolute evidence. + +During these two days there were various conversations at Broughton +between the Doctor, Mr. Peacocke, and Lefroy, in which a plan of action +was at length arranged. Lefroy and the schoolmaster were to proceed to +America together, and there obtain what evidence they could as to the life +or death of the elder brother. When absolute evidence had been obtained +of either, a thousand dollars was to be handed to Robert Lefroy. But when +this agreement was made the man was given to understand that his own +uncorroborated word would go for nothing. + +"Who is to say what is evidence, and what not?" asked the man, not +unnaturally. + +"Mr. Peacocke must be the judge," said the Doctor. + +"I ain't going to agree to that," said the other. "Though he were to see +him dead, he might swear he hadn't, and not give me a red cent. Why ain't +I to be judge as well as he?" + +"Because you can trust him, and he cannot in the least trust you," said +the Doctor. "You know well enough that if he were to see your brother +alive, or to see him dead, you would get the money. At any rate, you +have no other way of getting it but what we propose." To all this Robert +Lefroy at last assented. + +The prospect before Mr. Peacocke for the next three months was certainly +very sad. He was to travel from Broughton to St. Louis, and possibly from +thence down into the wilds of Texas, in company with this man, whom he +thoroughly despised. Nothing could be more abominable to him than such an +association; but there was no other way in which the proposed plan could +be carried out. He was to pay Lefroy's expenses back to his own country, +and could only hope to keep the man true to his purpose by doing so from +day to day. Were he to give the man money, the man would at once +disappear. Here in England, and in their passage across the ocean, the +man might, in some degree, be amenable and obedient. But there was no +knowing to what he might have recourse when he should find himself nearer +to his country, and should feel that his companion was distant from his +own. + +"You'll have to keep a close watch upon him," whispered the Doctor to his +friend. "I should not advise all this if I did not think you were a man +of strong nerve." + +"I am not afraid," said the other; "but I doubt whether he may not be too +many for me. At any rate, I will try it. You will hear from me as I go +on." + +And so they parted as dear friends part. The Doctor had, in truth, taken +the man altogether to his heart since all the circumstances of the story +had come home to him. And it need hardly be said that the other was aware +how deep a debt of gratitude he owed to the protector of his wife. Indeed +the very money that was to be paid to Robert Lefroy, if he earned it, was +advanced out of the Doctor's pocket. Mr. Peacocke's means were sufficient +for the expenses of the journey, but fell short when these thousand +dollars had to be provided. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE BISHOP. + +MR. PEACOCKE had been quite right in saying that the secret would at once +be known through the whole diocese. It certainly was so before he had +been gone a week, and it certainly was the case also that the diocese +generally did not approve of the Doctor's conduct. The woman ought not to +have been left there. So said the diocese. It was of course the case, +that though the diocese knew much, it did not know all. It is impossible +to keep such a story concealed, but it is quite as impossible to make +known all its details. In the eyes of the diocese the woman was of course +the chief sinner, and the chief sinner was allowed to remain at the +school! When this assertion was made to him the Doctor became very angry, +saying that Mrs. Peacocke did not remain at the school; that, according to +the arrangement as at present made, Mrs. Peacocke had nothing to do with +the school; that the house was his own, and that he might lend it to whom +he pleased. Was he to turn the woman out houseless, when her husband had +gone, on such an errand, on his advice? Of course the house was his own, +but as clergyman of the parish he had not a right to do what he liked with +it. He had no right to encourage evil. And the man was not the woman's +husband. That was just the point made by the diocese. And she was at the +school,--living under the same roof with the boys! The diocese was +clearly of opinion that all the boys would be taken away. + +The diocese spoke by the voice of its bishop, as a diocese should do. +Shortly after Mr. Peacocke's departure, the Doctor had an interview with +his lordship, and told the whole story. The doing this went much against +the grain with him, but he hardly dared not to do it. He felt that he was +bound to do it on the part of Mrs. Peacocke if not on his own. And then +the man, who had now gone, though he had never been absolutely a curate, +had preached frequently in the diocese. He felt that it would not be wise +to abstain from telling the bishop. + +The bishop was a goodly man, comely in his person, and possessed of +manners which had made him popular in the world. He was one of those who +had done the best he could with his talent, not wrapping it up in a +napkin, but getting from it the best interest which the world's market +could afford. But not on that account was he other than a good man. To +do the best he could for himself and his family,--and also to do his +duty,--was the line of conduct which he pursued. There are some who +reverse this order, but he was not one of them. He had become a scholar +in his youth, not from love of scholarship, but as a means to success. +The Church had become his profession, and he had worked hard at his +calling. He had taught himself to be courteous and urbane, because he had +been clever enough to see that courtesy and urbanity are agreeable to men +in high places. As a bishop he never spared himself the work which a +bishop ought to do. He answered letters, he studied the characters of the +clergymen under him, he was just with his patronage, he endeavoured to be +efficacious with his charges, he confirmed children in cold weather as +well as in warm, he occasionally preached sermons, and he was beautiful +and decorous in his gait of manner, as it behoves a clergyman of the +Church of England to be. He liked to be master; but even to be master he +would not encounter the abominable nuisance of a quarrel. When first +coming to the diocese he had had some little difficulty with our Doctor; +but the Bishop had abstained from violent assertion, and they had, on the +whole, been friends. There was, however, on the Bishop's part, something +of a feeling that the Doctor was the bigger man; and it was probable that, +without active malignity, he would take advantage of any chance which +might lower the Doctor a little, and bring him more within episcopal +power. In some degree he begrudged the Doctor his manliness. + +He listened with many smiles and with perfect courtesy to the story as it +was told to him, and was much less severe on the unfortunates than Mr. +Puddicombe had been. It was not the wickedness of the two people in +living together, or their wickedness in keeping their secret, which +offended him so much, as the evil which they were likely to do,--and to +have done. "No doubt," he said, "an ill-living man may preach a good +sermon, perhaps a better one than a pious God-fearing clergyman, whose +intellect may be inferior though his morals are much better;--but coming +from tainted lips, the better sermon will not carry a blessing with it." +At this the Doctor shook his head. "Bringing a blessing" was a phrase +which the Doctor hated. He shook his head not too civilly, saying that he +had not intended to trouble his lordship on so difficult a point in +ecclesiastical morals. "But we cannot but remember," said the Bishop, +"that he has been preaching in your parish church, and the people will +know that he has acted among them as a clergyman." + +"I hope the people, my lord, may never have the Gospel preached to them by +a worse man." + +"I will not judge him; but I do think that it has been a misfortune. You, +of course, were in ignorance." + +"Had I known all about it, I should have been very much inclined to do the +same." + +This was, in fact, not true, and was said simply in a spirit of +contradiction. The Bishop shook his head and smiled. "My school is a +matter of more importance," said the Doctor. + +"Hardly, hardly, Dr. Wortle." + +"Of more importance in this way, that my school may probably be injured, +whereas neither the morals nor the faith of the parishioners will have +been hurt." + +"But he has gone." + +"He has gone;--but she remains." + +"What!" exclaimed the Bishop. + +"He has gone, but she remains." He repeated the words very distinctly, +with a frown on his brow, as though to show that on that branch of the +subject he intended to put up with no opposition,--hardly even with an +adverse opinion. + +"She had a certain charge, as I understand,--as to the school." + +"She had, my lord; and very well she did her work. I shall have a great +loss in her,--for the present." + +"But you said she remained." + +"I have lent her the use of the house till her husband shall come back." + +"Mr. Peacocke, you mean," said the Bishop, who was unable not to put in a +contradiction against the untruth of the word which had been used. + +"I shall always regard them as married." + +"But they are not." + +"I have lent her the house, at any rate, during his absence. I could not +turn her into the street." + +"Would not a lodging here in the city have suited her better?" + +"I thought not. People here would have refused to take her,--because of +her story. The wife of some religious grocer, who sands his sugar +regularly, would have thought her house contaminated by such an inmate." + +"So it would have been, Doctor, to some extent." At hearing this the +Doctor made very evident signs of discontent. "You cannot alter the ways +of the world suddenly, though by example and precept you may help to +improve them slowly. In our present imperfect condition of moral culture, +it is perhaps well that the company of the guilty should be shunned." + +"Guilty!" + +"I am afraid that I must say so. The knowledge that such a feeling exists +no doubt deters others from guilt. The fact that wrong-doing in women is +scorned helps to maintain the innocence of women. Is it not so?" + +"I must hesitate before I trouble your lordship by arguing such difficult +questions. I thought it right to tell you the facts after what had +occurred. He has gone, she is there,--and there she will remain for the +present. I could not turn her out. Thinking her, as I do, worthy of my +friendship, I could not do other than befriend her." + +"Of course you must be the judge yourself." + +"I had to be the judge, my lord." + +"I am afraid that the parents of the boys will not understand it." + +"I also am afraid. It will be very hard to make them understand it. +There will be some who will work hard to make them misunderstand it." + +"I hope not that." + +"There will. I must stand the brunt of it. I have had battles before +this, and had hoped that now, when I am getting old, they might have been +at an end. But there is something left of me, and I can fight still. At +any rate, I have made up my mind about this. There she shall remain till +he comes back to fetch her." And so the interview was over, the Bishop +feeling that he had in some slight degree had the best of it,--and the +Doctor feeling that he, in some slight degree, had had the worst. If +possible, he would not talk to the Bishop on the subject again. + +He told Mr. Puddicombe also. "With your generosity and kindness of heart +I quite sympathise," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be pleasant in +his manner. + +"But not with my prudence." + +"Not with your prudence," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be true at +the same time. + +But the Doctor's greatest difficulty was with his wife, whose conduct it +was necessary that he should guide, and whose feelings and conscience he +was most anxious to influence. When she first heard his decision she +almost wrung her hands in despair. If the woman could have gone to +America, and the man have remained, she would have been satisfied. +Anything wrong about a man was but of little moment,--comparatively so, +even though he were a clergyman; but anything wrong about a woman,--and +she so near to herself! O dear! And the poor dear boys,--under the same +roof with her! And the boys' mammas! How would she be able to endure the +sight of that horrid Mrs. Stantiloup;--or Mrs. Stantiloup's words, which +would certainly be conveyed to her? But there was something much worse +for her even than all this. The Doctor insisted that she should go and +call upon the woman! "And take Mary?" asked Mrs. Wortle. + +"What would be the good of taking Mary? Who is talking of a child like +that? It is for the sake of charity,--for the dear love of Christ, that I +ask you to do it. Do you ever think of Mary Magdalene?" + +"Oh yes." + +"This is no Magdalene. This is a woman led into no faults by vicious +propensities. Here is one who has been altogether unfortunate,--who has +been treated more cruelly than any of whom you have ever read." + +"Why did she not leave him?" + +"Because she was a woman, with a heart in her bosom." + +"I am to go to her?" + +"I do not order it. I only ask it." Such asking from her husband was, +she knew, very near alike to ordering. + +"What shall I say to her?" + +"Bid her keep up her courage till he shall return. If you were all alone, +as she is, would not you wish that some other woman should come to comfort +you? Think of her desolation." + +Mrs. Wortle did think of it, and after a day or two made up her mind to +obey her husband's--request. She made her call, but very little came of +it, except that she promised to come again. "Mrs. Wortle," said the poor +woman, "pray do not let me be a trouble to you. If you stay away I shall +quite understand that there is sufficient reason. I know how good your +husband has been to us." Mrs. Wortle said, however, as she took her +leave, that she would come again in a day or two. + +But there were other troubles in store for Mrs. Wortle. Before she had +repeated her visit to Mrs. Peacocke, a lady, who lived about ten miles +off, the wife of the Rector of Buttercup, called upon her. This was the +Lady Margaret Momson, a daughter of the Earl of Brigstock, who had, thirty +years ago, married a young clergyman. Nevertheless, up to the present +day, she was quite as much the Earl's daughter as the parson's wife. She +was first cousin to that Mrs. Stantiloup between whom and the Doctor +internecine war was always being waged; and she was also aunt to a boy at +the school, who, however, was in no way related to Mrs. Stantiloup, young +Momson being the son of the parson's eldest brother. Lady Margaret had +never absolutely and openly taken the part of Mrs. Stantiloup. Had she +done so, a visit even of ceremony would have been impossible. But she was +supposed to have Stantiloup proclivities, and was not, therefore, much +liked at Bowick. There had been a question indeed whether young Momson +should be received at the school,--because of the _quasi_ connection with +the arch-enemy; but Squire Momson of Buttercup, the boy's father, had set +that at rest by bursting out, in the Doctor's hearing, into violent abuse +against "the close-fisted, vulgar old faggot." The son of a man imbued +with such proper feelings was, of course, accepted. + +But Lady Margaret was proud,--especially at the present time. "What a +romance this is, Mrs. Wortle," she said, "that has gone all through the +diocese!" The reader will remember that Lady Margaret was also the wife +of a clergyman. + +"You mean--the Peacockes?" + +"Of course I do." + +"He has gone away." + +"We all know that, of course;--to look for his wife's husband. Good +gracious me! What a story!" + +"They think that he is--dead now." + +"I suppose they thought so before," said Lady Margaret. + +"Of course they did." + +"Though it does seem that no inquiry was made at all. Perhaps they don't +care about those things over there as we do here. He couldn't have cared +very much,--nor she." + +"The Doctor thinks that they are very much to be pitied." + +"The Doctor always was a little Quixotic--eh?" + +"I don't think that at all, Lady Margaret." + +"I mean in the way of being so very good-natured and kind. Her brother +came;--didn't he?" + +"Her first husband's brother," said Mrs. Wortle, blushing. + +"Her first husband!" + +"Well;--you know what I mean, Lady Margaret." + +"Yes; I know what you mean. It is so very shocking; isn't it? And so the +two men have gone off together to look for the third. Goodness me;--what +a party they will be if they meet! Do you think they'll quarrel?" + +"I don't know, Lady Margaret." + +"And that he should be a clergyman of the Church of England! Isn't it +dreadful? What does the Bishop say? Has he heard all about it?" + +"The Bishop has nothing to do with it. Mr. Peacocke never held a curacy +in the diocese." + +"But he has preached here very often,--and has taken her to church with +him! I suppose the Bishop has been told?" + +"You may be sure that he knows it as well as you." + +"We are so anxious, you know, about dear little Gus." Dear little Gus +was Augustus Momson, the lady's nephew, who was supposed to be the +worst-behaved, and certainly the stupidest boy in the school. + +"Augustus will not be hurt, I should say." + +"Perhaps not directly. But my sister has, I know, very strong opinions on +such subjects. Now, I want to ask you one thing. Is it true +that--she--remains here?" + +"She is still living in the school-house." + +"Is that prudent, Mrs. Wortle?" + +"If you want to have an opinion on that subject, Lady Margaret, I would +recommend you to ask the Doctor." By which she meant to assert that Lady +Margaret would not, for the life of her, dare to ask the Doctor such a +question. "He has done what he has thought best." + +"Most good-natured, you mean, Mrs. Wortle." + +"I mean what I say, Lady Margaret. He has done what he has thought best, +looking at all the circumstances. He thinks that they are very worthy +people, and that they have been most cruelly ill-used. He has taken that +into consideration. You call it good-nature. Others perhaps may call +it--charity." The wife, though she at her heart deplored her husband's +action in the matter, was not going to own to another lady that he had +been imprudent. + +"I am sure I hope they will," said Lady Margaret. Then as she was taking +her leave, she made a suggestion. "Some of the boys will be taken away, I +suppose. The Doctor probably expects that." + +"I don't know what he expects," said Mrs. Wortle. "Some are always going, +and when they go, others come in their places. As for me, I wish he would +give the school up altogether." + +"Perhaps he means it," said Lady Margaret; "otherwise, perhaps he wouldn't +have been so good-natured." Then she took her departure. + +When her visitor was gone Mrs. Wortle was very unhappy. She had been +betrayed by her wrath into expressing that wish as to the giving up of the +school. She knew well that the Doctor had no such intention. She herself +had more than once suggested it in her timid way, but the Doctor had +treated her suggestions as being worth nothing. He had his ideas about +Mary, who was undoubtedly a very pretty girl. Mary might marry well, and +£20,000 would probably assist her in doing so. + +When he was told of Lady Margaret's hints, he said in his wrath that he +would send young Momson away instantly if a word was said to him by the +boy's mamma. "Of course," said he, "if the lad turns out a scapegrace, as +is like enough, it will be because Mrs. Peacocke had two husbands. It is +often a question to me whether the religion of the world is not more +odious than its want of religion." To this terrible suggestion poor Mrs. +Wortle did not dare to make any answer whatever. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE. + +WE will now pass for a moment out of Bowick parish, and go over to +Buttercup. There, at Buttercup Hall, the squire's house, in the +drawing-room, were assembled Mrs. Momson, the squire's wife; Lady Margaret +Momson, the Rector's wife; Mrs. Rolland, the wife of the Bishop; and the +Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup. A party was staying in the house, collected for the +purpose of entertaining the Bishop; and it would perhaps not have been +possible to have got together in the diocese, four ladies more likely to +be hard upon our Doctor. For though Squire Momson was not very fond of +Mrs. Stantiloup, and had used strong language respecting her when he was +anxious to send his boy to the Doctor's school, Mrs. Momson had always +been of the other party, and had in fact adhered to Mrs. Stantiloup from +the beginning of the quarrel. "I do trust," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "that +there will be an end to all this kind of thing now." + +"Do you mean an end to the school?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"I do indeed. I always thought it matter of great regret that Augustus +should have been sent there, after the scandalous treatment that Bob +received." Bob was the little boy who had drank the champagne and +required the carriage exercise. + +"But I always heard that the school was quite popular," said Mrs. Rolland. + +"I think you'll find," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, "that there won't be +much left of its popularity now. Keeping that abominable woman under the +same roof with the boys! No master of a school that wasn't absolutely +blown up with pride, would have taken such people as those Peacockes +without making proper inquiry. And then to let him preach in the church! +I suppose Mr. Momson will allow you to send for Augustus at once?" This +she said turning to Mrs. Momson. + +"Mr. Momson thinks so much of the Doctor's scholarship," said the mother, +apologetically. "And we are so anxious that Gus should do well when he +goes to Eton." + +"What is Latin and Greek as compared to his soul?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"No, indeed," said Mrs. Rolland. She had found herself compelled, as wife +of the Bishop, to assent to the self-evident proposition which had been +made. She was a quiet, silent little woman, whom the Bishop had married +in the days of his earliest preferment, and who, though she was delighted +to find herself promoted to the society of the big people in the diocese, +had never quite lifted herself up into their sphere. Though she had her +ideas as to what it was to be a Bishop's wife, she had never yet been +quite able to act up to them. + +"I know that young Talbot is to leave," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "I wrote to +Mrs. Talbot immediately when all this occurred, and I've heard from her +cousin Lady Grogram that the boy is not to go back after the holidays." +This happened to be altogether untrue. What she probably meant was, that +the boy should not go back if she could prevent his doing so. + +"I feel quite sure," said Lady Margaret, "that Lady Anne will not allow +her boys to remain when she finds out what sort of inmates the Doctor +chooses to entertain." The Lady Anne spoken of was Lady Anne Clifford, +the widowed mother of two boys who were intrusted to the Doctor's care. + +"I do hope you'll be firm about Gus," said Mrs. Stantiloup to Mrs. Momson. +"If we're not to put down this kind of thing, what is the good of having +any morals in the country at all? We might just as well live like pagans, +and do without any marriage services, as they do in so many parts of the +United States." + +"I wonder what the Bishop does think about it?" asked Mrs. Momson of the +Bishop's wife. + +"It makes him very unhappy; I know that," said Mrs. Rolland. "Of course +he cannot interfere about the school. As for licensing the gentleman as a +curate, that was of course quite out of the question." + +At this moment Mr. Momson, the clergyman, and the Bishop came into the +room, and were offered, as is usual on such occasions, cold tea and the +remains of the buttered toast. The squire was not there. Had he been +with the other gentlemen, Mrs. Stantiloup, violent as she was, would +probably have held her tongue; but as he was absent, the opportunity was +not bad for attacking the Bishop on the subject under discussion. "We +were talking, my lord, about the Bowick school." + +Now the Bishop was a man who could be very confidential with one lady, but +was apt to be guarded when men are concerned. To any one of those present +he might have said what he thought, had no one else been there to hear. +That would have been the expression of a private opinion; but to speak +before the four would have been tantamount to a public declaration. + +"About the Bowick school?" said he; "I hope there is nothing going wrong +with the Bowick school." + +"You must have heard about Mr. Peacocke," said Lady Margaret. + +"Yes; I have certainly heard of Mr. Peacocke. He, I believe, has left Dr. +Wortle's seminary." + +"But she remains!" said Mrs. Stantiloup, with tragic energy. + +"So I understand;--in the house; but not as part of the establishment." + +"Does that make so much difference?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"It does make a very great difference," said Lady Margaret's husband, the +parson, wishing to help the Bishop in his difficulty. + +"I don't see it at all," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "The main spirit in the +matter is just as manifest whether the lady is or is not allowed to look +after the boys' linen. In fact, I despise him for making the pretence. +Her doing menial work about the house would injure no one. It is her +presence there,--the presence of a woman who has falsely pretended to be +married, when she knew very well that she had no husband." + +"When she knew that she had two," said Lady Margaret. + +"And fancy, Lady Margaret,--Lady Bracy absolutely asked her to go to +Carstairs! That woman was always infatuated about Dr. Wortle. What would +she have done if they had gone, and this other man had followed his +sister-in-law there. But Lord and Lady Bracy would ask any one to +Carstairs,--just any one that they could get hold of!" + +Mr. Momson was one whose obstinacy was wont to give way when sufficiently +attacked. Even he, after having been for two days subjected to the +eloquence of Mrs. Stantiloup, acknowledged that the Doctor took a great +deal too much upon himself. "He does it," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "just to +show that there is nothing that he can't bring parents to assent to. +Fancy,--a woman living there as house-keeper with a man as usher, +pretending to be husband and wife, when they knew all along that they were +not married!" + +Mr. Momson, who didn't care a straw about the morals of the man whose duty +it was to teach his little boy his Latin grammar, or the morals of the +woman who looked after his little boy's waistcoats and trousers, gave a +half-assenting grunt. "And you are to pay," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, +with considerable emphasis,--"you are to pay two hundred and fifty pounds +a-year for such conduct as that!" + +"Two hundred," suggested the squire, who cared as little for the money as +he did for the morals. + +"Two hundred and fifty,--every shilling of it, when you consider the +extras." + +"There are no extras, as far as I can see. But then my boy is strong and +healthy, thank God," said the squire, taking his opportunity of having one +fling at the lady. But while all this was going on, he did give a +half-assent that Gus should be taken away at midsummer, being partly moved +thereto by a letter from the Doctor, in which he was told that his boy was +not doing any good at the school. + +It was a week after that that Mrs. Stantiloup wrote the following letter +to her friend Lady Grogram, after she had returned home from Buttercup +Hall. Lady Grogram was a great friend of hers, and was first cousin to +that Mrs. Talbot who had a son at the school. Lady Grogram was an old +woman of strong mind but small means, who was supposed to be potential +over those connected with her. Mrs. Stantiloup feared that she could not +be efficacious herself, either with Mr. or Mrs. Talbot; but she hoped that +she might carry her purpose through Lady Grogram. It may be remembered +that she had declared at Buttercup Hall that young Talbot was not to go +back to Bowick. But this had been a figure of speech, as has been already +explained:-- + + +"MY DEAR LADY GROGRAM,--Since I got your last letter I have been staying +with the Momsons at Buttercup. It was awfully dull. He and she are, I +think, the stupidest people that ever I met. None of those Momsons have +an idea among them. They are just as heavy and inharmonious as their +name. Lady Margaret was one of the party. She would have been better, +only that our excellent Bishop was there too, and Lady Margaret thought it +well to show off all her graces before the Bishop and the Bishop's wife. +I never saw such a dowdy in all my life as Mrs. Rolland. He is all very +well, and looks at any rate like a gentleman. It was, I take it, that +which got him his diocese. They say the Queen saw him once, and was taken +by his manners. + +"But I did one good thing at Buttercup. I got Mr. Momson to promise that +that boy of his should not go back to Bowick. Dr. Wortle has become quite +intolerable. I think he is determined to show that whatever he does, +people shall put up with it. It is not only the most expensive +establishment of the kind in all England, but also the worst conducted. +You know, of course, how all this matter about that woman stands now. She +is remaining there at Bowick, absolutely living in the house, calling +herself Mrs. Peacocke, while the man she was living with has gone off with +her brother-in-law to look for her husband! Did you ever hear of such a +mess as that? + +"And the Doctor expects that fathers and mothers will still send their +boys to such a place as that? I am very much mistaken if he will not find +it altogether deserted before Christmas. Lord Carstairs is already gone." +[This was at any rate disingenuous, as she had been very severe when at +Buttercup on all the Carstairs family because of their declared and +perverse friendship for the Doctor.] "Mr. Momson, though he is quite +incapable of seeing the meaning of anything, has determined to take his +boy away. She may thank me at any rate for that. I have heard that Lady +Anne Clifford's two boys will both leave." [In one sense she had heard it, +because the suggestion had been made by herself at Buttercup.] "I do hope +that Mr. Talbot's dear little boy will not be allowed to return to such +contamination as that! Fancy,--the man and the woman living there in that +way together; and the Doctor keeping the woman on after he knew it all! +It is really so horrible that one doesn't know how to talk about it. When +the Bishop was at Buttercup I really felt almost obliged to be silent. + +"I know very well that Mrs. Talbot is always ready to take your advice. +As for him, men very often do not think so much about these things as they +ought. But he will not like his boy to be nearly the only one left at the +school. I have not heard of one who is to remain for certain. How can it +be possible that any boy who has a mother should be allowed to remain +there? + +"Do think of this, and do your best. I need not tell you that nothing +ought to be so dear to us as a high tone of morals.--Most sincerely yours, + +"JULIANA STANTILOUP." + + +We need not pursue this letter further than to say that when it reached +Mr. Talbot's hands, which it did through his wife, he spoke of Mrs. +Stantiloup in language which shocked his wife considerably, though she was +not altogether unaccustomed to strong language on his part. Mr. Talbot +and the Doctor had been at school together, and at Oxford, and were +friends. + +I will give now a letter that was written by the Doctor to Mr. Momson in +answer to one in which that gentleman signified his intention of taking +little Gus away from the school. + + +"MY DEAR MR. MOMSON,--After what you have said, of course I shall not +expect your boy back after the holidays. Tell his mamma, with my +compliments, that he shall take all his things home with him. As a rule I +do charge for a quarter in advance when a boy is taken away suddenly, +without notice, and apparently without cause. But I shall not do so at +the present moment either to you or to any parent who may withdraw his +son. A circumstance has happened which, though it cannot impair the +utility of my school, and ought not to injure its character, may still be +held as giving offence to certain persons. I will not be driven to alter +my conduct by what I believe to be foolish misconception on their part. +But they have a right to their own opinions, and I will not mulct them +because of their conscientious convictions.--Yours faithfully, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + +"If you come across any friend who has a boy here, you are perfectly at +liberty to show him or her this letter." + + +The defection of the Momsons wounded the Doctor, no doubt. He was aware +that Mrs. Stantiloup had been at Buttercup, and that the Bishop also had +been there--and he could put two and two together; but it hurt him to +think that one so "staunch" though so "stupid" as Mrs. Momson, should be +turned from her purpose by such a woman as Mrs. Stantiloup. And he got +other letters on the subject. Here is one from Lady Anne Clifford. + + +"DEAR DOCTOR,--You know how safe I think my dear boys are with you, and +how much obliged I am both to you and your wife for all your kindness. +But people are saying things to me about one of the masters at your school +and his wife. Is there any reason why I should be afraid? You will see +how thoroughly I trust you when I ask you the question.--Yours very +sincerely, + +"ANNE CLIFFORD." + + +Now Lady Anne Clifford was a sweet, confiding, affectionate, but not very +wise woman. In a letter, written not many days before to Mary Wortle, who +had on one occasion been staying with her, she said that she was at that +time in the same house with the Bishop and Mrs. Rolland. Of course the +Doctor knew again how to put two and two together. + +Then there came a letter from Mr. Talbot-- + + +"DEAR WORTLE,--So you are boiling for yourself another pot of hot water. +I never saw such a fellow as you are for troubles! Old Mother Shipton has +been writing such a letter to our old woman, and explaining that no boy's +soul would any longer be worth looking after if he be left in your hands. +Don't you go and get me into a scrape more than you can help; but you may +be quite sure of this that if I had as many sons as Priam I should send +them all to you;--only I think that the cheques would be very long in +coming.--Yours always, + +"JOHN TALBOT." + + +The Doctor answered this at greater length than he had done in writing to +Mr. Momson, who was not specially his friend. + + +"MY DEAR TALBOT,--You may be quite sure that I shall not repeat to any one +what you have told me of Mother Shipton. I knew, however, pretty well +what she was doing and what I had to expect from her. It is astonishing +to me that such a woman should still have the power of persuading any +one,--astonishing also that any human being should continue to hate as she +hates me. She has often tried to do me an injury, but she has never +succeeded yet. At any rate she will not bend me. Though my school should +be broken up to-morrow, which I do not think probable, I should still have +enough to live upon,--which is more, by all accounts, than her unfortunate +husband can say for himself. + +"The facts are these. More than twelve months ago I got an assistant +named Peacocke, a clergyman, an Oxford man, and formerly a Fellow of +Trinity;--a man quite superior to anything I have a right to expect in my +school. He had gone as a Classical Professor to a college in the United +States;--a rash thing to do, no doubt;--and had there married a widow, +which was rasher still. The lady came here with him and undertook the +charge of the school-house,--with a separate salary; and an admirable +person in the place she was. Then it turned out, as no doubt you have +heard, that her former husband was alive when they were married. They +ought probably to have separated, but they didn't. They came here +instead, and here they were followed by the brother of the husband,--who I +take it is now dead, though of that we know nothing certain. + +"That he should have told me his position is more than any man has a right +to expect from another. Fortune had been most unkind to him, and for her +sake he was bound to do the best that he could with himself. I cannot +bring myself to be angry with him, though I cannot defend him by strict +laws of right and wrong. I have advised him to go back to America and +find out if the man be in truth dead. If so, let him come back and marry +the woman again before all the world. I shall be ready to marry them and +to ask him and her to my house afterwards. + +"In the mean time what was to become of her? 'Let her go into lodgings,' +said the Bishop. Go to lodgings at Broughton! You know what sort of +lodgings she would get there among psalm-singing greengrocers who would +tell her of her misfortune every day of her life! I would not subject her +to the misery of going and seeking for a home. I told him, when I +persuaded him to go, that she should have the rooms they were then +occupying while he was away. In settling this, of course I had to make +arrangements for doing in our own establishment the work which had lately +fallen to her share. I mention this for the sake of explaining that she +has got nothing to do with the school. No doubt the boys are under the +same roof with her. Will your boy's morals be the worse? It seems that +Gustavus Momson's will. You know the father; do you not? I wonder +whether anything will ever affect his morals? + +"Now, I have told you everything. Not that I have doubted you; but, as +you have been told so much, I have thought it well that you should have +the whole story from myself. What effect it may have upon the school I do +not know. The only boy of whose secession I have yet heard is young +Momson. But probably there will be others. Four new boys were to have +come, but I have already heard from the father of one that he has changed +his mind. I think I can trace an acquaintance between him and Mother +Shipton. If the body of the school should leave me I will let you know at +once as you might not like to leave your boy under such circumstances. + +"You may be sure of this, that here the lady remains until her husband +returns. I am not going to be turned from my purpose at this time of day +by anything that Mother Shipton may say or do.--Yours always, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +END OF VOL. I. + + + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +A Novel. + +BY + +ANTHONY TROLLOPE. + +IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II. + + + + + + + +London: +Chapman and Hall, Limited, 193, Piccadilly. +1881. + +London: +R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers, +Bread Street Hill. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. II. + + PART V. + + CHAPTER I. MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT + + CHAPTER II. 'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS' + + CHAPTER III. "'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING" + + CHAPTER IV. "IT IS IMPOSSIBLE" + + CHAPTER V. CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE + + CHAPTER VI. THE JOURNEY + + CHAPTER VII. "NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE" + + CHAPTER VIII. LORD BRACY'S LETTER + + CHAPTER IX. AT CHICAGO + + CONCLUSION. + + CHAPTER X. THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER + + CHAPTER XI. MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN + + CHAPTER XII. MARY'S SUCCESS + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +PART V. + +CHAPTER I. + +MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT. + +IT was not to be expected that the matter should be kept out of the county +newspaper, or even from those in the metropolis. There was too much of +romance in the story, too good a tale to be told, for any such hope. The +man's former life and the woman's, the disappearance of her husband and +his reappearance after his reported death, the departure of the couple +from St. Louis and the coming of Lefroy to Bowick, formed together a most +attractive subject. But it could not be told without reference to Dr. +Wortle's school, to Dr. Wortle's position as clergyman of the parish,--and +also to the fact which was considered by his enemies to be of all the +facts the most damning, that Mr. Peacocke had for a time been allowed to +preach in the parish church. The 'Broughton Gazette,' a newspaper which +was supposed to be altogether devoted to the interest of the diocese, was +very eloquent on this subject. "We do not desire," said the 'Broughton +Gazette,' "to make any remarks as to the management of Dr. Wortle's +school. We leave all that between him and the parents of the boys who are +educated there. We are perfectly aware that Dr. Wortle himself is a +scholar, and that his school has been deservedly successful. It is +advisable, no doubt, that in such an establishment none should be employed +whose lives are openly immoral;--but as we have said before, it is not our +purpose to insist upon this. Parents, if they feel themselves to be +aggrieved, can remedy the evil by withdrawing their sons. But when we +consider the great power which is placed in the hands of an incumbent of a +parish, that he is endowed as it were with the freehold of his pulpit, +that he may put up whom he will to preach the Gospel to his parishioners, +even in a certain degree in opposition to his bishop, we think that we do +no more than our duty in calling attention to such a case as this." Then +the whole story was told at great length, so as to give the "we" of the +'Broughton Gazette' a happy opportunity of making its leading article not +only much longer, but much more amusing, than usual. "We must say," +continued the writer, as he concluded his narrative, "that this man should +not have been allowed to preach in the Bowick pulpit. He is no doubt a +clergyman of the Church of England, and Dr. Wortle was within his rights +in asking for his assistance; but the incumbent of a parish is responsible +for those he employs, and that responsibility now rests on Dr. Wortle." + +There was a great deal in this that made the Doctor very angry,--so angry +that he did not know how to restrain himself. The matter had been argued +as though he had employed the clergyman in his church after he had known +the history. "For aught I know," he said to Mrs. Wortle, "any curate +coming to me might have three wives, all alive." + +"That would be most improbable," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"So was all this improbable,--just as improbable. Nothing could be more +improbable. Do we not all feel overcome with pity for the poor woman +because she encountered trouble that was so improbable? How much more +improbable was it that I should come across a clergyman who had +encountered such improbabilities." In answer to this Mrs. Wortle could +only shake her head, not at all understanding the purport of her husband's +argument. + +But what was said about his school hurt him more than what was said about +his church. In regard to his church he was impregnable. Not even the +Bishop could touch him,--or even annoy him much. But this +"penny-a-liner," as the Doctor indignantly called him, had attacked him in +his tenderest point. After declaring that he did not intend to meddle +with the school, he had gone on to point out that an immoral person had +been employed there, and had then invited all parents to take away their +sons. "He doesn't know what moral and immoral means," said the Doctor, +again pleading his own case to his own wife. "As far as I know, it would +be hard to find a man of a higher moral feeling than Mr. Peacocke, or a +woman than his wife." + +"I suppose they ought to have separated when it was found out," said Mrs. +Wortle. + +"No, no," he shouted; "I hold that they were right. He was right to cling +to her, and she was bound to obey him. Such a fellow as that,"--and he +crushed the paper up in his hand in his wrath, as though he were crushing +the editor himself,--"such a fellow as that knows nothing of morality, +nothing of honour, nothing of tenderness. What he did I would have done, +and I'll stick to him through it all in spite of the Bishop, in spite of +the newspapers, and in spite of all the rancour of all my enemies." Then +he got up and walked about the room in such a fury that his wife did not +dare to speak to him. Should he or should he not answer the newspaper? +That was a question which for the first two days after he had read the +article greatly perplexed him. He would have been very ready to advise +any other man what to do in such a case. "Never notice what may be +written about you in a newspaper," he would have said. Such is the advice +which a man always gives to his friend. But when the case comes to +himself he finds it sometimes almost impossible to follow it. "What's the +use? Who cares what the 'Broughton Gazette' says? let it pass, and it +will be forgotten in three days. If you stir the mud yourself, it will +hang about you for months. It is just what they want you to do. They +cannot go on by themselves, and so the subject dies away from them; but if +you write rejoinders they have a contributor working for them for nothing, +and one whose writing will be much more acceptable to their readers than +any that comes from their own anonymous scribes. It is very disagreeable +to be worried like a rat by a dog; but why should you go into the kennel +and unnecessarily put yourself in the way of it?" The Doctor had said +this more than once to clerical friends who were burning with indignation +at something that had been written about them. But now he was burning +himself, and could hardly keep his fingers from pen and ink. + +In this emergency he went to Mr. Puddicombe, not, as he said to himself, +for advice, but in order that he might hear what Mr. Puddicombe would have +to say about it. He did not like Mr. Puddicombe, but he believed in +him,--which was more than he quite did with the Bishop. Mr. Puddicombe +would tell him his true thoughts. Mr. Puddicombe would be unpleasant very +likely; but he would be sincere and friendly. So he went to Mr. +Puddicombe. "It seems to me," he said, "almost necessary that I should +answer such allegations as these for the sake of truth." + +"You are not responsible for the truth of the 'Broughton Gazette,"' said +Mr. Puddicombe. + +"But I am responsible to a certain degree that false reports shall not be +spread abroad as to what is done in my church." + +"You can contradict nothing that the newspaper has said." + +"It is implied," said the Doctor, "that I allowed Mr. Peacocke to preach +in my church after I knew his marriage was informal." + +"There is no such statement in the paragraph," said Mr. Puddicombe, after +attentive reperusal of the article. "The writer has written in a hurry, +as such writers generally do, but has made no statement such as you +presume. Were you to answer him, you could only do so by an elaborate +statement of the exact facts of the case. It can hardly be worth your +while, in defending yourself against the 'Broughton Gazette,' to tell the +whole story in public of Mr. Peacocke's life and fortunes." + +"You would pass it over altogether?" + +"Certainly I would." + +"And so acknowledge the truth of all that the newspaper says." + +"I do not know that the paper says anything untrue," said Mr. Puddicombe, +not looking the Doctor in the face, with his eyes turned to the ground, +but evidently with the determination to say what he thought, however +unpleasant it might be. "The fact is that you have fallen into +a--misfortune." + +"I don't acknowledge it at all," said the Doctor. + +"All your friends at any rate will think so, let the story be told as it +may. It was a misfortune that this lady whom you had taken into your +establishment should have proved not to be the gentleman's wife. When I +am taking a walk through the fields and get one of my feet deeper than +usual into the mud, I always endeavour to bear it as well as I may before +the eyes of those who meet me rather than make futile efforts to get rid +of the dirt and look as though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is +rubbed and smudged and scraped is more palpably dirt than the honest mud." + +"I will not admit that I am dirty at all," said the Doctor. + +"Nor do I, in the case which I describe. I admit nothing; but I let those +who see me form their own opinion. If any one asks me about my boot I +tell him that it is a matter of no consequence. I advise you to do the +same. You will only make the smudges more palpable if you write to the +'Broughton Gazette."' + +"Would you say nothing to the boys' parents?" asked the Doctor. + +"There, perhaps, I am not a judge, as I never kept a school;--but I think +not. If any father writes to you, then tell him the truth." + +If the matter had gone no farther than this, the Doctor might probably +have left Mr. Puddicombe's house with a sense of thankfulness for the +kindness rendered to him; but he did go farther, and endeavoured to +extract from his friend some sense of the injustice shown by the Bishop, +the Stantiloups, the newspaper, and his enemies in general through the +diocese. But here he failed signally. "I really think, Dr. Wortle, that +you could not have expected it otherwise." + +"Expect that people should lie?" + +"I don't know about lies. If people have told lies I have not seen them +or heard them. I don't think the Bishop has lied." + +"I don't mean the Bishop; though I do think that he has shown a great want +of what I may call liberality towards a clergyman in his diocese." + +"No doubt he thinks you have been wrong. By liberality you mean sympathy. +Why should you expect him to sympathise with your wrong-doing?" + +"What have I done wrong?" + +"You have countenanced immorality and deceit in a brother clergyman." + +"I deny it," said the Doctor, rising up impetuously from his chair. + +"Then I do not understand the position, Dr. Wortle. That is all I can +say." + +"To my thinking, Mr. Puddicombe, I never came across a better man than Mr. +Peacocke in my life." + +"I cannot make comparisons. As to the best man I ever met in my life I +might have to acknowledge that even he had done wrong in certain +circumstances. As the matter is forced upon me, I have to express my +opinion that a great sin was committed both by the man and by the woman. +You not only condone the sin, but declare both by your words and deeds +that you sympathise with the sin as well as with the sinners. You have no +right to expect that the Bishop will sympathise with you in that;--nor can +it be but that in such a country as this the voices of many will be loud +against you." + +"And yours as loud as any," said the Doctor, angrily. + +"That is unkind and unjust," said Mr. Puddicombe. "What I have said, I +have said to yourself, and not to others; and what I have said, I have +said in answer to questions asked by yourself." Then the Doctor apologised +with what grace he could. But when he left the house his heart was still +bitter against Mr. Puddicombe. + +He was almost ashamed of himself as he rode back to Bowick,--first, +because he had condescended to ask advice, and then because, after having +asked it, he had been so thoroughly scolded. There was no one whom Mr. +Puddicombe would admit to have been wrong in the matter except the Doctor +himself. And yet though he had been so counselled and so scolded, he had +found himself obliged to apologize before he left the house! And, too, he +had been made to understand that he had better not rush into print. +Though the 'Broughton Gazette' should come to the attack again and again, +he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicombe's dirty boot had +convinced him. He could see the thoroughly squalid look of the boot that +had been scraped in vain, and appreciate the wholesomeness of the +unadulterated mud. There was more in the man than he had ever +acknowledged before. There was a consistency in him, and a courage, and +an honesty of purpose. But there was no softness of heart. Had there +been a grain of tenderness there, he could not have spoken so often as he +had done of Mrs. Peacocke without expressing some grief at the unmerited +sorrows to which that poor lady had been subjected. + +His own heart melted with ruth as he thought, while riding home, of the +cruelty to which she had been and was subjected. She was all alone there, +waiting, waiting, waiting, till the dreary days should have gone by. And +if no good news should come, if Mr. Peacocke should return with tidings +that her husband was alive and well, what should she do then? What would +the world then have in store for her? "If it were me," said the Doctor to +himself, "I'd take her to some other home and treat her as my wife in +spite of all the Puddicombes in creation;--in spite of all the bishops." + +The Doctor, though he was a self-asserting and somewhat violent man, was +thoroughly soft-hearted. It is to be hoped that the reader has already +learned as much as that;--a man with a kind, tender, affectionate nature. +It would perhaps be unfair to raise a question whether he would have done +as much, been so willing to sacrifice himself, for a plain woman. Had Mr. +Stantiloup, or Sir Samuel Griffin if he had suddenly come again to life, +been found to have prior wives also living, would the Doctor have found +shelter for them in their ignominy and trouble? Mrs. Wortle, who knew her +husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done so. Mrs. +Peacocke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was a man who +thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was jealous would be +quite untrue. She liked to see her husband talking to a pretty woman, +because he would be sure to be in a good humour and sure to make the best +of himself. She loved to see him shine. But she almost wished that Mrs. +Peacocke had been ugly, because there would not then have been so much +danger about the school. + +"I'm just going up to see her," said the Doctor, as soon as he got +home,--"just to ask her what she wants." + +"I don't think she wants anything," said Mrs. Wortle, weakly. + +"Does she not? She must be a very odd woman if she can live there all day +alone, and not want to see a human creature." + +"I was with her yesterday." + +"And therefore I will call to-day," said the Doctor, leaving the room with +his hat on. + +When he was shown up into the sitting-room he found Mrs. Peacocke with a +newspaper in her hand. He could see at a glance that it was a copy of the +'Broughton Gazette,' and could see also the length and outward show of the +very article which he had been discussing with Mr. Puddicombe. "Dr. +Wortle," she said, "if you don't mind, I will go away from this." + +"But I do mind. Why should you go away?" + +"They have been writing about me in the newspapers." + +"That was to be expected." + +"But they have been writing about you." + +"That was to have been expected also. You don't suppose they can hurt +me?" This was a false boast, but in such conversations he was almost +bound to boast. + +"It is I, then, am hurting you?" + +"You;--oh dear, no; not in the least." + +"But I do. They talk of boys going away from the school." + +"Boys will go and boys will come, but we run on for ever," said the +Doctor, playfully. + +"I can well understand that it should be so," said Mrs. Peacocke, passing +over the Doctor's parody as though unnoticed; "and I perceive that I ought +not to be here." + +"Where ought you to be, then?" said he, intending simply to carry on his +joke. + +"Where indeed! There is no where. But wherever I may do least injury to +innocent people,--to people who have not been driven by storms out of the +common path of life. For this place I am peculiarly unfit." + +"Will you find any place where you will be made more welcome?" + +"I think not." + +"Then let me manage the rest. You have been reading that dastardly +article in the paper. It will have no effect upon me. Look here, Mrs. +Peacocke;"--then he got up and held her hand as though he were going, but +he remained some moments while he was still speaking to her,--still +holding her hand;--"it was settled between your husband and me, when he +went away, that you should remain here under my charge till his return. I +am bound to him to find a home for you. I think you are as much bound to +obey him,--which you can only do by remaining here." + +"I would wish to obey him, certainly." + +"You ought to do so,--from the peculiar circumstances more especially. +Don't trouble your mind about the school, but do as he desired. There is +no question but that you must do so. Good-bye. Mrs. Wortle or I will +come and see you to-morrow." Then, and not till then, he dropped her +hand. + +On the next day Mrs. Wortle did call, though these visits were to her an +intolerable nuisance. But it was certainly better that she should +alternate the visits with the Doctor than that he should go every day. +The Doctor had declared that charity required that one of them should see +the poor woman daily. He was quite willing that they should perform the +task day and day about,--but should his wife omit the duty he must go in +his wife's place. What would all the world of Bowick say if the Doctor +were to visit a lady, a young and a beautiful lady, every day, whereas his +wife visited the lady not at all? Therefore they took it turn about, +except that sometimes the Doctor accompanied his wife. The Doctor had +once suggested that his wife should take the poor lady out in her +carriage. But against this even Mrs. Wortle had rebelled. "Under such +circumstances as hers she ought not to be seen driving about," said Mrs. +Wortle. The Doctor had submitted to this, but still thought that the +world of Bowick was very cruel. + +Mrs. Wortle, though she made no complaint, thought that she was used +cruelly in the matter. There had been an intention of going into Brittany +during these summer holidays. The little tour had been almost promised. +But the affairs of Mrs. Peacocke were of such a nature as not to allow the +Doctor to be absent. "You and Mary can go, and Henry will go with you." +Henry was a bachelor brother of Mrs. Wortle, who was always very much at +the Doctor's disposal, and at hers. But certainly she was not going to +quit England, not going to quit home at all, while her husband remained +there, and while Mrs. Peacocke was an inmate of the school. It was not +that she was jealous. The idea was absurd. But she knew very well what +Mrs. Stantiloup would say. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS.' + +BUT there arose a trouble greater than that occasioned by the 'Broughton +Gazette.' There came out an article in a London weekly newspaper, called +'Everybody's Business,' which nearly drove the Doctor mad. This was on +the last Saturday of the holidays. The holidays had been commenced in the +middle of July, and went on till the end of August. Things had not gone +well at Bowick during these weeks. The parents of all the four +newly-expected boys had--changed their minds. One father had discovered +that he could not afford it. Another declared that the mother could not +be got to part with her darling quite so soon as he had expected. A third +had found that a private tutor at home would best suit his purposes. +While the fourth boldly said that he did not like to send his boy because +of the "fuss" which had been made about Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. Had this +last come alone, the Doctor would probably have resented such a +communication; but following the others as it did, he preferred the fourth +man to any of the other three. "Miserable cowards," he said to himself, +as he docketed the letters and put them away. But the greatest blow of +all,--of all blows of this sort,--came to him from poor Lady Anne +Clifford. She wrote a piteous letter to him, in which she implored him to +allow her to take her two boys away. + +"My dear Doctor Wortle," she said, "so many people have been telling so +many dreadful things about this horrible affair, that I do not dare to +send my darling boys back to Bowick again. Uncle Clifford and Lord Robert +both say that I should be very wrong. The Marchioness has said so much +about it that I dare not go against her. You know what my own feelings +are about you and dear Mrs. Wortle; but I am not my own mistress. They +all tell me that it is my first duty to think about the dear boys' +welfare; and of course that is true. I hope you won't be very angry with +me, and will write one line to say that you forgive me.--Yours most +sincerely, + +"ANNE CLIFFORD." + + +In answer to this the Doctor did write as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR LADY ANNE,--Of course your duty is very plain,--to do what you +think best for the boys; and it is natural enough that you should follow +the advice of your relatives and theirs.--Faithfully yours, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +He could not bring himself to write in a more friendly tone, or to tell +her that he forgave her. His sympathies were not with her. His +sympathies at the present moment were only with Mrs. Peacocke. But then +Lady Anne Clifford was not a beautiful woman, as was Mrs. Peacocke. + +This was a great blow. Two other boys had also been summoned away, making +five in all, whose premature departure was owing altogether to the +virulent tongue of that wretched old Mother Shipton. And there had been +four who were to come in the place of four others, who, in the course of +nature, were going to carry on their more advanced studies elsewhere. +Vacancies such as these had always been pre-occupied long beforehand by +ambitious parents. These very four places had been pre-occupied, but now +they were all vacant. There would be nine empty beds in the school when +it met again after the holidays; and the Doctor well understood that nine +beds remaining empty would soon cause others to be emptied. It is success +that creates success, and decay that produces decay. Gradual decay he +knew that he could not endure. He must shut up his school,--give up his +employment,--and retire altogether from the activity of life. He felt +that if it came to this with him he must in very truth turn his face to +the wall and die. Would it,--would it really come to that, that Mrs. +Stantiloup should have altogether conquered him in the combat that had +sprung up between them? + +But yet he would not give up Mrs. Peacocke. Indeed, circumstanced as he +was, he could not give her up. He had promised not only her, but her +absent husband, that until his return there should be a home for her in +the school-house. There would be a cowardice in going back from his word +which was altogether foreign to his nature. He could not bring himself to +retire from the fight, even though by doing so he might save himself from +the actual final slaughter which seemed to be imminent. He thought only +of making fresh attacks upon his enemy, instead of meditating flight from +those which were made upon him. As a dog, when another dog has got him +well by the ear, thinks not at all of his own wound, but only how he may +catch his enemy by the lip, so was the Doctor in regard to Mrs. +Stantiloup. When the two Clifford boys were taken away, he took some joy +to himself in remembering that Mr. Stantiloup could not pay his butcher's +bill. + +Then, just at the end of the holidays, some good-natured friend sent to +him a copy of 'Everybody's Business.' There is no duty which a man owes to +himself more clearly than that of throwing into the waste-paper basket, +unsearched and even unopened, all newspapers sent to him without a +previously-declared purpose. The sender has either written something +himself which he wishes to force you to read, or else he has been desirous +of wounding you by some ill-natured criticism upon yourself. 'Everybody's +Business' was a paper which, in the natural course of things, did not find +its way into the Bowick Rectory; and the Doctor, though he was no doubt +acquainted with the title, had never even looked at its columns. It was +the purpose of the periodical to amuse its readers, as its name declared, +with the private affairs of their neighbours. It went boldly about its +work, excusing itself by the assertion that Jones was just as well +inclined to be talked about as Smith was to hear whatever could be said +about Jones. As both parties were served, what could be the objection? +It was in the main good-natured, and probably did most frequently gratify +the Joneses, while it afforded considerable amusement to the listless and +numerous Smiths of the world. If you can't read and understand Jones's +speech in Parliament, you may at any rate have mind enough to interest +yourself with the fact that he never composed a word of it in his own room +without a ring on his finger and a flower in his button-hole. It may also +be agreeable to know that Walker the poet always takes a mutton-chop and +two glasses of sherry at half-past one. 'Everybody's Business' did this +for everybody to whom such excitement was agreeable. But in managing +everybody's business in that fashion, let a writer be as good-natured as +he may and let the principle be ever so well-founded that nobody is to be +hurt, still there are dangers. It is not always easy to know what will +hurt and what will not. And then sometimes there will come a temptation +to be, not spiteful, but specially amusing. There must be danger, and a +writer will sometimes be indiscreet. Personalities will lead to libels +even when the libeller has been most innocent. It may be that after all +the poor poet never drank a glass of sherry before dinner in his life,--it +may be that a little toast-and-water, even with his dinner, gives him all +the refreshment that he wants, and that two glasses of alcoholic mixture +in the middle of the day shall seem, when imputed to him, to convey a +charge of downright inebriety. But the writer has perhaps learned to +regard two glasses of meridian wine as but a moderate amount of +sustentation. This man is much flattered if it be given to be understood +of him that he falls in love with every pretty woman that he +sees;--whereas another will think that he has been made subject to a foul +calumny by such insinuation. + +'Everybody's Business' fell into some such mistake as this, in that very +amusing article which was written for the delectation of its readers in +reference to Dr. Wortle and Mrs. Peacocke. The 'Broughton Gazette' no +doubt confined itself to the clerical and highly moral views of the case, +and, having dealt with the subject chiefly on behalf of the Close and the +admirers of the Close, had made no allusion to the fact that Mrs. Peacocke +was a very pretty woman. One or two other local papers had been more +scurrilous, and had, with ambiguous and timid words, alluded to the +Doctor's personal admiration for the lady. These, or the rumours created +by them, had reached one of the funniest and lightest-handed of the +contributors to 'Everybody's Business,' and he had concocted an amusing +article,--which he had not intended to be at all libellous, which he had +thought to be only funny. He had not appreciated, probably, the tragedy +of the lady's position, or the sanctity of that of the gentleman. There +was comedy in the idea of the Doctor having sent one husband away to +America to look after the other while he consoled the wife in England. +"It must be admitted," said the writer, "that the Doctor has the best of +it. While one gentleman is gouging the other,--as cannot but be +expected,--the Doctor will be at any rate in security, enjoying the smiles +of beauty under his own fig-tree at Bowick. After a hot morning with +'_tupto_' in the school, there will be 'amo' in the cool of the evening." +And this was absolutely sent to him by some good-natured friend! + +The funny writer obtained a popularity wider probably than he had +expected. His words reached Mrs. Stantiloup, as well as the Doctor, and +were read even in the Bishop's palace. They were quoted even in the +'Broughton Gazette,' not with approbation, but in a high tone of moral +severity. "See the nature of the language to which Dr. Wortle's conduct +has subjected the whole of the diocese!" That was the tone of the +criticism made by the 'Broughton Gazette' on the article in 'Everybody's +Business.' "What else has he a right to expect?" said Mrs. Stantiloup to +Mrs. Rolland, having made quite a journey into Broughton for the sake of +discussing it at the palace. There she explained it all to Mrs. Rolland, +having herself studied the passage so as fully to appreciate the virus +contained in it. "He passes all the morning in the school whipping the +boys himself because he has sent Mr. Peacocke away, and then amuses +himself in the evening by making love to Mr. Peacocke's wife, as he calls +her." Dr. Wortle, when he read and re-read the article, and when the jokes +which were made upon it reached his ears, as they were sure to do, was +nearly maddened by what he called the heartless iniquity of the world; but +his state became still worse when he received an affectionate but solemn +letter from the Bishop warning him of his danger. An affectionate letter +from a bishop must surely be the most disagreeable missive which a parish +clergyman can receive. Affection from one man to another is not natural +in letters. A bishop never writes affectionately unless he means to +reprove severely. When he calls a clergyman his "dear brother in Christ," +he is sure to go on to show that the man so called is altogether unworthy +of the name. So it was with a letter now received at Bowick, in which the +Bishop expressed his opinion that Dr. Wortle ought not to pay any further +visits to Mrs. Peacocke till she should have settled herself down with one +legitimate husband, let that legitimate husband be who it might. The +Bishop did not indeed, at first, make reference by name to 'Everybody's +Business,' but he stated that the "metropolitan press" had taken up the +matter, and that scandal would take place in the diocese if further cause +were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said the Bishop, "but men +must know that we are so." + +Then there came a sharp and pressing correspondence between the Bishop and +the Doctor, which lasted four or five days. The Doctor, without referring +to any other portion of the Bishop's letter, demanded to know to what +"metropolitan newspaper" the Bishop had alluded, as, if any such paper had +spread scandalous imputations as to him, the Doctor, respecting the lady +in question, it would be his, the Doctor's, duty to proceed against that +newspaper for libel. In answer to this the Bishop, in a note much shorter +and much less affectionate than his former letter, said that he did not +wish to name any metropolitan newspaper. But the Doctor would not, of +course, put up with such an answer as this. He wrote very solemnly now, +if not affectionately. "His lordship had spoken of 'scandal in the +diocese.' The words," said the Doctor, "contained a most grave charge. He +did not mean to say that any such accusation had been made by the Bishop +himself; but such accusation must have been made by some one at least of +the London newspapers or the Bishop would not have been justified in what +he has written. Under such circumstances he, Dr. Wortle, thought himself +entitled to demand from the Bishop the name of the newspaper in question, +and the date on which the article had appeared." + +In answer to this there came no written reply, but a copy of the +'Everybody's Business' which the Doctor had already seen. He had, no +doubt, known from the first that it was the funny paragraph about +'_tupto_' and "amo" to which the Bishop had referred. But in the serious +steps which he now intended to take, he was determined to have positive +proof from the hands of the Bishop himself. The Bishop had not directed +the pernicious newspaper with his own hands, but if called upon, could not +deny that it had been sent from the palace by his orders. Having received +it, the Doctor wrote back at once as follows;-- + + +"RIGHT REVEREND AND DEAR LORD,--Any word coming from your lordship to me +is of grave importance, as should, I think, be all words coming from a +bishop to his clergy; and they are of special importance when containing a +reproof, whether deserved or undeserved. The scurrilous and vulgar attack +made upon me in the newspaper which your lordship has sent to me would not +have been worthy of my serious notice had it not been made worthy by your +lordship as being the ground on which such a letter was written to me as +that of your lordship's of the 12th instant. Now it has been invested +with so much solemnity by your lordship's notice of it that I feel myself +obliged to defend myself against it by public action. + +"If I have given just cause of scandal to the diocese I will retire both +from my living and from my school. But before doing so I will endeavour +to prove that I have done neither. This I can only do by publishing in a +court of law all the circumstances in reference to my connection with Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke. As regards myself, this, though necessary, will be +very painful. As regards them, I am inclined to think that the more the +truth is known, the more general and the more generous will be the +sympathy felt for their position. + +"As the newspaper sent to me, no doubt by your lordship's orders, from the +palace, has been accompanied by no letter, it may be necessary that your +lordship should be troubled by a subp[oe]na, so as to prove that the +newspaper alluded to by your lordship is the one against which my +proceedings will be taken. It will be necessary, of course, that I should +show that the libel in question has been deemed important enough to bring +down upon me ecclesiastical rebuke of such a nature as to make my +remaining in the diocese unbearable,--unless it is shown that that rebuke +was undeserved." + + +There was consternation in the palace when this was received. So +stiffnecked a man, so obstinate, so unclerical,--so determined to make +much of little! The Bishop had felt himself bound to warn a clergyman +that, for the sake of the Church, he could not do altogether as other men +might. No doubt certain ladies had got around him,--especially Lady +Margaret Momson,--filling his ears with the horrors of the Doctor's +proceedings. The gentleman who had written the article about the Greek +and the Latin words had seen the truth of the thing at once,--so said Lady +Margaret. The Doctor had condoned the offence committed by the Peacockes +because the woman had been beautiful, and was repaying himself for his +mercy by basking in her loveliness. There was no saying that there was +not some truth in this? Mrs. Wortle herself entertained a feeling of the +same kind. It was palpable, on the face of it, to all except Dr. Wortle +himself,--and to Mrs. Peacocke. Mrs. Stantiloup, who had made her way +into the palace, was quite convincing on this point. Everybody knew, she +said, that the Doctor went across, and saw the lady all alone, every day. +Everybody did not know that. If everybody had been accurate, everybody +would have asserted that he did this thing every other day. But the +matter, as it was represented to the Bishop by the ladies, with the +assistance of one or two clergymen in the Close, certainly seemed to +justify his lordship's interference. + +But this that was threatened was very terrible. There was a determination +about the Doctor which made it clear to the Bishop that he would be as bad +as he said. When he, the Bishop, had spoken of scandal, of course he had +not intended to say that the Doctor's conduct was scandalous; nor had he +said anything of the kind. He had used the word in its proper sense,--and +had declared that offence would be created in the minds of people unless +an injurious report were stopped. "It is not enough to be innocent," he +had said, "but men must know that we are so." He had declared in that his +belief in Dr. Wortle's innocence. But yet there might, no doubt, be an +action for libel against the newspaper. And when damages came to be +considered, much weight would be placed naturally on the attention which +the Bishop had paid to the article. The result of this was that the +Bishop invited the Doctor to come and spend a night with him in the +palace. + +The Doctor went, reaching the palace only just before dinner. During +dinner and in the drawing-room Dr. Wortle made himself very pleasant. He +was a man who could always be soft and gentle in a drawing-room. To see +him talking with Mrs. Rolland and the Bishop's daughters, you would not +have thought that there was anything wrong with him. The discussion with +the Bishop came after that, and lasted till midnight. "It will be for the +disadvantage of the diocese that this matter should be dragged into +Court,--and for the disadvantage of the Church in general that a clergyman +should seem to seek such redress against his bishop." So said the Bishop. + +But the Doctor was obdurate. "I seek no redress," he said, "against my +bishop. I seek redress against a newspaper which has calumniated me. It +is your good opinion, my lord,--your good opinion or your ill opinion +which is the breath of my nostrils. I have to refer to you in order that +I may show that this paper, which I should otherwise have despised, has +been strong enough to influence that opinion." + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING." + +THE Doctor went up to London, and was told by his lawyers that an action +for damages probably would lie. "'Amo' in the cool of the evening," +certainly meant making love. There could be no doubt that allusion was +made to Mrs. Peacocke. To accuse a clergyman of a parish, and a +schoolmaster, of making love to a lady so circumstanced as Mrs. Peacocke, +no doubt was libellous. Presuming that the libel could not be justified, +he would probably succeed. "Justified!" said the Doctor, almost +shrieking, to his lawyers; "I never said a word to the lady in my life +except in pure kindness and charity. Every word might have been heard by +all the world." Nevertheless, had all the world been present, he would +not have held her hand so tenderly or so long as he had done on a certain +occasion which has been mentioned. + +"They will probably apologise," said the lawyer. + +"Shall I be bound to accept their apology?" + +"No; not bound; but you would have to show, if you went on with the +action, that the damage complained of was of so grievous a nature that the +apology would not salve it." + +"The damage has been already done," said the Doctor, eagerly. "I have +received the Bishop's rebuke,--a rebuke in which he has said that I have +brought scandal upon the diocese." + +"Rebukes break no bones," said the lawyer. "Can you show that it will +serve to prevent boys from coming to your school?" + +"It may not improbably force me to give up the living. I certainly will +not remain there subject to the censure of the Bishop. I do not in truth +want any damages. I would not accept money. I only want to set myself +right before the world." It was then agreed that the necessary +communication should be made by the lawyer to the newspaper proprietors, +so as to put the matter in a proper train for the action. + +After this the Doctor returned home, just in time to open his school with +his diminished forces. At the last moment there was another defaulter, so +that there were now no more than twenty pupils. The school had not been +so low as this for the last fifteen years. There had never been less than +eight-and-twenty before, since Mrs. Stantiloup had first begun her +campaign. It was heartbreaking to him. He felt as though he were almost +ashamed to go into his own school. In directing his housekeeper to send +the diminished orders to the tradesmen he was thoroughly ashamed of +himself; in giving his directions to the usher as to the re-divided +classes he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He wished that there was no +school, and would have been contented now to give it all up, and to +confine Mary's fortune to £10,000 instead of £20,000, had it not been that +he could not bear to confess that he was beaten. The boys themselves +seemed almost to carry their tails between their legs, as though even they +were ashamed of their own school. If, as was too probable, another +half-dozen should go at Christmas, then the thing must be abandoned. And +how could he go on as rector of the parish with the abominable empty +building staring him in the face every moment of his life. + +"I hope you are not really going to law," said his wife to him. + +"I must, my dear. I have no other way of defending my honour." + +"Go to law with the Bishop?" + +"No, not with the Bishop." + +"But the Bishop would be brought into it?" + +"Yes; he will certainly be brought into it." + +"And as an enemy. What I mean is, that he will be brought in very much +against his own will." + +"Not a doubt about it," said the Doctor. "But he will have brought it +altogether upon himself. How he can have condescended to send that +scurrilous newspaper is more than I can understand. That one gentleman +should have so treated another is to me incomprehensible. But that a +bishop should have done so to a clergyman of his own diocese shakes all my +old convictions. There is a vulgarity about it, a meanness of thinking, +an aptitude to suspect all manner of evil, which I cannot fathom. What! +did he really think that I was making love to the woman; did he doubt that +I was treating her and her husband with kindness, as one human being is +bound to treat another in affliction; did he believe, in his heart, that I +sent the man away in order that I might have an opportunity for a wicked +purpose of my own? It is impossible. When I think of myself and of him, +I cannot believe it. That woman who has succeeded at last in stirring up +all this evil against me,--even she could not believe it. Her malice is +sufficient to make her conduct intelligible;--but there is no malice in +the Bishop's mind against me. He would infinitely sooner live with me on +pleasant terms if he could justify his doing so to his conscience. He has +been stirred to do this in the execution of some presumed duty. I do not +accuse him of malice. But I do accuse him of a meanness of intellect +lower than what I could have presumed to have been possible in a man so +placed. I never thought him clever; I never thought him great; I never +thought him even to be a gentleman, in the fullest sense of the word; but +I did think he was a man. This is the performance of a creature not +worthy to be called so." + +"Oh, Jeffrey, he did not believe all that." + +"What did he believe? When he read that article, did he see in it a true +rebuke against a hypocrite, or did he see in it a scurrilous attack upon a +brother clergyman, a neighbour, and a friend? If the latter, he certainly +would not have been instigated by it to write to me such a letter as he +did. He certainly would not have sent the paper to me had he felt it to +contain a foul-mouthed calumny." + +"He wanted you to know what people of that sort were saying." + +"Yes; he wanted me to know that, and he wanted me to know also that the +knowledge had come to me from my bishop. I should have thought evil of +any one who had sent me the vile ribaldry. But coming from him, it fills +me with despair." + +"Despair!" she said, repeating his word. + +"Yes; despair as to the condition of the Church when I see a man capable +of such meanness holding so high place. '"Amo" in the cool of the +evening!' That words such as those should have been sent to me by the +Bishop, as showing what the 'metropolitan press' of the day was saying +about my conduct! Of course, my action will be against him,--against the +Bishop. I shall be bound to expose his conduct. What else can I do? +There are things which a man cannot bear and live. Were I to put up with +this I must leave the school, leave the parish;--nay, leave the country. +There is a stain upon me which I must wash out, or I cannot remain here." + +"No, no, no," said his wife, embracing him. + +"'"Amo" in the cool of the evening!' And that when, as God is my judge +above me, I have done my best to relieve what has seemed to me the +unmerited sorrows of two poor sufferers! Had it come from Mrs. +Stantiloup, it would, of course, have been nothing. I could have +understood that her malice should have condescended to anything, however +low. But from the Bishop!" + +"How will you be the worse? Who will know?" + +"I know it," said he, striking his breast. "I know it. The wound is +here. Do you think that when a coarse libel is welcomed in the Bishop's +palace, and treated there as true, that it will not be spread abroad among +other houses? When the Bishop has thought it necessary to send it me, +what will other people do,--others who are not bound to be just and +righteous in their dealings with me as he is? '"Amo" in the cool of the +evening!'" Then he seized his hat and rushed out into the garden. + +The gentleman who had written the paragraph certainly had had no idea that +his words would have been thus effectual. The little joke had seemed to +him to be good enough to fill a paragraph, and it had gone from him +without further thought. Of the Doctor or of the lady he had conceived no +idea whatsoever. Somebody else had said somewhere that a clergyman had +sent a lady's reputed husband away to look for another husband, while he +and the lady remained together. The joke had not been much of a joke, but +it had been enough. It had gone forth, and had now brought the whole +palace of Broughton into grief, and had nearly driven our excellent Doctor +mad! "'Amo' in the cool of the evening!" The words stuck to him like the +shirt of Nessus, lacerating his very spirit. That words such as those +should have been sent to him in a solemn sober spirit by the bishop of his +diocese! It never occurred to him that he had, in truth, been imprudent +when paying his visits alone to Mrs. Peacocke. + +It was late in the evening, and he wandered away up through the green +rides of a wood the borders of which came down to the glebe fields. He +had been boiling over with indignation while talking to his wife. But as +soon as he was alone he endeavoured,--purposely endeavoured to rid himself +for a while of his wrath. This matter was so important to him that he +knew well that it behoved him to look at it all round in a spirit other +than that of anger. He had talked of giving up his school, and giving up +his parish, and had really for a time almost persuaded himself that he +must do so unless he could induce the Bishop publicly to withdraw the +censure which he felt to have been expressed against him. + +And then what would his life be afterwards? His parish and his school had +not been only sources of income to him. The duty also had been dear, and +had been performed on the whole with conscientious energy. Was everything +to be thrown up, and his whole life hereafter be made a blank to him, +because the Bishop had been unjust and injudicious? He could see that it +well might be so, if he were to carry this contest on. He knew his own +temper well enough to be sure that, as he fought, he would grow hotter in +the fight, and that when he was once in the midst of it nothing would be +possible to him but absolute triumph or absolute annihilation. If once he +should succeed in getting the Bishop into court as a witness, either the +Bishop must be crushed or he himself. The Bishop must be got to say why +he had sent that low ribaldry to a clergyman in his parish. He must be +asked whether he had himself believed it, or whether he had not believed +it. He must be made to say that there existed no slightest reason for +believing the insinuation contained; and then, having confessed so much, +he must be asked why he had sent that letter to Bowick parsonage. If it +were false as well as ribald, slanderous as well as vulgar, malicious as +well as mean, was the sending of it a mode of communication between a +bishop and a clergyman of which he as a bishop could approve? Questions +such as these must be asked him; and the Doctor, as he walked alone, +arranging these questions within his own bosom, putting them into the +strongest language which he could find, almost assured himself that the +Bishop would be crushed in answering them. The Bishop had made a great +mistake. So the Doctor assured himself. He had been entrapped by bad +advisers, and had fallen into a pit. He had gone wrong, and had lost +himself. When cross-questioned, as the Doctor suggested to himself that +he should be cross-questioned, the Bishop would have to own all this;--and +then he would be crushed. + +But did he really want to crush the Bishop? Had this man been so bitter +an enemy to him that, having him on the hip, he wanted to strike him down +altogether? In describing the man's character to his wife, as he had done +in the fury of his indignation, he had acquitted the man of malice. He +was sure now, in his calmer moments, that the man had not intended to do +him harm. If it were left in the Bishop's bosom, his parish, his school, +and his character would all be made safe to him. He was sure of that. +There was none of the spirit of Mrs. Stantiloup in the feeling that had +prevailed at the palace. The Bishop, who had never yet been able to be +masterful over him, had desired in a mild way to become masterful. He had +liked the opportunity of writing that affectionate letter. That reference +to the "metropolitan press" had slipt from him unawares; and then, when +badgered for his authority, when driven to give an instance from the +London newspapers, he had sent the objectionable periodical. He had, in +point of fact, made a mistake;--a stupid, foolish mistake, into which a +really well-bred man would hardly have fallen. "Ought I to take advantage +of it?" said the Doctor to himself when he had wandered for an hour or +more alone through the wood. He certainly did not wish to be crushed +himself. Ought he to be anxious to crush the Bishop because of this +error? + +"As for the paper," he said to himself, walking quicker as his mind turned +to this side of the subject,--"as for the paper itself, it is beneath my +notice. What is it to me what such a publication, or even the readers of +it, may think of me? As for damages, I would rather starve than soil my +hands with their money. Though it should succeed in ruining me, I could +not accept redress in that shape." And thus having thought the matter +fully over, he returned home, still wrathful, but with mitigated wrath. + +A Saturday was fixed on which he should again go up to London to see the +lawyer. He was obliged now to be particular about his days, as, in the +absence of Mr. Peacocke, the school required his time. Saturday was a +half-holiday, and on that day he could be absent on condition of remitting +the classical lessons in the morning. As he thought of it all he began to +be almost tired of Mr. Peacocke. Nevertheless, on the Saturday morning, +before he started, he called on Mrs. Peacocke,--in company with his +wife,--and treated her with all his usual cordial kindness. "Mrs. +Wortle," he said, "is going up to town with me; but we shall be home +to-night, and we will see you on Monday if not to-morrow." Mrs. Wortle was +going with him, not with the view of being present at his interview with +the lawyer, which she knew would not be allowed, but on the pretext of +shopping. Her real reason for making the request to be taken up to town +was, that she might use the last moment possible in mitigating her +husband's wrath against the Bishop. + +"I have seen one of the proprietors and the editor," said the lawyer, "and +they are quite willing to apologise. I really do believe they are very +sorry. The words had been allowed to pass without being weighed. Nothing +beyond an innocent joke was intended." + +"I dare say. It seems innocent enough to them. If soot be thrown at a +chimney-sweeper the joke is innocent, but very offensive when it is thrown +at you." + +"They are quite aware that you have ground to complain. Of course you can +go on if you like. The fact that they have offered to apologise will no +doubt be a point in their favour. Nevertheless you would probably get a +verdict." + +"We could bring the Bishop into court?" + +"I think so. You have got his letter speaking of the 'metropolitan +press'?" + +"Oh yes." + +"It is for you to think, Dr. Wortle, whether there would not be a feeling +against you among clergymen." + +"Of course there will. Men in authority always have public sympathy with +them in this country. No man more rejoices that it should be so than I +do. But not the less is it necessary that now and again a man shall make +a stand in his own defence. He should never have sent me that paper." + +"Here," said the lawyer, "is the apology they propose to insert if you +approve of it. They will also pay my bill,--which, however, will not, I +am sorry to say, be very heavy." Then the lawyer handed to the Doctor a +slip of paper, on which the following words were written;-- + +"Our attention has been called to a notice which was made in our +impression of the -- ultimo on the conduct of a clergyman in the diocese +of Broughton. A joke was perpetrated which, we are sorry to find, has +given offence where certainly no offence was intended. We have since +heard all the details of the case to which reference was made, and are +able to say that the conduct of the clergyman in question has deserved +neither censure nor ridicule. Actuated by the purest charity he has +proved himself a sincere friend to persons in great trouble." + +"They'll put in your name if you wish it," said the lawyer, "or alter it +in any way you like, so that they be not made to eat too much dirt." + +"I do not want them to alter it," said the Doctor, sitting thoughtfully. +"Their eating dirt will do no good to me. They are nothing to me. It is +the Bishop." Then, as though he were not thinking of what he did, he tore +the paper and threw the fragments down on the floor. "They are nothing to +me." + +"You will not accept their apology?" said the lawyer. + +"Oh yes;--or rather, it is unnecessary. You may tell them that I have +changed my mind, and that I will ask for no apology. As far as the paper +is concerned, it will be better to let the thing die a natural death. I +should never have troubled myself about the newspaper if the Bishop had +not sent it to me. Indeed I had seen it before the Bishop sent it, and +thought little or nothing of it. Animals will after their kind. The wasp +stings, and the polecat stinks, and the lion tears its prey asunder. Such +a paper as that of course follows its own bent. One would have thought +that a bishop would have done the same." + +"I may tell them that the action is withdrawn." + +"Certainly; certainly. Tell them also that they will oblige me by putting +in no apology. And as for your bill, I would prefer to pay it myself. I +will exercise no anger against them. It is not they who in truth have +injured me." As he returned home he was not altogether happy, feeling that +the Bishop would escape him; but he made his wife happy by telling her the +decision to which he had come. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +"IT IS IMPOSSIBLE." + +THE absence of Dr. and Mrs. Wortle was peculiarly unfortunate on that +afternoon, as a visitor rode over from a distance to make a call,--a +visitor whom they both would have been very glad to welcome, but of whose +coming Mrs. Wortle was not so delighted to hear when she was told by Mary +that he had spent two or three hours at the Rectory. Mrs. Wortle began to +think whether the visitor could have known of her intended absence and the +Doctor's. That Mary had not known that the visitor was coming she was +quite certain. Indeed she did not really suspect the visitor, who was one +too ingenuous in his nature to preconcert so subtle and so wicked a +scheme. The visitor, of course, had been Lord Carstairs. + +"Was he here long?" asked Mrs. Wortle anxiously. + +"Two or three hours, mamma. He rode over from Buttercup where he is +staying, for a cricket match, and of course I got him some lunch." + +"I should hope so," said the Doctor. "But I didn't think that Carstairs +was so fond of the Momson lot as all that." + +Mrs. Wortle at once doubted the declared purpose of this visit to +Buttercup. Buttercup was more than half-way between Carstairs and Bowick. + +"And then we had a game of lawn-tennis. Talbot and Monk came through to +make up sides." So much Mary told at once, but she did not tell more +till she was alone with her mother. + +Young Carstairs had certainly not come over on the sly, as we may call it, +but nevertheless there had been a project in his mind, and fortune had +favoured him. He was now about nineteen, and had been treated for the +last twelve months almost as though he had been a man. It had seemed to +him that there was no possible reason why he should not fall in love as +well as another. Nothing more sweet, nothing more lovely, nothing more +lovable than Mary Wortle had he ever seen. He had almost made up his mind +to speak on two or three occasions before he left Bowick; but either his +courage or the occasion had failed him. Once, as he was walking home with +her from church, he had said one word;--but it had amounted to nothing. +She had escaped from him before she was bound to understand what he meant. +He did not for a moment suppose that she had understood anything. He was +only too much afraid that she regarded him as a mere boy. But when he had +been away from Bowick two months he resolved that he would not be regarded +as a mere boy any longer. Therefore he took an opportunity of going to +Buttercup, which he certainly would not have done for the sake of the +Momsons or for the sake of the cricket. + +He ate his lunch before he said a word, and then, with but poor grace, +submitted to the lawn-tennis with Talbot and Monk. Even to his youthful +mind it seemed that Talbot and Monk were brought in on purpose. They were +both of them boys he had liked, but he hated them now. However, he played +his game, and when that was over, managed to get rid of them, sending them +back through the gate to the school-ground. + +"I think I must say good-bye now," said Mary, "because there are ever so +many things in the house which I have got to do." + +"I am going almost immediately," said the young lord. + +"Papa will be so sorry not to have seen you." This had been said once or +twice before. + +"I came over," he said, "on purpose to see you." + +They were now standing on the middle of the lawn, and Mary had assumed a +look which intended to signify that she expected him to go. He knew the +place well enough to get his own horse, or to order the groom to get it +for him. But instead of that, he stood his ground, and now declared his +purpose. + +"To see me, Lord Carstairs!" + +"Yes, Miss Wortle. And if the Doctor had been here, or your mother, I +should have told them." + +"Have told them what?" she asked. She knew; she felt sure that she knew; +and yet she could not refrain from the question. + +"I have come here to ask if you can love me." + +It was a most decided way of declaring his purpose, and one which made +Mary feel that a great difficulty was at once thrown upon her. She really +did not know whether she could love him or not. Why shouldn't she have +been able to love him? Was it not natural enough that she should be able? +But she knew that she ought not to love him, whether able or not. There +were various reasons which were apparent enough to her though it might be +very difficult to make him see them. He was little more than a boy, and +had not yet finished his education. His father and mother would not +expect him to fall in love, at any rate till he had taken his degree. And +they certainly would not expect him to fall in love with the daughter of +his tutor. She had an idea that, circumstanced as she was, she was bound +by loyalty both to her own father and to the lad's father not to be able +to love him. She thought that she would find it easy enough to say that +she did not love him; but that was not the question. As for being able to +love him,--she could not answer that at all. + +"Lord Carstairs," she said, severely, "you ought not to have come here +when papa and mamma are away." + +"I didn't know they were away. I expected to find them here." + +"But they ain't. And you ought to go away." + +"Is that all you can say to me?" + +"I think it is. You know you oughtn't to talk to me like that. Your own +papa and mamma would be angry if they knew it." + +"Why should they be angry? Do you think that I shall not tell them?" + +"I am sure they would disapprove it altogether," said Mary. "In fact it +is all nonsense, and you really must go away." + +Then she made a decided attempt to enter the house by the drawing-room +window, which opened out on a gravel terrace. + +But he stopped her, standing boldly by the window. "I think you ought to +give me an answer, Mary," he said. + +"I have; and I cannot say anything more. You must let me go in." + +"If they say that it's all right at Carstairs, then will you love me?" + +"They won't say that it's all right; and papa won't think that it's right. +It's very wrong. You haven't been to Oxford yet, and you'll have to +remain there for three years. I think it's very ill-natured of you to +come and talk to me like this. Of course it means nothing. You are only +a boy, but yet you ought to know better." + +"It does mean something. It means a great deal. As for being a boy, I am +older than you are, and have quite as much right to know my own mind." + +Hereupon she took advantage of some little movement in his position, and, +tripping by him hastily, made good her escape into the house. Young +Carstairs, perceiving that his occasion for the present was over, went +into the yard and got upon his horse. He was by no means contented with +what he had done, but still he thought that he must have made her +understand his purpose. + +Mary, when she found herself safe within her own room, could not refrain +from asking herself the question which her lover had asked her. "Could +she love him?" She didn't see any reason why she couldn't love him. It +would be very nice, she thought, to love him. He was sweet-tempered, +handsome, bright, and thoroughly good-humoured; and then his position in +the world was very high. Not for a moment did she tell herself that she +would love him. She did not understand all the differences in the world's +ranks quite as well as did her father, but still she felt that because of +his rank,--because of his rank and his youth combined,--she ought not to +allow herself to love him. There was no reason why the son of a peer +should not marry the daughter of a clergyman. The peer and the clergyman +might be equally gentlemen. But young Carstairs had been there in trust. +Lord Bracy had sent him there to be taught Latin and Greek, and had a +right to expect that he should not be encouraged to fall in love with his +tutor's daughter. It was not that she did not think herself good enough +to be loved by any young lord, but that she was too good to bring trouble +on the people who had trusted her father. Her father would despise her +were he to hear that she had encouraged the lad, or as some might say, had +entangled him. She did not know whether she should not have spoken to +Lord Carstairs more decidedly. But she could, at any rate, comfort +herself with the assurance that she had given him no encouragement. Of +course she must tell it all to her mother, but in doing so could declare +positively that she had given the young man no encouragement. + +"It was very unfortunate that Lord Carstairs should have come just when I +was away," said Mrs. Wortle to her daughter as soon as they were alone +together. + +"Yes, mamma; it was." + +"And so odd. I haven't been away from home any day all the summer +before." + +"He expected to find you." + +"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to say!" + +"Yes, mamma." + +"He had? What was it, my dear?" + +"I was very much surprised, mamma, but I couldn't help it. He asked +me----" + +"Asked you what, Mary?" + +"Oh, mamma!" Here she knelt down and hid her face in her mother's lap. + +"Oh, my dear, this is very bad;--very bad indeed." + +"It needn't be bad for you, mamma; or for papa." + +"Is it bad for you, my child?" + +"No, mamma; except of course that I am sorry that it should be so." + +"What did you say to him?" + +"Of course I told him that it was impossible. He is only a boy, and I +told him so." + +"You made him no promise." + +"No, mamma; no! A promise! Oh dear no! Of course it is impossible. I +knew that. I never dreamed of anything of the kind; but he said it all +there out on the lawn." + +"Had he come on purpose?" + +"Yes;--so he said. I think he had. But he will go to Oxford, and will of +course forget it." + +"He is such a nice boy," said Mrs. Wortle, who, in all her anxiety, could +not but like the lad the better for having fallen in love with her +daughter. + +"Yes, mamma; he is. I always liked him. But this is quite out of the +question. What would his papa and mamma say?" + +"It would be very dreadful to have a quarrel, wouldn't it,--and just at +present, when there are so many things to trouble your papa." Though Mrs. +Wortle was quite honest and true in the feeling she had expressed as to +the young lord's visit, yet she was alive to the glory of having a young +lord for her son-in-law. + +"Of course it is out of the question, mamma. It has never occurred to me +for a moment as otherwise. He has got to go to Oxford and take his degree +before he thinks of such a thing. I shall be quite an old woman by that +time, and he will have forgotten me. You may be sure, mamma, that +whatever I did say to him was quite plain. I wish you could have been +here and heard it all, and seen it all." + +"My darling," said the mother, embracing her, "I could not believe you +more thoroughly even though I saw it all, and heard it all." + +That night Mrs. Wortle felt herself constrained to tell the whole story to +her husband. It was indeed impossible for her to keep any secret from her +husband. When Mary, in her younger years, had torn her frock or cut her +finger, that was always told to the Doctor. If a gardener was seen idling +his time, or a housemaid flirting with the groom, that certainly would be +told to the Doctor. What comfort does a woman get out of her husband +unless she may be allowed to talk to him about everything? When it had +been first proposed that Lord Carstairs should come into the house as a +private pupil she had expressed her fear to the Doctor,--because of Mary. +The Doctor had ridiculed her fears, and this had been the result. Of +course she must tell the Doctor. "Oh, dear," she said, "what do you think +has happened while we were up in London?" + +"Carstairs was here." + +"Oh, yes; he was here. He came on purpose to make a regular declaration +of love to Mary." + +"Nonsense." + +"But he did, Jeffrey." + +"How do you know he came on purpose." + +"He told her so." + +"I did not think the boy had so much spirit in him," said the Doctor. +This was a way of looking at it which Mrs. Wortle had not expected. Her +husband seemed rather to approve than otherwise of what had been done. At +any rate, he had expressed none of that loud horror which she had +expected. "Nevertheless," continued the Doctor, "he's a stupid fool for +his pains." + +"I don't know that he is a fool," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Yes; he is. He is not yet twenty, and he has all Oxford before him. How +did Mary behave?" + +"Like an angel," said Mary's mother. + +"That's of course. You and I are bound to believe so. But what did she +do, and what did she say?" + +"She told him that it was simply impossible." + +"So it is,--I'm afraid. She at any rate was bound to give him no +encouragement." + +"She gave him none. She feels quite strongly that it is altogether +impossible. What would Lord Bracy say?" + +"If Carstairs were but three or four years older," said the Doctor, +proudly, "Lord Bracy would have much to be thankful for in the attachment +on the part of his son, if it were met by a return of affection on the +part of my daughter. What better could he want?" + +"But he is only a boy," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; that's where it is. And Mary was quite right to tell him that it is +impossible. It is impossible. And I trust, for her sake, that his words +have not touched her young heart." + +"Oh, no," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Had it been otherwise how could we have been angry with the child?" + +Now this did seem to the mother to be very much in contradiction to that +which the Doctor had himself said when she had whispered to him that Lord +Carstairs's coming might be dangerous. "I was afraid of it, as you know," +said she. + +"His character has altered during the last twelve months." + +"I suppose when boys grow into men it is so with them." + +"Not so quickly," said the Doctor. "A boy when he leaves Eton is not +generally thinking of these things." + +"A boy at Eton is not thrown into such society," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"I suppose his being here and seeing Mary every day has done it. Poor +Mary!" + +"I don't think she is poor at all," said Mary's mother. + +"I am afraid she must not dream of her young lover." + +"Of course she will not dream of him. She has never entertained any idea +of the kind. There never was a girl with less nonsense of that kind than +Mary. When Lord Carstairs spoke to her to-day I do not suppose she had +thought about him more than any other boy that has been here." + +"But she will think now." + +"No;--not in the least. She knows it is impossible." + +"Nevertheless she will think about it. And so will you." + +"I!" + +"Yes,--why not? Why should you be different from other mothers? Why +should I not think about it as other fathers might do? It is impossible. +I wish it were not. For Mary's sake, I wish he were three or four years +older. But he is as he is, and we know that it is impossible. +Nevertheless, it is natural that she should think about him. I only hope +that she will not think about him too much." So saying he closed the +conversation for that night. + +Mary did not think very much about "it" in such a way as to create +disappointment. She at once realised the impossibilities, so far as to +perceive that the young lord was the top brick of the chimney as far as +she was concerned. The top brick of the chimney may be very desirable, +but one doesn't cry for it, because it is unattainable. Therefore Mary +did not in truth think of loving her young lover. He had been to her a +very nice boy; and so he was still; that;--that, and nothing more. Then +had come this little episode in her life which seemed to lend it a gentle +tinge of romance. But had she inquired of her bosom she would have +declared that she had not been in love. With her mother there was perhaps +something of regret. But it was exactly the regret which may be felt in +reference to the top brick. It would have been so sweet had it been +possible; but then it was so evidently impossible. + +With the Doctor the feeling was somewhat different. It was not quite so +manifest to him that this special brick was altogether unattainable, nor +even that it was quite at the top of the chimney. There was no reason why +his daughter should not marry an earl's son and heir. No doubt the lad +had been confided to him in trust. No doubt it would have been his duty +to have prevented anything of the kind, had anything of the kind seemed to +him to be probable. Had there been any moment in which the duty had +seemed to him to be a duty, he would have done it, even though it had been +necessary to caution the Earl to take his son away from Bowick. But there +had been nothing of the kind. He had acted in the simplicity of his +heart, and this had been the result. Of course it was impossible. He +acknowledged to himself that it was so, because of the necessity of those +Oxford studies and those long years which would be required for the taking +of the degree. But to his thinking there was no other ground for saying +that it was impossible. The thing must stand as it was. If this youth +should show himself to be more constant than other youths,--which was not +probable,--and if, at the end of three or four years, Mary should not have +given her heart to any other lover,--which was also improbable,--why, +then, it might come to pass that he should some day find himself +father-in-law to the future Earl Bracy. Though Mary did not think of it, +nor Mrs. Wortle, he thought of it,--so as to give an additional interest +to these disturbed days. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE. + +THE possible glory of Mary's future career did not deter the Doctor from +thinking of his troubles,--and especially that trouble with the Bishop +which was at present heavy on his hand. He had determined not to go on +with his action, and had so resolved because he had felt, in his more +sober moments, that in bringing the Bishop to disgrace, he would be as a +bird soiling its own nest. It was that conviction, and not any idea as to +the sufficiency or insufficiency, as to the truth or falsehood, of the +editor's apology, which had actuated him. As he had said to his lawyer, +he did not in the least care for the newspaper people. He could not +condescend to be angry with them. The abominable joke as to the two verbs +was altogether in their line. As coming from them, they were no more to +him than the ribald words of boys which he might hear in the street. The +offence to him had come from the Bishop,--and he resolved to spare the +Bishop because of the Church. But yet something must be done. He could +not leave the man to triumph over him. If nothing further were done in +the matter, the Bishop would have triumphed over him. As he could not +bring himself to expose the Bishop, he must see whether he could not reach +the man by means of his own power of words;--so he wrote as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR LORD,--I have to own that this letter is written with feelings +which have been very much lacerated by what your lordship has done. I +must tell you, in the first place, that I have abandoned my intention of +bringing an action against the proprietors of the scurrilous newspaper +which your lordship sent me, because I am unwilling to bring to public +notice the fact of a quarrel between a clergyman of the Church of England +and his Bishop. I think that, whatever may be the difficulty between us, +it should be arranged without bringing down upon either of us adverse +criticism from the public press. I trust your lordship will appreciate my +feeling in this matter. Nothing less strong could have induced me to +abandon what seems to be the most certain means by which I could obtain +redress. + +"I had seen the paper which your lordship sent to me before it came to me +from the palace. The scurrilous, unsavoury, and vulgar words which it +contained did not matter to me much. I have lived long enough to know +that, let a man's own garments be as clean as they may be, he cannot hope +to walk through the world without rubbing against those who are dirty. It +was only when those words came to me from your lordship,--when I found +that the expressions which I found in that paper were those to which your +lordship had before alluded as being criticisms on my conduct in the +metropolitan press,--criticisms so grave as to make your lordship think it +necessary to admonish me respecting them,--it was only then, I say, that I +considered them to be worthy of my notice. When your lordship, in +admonishing me, found it necessary to refer me to the metropolitan press, +and to caution me to look to my conduct because the metropolitan press had +expressed its dissatisfaction, it was, I submit to you, natural for me to +ask you where I should find that criticism which had so strongly affected +your lordship's judgment. There are perhaps half a score of newspapers +published in London whose animadversions I, as a clergyman, might have +reason to respect,--even if I did not fear them. Was I not justified in +thinking that at least some two or three of these had dealt with my +conduct, when your lordship held the metropolitan press _in terrorem_ over +my head? I applied to your lordship for the names of these newspapers, +and your lordship, when pressed for a reply, sent to me--that copy of +'Everybody's Business.' + +"I ask your lordship to ask yourself whether, so far, I have overstated +anything. Did not that paper come to me as the only sample you were able +to send me of criticism made on my conduct in the metropolitan press? No +doubt my conduct was handled there in very severe terms. No doubt the +insinuations, if true,--or if of such kind as to be worthy of credit with +your lordship, whether true or false,--were severe, plain-spoken, and +damning. The language was so abominable, so vulgar, so nauseous, that I +will not trust myself to repeat it. Your lordship, probably, when sending +me one copy, kept another. Now, I must ask your lordship,--and I must beg +of your lordship for a reply,--whether the periodical itself has such a +character as to justify your lordship in founding a complaint against a +clergyman on its unproved statements, and also whether the facts of the +case, as they were known to you, were not such as to make your lordship +well aware that the insinuations were false. Before these ribald words +were printed, your lordship had heard all the facts of the case from my +own lips. Your lordship had known me and my character for, I think, a +dozen years. You know the character that I bear among others as a +clergyman, a schoolmaster, and a gentleman. You have been aware how great +is the friendship I have felt for the unfortunate gentleman whose career +is in question, and for the lady who bears his name. When you read those +abominable words did they induce your lordship to believe that I had been +guilty of the inexpressible treachery of making love to the poor lady +whose misfortunes I was endeavouring to relieve, and of doing so almost in +my wife's presence? + +"I defy you to have believed them. Men are various, and their minds work +in different ways,--but the same causes will produce the same effects. +You have known too much of me to have thought it possible that I should +have done as I was accused. I should hold a man to be no less than mad +who could so have believed, knowing as much as your lordship knew. Then +how am I to reconcile to my idea of your lordship's character the fact +that you should have sent me that paper? What am I to think of the +process going on in your lordship's mind when your lordship could have +brought yourself to use a narrative which you must have known to be false, +made in a newspaper which you knew to be scurrilous, as the ground for a +solemn admonition to a clergyman of my age and standing? You wrote to me, +as is evident from the tone and context of your lordship's letter, because +you found that the metropolitan press had denounced my conduct. And this +was the proof you sent to me that such had been the case! + +"It occurred to me at once that, as the paper in question had vilely +slandered me, I could redress myself by an action of law, and that I could +prove the magnitude of the evil done me by showing the grave importance +which your lordship had attached to the words. In this way I could have +forced an answer from your lordship to the questions which I now put to +you. Your lordship would have been required to state on oath whether you +believed those insinuations or not; and, if so, why you believed them. On +grounds which I have already explained I have thought it improper to do +so. Having abandoned that course, I am unable to force any answer from +your lordship. But I appeal to your sense of honour and justice whether +you should not answer my questions;--and I also ask from your lordship an +ample apology, if, on consideration, you shall feel that you have done me +an undeserved injury.--I have the honour to be, my lord, your lordship's +most obedient, very humble servant, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +He was rather proud of this letter as he read it to himself, and yet a +little afraid of it, feeling that he had addressed his Bishop in very +strong language. It might be that the Bishop should send him no answer at +all, or some curt note from his chaplain in which it would be explained +that the tone of the letter precluded the Bishop from answering it. What +should he do then? It was not, he thought, improbable, that the curt note +from the chaplain would be all that he might receive. He let the letter +lie by him for four-and-twenty hours after he had composed it, and then +determined that not to send it would be cowardly. He sent it, and then +occupied himself for an hour or two in meditating the sort of letter he +would write to the Bishop when that curt reply had come from the chaplain. + +That further letter must be one which must make all amicable intercourse +between him and the Bishop impossible. And it must be so written as to be +fit to meet the public eye if he should be ever driven by the Bishop's +conduct to put it in print. A great wrong had been done him;--a great +wrong! The Bishop had been induced by influences which should have had no +power over him to use his episcopal rod and to smite him,--him Dr. Wortle! +He would certainly show the Bishop that he should have considered +beforehand whom he was about to smite. "'Amo' in the cool of the +evening!" And that given as an expression of opinion from the metropolitan +press in general! He had spared the Bishop as far as that action was +concerned, but he would not spare him should he be driven to further +measures by further injustice. In this way he lashed himself again into a +rage. Whenever those odious words occurred to him he was almost mad with +anger against the Bishop. + +When the letter had been two days sent, so that he might have had a reply +had a reply come to him by return of post, he put a copy of it into his +pocket and rode off to call on Mr. Puddicombe. He had thought of showing +it to Mr. Puddicombe before he sent it, but his mind had revolted from +such submission to the judgment of another. Mr. Puddicombe would no doubt +have advised him not to send it, and then he would have been almost +compelled to submit to such advice. But the letter was gone now. The +Bishop had read it, and no doubt re-read it two or three times. But he +was anxious that some other clergyman should see it,--that some other +clergyman should tell him that, even if inexpedient, it had still been +justified. Mr. Puddicombe had been made acquainted with the former +circumstances of the affair; and now, with his mind full of his own +injuries, he went again to Mr. Puddicombe. + +"It is just the sort of letter that you would write, as a matter of +course," said Mr. Puddicombe. + +"Then I hope that you think it is a good letter?" + +"Good as being expressive, and good also as being true, I do think it." + +"But not good as being wise?" + +"Had I been in your case I should have thought it unnecessary. But you +are self-demonstrative, and cannot control your feelings." + +"I do not quite understand you." + +"What did it all matter? The Bishop did a foolish thing in talking of the +metropolitan press. But he had only meant to put you on your guard." + +"I do not choose to be put on my guard in that way," said the Doctor. + +"No; exactly. And he should have known you better than to suppose you +would bear it. Then you pressed him, and he found himself compelled to +send you that stupid newspaper. Of course he had made a mistake. But +don't you think that the world goes easier when mistakes are forgiven?" + +"I did forgive it, as far as foregoing the action." + +"That, I think, was a matter of course. If you had succeeded in putting +the poor Bishop into a witness-box you would have had every sensible +clergyman in England against you. You felt that yourself." + +"Not quite that," said the Doctor. + +"Something very near it; and therefore you withdrew. But you cannot get +the sense of the injury out of your mind, and, therefore, you have +persecuted the Bishop with that letter." + +"Persecuted?" + +"He will think so. And so should I, had it been addressed to me. As I +said before, all your arguments are true,--only I think you have made so +much more of the matter than was necessary! He ought not to have sent you +that newspaper, nor ought he to have talked about the metropolitan press. +But he did you no harm; nor had he wished to do you harm;--and perhaps it +might have been as well to pass it over." + +"Could you have done so?" + +"I cannot imagine myself in such a position. I could not, at any rate, +have written such a letter as that, even if I would; and should have been +afraid to write it if I could. I value peace and quiet too greatly to +quarrel with my bishop,--unless, indeed, he should attempt to impose upon +my conscience. There was nothing of that kind here. I think I should +have seen that he had made a mistake, and have passed it over." + +The Doctor, as he rode home, was, on the whole, better pleased with his +visit than he had expected to be. He had been told that his letter was +argumentative and true, and that in itself had been much. + +At the end of the week he received a reply from the Bishop, and found that +it was not, at any rate, written by the chaplain. + + +"MY DEAR DR. WORTLE," said the reply; "your letter has pained me +exceedingly, because I find that I have caused you a degree of annoyance +which I am certainly very sorry I have inflicted. When I wrote to you in +my letter,--which I certainly did not intend as an admonition,--about the +metropolitan press, I only meant to tell you, for your own information, +that the newspapers were making reference to your affair with Mr. +Peacocke. I doubt whether I knew anything of the nature of 'Everybody's +Business.' I am not sure even whether I had ever actually read the words +to which you object so strongly. At any rate, they had had no weight with +me. If I had read them,--which I probably did very cursorily,--they did +not rest on my mind at all when I wrote to you. My object was to caution +you, not at all as to your own conduct, but as to others who were speaking +evil of you. + +"As to the action of which you spoke so strongly when I had the pleasure +of seeing you here, I am very glad that you abandoned it, for your own +sake and for mine, and the sake of all us generally to whom the peace of +the Church is dear. + +"As to the nature of the language in which you have found yourself +compelled to write to me, I must remind you that it is unusual as coming +from a clergyman to a bishop. I am, however, ready to admit that the +circumstances of the case were unusual, and I can understand that you +should have felt the matter severely. Under these circumstances, I trust +that the affair may now be allowed to rest without any breach of those +kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours very +faithfully, + +"C. BROUGHTON." + + +"It is a beastly letter," the Doctor said to himself, when he had read it, +"a beastly letter;" and then he put it away without saying any more about +it to himself or to any one else. It had appeared to him to be a "beastly +letter," because it had exactly the effect which the Bishop had intended. +It did not eat "humble pie;" it did not give him the full satisfaction of +a complete apology; and yet it left no room for a further rejoinder. It +had declared that no censure had been intended, and expressed sorrow that +annoyance had been caused. But yet to the Doctor's thinking it was an +unmanly letter. "Not intended as an admonition!" Then why had the Bishop +written in that severely affectionate and episcopal style? He had +intended it as an admonition, and the excuse was false. So thought the +Doctor, and comprised all his criticism in the one epithet given above. +After that he put the letter away, and determined to think no more about +it. + +"Will you come in and see Mrs. Peacocke after lunch?" the Doctor said to +his wife the next morning. They paid their visit together; and after +that, when the Doctor called on the lady, he was generally accompanied by +Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by 'Everybody's Business,' and its +abominations. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE JOURNEY. + +WE will now follow Mr. Peacocke for a while upon his journey. He began +his close connection with Robert Lefroy by paying the man's bill at the +inn before he left Broughton, and after that found himself called upon to +defray every trifle of expense incurred as they went along. Lefroy was +very anxious to stay for a week in town. It would, no doubt, have been +two weeks or a month had his companion given way;--but on this matter a +line of conduct had been fixed by Mr. Peacocke in conjunction with the +Doctor from which he never departed. "If you will not be guided by me, I +will go without you," Mr. Peacocke had said, "and leave you to follow your +own devices on your own resources." + +"And what can you do by yourself?" + +"Most probably I shall be able to learn all that I want to learn. It may +be that I shall fail to learn anything either with you or without you. I +am willing to make the attempt with you if you will come along at +once;--but I will not be delayed for a single day. I shall go whether you +go or stay." Then Lefroy had yielded, and had agreed to be put on board a +German steamer starting from Southampton to New York. + +But an hour or two before the steamer started he made a revelation. "This +is all gammon, Peacocke," he said, when on board. + +"What is all gammon?" + +"My taking you across to the States." + +"Why is it gammon?" + +"Because Ferdinand died more than a year since;--almost immediately after +you took her off." + +"Why did you not tell me that at Bowick?" + +"Because you were so uncommon uncivil. Was it likely I should have told +you that when you cut up so uncommon rough?" + +"An honest man would have told me the very moment that he saw me." + +"When one's poor brother has died, one does not blurt it like that all at +once." + +"Your poor brother!" + +"Why not my poor brother as well as anybody else's? And her husband too! +How was I to let it out in that sort of way? At any rate he is dead as +Julius Cæsar. I saw him buried,--right away at 'Frisco." + +"Did he go to San Francisco?" + +"Yes,--we both went there right away from St. Louis. When we got up to +St. Louis we were on our way with them other fellows. Nobody meant to +disturb you; but Ferdy got drunk, and would go and have a spree, as he +called it." + +"A spree, indeed!" + +"But we were off by train to Kansas at five o'clock the next morning. The +devil wouldn't keep him sober, and he died of D.T. the day after we got +him to 'Frisco. So there's the truth of it, and you needn't go to New +York at all. Hand me the dollars. I'll be off to the States; and you can +go back and marry the widow,--or leave her alone, just as you please." + +They were down below when this story was told, sitting on their +portmanteaus in the little cabin in which they were to sleep. The +prospect of the journey certainly had no attraction for Mr. Peacocke. His +companion was most distasteful to him; the ship was abominable; the +expense was most severe. How glad would he avoid it all if it were +possible! "You know it all as well as if you were there," said Robert, +"and were standing on his grave." He did believe it. The man in all +probability had at the last moment told the true story. Why not go back +and be married again? The Doctor could be got to believe it. + +But then if it were not true? It was only for a moment that he doubted. +"I must go to 'Frisco all the same," he said. + +"Why so?" + +"Because I must in truth stand upon his grave. I must have proof that he +has been buried there." + +"Then you may go by yourself," said Robert Lefroy. He had said this more +than once or twice already, and had been made to change his tone. He +could go or stay as he pleased, but no money would be paid to him until +Peacocke had in his possession positive proof of Ferdinand Lefroy's death. +So the two made their unpleasant journey to New York together. There was +complaining on the way, even as to the amount of liquor that should be +allowed. Peacocke would pay for nothing that he did not himself order. +Lefroy had some small funds of his own, and was frequently drunk while on +board. There were many troubles; but still they did at last reach New +York. + +Then there was a great question whether they would go on direct from +thence to San Francisco, or delay themselves three or four days by going +round by St. Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and on that +account Peacocke was almost resolved to take tickets direct through for +San Francisco. Why should Lefroy wish to go to St. Louis? But then, if +the story were altogether false, some truth might be learned at St. Louis; +and it was at last decided that thither they would go. As they went on +from town to town, changing carriages first at one place and then at +another, Lefroy's manner became worse and worse, and his language more and +more threatening. Peacocke was asked whether he thought a man was to be +brought all that distance without being paid for his time. "You will be +paid when you have performed your part of the bargain," said Peacocke. + +"I'll see some part of the money at St. Louis," said Lefroy, "or I'll know +the reason why. A thousand dollars! What are a thousand dollars? Hand +out the money." This was said as they were sitting together in a corner or +separated portion of the smoking-room of a little hotel at which they were +waiting for a steamer which was to take them down the Mississippi to St. +Louis. Peacocke looked round and saw that they were alone. + +"I shall hand out nothing till I see your brother's grave," said Peacocke. + +"You won't?" + +"Not a dollar! What is the good of your going on like that? You ought to +know me well enough by this time." + +"But you do not know me well enough. You must have taken me for a very +tame sort o' critter." + +"Perhaps I have." + +"Maybe you'll change your mind." + +"Perhaps I shall. It is quite possible that you should murder me. But +you will not get any money by that." + +"Murder you. You ain't worth murdering." Then they sat in silence, +waiting another hour and a half till the steamboat came. The reader will +understand that it must have been a bad time for Mr. Peacocke. + +They were on the steamer together for about twenty-four hours, during +which Lefroy hardly spoke a word. As far as his companion could +understand he was out of funds, because he remained sober during the +greater part of the day, taking only what amount of liquor was provided +for him. Before, however, they reached St. Louis, which they did late at +night, he had made acquaintance with certain fellow-travellers, and was +drunk and noisy when they got out upon the quay. Mr. Peacocke bore his +position as well as he could, and accompanied him up to the hotel. It was +arranged that they should remain two days at St. Louis, and then start for +San Francisco by the railway which runs across the State of Kansas. +Before he went to bed Lefroy insisted on going into the large hall in +which, as is usual in American hotels, men sit and loafe and smoke and +read the newspapers. Here, though it was twelve o'clock, there was still +a crowd; and Lefroy, after he had seated himself and lit his cigar, got up +from his seat and addressed all the men around him. + +"Here's a fellow," said he, "has come out from England to find out what's +become of Ferdinand Lefroy." + +"I knew Ferdinand Lefroy," said one man, "and I know you too, Master +Robert." + +"What has become of Ferdinand Lefroy?" asked Mr. Peacocke. + +"He's gone where all the good fellows go," said another. + +"You mean that he is dead?" asked Peacocke. + +"Of course he's dead," said Robert. "I've been telling him so ever since +we left England; but he is such a d---- unbelieving infidel that he +wouldn't credit the man's own brother. He won't learn much here about +him." + +"Ferdinand Lefroy," said the first man, "died on the way as he was going +out West. I was over the road the day after." + +"You know nothing about it," said Robert. "He died at 'Frisco two days +after we'd got him there." + +"He died at Ogden Junction, where you turn down to Utah City." + +"You didn't see him dead," said the other. + +"If I remember right," continued the first man, "they'd taken him away to +bury him somewhere just there in the neighbourhood. I didn't care much +about him, and I didn't ask any particular questions. He was a drunken +beast,--better dead than alive." + +"You've been drunk as often as him, I guess," said Robert. + +"I never gave nobody the trouble to bury me at any rate," said the other. + +"Do you mean to say positively of your own knowledge," asked Peacocke, +"that Ferdinand Lefroy died at that station?" + +"Ask him; he's his brother, and he ought to know best." + +"I tell you," said Robert, earnestly, "that we carried him on to 'Frisco, +and there he died. If you think you know best, you can go to Utah City +and wait there till you hear all about it. I guess they'll make you one +of their elders if you wait long enough." Then they all went to bed. + +It was now clear to Mr. Peacocke that the man as to whose life or death he +was so anxious had really died. The combined evidence of these men, which +had come out without any preconcerted arrangement, was proof to his mind. +But there was no evidence which he could take back with him to England and +use there as proof in a court of law, or even before the Bishop and Dr. +Wortle. On the next morning, before Robert Lefroy was up, he got hold of +the man who had been so positive that death had overtaken the poor wretch +at the railway station which is distant from San Francisco two days' +journey. Had the man died there, and been buried there, nothing would be +known of him in San Francisco. The journey to San Francisco would be +entirely thrown away, and he would be as badly off as ever. + +"I wouldn't like to say for certain," said the man when he was +interrogated. "I only tell you what they told me. As I was passing along +somebody said as Ferdy Lefroy had been taken dead out of the cars on to +the platform. Now you know as much about it as I do." + +He was thus assured that at any rate the journey to San Francisco had not +been altogether a fiction. The man had gone "West," as had been said, and +nothing more would be known of him at St. Louis. He must still go on upon +his journey and make such inquiry as might be possible at the Ogden +Junction. + +On the day but one following they started again, taking their tickets as +far as Leavenworth. They were told by the officials that they would find +a train at Leavenworth waiting to take them on across country into the +regular San Francisco line. But, as is not unusual with railway officials +in that part of the world, they were deceived. At Leavenworth they were +forced to remain for four-and-twenty hours, and there they put themselves +up at a miserable hotel in which they were obliged to occupy the same +room. It was a rough, uncouth place, in which, as it seemed to Mr. +Peacocke, the men were more uncourteous to him, and the things around more +unlike to what he had met elsewhere, than in any other town of the Union. +Robert Lefroy, since the first night at St. Louis, had become sullen +rather than disobedient. He had not refused to go on when the moment came +for starting, but had left it in doubt till the last moment whether he did +or did not intend to prosecute his journey. When the ticket was taken for +him he pretended to be altogether indifferent about it, and would himself +give no help whatever in any of the usual troubles of travelling. But as +far as this little town of Leavenworth he had been carried, and Peacocke +now began to think it probable that he might succeed in taking him to San +Francisco. + +On that night he endeavoured to induce him to go first to bed, but in this +he failed. Lefroy insisted on remaining down at the bar, where he had +ordered for himself some liquor for which Mr. Peacocke, in spite of all +his efforts to the contrary, would have to pay. If the man would get +drunk and lie there, he could not help himself. On this he was +determined, that whether with or without the man, he would go on by the +first train;--and so he took himself to his bed. + +He had been there perhaps half-an-hour when his companion came into the +room,--certainly not drunk. He seated himself on his bed, and then, +pulling to him a large travelling-bag which he used, he unpacked it +altogether, laying all the things which it contained out upon the bed. +"What are you doing that for?" said Mr. Peacocke; "we have to start from +here to-morrow morning at five." + +"I'm not going to start to-morrow at five, nor yet to-morrow at all, nor +yet next day." + +"You are not?" + +"Not if I know it. I have had enough of this game. I am not going +further West for any one. Hand out the money. You have been told +everything about my brother, true and honest, as far as I know it. Hand +out the money." + +"Not a dollar," said Peacocke. "All that I have heard as yet will be of +no service to me. As far as I can see, you will earn it; but you will +have to come on a little further yet." + +"Not a foot; I ain't a-going out of this room to-morrow." + +"Then I must go without you;--that's all." + +"You may go and be ----. But you'll have to shell out the money first, old +fellow." + +"Not a dollar." + +"You won't?" + +"Certainly I will not. How often have I told you so." + +"Then I shall take it." + +"That you will find very difficult. In the first place, if you were to +cut my throat----" + +"Which is just what I intend to do." + +"If you were to cut my throat,--which in itself will be difficult,--you +would only find the trifle of gold which I have got for our journey as far +as 'Frisco. That won't do you much good. The rest is in circular notes, +which to you would be of no service whatever." + +"My God," said the man suddenly, "I am not going to be done in this way." +And with that he drew out a bowie-knife which he had concealed among the +things which he had extracted from the bag. "You don't know the sort of +country you're in now. They don't think much here of the life of such a +skunk as you. If you mean to live till to-morrow morning you must come to +terms." + +The room was a narrow chamber in which two beds ran along the wall, each +with its foot to the other, having a narrow space between them and the +other wall. Peacocke occupied the one nearest to the door. Lefroy now +got up from the bed in the further corner, and with the bowie-knife in his +hand rushed against the door as though to prevent his companion's escape. +Peacocke, who was in bed undressed, sat up at once; but as he did so he +brought a revolver out from under his pillow. "So you have been and armed +yourself, have you?" said Robert Lefroy. + +"Yes," said Peacocke;--"if you come nearer me with that knife I shall +shoot you. Put it down." + +"Likely I shall put it down at your bidding." + +With the pistol still held at the other man's head, Peacocke slowly +extracted himself from his bed. "Now," said he, "if you don't come away +from the door I shall fire one barrel just to let them know in the house +what sort of affair is going on. Put the knife down. You know that I +shall not hurt you then." + +After hesitating for a moment or two, Lefroy did put the knife down. "I +didn't mean anything, old fellow," said he. "I only wanted to frighten +you." + +"Well; you have frightened me. Now, what's to come next?" + +"No, I ain't;--not frightened you a bit. A pistol's always better than a +knife any day. Well now, I'll tell ye how it all is." Saying this, he +seated himself on his own bed, and began a long narration. He would not +go further West than Leavenworth. Whether he got his money or whether he +lost it, he would not travel a foot further. There were reasons which +would make it disagreeable for him to go into California. But he made a +proposition. If Peacocke would only give him money enough to support +himself for the necessary time, he would remain at Leavenworth till his +companion should return there, or would make his way to Chicago, and stay +there till Peacocke should come to him. Then he proceeded to explain how +absolute evidence might be obtained at San Francisco as to his brother's +death. "That fellow was lying altogether," he said, "about my brother +dying at the Ogden station. He was very bad there, no doubt, and we +thought it was going to be all up with him. He had the horrors there, +worse than I ever saw before, and I hope never to see the like again. But +we did get him on to San Francisco; and when he was able to walk into the +city on his own legs, I thought that, might be, he would rally and come +round. However, in two days he died;--and we buried him in the big +cemetery just out of the town." + +"Did you put a stone over him?" + +"Yes; there is a stone as large as life. You'll find the name on +it,--Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana. Kilbrack was the name of +our plantation, where we should be living now as gentlemen ought, with +three hundred niggers of our own, but for these accursed Northern +hypocrites." + +"How can I find the stone?" + +"There's a chap there who knows, I guess, where all them graves are to be +found. But it's on the right hand, a long way down, near the far wall at +the bottom, just where the ground takes a little dip to the north. It +ain't so long ago but what the letters on the stone will be as fresh as if +they were cut yesterday." + +"Does no one in San Francisco know of his death?" + +"There's a chap named Burke at Johnson's, the cigar-shop in Montgomery +Street. He was brother to one of our party, and he went out to the +funeral. Maybe you'll find him, or, any way, some traces of him." + +The two men sat up discussing the matter nearly the whole of the night, +and Peacocke, before he started, had brought himself to accede to Lefroy's +last proposition. He did give the man money enough to support him for two +or three weeks and also to take him to Chicago, promising at the same time +that he would hand to him the thousand dollars at Chicago should he find +him there at the appointed time, and should he also have found Ferdinand +Lefroy's grave at San Francisco in the manner described. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE." + +MRS. WORTLE, when she perceived that her husband no longer called on Mrs. +Peacocke alone, became herself more assiduous in her visits, till at last +she too entertained a great liking for the woman. When Mr. Peacocke had +been gone for nearly a month she had fallen into a habit of going across +every day after the performance of her own domestic morning duties, and +remaining in the school-house for an hour. On one morning she found that +Mrs. Peacocke had just received a letter from New York, in which her +husband had narrated his adventures so far. He had written from +Southampton, but not after the revelation which had been made to him there +as to the death of Ferdinand. He might have so done, but the information +given to him had, at the spur of the moment, seemed to be so doubtful that +he had refrained. Then he had been able to think of it all during the +voyage, and from New York he had written at great length, detailing +everything. Mrs. Peacocke did not actually read out loud the letter, +which was full of such terms of affection as are common between man and +wife, knowing that her title to be called a wife was not admitted by Mrs. +Wortle; but she read much of it, and told all the circumstances as they +were related. + +"Then," said Mrs. Wortle, "he certainly is--no more." There came a +certain accession of sadness to her voice, as she reflected that, +after all, she was talking to this woman of the death of her undoubted +husband. + +"Yes; he is dead--at last." Mrs. Wortle uttered a deep sigh. It was +dreadful to her to think that a woman should speak in that way of the +death of her husband. "I know all that is going on in your mind," said +Mrs. Peacocke, looking up into her face. + +"Do you?" + +"Every thought. You are telling yourself how terrible it is that a woman +should speak of the death of her husband without a tear in her eye, +without a sob,--without one word of sorrow." + +"It is very sad." + +"Of course it is sad. Has it not all been sad? But what would you have +me do? It is not because he was always bad to me,--because he marred all +my early life, making it so foul a blotch that I hardly dare to look back +upon it from the quietness and comparative purity of these latter days. +It is not because he has so treated me as to make me feel that it has been +a misfortune to me to be born, that I now receive these tidings with joy. +It is because of him who has always been good to me as the other was bad, +who has made me wonder at the noble instincts of a man, as the other has +made me shudder at his possible meanness." + +"It has been very hard upon you," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"And hard upon him, who is dearer to me than my own soul. Think of his +conduct to me! How he went away to ascertain the truth when he first +heard tidings which made him believe that I was free to become his! How +he must have loved me then, when, after all my troubles, he took me to +himself at the first moment that was possible! Think, too, what he has +done for me since,----and I for him! How I have marred his life, while he +has striven to repair mine! Do I not owe him everything?" + +"Everything," said Mrs. Wortle,--"except to do what is wrong." + +"I did do what was wrong. Would not you have done so under such +circumstances? Would not you have obeyed the man who had been to you so +true a husband while he believed himself entitled to the name? Wrong! I +doubt whether it was wrong. It is hard to know sometimes what is right +and what is wrong. What he told me to do, that to me was right. Had he +told me to go away and leave him, I should have gone,--and have died. I +suppose that would have been right." She paused as though she expected an +answer. But the subject was so difficult that Mrs. Wortle was unable to +make one. "I have sometimes wished that he had done so. But as I think +of it when I am alone, I feel how impossible that would have been to him. +He could not have sent me away. That which you call right would have been +impossible to him whom I regard as the most perfect of human beings. As +far as I know him, he is faultless;--and yet, according to your judgment, +he has committed a sin so deep that he must stand disgraced before the +eyes of all men." + +"I have not said so." + +"It comes to that. I know how good you are; how much I owe to you. I +know that Dr. Wortle and yourself have been so kind to us, that were I not +grateful beyond expression I should be the meanest human creature. Do not +suppose that I am angry or vexed with you because you condemn me. It is +necessary that you should do so. But how can I condemn myself;--or how +can I condemn him?" + +"If you are both free now, it may be made right." + +"But how about repentance? Will it be all right though I shall not have +repented? I will never repent. There are laws in accordance with which I +will admit that I have done wrong; but had I not broken those laws when he +bade me, I should have hated myself through all my life afterwards." + +"It was very different." + +"If you could know, Mrs. Wortle, how difficult it would have been to go +away and leave him! It was not till he came to me and told me that he was +going down to Texas, to see how it had been with my husband, that I ever +knew what it was to love a man. He had never said a word. He tried not +to look it. But I knew that I had his heart and that he had mine. From +that moment I have thought of him day and night. When I gave him my hand +then as he parted from me, I gave it him as his own. It has been his to +do what he liked with it ever since, let who might live or who might die. +Ought I not to rejoice that he is dead?" Mrs. Wortle could not answer the +question. She could only shudder. "It was not by any will of my own," +continued the eager woman, "that I married Ferdinand Lefroy. Everything +in our country was then destroyed. All that we loved and all that we +valued had been taken away from us. War had destroyed everything. When I +was just springing out of childhood, we were ruined. We had to go, all of +us; women as well as men, girls as well as boys;--and be something else +than we had been. I was told to marry him." + +"That was wrong." + +"When everything is in ruin about you, what room is there for ordinary +well-doing? It seemed then that he would have some remnant of property. +Our fathers had known each other long. The wretched man whom drink +afterwards made so vile might have been as good a gentleman as another, if +things had gone well with him. He could not have been a hero like him +whom I will always call my husband; but it is not given to every man to be +a hero." + +"Was he bad always from the first?" + +"He always drank,--from his wedding-day; and then Robert was with him, who +was worse than he. Between them they were very bad. My life was a burden +to me. It was terrible. It was a comfort to me even to be deserted and +to be left. Then came this Englishman in my way; and it seemed to me, on +a sudden, that the very nature of mankind was altered. He did not lie +when he spoke. He was never debased by drink. He had other care than for +himself. For himself, I think, he never cared. Since he has been here, +in the school, have you found any cause of fault in him?" + +"No, indeed." + +"No, indeed! nor ever will;--unless it be a fault to love a woman as he +loves me. See what he is doing now,--where he has gone,--what he has to +suffer, coupled as he is with that wretch! And all for my sake!" + +"For both your sakes." + +"He would have been none the worse had he chosen to part with me. He was +in no trouble. I was not his wife; and he need only--bid me go. There +would have been no sin with him then,--no wrong. Had he followed out your +right and your wrong, and told me that, as we could not be man and wife, +we must just part, he would have been in no trouble;--would he?" + +"I don't know how it would have been then," said Mrs. Wortle, who was by +this time sobbing aloud in tears. + +"No; nor I, nor I. I should have been dead;--but he? He is a sinner now, +so that he may not preach in your churches, or teach in your schools; so +that your dear husband has to be ruined almost because he has been kind to +him. He then might have preached in any church,--have taught in any +school. What am I to think that God will think of it? Will God condemn +him?" + +"We must leave that to Him," sobbed Mrs. Wortle. + +"Yes; but in thinking of our souls we must reflect a little as to what we +believe to be probable. He, you say, has sinned,--is sinning still in +calling me his wife. Am I not to believe that if he were called to his +long account he would stand there pure and bright, in glorious +garments,--one fit for heaven, because he has loved others better than he +has loved himself, because he has done to others as he might have wished +that they should do to him? I do believe it! Believe! I know it. And +if so, what am I to think of his sin, or of my own? Not to obey him, not +to love him, not to do in everything as he counsels me,--that, to me, +would be sin. To the best of my conscience he is my husband and my +master. I will not go into the rooms of such as you, Mrs. Wortle, good +and kind as you are; but it is not because I do not think myself fit. It +is because I will not injure you in the estimation of those who do not +know what is fit and what is unfit. I am not ashamed of myself. I owe it +to him to blush for nothing that he has caused me to do. I have but two +judges,--the Lord in heaven, and he, my husband, upon earth." + +"Nobody has condemned you here." + +"Yes;--they have condemned me. But I am not angry at that. You do not +think, Mrs. Wortle, that I can be angry with you,--so kind as you have +been, so generous, so forgiving;--the more kind because you think that we +are determined, headstrong sinners? Oh no! It is natural that you should +think so,--but I think differently. Circumstances have so placed me that +they have made me unfit for your society. If I had no decent gown to +wear, or shoes to my feet, I should be unfit also;--but not on that +account disgraced in my own estimation. I comfort myself by thinking that +I cannot be altogether bad when a man such as he has loved me and does +love me." + +The two women, when they parted on that morning, kissed each other, which +they had not done before; and Mrs. Wortle had been made to doubt whether, +after all, the sin had been so very sinful. She did endeavour to ask +herself whether she would not have done the same in the same +circumstances. The woman, she thought, must have been right to have +married the man whom she loved, when she heard that that first horrid +husband was dead. There could, at any rate, have been no sin in that. +And then, what ought she to have done when the dead man,--dead as he was +supposed to have been,--burst into her room? Mrs. Wortle,--who found it +indeed extremely difficult to imagine herself to be in such a +position,--did at last acknowledge that, in such circumstances, she +certainly would have done whatever Dr. Wortle had told her. She could not +bring it nearer to herself than that. She could not suggest to herself +two men as her own husbands. She could not imagine that the Doctor had +been either the bad husband, who had unexpectedly come to life,--or the +good husband, who would not, in truth, be her husband at all; but she did +determine, in her own mind, that, however all that might have been, she +would clearly have done whatever the Doctor told her. She would have +sworn to obey him, even though, when swearing, she should not have really +married him. It was terrible to think of,--so terrible that she could not +quite think of it; but in struggling to think of it her heart was softened +towards this other woman. After that day she never spoke further of the +woman's sin. + +Of course she told it all to the Doctor,--not indeed explaining the +working of her own mind as to that suggestion that he should have been, in +his first condition, a very bad man, and have been reported dead, and have +come again, in a second shape, as a good man. She kept that to herself. +But she did endeavour to describe the effect upon herself of the +description the woman had given her of her own conduct. + +"I don't quite know how she could have done otherwise," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Nor I either; I have always said so." + +"It would have been so very hard to go away, when he told her not." + +"It would have been very hard to go away," said the Doctor, "if he had +told her to do so. Where was she to go? What was she to do? They had +been brought together by circumstances, in such a manner that it was, so +to say, impossible that they should part. It is not often that one comes +across events like these, so altogether out of the ordinary course that +the common rules of life seem to be insufficient for guidance. To most of +us it never happens; and it is better for us that it should not happen. +But when it does, one is forced to go beyond the common rules. It is that +feeling which has made me give them my protection. It has been a great +misfortune; but, placed as I was, I could not help myself. I could not +turn them out. It was clearly his duty to go, and almost as clearly mine +to give her shelter till he should come back." + +"A great misfortune, Jeffrey?" + +"I am afraid so. Look at this." Then he handed to her a letter from a +nobleman living at a great distance,--at a distance so great that Mrs. +Stantiloup would hardly have reached him there,--expressing his intention +to withdraw his two boys from the school at Christmas. + +"He doesn't give this as a reason." + +"No; we are not acquainted with each other personally, and he could hardly +have alluded to my conduct in this matter. It was easier for him to give +a mere notice such as this. But not the less do I understand it. The +intention was that the elder Mowbray should remain for another year, and +the younger for two years. Of course he is at liberty to change his mind; +nor do I feel myself entitled to complain. A school such as mine must +depend on the credit of the establishment. He has heard, no doubt, +something of the story which has injured our credit, and it is natural +that he should take the boys away." + +"Do you think that the school will be put an end to?" + +"It looks very like it." + +"Altogether?" + +"I shall not care to drag it on as a failure. I am too old now to begin +again with a new attempt if this collapses. I have no offers to fill up +the vacancies. The parents of those who remain, of course, will know how +it is going with the school. I shall not be disposed to let it die of +itself. My idea at present is to carry it on without saying anything till +the Christmas holidays, and then to give notice to the parents that the +establishment will be closed at Midsummer." + +"Will it make you very unhappy?" + +"No doubt it will. A man does not like to fail. I am not sure but what I +am less able to bear such failure than most men." + +"But you have sometimes thought of giving it up." + +"Have I? I have not known it. Why should I give it up? Why should any +man give up a profession while he has health and strength to carry it on?" + +"You have another." + +"Yes; but it is not the one to which my energies have been chiefly +applied. The work of a parish such as this can be done by one person. I +have always had a curate. It is, moreover, nonsense to say that a man +does not care most for that by which he makes his money. I am to give up +over £2000 a-year, which I have had not a trouble but a delight in making! +It is like coming to the end of one's life." + +"Oh, Jeffrey!" + +"It has to be looked in the face, you know." + +"I wish,--I wish they had never come." + +"What is the good of wishing? They came, and according to my way of +thinking I did my duty by them. Much as I am grieved by this, I protest +that I would do the same again were it again to be done. Do you think +that I would be deterred from what I thought to be right by the +machinations of a she-dragon such as that?" + +"Has she done it?" + +"Well, I think so," said the Doctor, after some little hesitation. "I +think it has been, in truth, her doing. There has been a grand +opportunity for slander, and she has used it with uncommon skill. It was +a wonderful chance in her favour. She has been enabled without actual +lies,--lies which could be proved to be lies,--to spread abroad reports +which have been absolutely damning. And she has succeeded in getting hold +of the very people through whom she could injure me. Of course all this +correspondence with the Bishop has helped. The Bishop hasn't kept it as a +secret. Why should he?" + +"The Bishop has had nothing to do with the school," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; but the things have been mixed up together. Do you think it would +have no effect with such a woman as Lady Anne Clifford, to be told that +the Bishop had censured my conduct severely? If it had not been for Mrs. +Stantiloup, the Bishop would have heard nothing about it. It is her +doing. And it pains me to feel that I have to give her credit for her +skill and her energy." + +"Her wickedness, you mean." + +"What does it signify whether she has been wicked or not in this matter?" + +"Oh, Jeffrey!" + +"Her wickedness is a matter of course. We all knew that beforehand. If a +person has to be wicked, it is a great thing for him to be successful in +his wickedness. He would have to pay the final penalty even if he failed. +To be wicked and to do nothing is to be mean all round. I am afraid that +Mrs. Stantiloup will have succeeded in her wickedness." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +LORD BRACY'S LETTER. + +THE school and the parish went on through August and September, and up to +the middle of October, very quietly. The quarrel between the Bishop and +the Doctor had altogether subsided. People in the diocese had ceased to +talk continually of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. There was still alive a +certain interest as to what might be the ultimate fate of the poor lady; +but other matters had come up, and she no longer formed the one topic of +conversation at all meetings. The twenty boys at the school felt that, as +their numbers had been diminished, so also had their reputation. They +were less loud, and, as other boys would have said of them, less "cocky" +than of yore. But they ate and drank and played, and, let us hope, learnt +their lessons as usual. Mrs. Peacocke had from time to time received +letters from her husband, the last up to the time of which we speak having +been written at the Ogden Junction, at which Mr. Peacocke had stopped for +four-and-twenty hours with the object of making inquiry as to the +statement made to him at St. Louis. Here he learned enough to convince +him that Robert Lefroy had told him the truth in regard to what had there +occurred. The people about the station still remembered the condition of +the man who had been taken out of the car when suffering from delirium +tremens; and remembered also that the man had not died there, but had been +carried on by the next train to San Francisco. One of the porters also +declared that he had heard a few days afterwards that the sufferer had +died almost immediately on his arrival at San Francisco. Information as +far as this Mr. Peacocke had sent home to his wife, and had added his firm +belief that he should find the man's grave in the cemetery, and be able to +bring home with him testimony to which no authority in England, whether +social, episcopal, or judicial, would refuse to give credit. + +"Of course he will be married again," said Mrs. Wortle to her husband. + +"They shall be married here, and I will perform the ceremony. I don't +think the Bishop himself would object to that; and I shouldn't care a +straw if he did." + +"Will he go on with the school?" whispered Mrs. Wortle. + +"Will the school go on? If the school goes on, he will go on, I suppose. +About that you had better ask Mrs. Stantiloup." + +"I will ask nobody but you," said the wife, putting up her face to kiss +him. As this was going on, everything was said to comfort Mrs. Peacocke, +and to give her hopes of new life. Mrs. Wortle told her how the Doctor +had promised that he himself would marry them as soon as the forms of the +Church and the legal requisitions would allow. Mrs. Peacocke accepted all +that was said to her quietly and thankfully, but did not again allow +herself to be roused to such excitement as she had shown on the one +occasion recorded. + +It was at this time that the Doctor received a letter which greatly +affected his mode of thought at the time. He had certainly become hipped +and low-spirited, if not despondent, and clearly showed to his wife, even +though he was silent, that his mind was still intent on the injury which +that wretched woman had done him by her virulence. But the letter of +which we speak for a time removed this feeling, and gave him, as it were, +a new life. The letter, which was from Lord Bracy, was as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR DOCTOR WORTLE.--Carstairs left us for Oxford yesterday, and +before he went, startled his mother and me considerably by a piece of +information. He tells us that he is over head and ears in love with your +daughter. The communication was indeed made three days ago, but I told +him that I should take a day or two to think of it before I wrote to you. +He was very anxious, when he told me, to go off at once to Bowick, and to +see you and your wife, and of course the young lady;--but this I stopped +by the exercise of somewhat peremptory parental authority. Then he +informed me that he had been to Bowick, and had found his lady-love at +home, you and Mrs. Wortle having by chance been absent at the time. It +seems that he declared himself to the young lady, who, in the exercise of +a wise discretion, ran away from him and left him planted on the terrace. +That is his account of what passed, and I do not in the least doubt its +absolute truth. It is at any rate quite clear, from his own showing, that +the young lady gave him no encouragement. + +"Such having been the case, I do not think that I should have found it +necessary to write to you at all had not Carstairs persevered with me till +I promised to do so. He was willing, he said, not to go to Bowick on +condition that I would write to you on the subject. The meaning of this +is, that had he not been very much in earnest, I should have considered it +best to let the matter pass on as such matters do, and be forgotten. But +he is very much in earnest. However foolish it is,--or perhaps I had +better say unusual,--that a lad should be in love before he is twenty, it +is, I suppose, possible. At any rate it seems to be the case with him, +and he has convinced his mother that it would be cruel to ignore the fact. + +"I may at once say that, as far as you and your girl are concerned, I +should be quite satisfied that he should choose for himself such a +marriage. I value rank, at any rate, as much as it is worth; but that he +will have of his own, and does not need to strengthen it by intermarriage +with another house of peculiarly old lineage. As far as that is +concerned, I should be contented. As for money, I should not wish him to +think of it in marrying. If it comes, _tant mieux_. If not, he will have +enough of his own. I write to you, therefore, exactly as I should do if +you had happened to be a brother peer instead of a clergyman. + +"But I think that long engagements are very dangerous; and you probably +will agree with me that they are likely to be more prejudicial to the girl +than to the man. It may be that, as difficulties arise in the course of +years, he can forget the affair, and that she cannot. He has many things +of which to think; whereas she, perhaps, has only that one. She may have +made that thing so vital to her that it cannot be got under and conquered; +whereas, without any fault or heartlessness on his part, occupation has +conquered it for him. In this case I fear that the engagement, if made, +could not but be long. I should be sorry that he should not take his +degree. And I do not think it wise to send a lad up to the University +hampered with the serious feeling that he has already betrothed himself. + +"I tell you all just as it is, and I leave it to your wisdom to suggest +what had better be done. He wished me to promise that I would undertake +to induce you to tell Miss Wortle of his conversation with me. He said +that he had a right to demand so much as that, and that, though he would +not for the present go to Bowick, he should write to you. The young +gentleman seems to have a will of his own,--which I cannot say that I +regret. What you will do as to the young lady,--whether you will or will +not tell her what I have written,--I must leave to yourself. If you do, I +am to send word to her from Lady Bracy to say that she shall be delighted +to see her here. She had better, however, come when that inflammatory +young gentleman shall be at Oxford. Yours very faithfully, + +"BRACY." + + +This letter certainly did a great deal to invigorate the Doctor, and to +console him in his troubles. Even though the debated marriage might prove +to be impossible, as it had been declared by the voices of all the Wortles +one after another, still there was something in the tone in which it was +discussed by the young man's father which was in itself a relief. There +was, at any rate, no contempt in the letter. "I may at once say that, as +far as you and your girl are concerned, I shall be very well pleased." +That, at any rate, was satisfactory. And the more he looked at it the +less he thought that it need be altogether impossible. If Lord Bracy +liked it, and Lady Bracy liked it,--and young Carstairs, as to whose +liking there seemed to be no reason for any doubt,--he did not see why it +should be impossible. As to Mary,--he could not conceive that she should +make objection if all the others were agreed. How could she possibly fail +to love the young man if encouraged to do so? Suitors who are +good-looking, rich, of high rank, sweet-tempered, and at the same time +thoroughly devoted, are not wont to be discarded. All the difficulty lay +in the lad's youth. After all, how many noblemen have done well in the +world without taking a degree? Degrees, too, have been taken by married +men. And, again, young men have been persistent before now, even to the +extent of waiting three years. Long engagements are bad,--no doubt. +Everybody has always said so. But a long engagement may be better than +none at all. + +He at last made up his mind that he would speak to Mary; but he determined +that he would consult his wife first. Consulting Mrs. Wortle, on his +part, generally amounted to no more than instructing her. He found it +sometimes necessary to talk her over, as he had done in that matter of +visiting Mrs. Peacocke; but when he set himself to work he rarely failed. +She had nowhere else to go for a certain foundation and support. +Therefore he hardly doubted much when he began his operation about this +suggested engagement. + +"I have got that letter this morning from Lord Bracy," he said, handing +her the document. + +"Oh dear! Has he heard about Carstairs?" + +"You had better read it." + +"He has told it all," she exclaimed, when she had finished the first +sentence. + +"He has told it all, certainly. But you had better read the letter +through." + +Then she seated herself and read it, almost trembling, however, as she +went on with it. "Oh dear;--that is very nice what he says about you and +Mary." + +"It is all very nice as far as that goes. There is no reason why it +should not be nice." + +"It might have made him so angry!" + +"Then he would have been very unreasonable." + +"He acknowledges that Mary did not encourage him." + +"Of course she did not encourage him. He would have been very unlike a +gentleman had he thought so. But in truth, my dear, it is a very good +letter. Of course there are difficulties." + +"Oh;--it is impossible!" + +"I do not see that at all. It must rest very much with him, no +doubt;--with Carstairs; and I do not like to think that our girl's +happiness should depend on any young man's constancy. But such dangers +have to be encountered. You and I were engaged for three years before we +were married, and we did not find it so very bad." + +"It was very good. Oh, I was so happy at the time." + +"Happier than you've been since?" + +"Well; I don't know. It was very nice to know that you were my lover." + +"Why shouldn't Mary think it very nice to have a lover?" + +"But I knew that you would be true." + +"Why shouldn't Carstairs be true?" + +"Remember he is so young. You were in orders." + +"I don't know that I was at all more likely to be true on that account. A +clergyman can jilt a girl just as well as another. It depends on the +nature of the man." + +"And you were so good." + +"I never came across a better youth than Carstairs. You see what his +father says about his having a will of his own. When a young man shows a +purpose of that kind he generally sticks to it." + +The upshot of it all was, that Mary was to be told, and that her father +was to tell her. + +"Yes, papa, he did come," she said. "I told mamma all about me." + +"And she told me, of course. You did what was quite right, and I should +not have thought it necessary to speak to you had not Lord Bracy written +to me." + +"Lord Bracy has written!" said Mary. It seemed to her, as it had done to +her mother, that Lord Bracy must have written angrily; but though she +thought so, she plucked up her spirit gallantly, telling herself that +though Lord Bracy might be angry with his own son, he could have no cause +to be displeased with her. + +"Yes; I have a letter, which you shall read. The young man seems to have +been very much in earnest." + +"I don't know," said Mary, with some little exultation at her heart. + +"It seems but the other day that he was a boy, and now he has become +suddenly a man." To this Mary said nothing; but she also had come to the +conclusion that, in this respect, Lord Carstairs had lately changed,--very +much for the better. "Do you like him, Mary?" + +"Like him, papa?" + +"Well, my darling; how am I to put it? He is so much in earnest that he +has got his father to write to me. He was coming over himself again +before he went to Oxford; but he told his father what he was going to do, +and the Earl stopped him. There's the letter, and you may read it." + +Mary read the letter, taking herself apart to a corner of the room, and +seemed to her father to take a long time in reading it. But there was +very much on which she was called upon to make up her mind during those +few minutes. Up to the present time,--up to the moment in which her +father had now summoned her into his study, she had resolved that it was +"impossible." She had become so clear on the subject that she would not +ask herself the question whether she could love the young man. Would it +not be wrong to love the young man? Would it not be a longing for the top +brick of the chimney, which she ought to know was out of her reach? So +she had decided it, and had therefore already taught herself to regard the +declaration made to her as the ebullition of a young man's folly. But not +the less had she known how great had been the thing suggested to her,--how +excellent was this top brick of the chimney; and as to the young man +himself, she could not but feel that, had matters been different, she +might have loved him. Now there had come a sudden change; but she did not +at all know how far she might go to meet the change, nor what the change +altogether meant. She had been made sure by her father's question that he +had taught himself to hope. He would not have asked her whether she liked +him,--would not, at any rate, have asked that question in that voice,--had +he not been prepared to be good to her had she answered in the +affirmative. But then this matter did not depend upon her father's +wishes,--or even on her father's judgment. It was necessary that, before +she said another word, she should find out what Lord Bracy said about it. +There she had Lord Bracy's letter in her hand, but her mind was so +disturbed that she hardly knew how to read it aright at the spur of the +moment. + +"You understand what he says, Mary?" + +"I think so, papa." + +"It is a very kind letter." + +"Very kind indeed. I should have thought that he would not have liked it +at all." + +"He makes no objection of that kind. To tell the truth, Mary, I should +have thought it unreasonable had he done so. A gentleman can do no better +than marry a lady. And though it is much to be a nobleman, it is more to +be a gentleman." + +"Some people think so much of it. And then his having been here as a +pupil! I was very sorry when he spoke to me." + +"All that is past and gone. The danger is that such an engagement would +be long." + +"Very long." + +"You would be afraid of that, Mary?" Mary felt that this was hard upon +her, and unfair. Were she to say that the danger of a long engagement did +not seem to her to be very terrible, she would at once be giving up +everything. She would have declared then that she did love the young man; +or, at any rate, that she intended to do so. She would have succumbed at +the first hint that such succumbing was possible to her. And yet she had +not known that she was very much afraid of a long engagement. She would, +she thought, have been much more afraid had a speedy marriage been +proposed to her. Upon the whole, she did not know whether it would not be +nice to go on knowing that the young man loved her, and to rest secure on +her faith in him. She was sure of this,--that the reading of Lord Bracy's +letter had in some way made her happy, though she was unwilling at once to +express her happiness to her father. She was quite sure that she could +make no immediate reply to that question, whether she was afraid of a long +engagement. "I must answer Lord Bracy's letter, you know," said the +Doctor. + +"Yes, papa." + +"And what shall I say to him?" + +"I don't know, papa." + +"And yet you must tell me what to say, my darling." + +"Must I, papa?" + +"Certainly! Who else can tell me? But I will not answer it to-day. I +will put it off till Monday." It was Saturday morning on which the letter +was being discussed,--a day of which a considerable portion was generally +appropriated to the preparation of a sermon. "In the mean time you had +better talk to mamma; and on Monday we will settle what is to be said to +Lord Bracy." + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +AT CHICAGO. + +MR. PEACOCKE went on alone to San Francisco from the Ogden Junction, and +there obtained full information on the matter which had brought him upon +this long and disagreeable journey. He had no difficulty in obtaining the +evidence which he required. He had not been twenty-four hours in the +place before he was, in truth, standing on the stone which had been placed +over the body of Ferdinand Lefroy, as he had declared to Robert Lefroy +that he would stand before he would be satisfied. On the stone was cut +simply the names, Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana; and to these +were added the dates of the days on which the man had been born and on +which he died. Of this stone he had a photograph made, of which he took +copies with him; and he obtained also from the minister who had buried the +body and from the custodian who had charge of the cemetery certificates of +the interment. Armed with these he could no longer doubt himself, or +suppose that others would doubt, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead. + +Having thus perfected his object, and feeling but little interest in a +town to which he had been brought by such painful circumstances, he turned +round, and on the second day after his arrival, again started for Chicago. +Had it been possible, he would fain have avoided any further meeting with +Robert Lefroy. Short as had been his stay at San Francisco he had learnt +that Robert, after his brother's death, had been concerned in buying +mining shares and paying for them with forged notes. It was not supposed +that he himself had been engaged in the forgery, but that he had come into +the city with men who had been employed for years on this operation, and +had bought shares and endeavoured to sell them on the following day. He +had, however, managed to leave the place before the police had got hold of +him, and had escaped, so that no one had been able to say at what station +he had got upon the railway. Nor did any one in San Francisco know where +Robert Lefroy was now to be found. His companions had been taken, tried, +and convicted, and were now in the State prison,--where also would Robert +Lefroy soon be if any of the officers of the State could get hold of him. +Luckily Mr. Peacocke had said little or nothing of the man in making his +own inquiries. Much as he had hated and dreaded the man; much as he had +suffered from his companionship,--good reason as he had to dislike the +whole family,--he felt himself bound by their late companionship not to +betray him. The man had assisted Mr. Peacocke simply for money; but still +he had assisted him. Mr. Peacocke therefore held his peace and said +nothing. But he would have been thankful to have been able to send the +money that was now due to him without having again to see him. That, +however, was impossible. + +On reaching Chicago he went to an hotel far removed from that which Lefroy +had designated. Lefroy had explained to him something of the geography of +the town, and had explained that for himself he preferred a "modest, quiet +hotel." The modest, quiet hotel was called Mrs. Jones's boarding-house, +and was in one of the suburbs far from the main street. "You needn't say +as you're coming to me," Lefroy had said to him; "nor need you let on as +you know anything of Mrs. Jones at all. People are so curious; and it may +be that a gentleman sometimes likes to lie _perdu_." Mr. Peacocke, +although he had but small sympathy for the taste of a gentleman who likes +to lie _perdu_, nevertheless did as he was bid, and found his way to Mrs. +Jones's boarding-house without telling any one whither he was going. + +Before he started he prepared himself with a thousand dollars in +bank-notes, feeling that this wretched man had earned them in accordance +with their compact. His only desire now was to hand over the money as +quickly as possible, and to hurry away out of Chicago. He felt as though +he himself were almost guilty of some crime in having to deal with this +man, in having to give him money secretly, and in carrying out to the end +an arrangement of which no one else was to know the details. How would it +be with him if the police of Chicago should come upon him as a friend, and +probably an accomplice, of one who was "wanted" on account of forgery at +San Francisco? But he had no help for himself, and at Mrs. Jones's he +found his wife's brother-in-law seated in the bar of the +public-house,--that everlasting resort for American loungers,--with a +cigar as usual stuck in his mouth, loafing away his time as only American +frequenters of such establishments know how to do. In England such a man +would probably be found in such a place with a glass of some alcoholic +mixture beside him, but such is never the case with an American. If he +wants a drink he goes to the bar and takes it standing,--will perhaps take +two or three, one after another; but when he has settled himself down to +loafe, he satisfies himself with chewing a cigar, and covering a circle +around him with the results. With this amusement he will remain contented +hour after hour;--nay, throughout the entire day if no harder work be +demanded of him. So was Robert Lefroy found now. When Peacocke entered +the hall or room the man did not rise from his chair, but accosted him as +though they had parted only an hour since. "So, old fellow, you've got +back all alive." + +"I have reached this place at any rate." + +"Well; that's getting back, ain't it?" + +"I have come back from San Francisco." + +"H'sh!" exclaimed Lefroy, looking round the room, in which, however, there +was no one but themselves. "You needn't tell everybody where you've +been." + +"I have nothing to conceal." + +"That is more than anybody knows of himself. It's a good maxim to keep +your own affairs quiet till they're wanted. In this country everybody is +spry enough to learn all about everything. I never see any good in +letting them know without a reason. Well;--what did you do when you got +there?" + +"It was all as you told me." + +"Didn't I say so? What was the good of bringing me all this way, when, if +you'd only believed me, you might have saved me the trouble. Ain't I to +be paid for that?" + +"You are to be paid. I have come here to pay you." + +"That's what you owe for the knowledge. But for coming? Ain't I to be +paid extra for the journey?" + +"You are to have a thousand dollars." + +"H'sh!--you speak of money as though every one has a business to know that +you have got your pockets full. What's a thousand dollars, seeing all +that I have done for you!" + +"It's all that you're going to get. It's all, indeed, that I have got to +give you." + +"Gammon." + +"It's all, at any rate, that you're going to get. Will you have it now?" + +"You found the tomb, did you?" + +"Yes; I found the tomb. Here is a photograph of it. You can keep a copy +if you like it." + +"What do I want of a copy," said the man, taking the photograph in his +hand. "He was always more trouble than he was worth,--was Ferdy. It's a +pity she didn't marry me. I'd 've made a woman of her." Peacocke +shuddered as he heard this, but he said nothing. "You may as well give us +the picter;--it'll do to hang up somewhere if ever I have a room of my +own. How plain it is. Ferdinand Lefroy,--of Kilbrack! Kilbrack indeed! +It's little either of us was the better for Kilbrack. Some of them +psalm-singing rogues from New England has it now;--or perhaps a right-down +nigger. I shouldn't wonder. One of our own lot, maybe! Oh; that's the +money, is it?--A thousand dollars; all that I'm to have for coming to +England and telling you, and bringing you back, and showing you where you +could get this pretty picter made." Then he took the money, a thick roll +of notes, and crammed them into his pocket. + +"You'd better count them." + +"It ain't worth the while with such a trifle as that." + +"Let me count them then." + +"You'll never have that plunder in your fists again, my fine fellow." + +"I do not want it." + +"And now about my expenses out to England, on purpose to tell you all +this. You can go and make her your wife now,--or can leave her, just as +you please. You couldn't have done neither if I hadn't gone out to you." + +"You have got what was promised." + +"But my expenses,--going out?" + +"I have promised you nothing for your expenses going out,--and will pay +you nothing." + +"You won't?" + +"Not a dollar more." + +"You won't?" + +"Certainly not. I do not suppose that you expect it for a moment, +although you are so persistent in asking for it." + +"And you think you've got the better of me, do you? You think you've +carried me along with you, just to do your bidding and take whatever you +please to give me? That's your idea of me?" + +"There was a clear bargain between us. I have not got the better of you +at all." + +"I rather think not, Peacocke. I rather think not. You'll have to get up +earlier before you get the better of Robert Lefroy. You don't expect to +get this money back again,--do you?" + +"Certainly not,--any more than I should expect a pound of meat out of a +dog's jaw." Mr. Peacocke, as he said this, was waxing angry. + +"I don't suppose you do;--but you expected that I was to earn it by doing +your bidding;--didn't you?" + +"And you have." + +"Yes, I have; but how? You never heard of my cousin, did you;--Ferdinand +Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana?" + +"Heard of whom?" + +"My cousin; Ferdinand Lefroy. He was very well known in his own State, +and in California too, till he died. He was a good fellow, but given to +drink. We used to tell him that if he would marry it would be better for +him;--but he never would;--he never did." Robert Lefroy as he said this +put his left hand into his trousers-pocket over the notes which he had +placed there, and drew a small revolver out of his pocket with the other +hand. "I am better prepared now," he said, "than when you had your +six-shooter under your pillow at Leavenworth." + +"I do not believe a word of it. It's a lie," said Peacocke. + +"Very well. You're a chap that's fond of travelling, and have got plenty +of money. You'd better go down to Louisiana and make your way straight +from New Orleans to Kilbrack. It ain't above forty miles to the +south-west, and there's a rail goes within fifteen miles of it. You'll +learn there all about Ferdinand Lefroy as was our cousin,--him as never +got married up to the day he died of drink and was buried at San +Francisco. They'll be very glad, I shouldn't wonder, to see that pretty +little picter of yours, because they was always uncommon fond of cousin +Ferdy at Kilbrack. And I'll tell you what; you'll be sure to come across +my brother Ferdy in them parts, and can tell him how you've seen me. You +can give him all the latest news, too, about his own wife. He'll be glad +to hear about her, poor woman." Mr. Peacocke listened to this without +saying a word since that last exclamation of his. It might be true. Why +should it not be true? If in truth there had been these two cousins of +the same name, what could be more likely than that his money should be +lured out of him by such a fraud as this? But yet,--yet, as he came to +think of it all, it could not be true. The chance of carrying such a +scheme to a successful issue would have been too small to induce the man +to act upon it from the day of his first appearance at Bowick. Nor was it +probable that there should have been another Ferdinand Lefroy unknown to +his wife; and the existence of such a one, if known to his wife, would +certainly have been made known to him. + +"It's a lie," said he, "from beginning to end." + +"Very well; very well. I'll take care to make the truth known by letter +to Dr. Wortle and the Bishop and all them pious swells over there. To +think that such a chap as you, a minister of the gospel, living with +another man's wife and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in your +mouth! I tell you what; I've got a little money in my pocket now, and I +don't mind going over to England again and explaining the whole truth to +the Bishop myself. I could make him understand how that photograph ain't +worth nothing, and how I explained to you myself as the lady's righteous +husband is all alive, keeping house on his own property down in Louisiana. +Do you think we Lefroys hadn't any place beside Kilbrack among us?" + +"Certainly you are a liar," said Peacocke. + +"Very well. Prove it." + +"Did you not tell me that your brother was buried at San Francisco?" + +"Oh, as for that, that don't matter. It don't count for much whether I +told a crammer or not. That picter counts for nothing. It ain't my word +you were going on as evidence. You is able to prove that Ferdy Lefroy was +buried at 'Frisco. True enough. I buried him. I can prove that. And I +would never have treated you this way, and not have said a word as to how +the dead man was only a cousin, if you'd treated me civil over there in +England. But you didn't." + +"I am going to treat you worse now," said Peacocke, looking him in the +face. + +"What are you going to do now? It's I that have the revolver this time." +As he said this he turned the weapon round in his hand. + +"I don't want to shoot you,--nor yet to frighten you, as I did in the +bed-room at Leavenworth. Not but what I have a pistol too." And he slowly +drew his out of his pocket. At this moment two men sauntered in and took +their places in the further corner of the room. "I don't think there is +to be any shooting between us." + +"There may," said Lefroy. + +"The police would have you." + +"So they would--for a time. What does that matter to me? Isn't a fellow +to protect himself when a fellow like you comes to him armed?" + +"But they would soon know that you are the swindler who escaped from San +Francisco eighteen months ago. Do you think it wouldn't be found out that +it was you who paid for the shares in forged notes?" + +"I never did. That's one of your lies." + +"Very well. Now you know what I know; and you had better tell me over +again who it is that lies buried under the stone that's been photographed +there." + +"What are you men doing with them pistols?" said one of the strangers, +walking across the room, and standing over the backs of their chairs. + +"We are alooking at 'em," said Lefroy. + +"If you're agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better go and do it +elsewhere," said the stranger. + +"Just so," said Lefroy. "That's what I was thinking myself." + +"But we are not going to do anything," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have not the +slightest idea of shooting the gentleman; and he has just as little of +shooting me." + +"Then what do you sit with 'em out in your hands in that fashion for?" +said the stranger. "It's a decent widow woman as keeps this house, and I +won't see her set upon. Put 'em up." Whereupon Lefroy did return his +pistol to his pocket,--upon which Mr. Peacocke did the same. Then the +stranger slowly walked back to his seat at the other side of the room. + +"So they told you that lie; did they,--at 'Frisco?" asked Lefroy. + +"That was what I heard over there when I was inquiring about your +brother's death." + +"You'd believe anything if you'd believe that." + +"I'd believe anything if I'd believe in your cousin." Upon this Lefroy +laughed, but made no further allusion to the romance which he had craftily +invented on the spur of the moment. After that the two men sat without a +word between them for a quarter of an hour, when the Englishman got up to +take his leave. "Our business is over now," he said, "and I will bid you +good-bye." + +"I'll tell you what I'm athinking," said Lefroy. Mr. Peacocke stood with +his hand ready for a final adieu, but he said nothing. "I've half a mind +to go back with you to England. There ain't nothing to keep me here." + +"What could you do there?" + +"I'd be evidence for you, as to Ferdy's death, you know." + +"I have evidence. I do not want you." + +"I'll go, nevertheless." + +"And spend all your money on the journey." + +"You'd help;--wouldn't you now?" + +"Not a dollar," said Peacocke, turning away and leaving the room. As he +did so he heard the wretch laughing loud at the excellence of his own +joke. + +Before he made his journey back again to England he only once more saw +Robert Lefroy. As he was seating himself in the railway car that was to +take him to Buffalo the man came up to him with an affected look of +solicitude. "Peacocke," he said, "there was only nine hundred dollars in +that roll." + +"There were a thousand. I counted them half-an-hour before I handed them +to you." + +"There was only nine hundred when I got 'em." + +"There were all that you will get. What kind of notes were they you had +when you paid for the shares at 'Frisco?" This question he asked out loud, +before all the passengers. Then Robert Lefroy left the car, and Mr. +Peacocke never saw him or heard from him again. + + + +Conclusion. + +CHAPTER X. + +THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER. + +WHEN the Monday came there was much to be done and to be thought of at +Bowick. Mrs. Peacocke on that day received a letter from San Francisco, +giving her all the details of the evidence that her husband had obtained, +and enclosing a copy of the photograph. There was now no reason why she +should not become the true and honest wife of the man whom she had all +along regarded as her husband in the sight of God. The writer declared +that he would so quickly follow his letter that he might be expected home +within a week, or, at the longest, ten days, from the date at which she +would receive it. Immediately on his arrival at Liverpool, he would, of +course, give her notice by telegraph. + +When this letter reached her, she at once sent a message across to Mrs. +Wortle. Would Mrs. Wortle kindly come and see her? Mrs. Wortle was, of +course, bound to do as she was asked, and started at once. But she was, +in truth, but little able to give counsel on any subject outside the one +which was at the moment nearest to her heart. At one o'clock, when the +boys went to their dinner, Mary was to instruct her father as to the +purport of the letter which was to be sent to Lord Bracy,--and Mary had +not as yet come to any decision. She could not go to her father for +aid;--she could not, at any rate, go to him until the appointed hour +should come; and she was, therefore, entirely thrown upon her mother. Had +she been old enough to understand the effect and the power of character, +she would have known that, at the last moment, her father would certainly +decide for her,--and had her experience of the world been greater, she +might have been quite sure that her father would decide in her favour. +But as it was, she was quivering and shaking in the dark, leaning on her +mother's very inefficient aid, nearly overcome with the feeling that by +one o'clock she must be ready to say something quite decided. + +And in the midst of this her mother was taken away from her, just at ten +o'clock. There was not, in truth, much that the two ladies could say to +each other. Mrs. Peacocke felt it to be necessary to let the Doctor know +that Mr. Peacocke would be back almost at once, and took this means of +doing so. "In a week!" said Mrs. Wortle, as though painfully surprised by +the suddenness of the coming arrival. + +"In a week or ten days. He was to follow his letter as quickly as +possible from San Francisco." + +"And he has found it all out?" + +"Yes; he has learned everything, I think. Look at this!" And Mrs. +Peacocke handed to her friend the photograph of the tombstone. + +"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wortle. "Ferdinand Lefroy! And this was his grave?" + +"That is his grave," said Mrs. Peacocke, turning her face away. + +"It is very sad; very sad indeed;--but you had to learn it, you know." + +"It will not be sad for him, I hope," said Mrs. Peacocke. "In all this, I +endeavour to think of him rather than of myself. When I am forced to +think of myself, it seems to me that my life has been so blighted and +destroyed that it must be indifferent what happens to me now. What has +happened to me has been so bad that I can hardly be injured further. But +if there can be a good time coming for him,--something at least of relief, +something perhaps of comfort,--then I shall be satisfied." + +"Why should there not be comfort for you both?" + +"I am almost as dead to hope as I am to shame. Some year or two ago I +should have thought it impossible to bear the eyes of people looking at +me, as though my life had been sinful and impure. I seem now to care +nothing for all that. I can look them back again with bold eyes and a +brazen face, and tell them that their hardness is at any rate as bad as my +impurity." + +"We have not looked at you like that," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; and therefore I send to you in my trouble, and tell you all this. +The strangest thing of all to me is that I should have come across one man +so generous as your husband, and one woman so soft-hearted as yourself." +There was nothing further to be said then. Mrs. Wortle was instructed to +tell her husband that Mr. Peacocke was to be expected in a week or ten +days, and then hurried back to give what assistance she could in the much +more important difficulties of her own daughter. + +Of course they were much more important to her. Was her girl to become +the wife of a young lord,--to be a future countess? Was she destined to +be the mother-in-law of an earl? Of course this was much more important +to her. And then through it all,--being as she was a dear, good, +Christian, motherly woman,--she was well aware that there was something, +in truth, much more important even than that. Though she thought much of +the earl-ship, and the countess-ship, and the great revenue, and the big +house at Carstairs, and the fine park with its magnificent avenues, and +the carriage in which her daughter would be rolled about to London +parties, and the diamonds which she would wear when she should be +presented to the Queen as the bride of the young Lord Carstairs, yet she +knew very well that she ought not in such an emergency as the present to +think of these things as being of primary importance. What would tend +most to her girl's happiness,--and welfare in this world and the next? It +was of that she ought to think,--of that only. If some answer were now +returned to Lord Bracy, giving his lordship to understand that they, the +Wortles, were anxious to encourage the idea, then in fact her girl would +be tied to an engagement whether the young lord should hold himself to be +so tied or no! And how would it be with her girl if the engagement should +be allowed to run on in a doubtful way for years, and then be dropped by +reason of the young man's indifference? How would it be with her if, +after perhaps three or four years, a letter should come saying that the +young lord had changed his mind, and had engaged himself to some nobler +bride? Was it not her duty, as a mother, to save her child from the too +probable occurrence of some crushing grief such as this? All of it was +clear to her mind;--but then it was clear also that, if this opportunity +of greatness were thrown away, no such chance in all probability would +ever come again. Thus she was so tossed to and fro between a prospect of +glorious prosperity for her child on one side, and the fear of terrible +misfortune for her child on the other, that she was altogether unable to +give any salutary advice. She, at any rate, ought to have known that her +advice would at last be of no importance. Her experience ought to have +told her that the Doctor would certainly settle the matter himself. Had +it been her own happiness that was in question, her own conduct, her own +greatness, she would not have dreamed of having an opinion of her own. +She would have consulted the Doctor, and simply have done as he directed. +But all this was for her child, and in a vague, vacillating way she felt +that for her child she ought to be ready with counsel of her own. + +"Mamma," said Mary, when her mother came back from Mrs. Peacocke, "what am +I to say when he sends for me?" + +"If you think that you can love him, my dear----" + +"Oh, mamma, you shouldn't ask me!" + +"My dear!" + +"I do like him,--very much." + +"If so----" + +"But I never thought of it before;--and then, if he,--if he----" + +"If he what, my dear?" + +"If he were to change his mind?" + +"Ah, yes;--there it is. It isn't as though you could be married in three +months' time." + +"Oh, mamma! I shouldn't like that at all." + +"Or even in six." + +"Oh, no." + +"Of course he is very young." + +"Yes, mamma." + +"And when a young man is so very young, I suppose he doesn't quite know +his own mind." + +"No, mamma. But----" + +"Well, my dear." + +"His father says that he has got--such a strong will of his own," said +poor Mary, who was anxious, unconsciously anxious, to put in a good word +on her own side of the question, without making her own desire too +visible. + +"He always had that. When there was any game to be played, he always +liked to have his own way. But then men like that are just as likely to +change as others." + +"Are they, mamma?" + +"But I do think that he is a lad of very high principle." + +"Papa has always said that of him." + +"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a weather-cock." + +"If you think he would change at all, I would +rather,--rather,--rather----. Oh, mamma, why did you tell me?" + +"My darling, my child, my angel! What am I to tell you? I do think of +all the young men I ever knew he is the nicest, and the sweetest, and the +most thoroughly good and affectionate." + +"Oh, mamma, do you?" said Mary, rushing at her mother and kissing her and +embracing her. + +"But if there were to be no regular engagement, and you were to let him +have your heart,--and then things were to go wrong!" + +Mary left the embracings, gave up the kissings, and seated herself on the +sofa alone. In this way the morning was passed;--and when Mary was +summoned to her father's study, the mother and daughter had not arrived +between them at any decision. + +"Well, my dear," said the Doctor, smiling, "what am I to say to the Earl?" + +"Must you write to-day, papa?" + +"I think so. His letter is one that should not be left longer unanswered. +Were we to do so, he would only think that we didn't know what to say for +ourselves." + +"Would he, papa?" + +"He would fancy that we are half-ashamed to accept what has been offered +to us, and yet anxious to take it." + +"I am not ashamed of anything." + +"No, my dear; you have no reason." + +"Nor have you, papa." + +"Nor have I. That is quite true. I have never been wont to be ashamed of +myself;--nor do I think that you ever will have cause to be ashamed of +yourself. Therefore, why should we hesitate? Shall I help you, my +darling, in coming to a decision on the matter?" + +"Yes, papa." + +"If I can understand your heart on this matter, it has never as yet been +given to this young man." + +"No, papa." This Mary said not altogether with that complete power of +asseveration which the negative is sometimes made to bear. + +"But there must be a beginning to such things. A man throws himself into +it headlong,--as my Lord Carstairs seems to have done. At least all the +best young men do." Mary at this point felt a great longing to get up and +kiss her father; but she restrained herself. "A young woman, on the other +hand, if she is such as I think you are, waits till she is asked. Then it +has to begin." The Doctor, as he said this, smiled his sweetest smile. + +"Yes, papa." + +"And when it has begun, she does not like to blurt it out at once, even to +her loving old father." + +"Papa!" + +"That's about it, isn't it? Haven't I hit it off?" He paused, as though +for a reply, but she was not as yet able to make him any. "Come here, my +dear." She came and stood by him, so that he could put his arm round her +waist. "If it be as I suppose, you are better disposed to this young man +than you are likely to be to any other, just at present." + +"Oh yes, papa." + +"To all others you are quite indifferent?" + +"Yes,--indeed, papa." + +"I am sure you are. But not quite indifferent to this one? Give me a +kiss, my darling, and I will take that for your speech." Then she kissed +him,--giving him her very best kiss. "And now, my child, what shall I say +to the Earl?" + +"I don't know, papa." + +"Nor do I, quite. I never do know what to say till I've got the pen in my +hand. But you'll commission me to write as I may think best?" + +"Oh yes, papa." + +"And I may presume that I know your mind?" + +"Yes, papa." + +"Very well. Then you had better leave me, so that I can go to work with +the paper straight before me, and my pen fixed in my fingers. I can never +begin to think till I find myself in that position." Then she left him, +and went back to her mother. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"He is going to write to Lord Bracy." + +"But what does he mean to say?" + +"I don't know at all, mamma." + +"Not know!" + +"I think he means to tell Lord Bracy that he has got no objection." + +Then Mrs. Wortle was sure that the Doctor meant to face all the dangers, +and that therefore it would behove her to face them also. + +The Doctor, when he was left alone, sat a while thinking of the matter +before he put himself into the position fitted for composition which he +had described to his daughter. He acknowledged to himself that there was +a difficulty in making a fit reply to the letter which he had to answer. +When his mind was set on sending an indignant epistle to the Bishop, the +words flew from him like lightning out of the thunder-clouds. But now he +had to think much of it before he could make any light to come which +should not bear a different colour from that which he intended. "Of +course such a marriage would suit my child, and would suit me," he wished +to say;--"not only, or not chiefly, because your son is a nobleman, and +will be an earl and a man of great property. That goes a long way with +us. We are too true to deny it. We hate humbug, and want you to know +simply the truth about us. The title and the money go far,--but not half +so far as the opinion which we entertain of the young man's own good +gifts. I would not give my girl to the greatest and richest nobleman +under the British Crown, if I did not think that he would love her and be +good to her, and treat her as a husband should treat his wife. But +believing this young man to have good gifts such as these, and a fine +disposition, I am willing, on my girl's behalf,--and she also is +willing,--to encounter the acknowledged danger of a long engagement in the +hope of realising all the good things which would, if things went +fortunately, thus come within her reach." This was what he wanted to say +to the Earl, but he found it very difficult to say it in language that +should be natural. + + +"MY DEAR LORD BRACY,--When I learned, through Mary's mother, that +Carstairs had been here in our absence and made a declaration of love to +our girl, I was, I must confess, annoyed. I felt, in the first place, +that he was too young to have taken in hand such a business as that; and, +in the next, that you might not unnaturally have been angry that your son, +who had come here simply for tuition, should have fallen into a matter of +love. I imagine that you will understand exactly what were my feelings. +There was, however, nothing to be said about it. The evil, so far as it +was an evil, had been done, and Carstairs was going away to Oxford, where, +possibly, he might forget the whole affair. I did not, at any rate, think +it necessary to make a complaint to you of his coming. + +"To all this your letter has given altogether a different aspect. I think +that I am as little likely as another to spend my time or thoughts in +looking for external advantages, but I am as much alive as another to the +great honour to myself and advantage to my child of the marriage which is +suggested to her. I do not know how any more secure prospect of happiness +could be opened to her than that which such a marriage offers. I have +thought myself bound to give her your letter to read because her heart and +her imagination have naturally been affected by what your son said to her. +I think I may say of my girl that none sweeter, none more innocent, none +less likely to be over-anxious for such a prospect could exist. But her +heart has been touched; and though she had not dreamt of him but as an +acquaintance till he came here and told his own tale, and though she then +altogether declined to entertain his proposal when it was made, now that +she has learnt so much more through you, she is no longer indifferent. +This, I think, you will find to be natural. + +"I and her mother also are of course alive to the dangers of a long +engagement, and the more so because your son has still before him a +considerable portion of his education. Had he asked advice either of you +or of me he would of course have been counselled not to think of marriage +as yet. But the very passion which has prompted him to take this action +upon himself shows,--as you yourself say of him,--that he has a stronger +will than is usual to be found at his years. As it is so, it is probable +that he may remain constant to this as to a fixed idea. + +"I think you will now understand my mind and Mary's and her mother's." +Lord Bracy as he read this declared to himself that though the Doctor's +mind was very clear, Mrs. Wortle, as far as he knew, had no mind in the +matter at all. "I would suggest that the affair should remain as it is, +and that each of the young people should be made to understand that any +future engagement must depend, not simply on the persistency of one of +them, but on the joint persistency of the two. + +"If, after this, Lady Bracy should be pleased to receive Mary at +Carstairs, I need not say that Mary will be delighted to make the +visit.--Believe me, my dear Lord Bracy, yours most faithfully. + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +The Earl, when he read this, though there was not a word in it to which he +could take exception, was not altogether pleased. "Of course it will be +an engagement," he said to his wife. + +"Of course it will," said the Countess. "But then Carstairs is so very +much in earnest. He would have done it for himself if you hadn't done it +for him." + +"At any rate the Doctor is a gentleman," the Earl said, comforting +himself. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN. + +THE Earl's rejoinder to the Doctor was very short: "So let it be." There +was not another word in the body of the letter; but there was appended to +it a postscript almost equally short; "Lady Bracy will write to Mary and +settle with her some period for her visit." And so it came to be +understood by the Doctor, by Mrs. Wortle, and by Mary herself, that Mary +was engaged to Lord Carstairs. + +The Doctor, having so far arranged the matter, said little or nothing more +on the subject, but turned his mind at once to that other affair of Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke. It was evident to his wife, who probably alone +understood the buoyancy of his spirit and its corresponding susceptibility +to depression, that he at once went about Mr. Peacocke's affairs with +renewed courage. Mr. Peacocke should resume his duties as soon as he was +remarried, and let them see what Mrs. Stantiloup or the Bishop would dare +to say then! It was impossible, he thought, that parents would be such +asses as to suppose that their boys' morals could be affected to evil by +connection with a man so true, so gallant, and so manly as this. He did +not at this time say anything further as to abandoning the school, but +seemed to imagine that the vacancies would get themselves filled up as in +the course of nature. He ate his dinner again as though he liked it, and +abused the Liberals, and was anxious about the grapes and peaches, as was +always the case with him when things were going well. All this, as Mrs. +Wortle understood, had come to him from the brilliancy of Mary's +prospects. + +But though he held his tongue on the subject, Mrs. Wortle did not. She +found it absolutely impossible not to talk of it when she was alone with +Mary, or alone with the Doctor. As he counselled her not to make Mary +think too much about it, she was obliged to hold her peace when both were +with her; but with either of them alone she was always full of it. To the +Doctor she communicated all her fears and all her doubts, showing only too +plainly that she would be altogether broken-hearted if anything should +interfere with the grandeur and prosperity which seemed to be partly +within reach, but not altogether within reach of her darling child. If +he, Carstairs, should prove to be a recreant young lord! If Aristotle and +Socrates should put love out of his heart! If those other wicked young +lords at Christ-Church were to teach him that it was a foolish thing for a +young lord to become engaged to his tutor's daughter before he had taken +his degree! If some better born young lady were to come in his way and +drive Mary out of his heart! No more lovely or better girl could be found +to do so;--of that she was sure. To the latter assertion the Doctor +agreed, telling her that, as it was so, she ought to have a stronger trust +in her daughter's charms,--telling her also, with somewhat sterner voice, +that she should not allow herself to be so disturbed by the glories of the +Bracy coronet. In this there was, I think, some hypocrisy. Had the +Doctor been as simple as his wife in showing her own heart, it would +probably have been found that he was as much set upon the coronet as she. + +Then Mrs. Wortle would carry the Doctor's wisdom to her daughter. "Papa +says, my dear, that you shouldn't think of it too much." + +"I do think of him, mamma. I do love him now, and of course I think of +him." + +"Of course you do, my dear;--of course you do. How should you not think +of him when he is all in all to you? But papa means that it can hardly be +called an engagement yet." + +"I don't know what it should be called; but of course I love him. He can +change it if he likes." + +"But you shouldn't think of it, knowing his rank and wealth." + +"I never did, mamma; but he is what he is, and I must think of him." + +Poor Mrs. Wortle did not know what special advice to give when this +declaration was made. To have held her tongue would have been the wisest, +but that was impossible to her. Out of the full heart the mouth speaks, +and her heart was very full of Lord Carstairs and of Carstairs House, and +of the diamonds which her daughter would certainly be called upon to wear +before the Queen,--if only that young man would do his duty. + +Poor Mary herself probably had the worst of it. No provision was made +either for her to see her lover or to write to him. The only interview +which had ever taken place between them as lovers was that on which she +had run by him into the house, leaving him, as the Earl had said, planted +on the terrace. She had never been able to whisper one single soft word +into his ear, to give him even one touch of her fingers in token of her +affection. She did not in the least know when she might be allowed to see +him,--whether it had not been settled among the elders that they were not +to see each other as real lovers till he should have taken his +degree,--which would be almost in a future world, so distant seemed the +time. It had been already settled that she was to go to Carstairs in the +middle of November and stay till the middle of December; but it was +altogether settled that her lover was not to be at Carstairs during the +time. He was to be at Oxford then, and would be thinking only of his +Greek and Latin,--or perhaps amusing himself, in utter forgetfulness that +he had a heart belonging to him at Bowick Parsonage. In this way Mary, +though no doubt she thought the most of it all, had less opportunity of +talking of it than either her father or her mother. + +In the mean time Mr. Peacocke was coming home. The Doctor, as soon as he +heard that the day was fixed, or nearly fixed, being then, as has been +explained, in full good humour with all the world except Mrs. Stantiloup +and the Bishop, bethought himself as to what steps might best be taken in +the very delicate matter in which he was called upon to give advice. He +had declared at first that they should be married at his own parish +church; but he felt that there would be difficulties in this. "She must +go up to London and meet him there," he said to Mrs. Wortle. "And he must +not show himself here till he brings her down as his actual wife." Then +there was very much to be done in arranging all this. And something to be +done also in making those who had been his friends, and perhaps more in +making those who had been his enemies, understand exactly how the matter +stood. Had no injury been inflicted upon him, as though he had done evil +to the world in general in befriending Mr. Peacocke, he would have been +quite willing to pass the matter over in silence among his friends; but as +it was he could not afford to hide his own light under a bushel. He was +being punished almost to the extent of ruin by the cruel injustice which +had been done him by the evil tongue of Mrs. Stantiloup, and, as he +thought, by the folly of the Bishop. He must now let those who had +concerned themselves know as accurately as he could what he had done in +the matter, and what had been the effect of his doing. He wrote a letter, +therefore, which was not, however, to be posted till after the Peacocke +marriage had been celebrated, copies of which he prepared with his own +hand in order that he might send them to the Bishop and to Lady Anne +Clifford, and to Mr. Talbot and,--not, indeed, to Mrs. Stantiloup, but to +Mrs. Stantiloup's husband. There was a copy also made for Mr. Momson, +though in his heart he despised Mr. Momson thoroughly. In this letter he +declared the great respect which he had entertained, since he had first +known them, both for Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, and the distress which he had +felt when Mr. Peacocke had found himself obliged to explain to him the +facts,--the facts which need not be repeated, because the reader is so +well acquainted with them. "Mr. Peacocke," he went on to say, "has since +been to America, and has found that the man whom he believed to be dead +when he married his wife, has died since his calamitous reappearance. Mr. +Peacocke has seen the man's grave, with the stone on it bearing his name, +and has brought back with him certificates and evidence as to his burial. + +"Under these circumstances, I have no hesitation in re-employing both him +and his wife; and I think that you will agree that I could not do less. I +think you will agree, also, that in the whole transaction I have done +nothing of which the parent of any boy intrusted to me has a right to +complain." + +Having done this, he went up to London, and made arrangements for having +the marriage celebrated there as soon as possible after the arrival of Mr. +Peacocke. And on his return to Bowick, he went off to Mr. Puddicombe with +a copy of his letter in his pocket. He had not addressed a copy to his +friend, nor had he intended that one should be sent to him. Mr. +Puddicombe had not interfered in regard to the boys, and had, on the +whole, shown himself to be a true friend. There was no need for him to +advocate his cause to Mr. Puddicombe. But it was right, he thought, that +that gentleman should know what he did; and it might be that he hoped that +he would at length obtain some praise from Mr. Puddicombe. But Mr. +Puddicombe did not like the letter. "It does not tell the truth," he +said. + +"Not the truth!" + +"Not the whole truth." + +"As how! Where have I concealed anything?" + +"If I understand the question rightly, they who have thought proper to +take their children away from your school because of Mr. Peacocke, have +done so because that gentleman continued to live with that lady when they +both knew that they were not man and wife." + +"That wasn't my doing." + +"You condoned it. I am not condemning you. You condoned it, and now you +defend yourself in this letter. But in your defence you do not really +touch the offence as to which you are, according to your own showing, +accused. In telling the whole story, you should say; 'They did live +together though they were not married;--and, under all the circumstances, +I did not think that they were on that account unfit to be left in charge +of my boys."' + +"But I sent him away immediately,--to America." + +"You allowed the lady to remain." + +"Then what would you have me say?" demanded the Doctor. + +"Nothing," said Mr. Puddicombe;--"not a word. Live it down in silence. +There will be those, like myself, who, though they could not dare to say +that in morals you were strictly correct, will love you the better for +what you did." The Doctor turned his face towards the dry, hard-looking +man and showed that there was a tear in each of his eyes. "There are few +of us not so infirm as sometimes to love best that which is not best. But +when a man is asked a downright question, he is bound to answer the +truth." + +"You would say nothing in your own defence." + +"Not a word. You know the French proverb: 'Who excuses himself is his own +accuser.' The truth generally makes its way. As far as I can see, a +slander never lives long." + +"Ten of my boys are gone!" said the Doctor, who had not hitherto spoken a +word of this to any one out of his own family;--"ten out of twenty." + +"That will only be a temporary loss." + +"That is nothing,--nothing. It is the idea that the school should be +failing." + +"They will come again. I do not believe that that letter would bring a +boy. I am almost inclined to say, Dr. Wortle, that a man should never +defend himself." + +"He should never have to defend himself." + +"It is much the same thing. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Dr. +Wortle,--if it will suit your plans. I will go up with you and will +assist at the marriage. I do not for a moment think that you will require +any countenance, or that if you did, that I could give it you." + +"No man that I know so efficiently." + +"But it may be that Mr. Peacocke will like to find that the clergymen from +his neighbourhood are standing with him." And so it was settled, that when +the day should come on which the Doctor would take Mrs. Peacocke up with +him to London, Mr. Puddicombe was to accompany them. + +The Doctor when he left Mr. Puddicombe's parsonage had by no means pledged +himself not to send the letters. When a man has written a letter, and has +taken some trouble with it, and more specially when he has copied it +several times himself so as to have made many letters of it,--when he has +argued his point successfully to himself, and has triumphed in his own +mind, as was likely to be the case with Dr. Wortle in all that he did, he +does not like to make waste paper of his letters. As he rode home he +tried to persuade himself that he might yet use them. He could not quite +admit his friend's point. Mr. Peacocke, no doubt, had known his own +condition, and him a strict moralist might condemn. But he,--he,--Dr. +Wortle,--had known nothing. All that he had done was not to condemn the +other man when he did know! + +Nevertheless as he rode into his own yard, he made up his mind that he +would burn the letters. He had shown them to no one else. He had not +even mentioned them to his wife. He could burn them without condemning +himself in the opinion of any one. And he burned them. When Mr. +Puddicombe found him at the station at Broughton as they were about to +proceed to London with Mrs. Peacocke, he simply whispered the fate of the +letters. "After what you said I destroyed what I had written." + +"Perhaps it was as well," said Mr. Puddicombe. + +When the telegram came to say that Mr. Peacocke was at Liverpool, Mrs. +Peacocke was anxious immediately to rush up to London. But she was +restrained by the Doctor,--or rather by Mrs. Wortle under the Doctor's +orders. "No, my dear; no. You must not go till all will be ready for you +to meet him in the church. The Doctor says so." + +"Am I not to see him till he comes up to the altar?" + +On this there was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle and the Doctor, +at which she explained how impossible it would be for the woman to go +through the ceremony with due serenity and propriety of manner unless she +should be first allowed to throw herself into his arms, and to welcome him +back to her. "Yes," she said, "he can come and see you at the hotel on +the evening before, and again in the morning,--so that if there be a word +to say you can say it. Then when it is over he will bring you down here. +The Doctor and Mr. Puddicombe will come down by a later train. Of course +it is painful," said Mrs. Wortle, "but you must bear up." To her it seemed +to be so painful that she was quite sure that she could not have borne it. +To be married for the third time, and for the second time to the same +husband! To Mrs. Peacocke, as she thought of it, the pain did not so much +rest in that, as in the condition of life which these things had forced +upon her. + +"I must go up to town to-morrow, and must be away for two days," said the +Doctor out loud in the school, speaking immediately to one of the ushers, +but so that all the boys present might hear him. "I trust that we shall +have Mr. Peacocke with us the day after to-morrow." + +"We shall be very glad of that," said the usher. + +"And Mrs. Peacocke will come and eat her dinner again like before?" asked +a little boy. + +"I hope so, Charley." + +"We shall like that, because she has to eat it all by herself now." + +All the school, down even to Charley, the smallest boy in it, knew all +about it. Mr. Peacocke had gone to America, and Mrs. Peacocke was going +up to London to be married once more to her own husband,--and the Doctor +and Mr. Puddicombe were both going to marry them. The usher of course +knew the details more clearly than that,--as did probably the bigger boys. +There had even been a rumour of the photograph which had been seen by one +of the maid-servants,--who had, it is to be feared, given the information +to the French teacher. So much, however, the Doctor had felt it wise to +explain, not thinking it well that Mr. Peacocke should make his +reappearance among them without notice. + +On the afternoon of the next day but one, Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were +driven up to the school in one of the Broughton flys. She went quickly up +into her own house, when Mr. Peacocke walked into the school. The boys +clustered round him, and the three assistants, and every word said to him +was kind and friendly;--but in the whole course of his troubles there had +never been a moment to him more difficult than this,--in which he found it +so nearly impossible to say anything or to say nothing. "Yes, I have been +over very many miles since I saw you last." This was an answer to young +Talbot, who asked him whether he had not been a great traveller whilst he +was away. + +"In America," suggested the French usher, who had heard of the photograph, +and knew very well where it had been taken. + +"Yes, in America." + +"All the way to San Francisco," suggested Charley. + +"All the way to San Francisco, Charley,--and back again." + +"Yes; I know you're come back again," said Charley, "because I see you +here." + +"There are only twenty boys this half," said one of the twenty. + +"Then I shall have more time to attend to you now." + +"I suppose so," said the lad, not seeming to find any special consolation +in that view of the matter. + +Painful as this first re-introduction had been, there was not much more in +it than that. No questions were asked, and no explanations expected. It +may be that Mrs. Stantiloup was affected with fresh moral horrors when she +heard of the return, and that the Bishop said that the Doctor was foolish +and headstrong as ever. It may be that there was a good deal of talk +about it in the Close at Broughton. But at the school there was very +little more said about it than what has been stated above. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MARY'S SUCCESS. + +IN this last chapter of our short story I will venture to run rapidly over +a few months so as to explain how the affairs of Bowick arranged +themselves up to the end of the current year. I cannot pretend that the +reader shall know, as he ought to be made to know, the future fate and +fortunes of our personages. They must be left still struggling. But then +is not such always in truth the case, even when the happy marriage has +been celebrated?--even when, in the course of two rapid years, two normal +children make their appearance to gladden the hearts of their parents? + +Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke fell into their accustomed duties in the diminished +school, apparently without difficulty. As the Doctor had not sent those +ill-judged letters he of course received no replies, and was neither +troubled by further criticism nor consoled by praise as to his conduct. +Indeed, it almost seemed to him as though the thing, now that it was done, +excited less observation than it deserved. He heard no more of the +metropolitan press, and was surprised to find that the 'Broughton Gazette' +inserted only a very short paragraph, in which it stated that "they had +been given to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke had resumed their +usual duties at the Bowick School, after the performance of an interesting +ceremony in London, at which Dr. Wortle and Mr. Puddicombe had assisted." +The press, as far as the Doctor was aware, said nothing more on the +subject. And if remarks injurious to his conduct were made by the +Stantiloups and the Momsons, they did not reach his ears. Very soon after +the return of the Peacockes there was a grand dinner-party at the palace, +to which the Doctor and his wife were invited. It was not a clerical +dinner-party, and so the honour was the greater. The aristocracy of the +neighbourhood were there, including Lady Anne Clifford, who was devoted, +with almost repentant affection, to her old friend. And Lady Margaret +Momson was there, the only clergyman's wife besides his own, who declared +to him with unblushing audacity that she had never regretted anything so +much in her life as that Augustus should have been taken away from the +school. It was evident that there had been an intention at the palace to +make what amends the palace could for the injuries it had done. + +"Did Lady Anne say anything about the boys?" asked Mrs. Wortle, as they +were going home. + +"She was going to, but I would not let her. I managed to show her that I +did not wish it, and she was clever enough to stop." + +"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"She won't do that. Indeed, I doubt whether I should take them. But if +it should come to pass that she should wish to send them back, you may be +sure that others will come. In such a matter she is very good as a +weathercock, showing how the wind blows." In this way the dinner-party at +the palace was in a degree comforting and consolatory. + +But an incident which of all was most comforting and most consolatory to +one of the inhabitants of the parsonage took place two or three days after +the dinner-party. On going out of his own hall-door one Saturday +afternoon, immediately after lunch, whom should the Doctor see driving +himself into the yard in a hired gig from Broughton--but young Lord +Carstairs. There had been no promise, or absolute compact made, but it +certainly had seemed to be understood by all of them that Carstairs was +not to show himself at Bowick till at some long distant period, when he +should have finished all the trouble of his education. It was understood +even that he was not to be at Carstairs during Mary's visit,--so +imperative was it that the young people should not meet. And now here he +was getting out of a gig in the Rectory yard! "Halloa! Carstairs, is +that you?" + +"Yes, Dr. Wortle,--here I am." + +"We hardly expected to see you, my boy." + +"No,--I suppose not. But when I heard that Mr. Peacocke had come back, +and all about his marriage, you know, I could not but come over to see +him. He and I have always been such great friends." + +"Oh,--to see Mr. Peacocke?" + +"I thought he'd think it unkind if I didn't look him up. He has made it +all right; hasn't he?" + +"Yes;--he has made it all right, I think. A finer fellow never lived. +But he'll tell you all about it. He travelled with a pistol in his +pocket, and seemed to want it too. I suppose you must come in and see the +ladies after we have been to Peacocke?" + +"I suppose I can just see them," said the young lord, as though moved by +equal anxiety as to the mother and as to the daughter. + +"I'll leave word that you are here, and then we'll go into the school." +So the Doctor found a servant, and sent what message he thought fit +into the house. + +"Lord Carstairs here?" + +"Yes, indeed, Miss! He's with your papa, going across to the school. He +told me to take word in to Missus that he supposes his lordship will stay +to dinner." The maid who carried the tidings, and who had received no +commission to convey them to Miss Mary, was, no doubt, too much interested +in an affair of love, not to take them first to the one that would be most +concerned with them. + +That very morning Mary had been bemoaning herself as to her hard +condition. Of what use was it to her to have a lover, if she was never to +see him, never to hear from him,--only to be told about him,--that she was +not to think of him more than she could help? She was already beginning +to think that a long engagement carried on after this fashion would have +more of suffering in it than she had anticipated. It seemed to her that +while she was, and always would be, thinking of him, he never, never would +continue to think of her. If it could be only a word once a month it +would be something,--just one or two written words under an +envelope,--even that would have sufficed to keep her hope alive! But +never to see him;--never to hear from him! Her mother had told her that +very morning that there was to be no meeting,--probably for three years, +till he should have done with Oxford. And here he was in the house,--and +her papa had sent in word to say that he was to eat his dinner there! It +so astonished her that she felt that she would be afraid to meet him. +Before she had had a minute to think of it all, her mother was with her. +"Carstairs, love, is here!" + +"Oh mamma, what has brought him?" + +"He has gone into the school with your papa to see Mr. Peacocke. He +always was very fond of Mr. Peacocke." For a moment something of a feeling +of jealousy crossed her heart,--but only for a moment. He would not +surely have come to Bowick if he had begun to be indifferent to her +already! "Papa says that he will probably stay to dinner." + +"Then I am to see him?" + +"Yes;--of course you must see him." + +"I didn't know, mamma." + +"Don't you wish to see him?" + +"Oh yes, mamma. If he were to come and go, and we were not to meet at +all, I should think it was all over then. Only,--I don't know what to say +to him." + +"You must take that as it comes, my dear." + +Two hours afterwards they were walking, the two of them alone together, +out in the Bowick woods. When once the law,--which had been rather +understood than spoken,--had been infringed and set at naught, there was +no longer any use in endeavouring to maintain a semblance of its +restriction. The two young people had met in the presence both of the +father and mother, and the lover had had her in his arms before either of +them could interfere. There had been a little scream from Mary, but it +may probably be said of her that she was at the moment the happiest young +lady in the diocese. + +"Does your father know you are here?" said the Doctor, as he led the young +lord back from the school into the house. + +"He knows I'm coming, for I wrote and told my mother. I always tell +everything; but it's sometimes best to make up your mind before you get an +answer." Then the Doctor made up his mind that Lord Carstairs would have +his own way in anything that he wished to accomplish. + +"Won't the Earl be angry?" Mrs. Wortle asked. + +"No;--not angry. He knows the world too well not to be quite sure that +something of the kind would happen. And he is too fond of his son not to +think well of anything that he does. It wasn't to be supposed that they +should never meet. After all that has passed I am bound to make him +welcome if he chooses to come here, and as Mary's lover to give him the +best welcome that I can. He won't stay, I suppose, because he has got no +clothes." + +"But he has;--John brought in a portmanteau and a dressing-bag out of the +gig." So that was settled. + +In the mean time Lord Carstairs had taken Mary out for a walk into the +wood, and she, as she walked beside him, hardly knew whether she was going +on her head or her heels. This, indeed, it was to have a lover. In the +morning she was thinking that when three years were past he would hardly +care to see her ever again. And now they were together among the falling +leaves, and sitting about under the branches as though there was nothing +in the world to separate them. Up to that day there had never been a word +between them but such as is common to mere acquaintances, and now he was +calling her every instant by her Christian name, and telling her all his +secrets. + +"We have such jolly woods at Carstairs," he said; "but we shan't be able +to sit down when we're there, because it will be winter. We shall be +hunting, and you must come out and see us." + +"But you won't be there when I am," she said, timidly. + +"Won't I? That's all you know about it. I can manage better than that." + +"You'll be at Oxford." + +"You must stay over Christmas, Mary; that's what you must do. You musn't +think of going till January." + +"But Lady Bracy won't want me." + +"Yes, she will. We must make her want you. At any rate they'll +understand this; if you don't stay for me, I shall come home even if it's +in the middle of term. I'll arrange that. You don't suppose I'm not +going to be there when you make your first visit to the old place." + +All this was being in Paradise. She felt when she walked home with him, +and when she was alone afterwards in her own room, that, in truth, she had +only liked him before. Now she loved him. Now she was beginning to know +him, and to feel that she would really,--really die of a broken heart if +anything were to rob her of him. But she could let him go now, without a +feeling of discomfort, if she thought that she was to see him again when +she was at Carstairs. + +But this was not the last walk in the woods, even on this occasion. He +remained two days at Bowick, so necessary was it for him to renew his +intimacy with Mr. Peacocke. He explained that he had got two days' leave +from the tutor of his College, and that two days, in College parlance, +always meant three. He would be back on the third day, in time for +"gates"; and that was all which the strictest college discipline would +require of him. It need hardly be said of him that the most of his time +he spent with Mary; but he did manage to devote an hour or two to his old +friend, the school-assistant. + +Mr. Peacocke told his whole story, and Carstairs, whose morals were +perhaps not quite so strict as those of Mr. Puddicombe, gave him all his +sympathy. "To think that a man can be such a brute as that," he said, +when he heard that Ferdinand Lefroy had shown himself to his wife at St. +Louis,--"only on a spree." + +"There is no knowing to what depth utter ruin may reduce a man who has +been born to better things. He falls into idleness, and then comforts +himself with drink. So it seems to have been with him." + +"And that other fellow;--do you think he meant to shoot you?" + +"Never. But he meant to frighten me. And when he brought out his knife +in the bedroom at Leavenworth he did. My pistol was not loaded." + +"Why not?" + +"Because little as I wish to be murdered, I should prefer that to +murdering any one else. But he didn't mean it. His only object was to +get as much out of me as he could. As for me, I couldn't give him more +because I hadn't got it." After that they made a league of friendship, and +Mr. Peacocke promised that he would, on some distant occasion, take his +wife with him on a visit to Carstairs. + +It was about a month after this that Mary was packed up and sent on her +journey to Carstairs. When that took place, the Doctor was in supreme +good-humour. There had come a letter from the father of the two Mowbrays, +saying that he had again changed his mind. He had, he said, heard a story +told two ways. He trusted Dr. Wortle would understand him and forgive +him, when he declared that he had believed both the stories. If after +this the Doctor chose to refuse to take his boys back again, he would +have, he acknowledged, no ground for offence. But if the Doctor would +take them, he would intrust them to the Doctor's care with the greatest +satisfaction in the world,--as he had done before. + +For a while the Doctor had hesitated; but here, perhaps for the first time +in her life, his wife was allowed to persuade him. "They are such leading +people," she said. + +"Who cares for that? I have never gone in for that." This, however, was +hardly true. "When I have been sure that a man is a gentleman, I have +taken his son without inquiring much farther. It was mean of him to +withdraw after I had acceded to his request." + +"But he withdraws his withdrawal in such a flattering way!" Then the +Doctor assented, and the two boys were allowed to come. Lady Anne +Clifford hearing this, learning that the Doctor was so far willing to +relent, became very piteous and implored forgiveness. The noble relatives +were all willing now. It had not been her fault. As far as she was +concerned herself she had always been anxious that her boys should remain +at Bowick. And so the two Cliffords came back to their old beds in the +old room. + +Mary, when she first arrived at Carstairs, hardly knew how to carry +herself. Lady Bracy was very cordial and the Earl friendly, but for the +first two days nothing was said about Carstairs. There was no open +acknowledgment of her position. But then she had expected none; and +though her tongue was burning to talk, of course she did not say a word. +But before a week was over Lady Bracy had begun, and by the end of the +fortnight Lord Bracy had given her a beautiful brooch. "That means," said +Lady Bracy in the confidence of her own little sitting-room up-stairs, +"that he looks upon you as his daughter." + +"Does it?" + +"Yes, my dear, yes." Then they fell to kissing each other, and did nothing +but talk about Carstairs and all his perfections, and his unalterable +love, and how these three years could be made to wear themselves away, +till the conversation,--simmering over as such conversation is wont to +do,--gave the whole household to understand that Miss Wortle was staying +there as Lord Carstairs's future bride. + +Of course she stayed over the Christmas, or went back to Bowick for a +week, and then returned to Carstairs, so that she might tell her mother +everything, and hear of the six new boys who were to come after the +holidays. "Papa couldn't take both the Buncombes," said Mrs. Wortle in +her triumph, "and one must remain till midsummer. Sir George did say that +it must be two or none, but he had to give way. I wanted papa to have +another bed in the east room, but he wouldn't hear of it." + +Mary went back for the Christmas and Carstairs came; and the house was +full, and everybody knew of the engagement. She walked with him, and rode +with him, and danced with him, and talked secrets with him,--as though +there were no Oxford, no degree before him. No doubt it was very +imprudent, but the Earl and the Countess knew all about it. What might +be, or would be, or was the end of such folly, it is not my purpose here +to tell. I fear that there was trouble before them. It may, however, be +possible that the degree should be given up on the score of love, and Lord +Carstairs should marry his bride,--at any rate when he came of age. + +As to the school, it certainly suffered nothing by the Doctor's +generosity, and when last I heard of Mr. Peacocke, the Bishop had offered +to grant him a licence for the curacy. Whether he accepted it I have not +yet heard, but I am inclined to think that in this matter he will adhere +to his old determination. + + + + * * * * * + + + +Textual emendations and noteworthy items + +1 Alterations + +1 1 Word changes + +1 1 1 Additions + +1 1 1 1 Added "l" to "crue" +Vol. I--Page 146, line 8 +did sit down. "He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, +cruel* bigamist." + +1 1 1 2 Added "b" to "Puddicome's" +Vol. II--Page 15, line 1 +he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicomb*e's +dirty boot had + +1 1 1 3 Added "e" to "Ann" +Vol. II--Page 215, line 6 +hand in order that he might send them to the Bishop and to +Lady Anne* + +1 1 2 Deletions + +1 1 2 1 Deleted repeated word "not" +Vol. II--Page 15, line 10 +been a grain of tenderness there, he could not* have spoken +so often as he + +1 1 2 2 Deleted repeated "i" in "hiim" +Vol. II--Page 87, line 9 +not leave the man to triumph over hi*m. If nothing further +were done in + +1 1 3 Substitutions + +1 1 3 1 Changed lowercase "de" to uppercase "De" to conform +to majority usage (11 out of 14 times with uppercase) +Vol. I--Page 34, line 7 +Lawle, who had in early years been a dear friend to Mrs. +Wortle. Lady *De Lawle was the widow + +Vol. I--Page 48, line 9 +Bishop,--before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or +Lady *De Lawle. + +Vol. I--Page 82, line 17 +to you; different in not accepting Lady *De Lawle's +hospitality; different + +1 1 3 2 Changed "out" to "our" +Vol. I--Page 88, line 22 +and me, can have no effect but to increase our* troubles. +You are a woman, + +1 1 3 3 Changed lowercase "junction" to uppercase "Junction" +to conform to majority usage (3 out of 4 times with uppercase) +Vol. II--Page 147, line 6 +been written at the Ogden *Junction, at which Mr. Peacocke had +stopped for + +1 2 Punctuation changes + +1 2 1 Additions + +1 2 1 1 Added quotation marks + +1 2 1 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 146, line 7 +did sit down. *"He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, +cruel + +Vol. II--Page 102, line 3 +kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours +very faithfully, + +*"C. BROUGHTON." + +1 2 1 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 35, line 16 +were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said the Bishop, +"but men must know that we are so."* + +1 2 1 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 103, line 11 +Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by *'Everybody's +Business,' and its + +1 2 1 1 4 ...closing single quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 48, line 21 +'Black Dwarf'* be if every one knew from the beginning that he +was a rich + +1 2 1 1 5 ...single quotation marks +Vol. II--Page 95, line 15 +beforehand whom he was about to smite. "*'Amo' in the cool of +the + +1 2 1 2 Added apostrophe +Vol. I--Page 120, line 19 +ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to. +Them'*s + +1 2 1 3 Added full stop + +1 2 1 3 1 ...after "more" +Vol. II--Page 83, line 11 +very nice boy; and so he was still; that;--that, and nothing +more.* Then + +1 2 1 3 2 ...after "St" +Vol. II--Page 109, line 7 +round by St.* Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and +on that + +1 2 1 3 3 ...after "engagement" +Vol. II--Page 163, line 21 +not known that she was very much afraid of a long engagement.* +She would, + +1 2 1 3 4 ...after "Wortle" +Vol. II--Page 231, line 2 +"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle.* + +1 2 2 Deletions + +1 2 2 1 Deleted quotation marks + +1 2 2 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 222, line 18 +*On this there was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle +and the Doctor, + +1 2 2 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 146, line 11 +"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his chair.* + +Vol. II--Page 221, line 14 +Wortle,--had known nothing. All that he had done was not to +condemn the other man when he did know!* + +1 2 2 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 238, line 12 +between them but such as is common *to mere acquaintances, and +now he was + +1 2 2 2 Deleted extra space after opening double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 81, line 14 +at his feet, buried her face in his lap. "*Ella," he said, "the +only + +1 2 3 Substitutions + +1 2 3 1 Changed single closing quotation mark to double closing +quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 105, line 18 +"My taking you across to the States."* + +1 2 3 2 Changed full stop to comma +Vol. I--Page 185, line 18 +facts were known to the entire diocese." After this there was a +pause,* + +2 Items of note + +2 1 Spelling + +2 1 1 Verbs in "-ize" normally in "-ise" + +2 1 1 1 sympathize +Vol. I--Page 156, line 4 +only say this, as between man and man, that no man ever +sympathized* with + +2 1 1 2 apologize +Vol. II--Page 14, line 17 +found himself obliged to apologize* before he left the house! +And, too, he + +2 1 2 Variation in hyphenation + +2 1 2 1 weather(-)cock +Vol. II--Page 196, line 2 +"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a +weather-*cock." + +Vol. II--Page 231, line 8 +weathercock*, showing how the wind blows." In this way the +dinner-party at + +2 1 2 2 a(-)verb-ing +Vol. II--Page 119, line 1 +"Not a foot; I ain't a-*going out of this room to-morrow." + +Vol. II--Page 182, lines 5 & 6 +"We are *alooking at 'em," said Lefroy. + +"If you're *agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better +go and do it + +2 2 Punctuation + +2 2 1 Full stop changed to question mark +Vol. I--Page 134, line 3 +longer I shall send for the policeman to remove you." + +"You will?*" + +2 2 2 Full stop used instead of question mark +Vol. II--Page 47, line 16 +building staring him in the face every moment of his life.* + +Vol. II--Page 63, line 17 +"I may tell them that the action is withdrawn.*" + +2 2 3 Exclamation point used instead of question mark +Vol. II--Page 75, line 8 +"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to say!*" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p class="noindent">Title: Dr. Wortle's School</p> +<p class="noindent">Author: Anthony Trollope</p> +<p class="noindent">Release Date: June 18, 2007 [eBook #21847]<br /> +HTML version most recently updated: June 13, 2010</p> +<p class="noindent">Language: English</p> +<p class="noindent">Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p class="noindent">***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Stanford Carmack<br /> + <br /> + HTML version prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.</h3> +<p> </p> +<table border="1" style="background-color: #d0d0d0;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td> + <div class="center"> + Transcriber's note<br /> + <br /> + </div> + This e-text was taken from the first edition of this novel and + attempts to reproduce the original spelling, punctuation etc. + Some corrections have been made. They are identified by underlining + with red dots. If the cursor is hovered over the underlined text, + the correction will appear. For example: + <ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘crue’">cruel</ins><br /> + <br /> + The Table of Contents of Volume II is located at the beginning + of that volume. + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> + +<h4>Go to <a href="#v1">Volume I</a><br /> +Go to <a href="#v2">Volume II</a></h4> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p><a name="v1" id="v1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> +<p> </p> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE.</h2> +<p> </p> +<h4>IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. I.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h5>LONDON:<br /> +CHAPMAN AND HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>, 193, PICCADILLY.<br /> +1881.</h5> + +<h5>[<i>All Rights reserved.</i>]</h5> + +<h6>LONDON:<br /> +R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,<br /> +BREAD STREET HILL.</h6> + + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS OF VOL. I. </h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td colspan="3"><b>PART I.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER I. </td> <td><a href="#c1" >DR. WORTLE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER II. </td> <td><a href="#c2" >THE NEW USHER</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER III. </td> <td><a href="#c3" >THE MYSTERY</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> <br /><b>PART II.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER IV. </td> <td><a href="#c4" >THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER V. </td> <td><a href="#c5" >"THEN WE MUST GO"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VI. </td> <td><a href="#c6" >LORD CARSTAIRS</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> <br /><b>PART III.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VII. </td> <td><a href="#c7" >ROBERT LEFROY</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VIII. </td> <td><a href="#c8" >THE STORY IS TOLD</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER IX. </td> <td><a href="#c9" >MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> <br /><b>PART IV.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER X. </td> <td><a href="#c10" >MR. PEACOCKE GOES</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER XI. </td> <td><a href="#c11" >THE BISHOP</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER XII. </td> <td><a href="#c12" >THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="c1" id="c1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Part I</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>DR. WORTLE.<br /> </h4> + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Rev. Jeffrey Wortle, D.D., was a man much esteemed by +others,—and by himself. He combined two professions, in both of +which he had been successful,—had been, and continued to be, at +the time in which we speak of him. I will introduce him to the +reader in the present tense as Rector of Bowick, and proprietor +and head-master of the school established in the village of that +name. The seminary at Bowick had for some time enjoyed a +reputation under him;—not that he had ever himself used so +new-fangled and unpalatable a word in speaking of his school. +Bowick School had been established by himself as preparatory to +Eton. Dr. Wortle had been elected to an assistant-mastership at +Eton early in life soon after he had become a Fellow of Exeter. +There he had worked successfully for ten years, and had then +retired to the living of Bowick. On going there he had determined +to occupy his leisure, and if possible to make his fortune, by +taking a few boys into his house. By dint of charging high prices +and giving good food,—perhaps in part, also, by the quality of +the education which he imparted,—his establishment had become +popular and had outgrown the capacity of the parsonage. He had +been enabled to purchase a field or two close abutting on the +glebe gardens, and had there built convenient premises. He now +limited his number to thirty boys, for each of which he charged +£200 a-year. It was said of him by his friends that if he would +only raise his price to £250, he might double the number, and +really make a fortune. In answer to this, he told his friends +that he knew his own business best;—he declared that his charge +was the only sum that was compatible both with regard to himself +and honesty to his customers, and asserted that the labours he +endured were already quite heavy enough. In fact, he recommended +all those who gave him advice to mind their own business.</p> + +<p>It may be said of him that he knew his own so well as to justify +him in repudiating counsel from others. There are very different +ideas of what "a fortune" may be supposed to consist. It will not +be necessary to give Dr. Wortle's exact idea. No doubt it changed +with him, increasing as his money increased. But he was supposed +to be a comfortable man. He paid ready money and high prices. He +liked that people under him should thrive,—and he liked them to +know that they throve by his means. He liked to be master, and +always was. He was just, and liked his justice to be recognised. +He was generous also, and liked that, too, to be known. He kept a +carriage for his wife, who had been the daughter of a poor +clergyman at Windsor, and was proud to see her as well dressed as +the wife of any county squire. But he was a domineering husband. +As his wife worshipped him, and regarded him as a Jupiter on earth +from whose nod there could be and should be no appeal, but little +harm came from this. If a tyrant, he was an affectionate tyrant. +His wife felt him to be so. His servants, his parish, and his +school all felt him to be so. They obeyed him, loved him, and +believed in him.</p> + +<p>So, upon the whole, at the time with which we are dealing, did the +diocese, the county, and that world of parents by whom the boys +were sent to his school. But this had not come about without some +hard fighting. He was over fifty years of age, and had been Rector +of Bowick for nearly twenty. During that time there had been a +succession of three bishops, and he had quarrelled more or less +with all of them. It might be juster to say that they had all of +them had more or less of occasion to find fault with him. Now Dr. +Wortle,—or Mr. Wortle, as he should be called in reference to +that period,—was a man who would bear censure from no human +being. He had left his position at Eton because the Head-master +had required from him some slight change of practice. There had +been no quarrel on that occasion, but Mr. Wortle had gone. He at +once commenced his school at Bowick, taking half-a-dozen pupils +into his own house. The bishop of that day suggested that the +cure of the souls of the parishioners of Bowick was being +subordinated to the Latin and Greek of the sons of the nobility. +The bishop got a response which gave an additional satisfaction to +his speedy translation to a more comfortable diocese. Between the +next bishop and Mr. Wortle there was, unfortunately, +misunderstanding, and almost feud for the entire ten years during +which his lordship reigned in the Palace of Broughton. This +Bishop of Broughton had been one of that large batch of Low Church +prelates who were brought forward under Lord Palmerston. Among +them there was none more low, more pious, more sincere, or more +given to interference. To teach Mr. Wortle his duty as a parish +clergyman was evidently a necessity to such a bishop. To repudiate +any such teaching was evidently a necessity to Mr. Wortle. +Consequently there were differences, in all of which Mr. Wortle +carried his own. What the good bishop suffered no one probably +knew except his wife and his domestic chaplain. What Mr. Wortle +enjoyed,—or Dr. Wortle, as he came to be called about this +time,—was patent to all the county and all the diocese. The +sufferer died, not, let us hope, by means of the Doctor; and then +came the third bishop. He, too, had found himself obliged to say +a word. He was a man of the world,—wise, prudent, not given to +interference or fault-finding, friendly by nature, one who +altogether hated a quarrel, a bishop beyond all things determined +to be the friend of his clergymen;—and yet he thought himself +obliged to say a word. There were matters in which Dr. Wortle +affected a peculiarly anti-clerical mode of expression, if not of +feeling. He had been foolish enough to declare openly that he was +in search of a curate who should have none of the "grace of +godliness" about him. He was wont to ridicule the piety of young +men who devoted themselves entirely to their religious offices. +In a letter which he wrote he spoke of one youthful divine as "a +conceited ass who had preached for forty minutes." He not only +disliked, but openly ridiculed all signs of a special pietistic +bearing. It was said of him that he had been heard to swear. +There can be no doubt that he made himself wilfully distasteful to +many of his stricter brethren. Then it came to pass that there was +a correspondence between him and the bishop as to that outspoken +desire of his for a curate without the grace of godliness. But +even here Dr. Wortle was successful. The management of his parish +was pre-eminently good. The parish school was a model. The +farmers went to church. Dissenters there were none. The people +of Bowick believed thoroughly in their parson, and knew the +comfort of having an open-handed, well-to-do gentleman in the +village. This third episcopal difficulty did not endure long. +Dr. Wortle knew his man, and was willing enough to be on good +terms with his bishop so long as he was allowed to be in all +things his own master.</p> + +<p>There had, too, been some fighting between Dr. Wortle and the +world about his school. He was, as I have said, a thoroughly +generous man, but he required, himself, to be treated with +generosity. Any question as to the charges made by him as +schoolmaster was unendurable. He explained to all parents that he +charged for each boy at the rate of two hundred a-year for board, +lodging, and tuition, and that anything required for a boy's +benefit or comfort beyond that ordinarily supplied would be +charged for as an extra at such price as Dr. Wortle himself +thought to be an equivalent. Now the popularity of his +establishment no doubt depended in a great degree on the +sufficiency and comfort of the good things of the world which he +provided. The beer was of the best; the boys were not made to eat +fat; their taste in the selection of joints was consulted. The +morning coffee was excellent. The cook was a great adept at cakes +and puddings. The Doctor would not himself have been satisfied +unless everything had been plentiful, and everything of the best. +He would have hated a butcher who had attempted to seduce him with +meat beneath the usual price. But when he had supplied that which +was sufficient according to his own liberal ideas, he did not give +more without charging for it. Among his customers there had been a +certain Honourable Mr. Stantiloup, and,—which had been more +important,—an Honourable Mrs. Stantiloup. Mrs. Stantiloup was a +lady who liked all the best things which the world could supply, +but hardly liked paying the best price. Dr. Wortle's school was +the best thing the world could supply of that kind, but then the +price was certainly the very best. Young Stantiloup was only +eleven, and as there were boys at Bowick as old as seventeen,—for +the school had not altogether maintained its old character as +being merely preparatory,—Mrs. Stantiloup had thought that her +boy should be admitted at a lower fee. The correspondence which +had ensued had been unpleasant. Then young Stantiloup had had the +influenza, and Mrs. Stantiloup had sent her own doctor. Champagne +had been ordered, and carriage exercise. Mr. Stantiloup had been +forced by his wife to refuse to pay sums demanded for these +undoubted extras. Ten shillings a-day for a drive for a little +boy seemed to her a great deal,—seemed so to Mrs. Stantiloup. +Ought not the Doctor's wife to have been proud to take out her +little boy in her own carriage? And then £2 10<i>s</i>. for champagne +for the little boy! It was monstrous. Mr. Stantiloup +remonstrated. Dr. Wortle said that the little boy had better be +taken away and the bill paid at once. The little boy was taken +away and the money was offered, short of £5. The matter was +instantly put into the hands of the Doctor's lawyer, and a suit +commenced. The Doctor, of course, got his money, and then there +followed an acrimonious correspondence in the "Times" and other +newspapers. Mrs. Stantiloup did her best to ruin the school, and +many very eloquent passages were written not only by her or by her +own special scribe, but by others who took the matter up, to prove +that two hundred a-year was a great deal more than ought to be +paid for the charge of a little boy during three quarters of the +year. But in the course of the next twelve months Dr. Wortle was +obliged to refuse admittance to a dozen eligible pupils because he +had not room for them.</p> + +<p>No doubt he had suffered during these contests,—suffered, that +is, in mind. There had been moments in which it seemed that the +victory would be on the other side, that the forces congregated +against him were too many for him, and that not being able to bend +he would have to be broken; but in every case he had fought it +out, and in every case he had conquered. He was now a prosperous +man, who had achieved his own way, and had made all those +connected with him feel that it was better to like him and obey +him, than to dislike him and fight with him. His curates troubled +him as little as possible with the grace of godliness, and threw +off as far as they could that zeal which is so dear to the +youthful mind but which so often seems to be weak and flabby to +their elders. His ushers or assistants in the school fell in with +his views implicitly, and were content to accept compensation in +the shape of personal civilities. It was much better to go shares +with the Doctor in a joke than to have to bear his hard words.</p> + +<p>It is chiefly in reference to one of these ushers that our story +has to be told. But before we commence it, we must say a few more +words as to the Doctor and his family. Of his wife I have already +spoken. She was probably as happy a woman as you shall be likely +to meet on a summer's day. She had good health, easy temper, +pleasant friends, abundant means, and no ambition. She went +nowhere without the Doctor, and whenever he went she enjoyed her +share of the respect which was always shown to him. She had little +or nothing to do with the school, the Doctor having many years ago +resolved that though it became him as a man to work for his bread, +his wife should not be a slave. When the battles had been going +on,—those between the Doctor and the bishops, and the Doctor and +Mrs. Stantiloup, and the Doctor and the newspapers,—she had for a +while been unhappy. It had grieved her to have it insinuated that +her husband was an atheist, and asserted that her husband was a +cormorant; but his courage had sustained her, and his continual +victories had taught her to believe at last that he was +indomitable.</p> + +<p>They had one child, a daughter, Mary, of whom it was said in +Bowick that she alone knew the length of the Doctor's foot. It +certainly was so that, if Mrs. Wortle wished to have anything done +which was a trifle beyond her own influence, she employed Mary. +And if the boys collectively wanted to carry a point, they would +"collectively" obtain Miss Wortle's aid. But all this the Doctor +probably knew very well; and though he was often pleased to grant +favours thus asked, he did so because he liked the granting of +favours when they had been asked with a proper degree of care and +attention. She was at the present time of the age in which +fathers are apt to look upon their children as still children, +while other men regard them as being grown-up young ladies. It +was now June, and in the approaching August she would be eighteen. +It was said of her that of the girls all round she was the +prettiest; and indeed it would be hard to find a sweeter-favoured +girl than Mary Wortle. Her father had been all his life a man +noted for the manhood of his face. He had a broad forehead, with +bright grey eyes,—eyes that had always a smile passing round +them, though the smile would sometimes show that touch of irony +which a smile may contain rather than the good-humour which it is +ordinarily supposed to indicate. His nose was aquiline, not hooky +like a true bird's-beak, but with that bend which seems to give to +the human face the clearest indication of individual will. His +mouth, for a man, was perhaps a little too small, but was +admirably formed, as had been the chin with a deep dimple on it, +which had now by the slow progress of many dinners become doubled +in its folds. His hair had been chestnut, but dark in its hue. It +had now become grey, but still with the shade of the chestnut +through it here and there. He stood five feet ten in height, with +small hands and feet. He was now perhaps somewhat stout, but was +still as upright on his horse as ever, and as well able to ride to +hounds for a few fields when by chance the hunt came in the way of +Bowick. Such was the Doctor. Mrs. Wortle was a pretty little +woman, now over forty years of age, of whom it was said that in +her day she had been the beauty of Windsor and those parts. Mary +Wortle took mostly after her father, being tall and comely, having +especially her father's eyes; but still they who had known Mrs. +Wortle as a girl declared that Mary had inherited also her +mother's peculiar softness and complexion.</p> + +<p>For many years past none of the pupils had been received within +the parsonage,—unless when received there as guests, which was of +frequent occurrence. All belonging to the school was built +outside the glebe land, as a quite separate establishment, with a +door opening from the parsonage garden to the school-yard. Of +this door the rule was that the Doctor and the gardener should +have the only two keys; but the rule may be said to have become +quite obsolete, as the door was never locked. Sometimes the +bigger boys would come through unasked,—perhaps in search of a +game of lawn-tennis with Miss Wortle, perhaps to ask some favour +of Mrs. Wortle, who always was delighted to welcome them, perhaps +even to seek the Doctor himself, who never on such occasions would +ask how it came to pass that they were on that side of the wall. +Sometimes Mrs. Wortle would send her housekeeper through for some +of the little boys. It would then be a good time for the little +boys. But this would generally be during the Doctor's absence.</p> + +<p>Here, on the school side of the wall, there was a separate +establishment of servants, and a separate kitchen. There was no +sending backwards or forwards of food or of clothes,—unless it +might be when some special delicacy was sent in if a boy were +unwell. For these no extra charge was ever made, as had been done +in the case of young Stantiloup. Then a strange doctor had come, +and had ordered the wine and the carriage. There was no extra +charge for the kindly glasses of wine which used to be +administered in quite sufficient plenty.</p> + +<p>Behind the school, and running down to the little river Pin, there +is a spacious cricket-ground, and a court marked out for +lawn-tennis. Up close to the school is a racket-court. No doubt +a good deal was done to make the externals of the place alluring +to those parents who love to think that their boys shall be made +happy at school. Attached to the school, forming part of the +building, is a pleasant, well-built residence, with six or eight +rooms, intended for the senior or classical assistant-master. It +had been the Doctor's scheme to find a married gentleman to occupy +this house, whose wife should receive a separate salary for +looking after the linen and acting as matron to the school,—doing +what his wife did till he became successful,—while the husband +should be in orders and take part of the church duties as a second +curate. But there had been a difficulty in this.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2" id="c2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>THE NEW USHER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Doctor had found it difficult to carry out the scheme +described in the last chapter. They indeed who know anything of +such matters will be inclined to call it Utopian, and to say that +one so wise in worldly matters as our schoolmaster should not have +attempted to combine so many things. He wanted a gentleman, a +schoolmaster, a curate, a matron, and a lady,—we may say all in +one. Curates and ushers are generally unmarried. An assistant +schoolmaster is not often in orders, and sometimes is not a +gentleman. A gentleman, when he is married, does not often wish +to dispose of the services of his wife. A lady, when she has a +husband, has generally sufficient duties of her own to employ her, +without undertaking others. The scheme, if realised, would no +doubt be excellent, but the difficulties were too many. The +Stantiloups, who lived about twenty miles off, made fun of the +Doctor and his project; and the Bishop was said to have expressed +himself as afraid that he would not be able to license as curate +any one selected as usher to the school. One attempt was made +after another in vain;—but at last it was declared through the +country far and wide that the Doctor had succeeded in this, as in +every other enterprise that he had attempted. There had come a +Rev. Mr. Peacocke and his wife. Six years since, Mr. Peacocke had +been well known at Oxford as a Classic, and had become a Fellow of +Trinity. Then he had taken orders, and had some time afterwards +married, giving up his Fellowship as a matter of course. Mr. +Peacocke, while living at Oxford, had been well known to a large +Oxford circle, but he had suddenly disappeared from that world, +and it had reached the ears of only a few of his more intimate +friends that he had undertaken the duties of vice-president of a +classical college at Saint Louis in the State of Missouri. Such a +disruption as this was for a time complete; but after five years +Mr. Peacocke appeared again at Oxford, with a beautiful American +wife, and the necessity of earning an income by his erudition.</p> + +<p>It would at first have seemed very improbable that Dr. Wortle +should have taken into his school or into his parish a gentleman +who had chosen the United States as a field for his classical +labours. The Doctor, whose mind was by no means logical, was a +thoroughgoing Tory of the old school, and therefore considered +himself bound to hate the name of a republic. He hated rolling +stones, and Mr. Peacocke had certainly been a rolling stone. He +loved Oxford with all his heart, and some years since had been +heard to say hard things of Mr. Peacocke, when that gentleman +deserted his college for the sake of establishing himself across +the Atlantic. But he was one who thought that there should be a +place of penitence allowed to those who had clearly repented of +their errors; and, moreover, when he heard that Mr. Peacocke was +endeavouring to establish himself in Oxford as a "coach" for +undergraduates, and also that he was a married man without any +encumbrance in the way of family, there seemed to him to be an +additional reason for pardoning that American escapade. +Circumstances brought the two men together. There were friends at +Oxford who knew how anxious the Doctor was to carry out that plan +of his in reference to an usher, a curate, and a matron, and here +were the very things combined. Mr. Peacocke's scholarship and +power of teaching were acknowledged; he was already in orders; and +it was declared that Mrs. Peacocke was undoubtedly a lady. Many +inquiries were made. Many meetings took place. Many difficulties +arose. But at last Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke came to Bowick, and took +up their abode in the school.</p> + +<p>All the Doctor's requirements were not at once fulfilled. Mrs. +Peacocke's position was easily settled. Mrs. Peacocke, who seemed +to be a woman possessed of sterling sense and great activity, +undertook her duties without difficulty. But Mr. Peacocke would +not at first consent to act as curate in the parish. He did, +however, after a time perform a portion of the Sunday services. +When he first came to Bowick he had declared that he would +undertake no clerical duty. Education was his profession, and to +that he meant to devote himself exclusively. Nor for the six or +eight months of his sojourn did he go back from this; so that the +Doctor may be said even still to have failed in carrying out his +purpose. But at last the new schoolmaster appeared in the pulpit +of the parish church and preached a sermon.</p> + +<p>All that had passed in private conference between the Doctor and +his assistant on the subject need not here be related. Mr. +Peacocke's aversion to do more than attend regularly at the church +services as one of the parishioners had been very strong. The +Doctor's anxiety to overcome his assistant's reasoning had also +been strong. There had no doubt been much said between them. Mr. +Peacocke had been true to his principles, whatever those +principles were, in regard to his appointment as a curate,—but it +came to pass that he for some months preached regularly every +Sunday in the parish church, to the full satisfaction of the +parishioners. For this he had accepted no payment, much to the +Doctor's dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, it was certainly the case +that they who served the Doctor gratuitously never came by the +worse of the bargain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke was a small wiry man, anything but robust in +appearance, but still capable of great bodily exertion. He was a +great walker. Labour in the school never seemed to fatigue him. +The addition of a sermon to preach every week seemed to make no +difference to his energies in the school. He was a constant +reader, and could pass from one kind of mental work to another +without fatigue. The Doctor was a noted scholar, but it soon +became manifest to the Doctor himself, and to the boys, that Mr. +Peacocke was much deeper in scholarship than the Doctor. Though +he was a poor man, his own small classical library was supposed to +be a repository of all that was known about Latin and Greek. In +fact, Mr. Peacocke grew to be a marvel; but of all the marvels +about him, the thing most marvellous was the entire faith which +the Doctor placed in him. Certain changes even were made in the +old-established "curriculum" of tuition,—and were made, as all +the boys supposed, by the advice of Mr. Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke +was treated with a personal respect which almost seemed to imply +that the two men were equal. This was supposed by the boys to +come from the fact that both the Doctor and the assistant had been +Fellows of their colleges at Oxford; but the parsons and other +gentry around could see that there was more in it than that. Mr. +Peacocke had some power about him which was potent over the +Doctor's spirit.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Peacocke, in her line, succeeded almost as well. She was a +woman something over thirty years of age when she first came to +Bowick, in the very pride and bloom of woman's beauty. Her +complexion was dark and brown,—so much so, that it was impossible +to describe her colour generally by any other word. But no +clearer skin was ever given to a woman. Her eyes were brown, and +her eye-brows black, and perfectly regular. Her hair was dark and +very glossy, and always dressed as simply as the nature of a +woman's head will allow. Her features were regular, but with a +great show of strength. She was tall for a woman, but without any +of that look of length under which female altitude sometimes +suffers. She was strong and well made, and apparently equal to any +labour to which her position might subject her. When she had been +at Bowick about three months, a boy's leg had been broken, and she +had nursed him, not only with assiduity, but with great capacity. +The boy was the youngest son of the Marchioness of Altamont; and +when Lady Altamont paid a second visit to Bowick, for the sake of +taking her boy home as soon as he was fit to be moved, her +ladyship made a little mistake. With the sweetest and most +caressing smile in the world, she offered Mrs. Peacocke a +ten-pound note. "My dear madam," said Mrs. Peacocke, without the +slightest reserve or difficulty, "it is so natural that you should +do this, because you cannot of course understand my position; but +it is altogether out of the question." The Marchioness blushed, +and stammered, and begged a hundred pardons. Being a good-natured +woman, she told the whole story to Mrs. Wortle. "I would just as +soon have offered the money to the Marchioness herself," said Mrs. +Wortle, as she told it to her husband. "I would have done it a +deal sooner," said the Doctor. "I am not in the least afraid of +Lady Altamont; but I stand in awful dread of Mrs. Peacocke." +Nevertheless Mrs. Peacocke had done her work by the little lord's +bed-side, just as though she had been a paid nurse.</p> + +<p>And so she felt herself to be. Nor was she in the least ashamed +of her position in that respect. If there was aught of shame +about her, as some people said, it certainly did not come from the +fact that she was in the receipt of a salary for the performance +of certain prescribed duties. Such remuneration was, she thought, +as honourable as the Doctor's income; but to her American +intelligence, the acceptance of a present of money from a +Marchioness would have been a degradation.</p> + +<p>It certainly was said of her by some persons that there must have +been something in her former life of which she was ashamed. The +Honourable Mrs. Stantiloup, to whom all the affairs of Bowick had +been of consequence since her husband had lost his lawsuit, and +who had not only heard much, but had inquired far and near about +Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, declared diligently among her friends, with +many nods and winks, that there was something "rotten in the state +of Denmark." She did at first somewhat imprudently endeavour to +spread a rumour abroad that the Doctor had become enslaved by the +lady's beauty. But even those hostile to Bowick could not accept +this. The Doctor certainly was not the man to put in jeopardy the +respect of the world and his own standing for the beauty of any +woman; and, moreover, the Doctor, as we have said before, was over +fifty years of age. But there soon came up another ground on +which calumny could found a story. It was certainly the case that +Mrs. Peacocke had never accepted any hospitality from Mrs. Wortle +or other ladies in the neighbourhood. It reached the ears of Mrs. +Stantiloup, first, that the ladies had called upon each other, as +ladies are wont to do who intend to cultivate a mutual personal +acquaintance, and then that Mrs. Wortle had asked Mrs. Peacocke to +dinner. But Mrs. Peacocke had refused not only that invitation, +but subsequent invitations to the less ceremonious form of +tea-drinking.</p> + +<p>All this had been true, and it had been true also,—though of this +Mrs. Stantiloup had not heard the particulars,—that Mrs. Peacocke +had explained to her neighbour that she did not intend to put +herself on a visiting footing with any one. "But why not, my +dear?" Mrs. Wortle had said, urged to the argument by precepts +from her husband. "Why should you make yourself desolate here, +when we shall be so glad to have you?" "It is part of my life that +it must be so," Mrs. Peacocke had answered. "I am quite sure that +the duties I have undertaken are becoming a lady; but I do not +think that they are becoming to one who either gives or accepts +entertainments."</p> + +<p>There had been something of the same kind between the Doctor and +Mr. Peacocke. "Why the mischief shouldn't you and your wife come +and eat a bit of mutton, and drink a glass of wine, over at the +Rectory, like any other decent people?" I never believed that +accusation against the Doctor in regard to swearing; but he was no +doubt addicted to expletives in conversation, and might perhaps +have indulged in a strong word or two, had he not been prevented +by the sanctity of his orders. "Perhaps I ought to say," replied +Mr. Peacocke, "because we are not like any other decent people." +Then he went on to explain his meaning. Decent people, he +thought, in regard to social intercourse, are those who are able +to give and take with ease among each other. He had fallen into a +position in which neither he nor his wife could give anything, and +from which, though some might be willing to accept him, he would +be accepted only, as it were, by special favour. "Bosh!" +ejaculated the Doctor. Mr. Peacocke simply smiled. He said it +might be bosh, but that even were he inclined to relax his own +views, his wife would certainly not relax hers. So it came to +pass that although the Doctor and Mr. Peacocke were really +intimate, and that something of absolute friendship sprang up +between the two ladies, when Mr. Peacocke had already been more +than twelve months in Bowick neither had he nor Mrs. Peacocke +broken bread in the Doctor's house.</p> + +<p>And yet the friendship had become strong. An incident had +happened early in the year which had served greatly to strengthen +it. At the school there was a little boy, just eleven years old, +the only son of a Lady De Lawle, who had in early years been a +dear friend to Mrs. Wortle. Lady +<ins class="corr" title="‘de Lawle’ changed to +‘De Lawle’ to conform to majority usage +(11 out of 14 times with uppercase)">De Lawle</ins> +was the widow of a +baronet, and the little boy was the heir to a large fortune. The +mother had been most loath to part with her treasure. Friends, +uncles, and trustees had declared that the old prescribed form of +education for British aristocrats must be followed,—a t'other +school, namely, then Eton, and then Oxford. No; his mother might +not go with him, first to one, and then to the other. Such going +and living with him would deprive his education of all the real +salt. Therefore Bowick was chosen as the t'other school, because +Mrs. Wortle would be more like a mother to the poor desolate boy +than any other lady. So it was arranged, and the "poor desolate +boy" became the happiest of the young pickles whom it was Mrs. +Wortle's special province to spoil whenever she could get hold of +them.</p> + +<p>Now it happened that on one beautiful afternoon towards the end of +April, Mrs. Wortle had taken young De Lawle and another little boy +with her over the foot-bridge which passed from the bottom of the +parsonage garden to the glebe-meadow which ran on the other side +of a little river, and with them had gone a great Newfoundland +dog, who was on terms equally friendly with the inmates of the +Rectory and the school. Where this bridge passed across the +stream the gardens and the field were on the same level. But as +the water ran down to the ground on which the school-buildings had +been erected, there arose a steep bank over a bend in the river, +or, rather, steep cliff; for, indeed, it was almost perpendicular, +the force of the current as it turned at this spot having washed +away the bank. In this way it had come to pass that there was a +precipitous fall of about a dozen feet from the top of the little +cliff into the water, and that the water here, as it eddied round +the curve, was black and deep, so that the bigger boys were wont +to swim in it, arrangements for bathing having been made on the +further or school side. There had sometimes been a question +whether a rail should not be placed for protection along the top +of this cliff, but nothing of the kind had yet been done. The +boys were not supposed to play in this field, which was on the +other side of the river, and could only be reached by the bridge +through the parsonage garden.</p> + +<p>On this day young De Lawle and his friend and the dog rushed up +the hill before Mrs. Wortle, and there began to romp, as was their +custom. Mary Wortle, who was one of the party, followed them, +enjoining the children to keep away from the cliff. For a while +they did so, but of course returned. Once or twice they were +recalled and scolded, always asserting that the fault was +altogether with Neptune. It was Neptune that knocked them down +and always pushed them towards the river. Perhaps it was Neptune; +but be that as it might, there came a moment very terrible to them +all. The dog in one of his gyrations came violently against the +little boy, knocked him off his legs, and pushed him over the +edge. Mrs. Wortle, who had been making her way slowly up the +hill, saw the fall, heard the splash, and fell immediately to the +ground.</p> + +<p>Other eyes had also seen the accident. The Doctor and Mr. +Peacocke were at the moment walking together in the playgrounds at +the school side of the brook. When the boy fell they had paused +in their walk, and were standing, the Doctor with his back to the +stream, and the assistant with his face turned towards the cliff. +A loud exclamation broke from his lips as he saw the fall, but in +a moment,—almost before the Doctor had realised the accident +which had occurred,—he was in the water, and two minutes +afterwards young De Lawle, drenched indeed, frightened, and out of +breath, but in nowise seriously hurt, was out upon the bank; and +Mr. Peacocke, drenched also, but equally safe, was standing over +him, while the Doctor on his knees was satisfying himself that his +little charge had received no fatal injury. It need hardly be +explained that such a termination as this to such an accident had +greatly increased the good feeling with which Mr. Peacocke was +regarded by all the inhabitants of the school and Rectory.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3" id="c3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>THE MYSTERY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Mr. Peacocke</span> +himself said that in this matter a great deal of fuss +was made about nothing. Perhaps it was so. He got a ducking, +but, being a strong swimmer, probably suffered no real danger. +The boy, rolling down three or four feet of bank, had then fallen +down six or eight feet into deep water. He might, no doubt, have +been much hurt. He might have struck against a rock and have been +killed,—in which case Mr. Peacocke's prowess would have been of +no avail. But nothing of this kind happened. Little Jack De Lawle +was put to bed in one of the Rectory bed-rooms, and was comforted +with sherry-negus and sweet jelly. For two days he rejoiced +thoroughly in his accident, being freed from school, and subjected +only to caresses. After that he rebelled, having become tired of +his bed. But by that time his mother had been most unnecessarily +summoned. Unless she was wanted to examine the forlorn condition +of his clothes, there was nothing that she could do. But she +came, and, of course, showered blessings on Mr. Peacocke's +head,—while Mrs. Wortle went through to the school and showered +blessings on Mrs. Peacocke. What would they have done had the +Peacockes not been there?</p> + +<p>"You must let them have their way, whether for good or bad," the +Doctor said, when his assistant complained rather of the +blessings,—pointing out at any rate their absurdity. "One man is +damned for ever, because, in the conscientious exercise of his +authority, he gives a little boy a rap which happens to make a +small temporary mark on his skin. Another becomes a hero because, +when in the equally conscientious performance of a duty, he gives +himself a ducking. I won't think you a hero; but, of course, I +consider myself very fortunate to have had beside me a man younger +than myself, and quick and ready at such an emergence. Of course +I feel grateful, but I shan't bother you by telling you so."</p> + +<p>But this was not the end of it. Lady De Lawle declared that she +could not be happy unless Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke would bring Jack +home for the holidays to De Lawle Park. Of course she carried her +blessings up into Mrs. Peacocke's little drawing-room, and became +quite convinced, as was Mrs. Wortle, that Mrs. Peacocke was in all +respects a lady. She heard of Mr. Peacocke's antecedents at +Oxford, and expressed her opinion that they were charming people. +She could not be happy unless they would promise to come to De +Lawle Park for the holidays. Then Mrs. Peacocke had to explain +that in her present circumstances she did not intend to visit +anywhere. She was very much flattered, and delighted to think that +the dear little boy was none the worse for his accident; but there +must be an end of it. There was something in her manner, as she +said this, which almost overawed Lady De Lawle. She made herself, +at any rate, understood, and no further attempt was made for the +next six weeks to induce her or Mr. Peacocke to enter the Rectory +dining-room. But a good deal was said about Mr. +Peacocke,—generally in his favour.</p> + +<p>Generally in his favour,—because he was a fine scholar, and could +swim well. His preaching perhaps did something for him, but the +swimming did more. But though there was so much said of good, +there was something also of evil. A man would not altogether +refuse society for himself and his wife unless there were some +cause for him to do so. He and she must have known themselves to +be unfit to associate with such persons as they would have met at +De Lawle Park. There was a mystery, and the mystery, when +unravelled, would no doubt prove to be very deleterious to the +character of the persons concerned. Mrs. Stantiloup was quite +sure that such must be the case. "It might be very well," said +Mrs. Stantiloup, "for Dr. Wortle to obtain the services of a +well-educated usher for his school, but it became quite another +thing when he put a man up to preach in the church, of whose life, +for five years, no one knew anything." Somebody had told her +something as to the necessity of a bishop's authority for the +appointment of a curate; but no one had strictly defined to her +what a curate is. She was, however, quite ready to declare that +Mr. Peacocke had no business to preach in that pulpit, and that +something very disagreeable would come of it.</p> + +<p>Nor was this feeling altogether confined to Mrs. Stantiloup, +though it had perhaps originated with what she had said among her +own friends. "Don't you think it well you should know something +of his life during these five years?" This had been said to the +Rector by the Bishop himself,—who probably would have said +nothing of the kind had not these reports reached his ears. But +reports, when they reach a certain magnitude, and attain a certain +importance, require to be noticed.</p> + +<p>So much in this world depends upon character that attention has to +be paid to bad character even when it is not deserved. In dealing +with men and women, we have to consider what they believe, as well +as what we believe ourselves. The utility of a sermon depends +much on the idea that the audience has of the piety of the man who +preaches it. Though the words of God should never have come with +greater power from the mouth of man, they will come in vain if +they be uttered by one who is known as a breaker of the +Commandments;—they will come in vain from the mouth of one who is +even suspected to be so. To all this, when it was said to him by +the Bishop in the kindest manner, Dr. Wortle replied that such +suspicions were monstrous, unreasonable, and uncharitable. He +declared that they originated with that abominable virago, Mrs. +Stantiloup. "Look round the diocese," said the Bishop in reply to +this, "and see if you can find a single clergyman acting in it, of +the details of whose life for the last five years you know +absolutely nothing." Thereupon the Doctor said that he would make +inquiry of Mr. Peacocke himself. It might well be, he thought, +that Mr. Peacocke would not like such inquiry, but the Doctor was +quite sure that any story told to him would be true. On returning +home he found it necessary, or at any rate expedient, to postpone +his questions for a few days. It is not easy to ask a man what he +has been doing with five years of his life, when the question +implies a belief that these five years have been passed badly. +And it was understood that the questioning must in some sort apply +to the man's wife. The Doctor had once said to Mrs. Wortle that +he stood in awe of Mrs. Peacocke. There had certainly come upon +him an idea that she was a lady with whom it would not be easy to +meddle. She was obedient, diligent, and minutely attentive to any +wish that was expressed to her in regard to her duties; but it had +become manifest to the Doctor that in all matters beyond the +school she was independent, and was by no means subject to +external influences. She was not, for instance, very constant in +her own attendance at church, and never seemed to feel it +necessary to apologise for her absence. The Doctor, in his many +and familiar conversations with Mr. Peacocke, had not found +himself able to allude to this; and he had observed that the +husband did not often speak of his own wife unless it were on +matters having reference to the school. So it came to pass that +he dreaded the conversation which he proposed to himself, and +postponed it from day to day with a cowardice which was quite +unusual to him.</p> + +<p>And now, O kind-hearted reader, I feel myself constrained, in the +telling of this little story, to depart altogether from those +principles of story-telling to which you probably have become +accustomed, and to put the horse of my romance before the cart. +There is a mystery respecting Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke which, +according to all laws recognised in such matters, ought not to be +elucidated till, let us say, the last chapter but two, so that +your interest should be maintained almost to the end,—so near the +end that there should be left only space for those little +arrangements which are necessary for the well-being, or perhaps +for the evil-being, of our personages. It is my purpose to +disclose the mystery at once, and to ask you to look for your +interest,—should you choose to go on with my chronicle,—simply +in the conduct of my persons, during this disclosure, to others. +You are to know it all before the Doctor or the Bishop,—before +Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or Lady +<ins class="corr" title="‘de Lawle’ changed to +‘De Lawle’ to conform to majority usage +(11 out of 14 times with uppercase)">De Lawle</ins>. +You are +to know it all before the Peacockes become aware that it must +necessarily be disclosed to any one. It may be that when I shall +have once told the mystery there will no longer be any room for +interest in the tale to you. That there are many such readers of +novels I know. I doubt whether the greater number be not such. I +am far from saying that the kind of interest of which I am +speaking,—and of which I intend to deprive myself,—is not the +most natural and the most efficacious. What would the +<ins class="corr" title="Closing single quotation +mark added">'Black Dwarf'</ins> +be if every one knew from the beginning that he was a rich +man and a baronet?—or 'The Pirate,' if all the truth about Norna +of the Fitful-head had been told in the first chapter? Therefore, +put the book down if the revelation of some future secret be +necessary for your enjoyment. Our mystery is going to be revealed +in the next paragraph,—in the next half-dozen words. Mr. and +Mrs. Peacocke were not man and wife.</p> + +<p>The story how it came to be so need not be very long;—nor will +it, as I think, entail any great degree of odious criminality +either upon the man or upon the woman. At St. Louis Mrs. Peacocke +had become acquainted with two brothers named Lefroy, who had come +up from Louisiana, and had achieved for themselves characters +which were by no means desirable. They were sons of a planter who +had been rich in extent of acres and number of slaves before the +war of the Secession. General Lefroy had been in those days a +great man in his State, had held command during the war, and had +been utterly ruined. When the war was over the two boys,—then +seventeen and sixteen years of age,—were old enough to remember +and to regret all that they had lost, to hate the idea of +Abolition, and to feel that the world had nothing left for them +but what was to be got by opposition to the laws of the Union, +which was now hateful to them. They were both handsome, and, in +spite of the sufferings of their State, an attempt had been made +to educate them like gentlemen. But no career of honour had been +open to them, and they had fallen by degrees into dishonour, +dishonesty, and brigandage.</p> + +<p>The elder of these, when he was still little more than a +stripling, had married Ella Beaufort, the daughter of another +ruined planter in his State. She had been only sixteen when her +father died, and not seventeen when she married Ferdinand Lefroy. +It was she who afterwards came to England under the name of Mrs. +Peacocke.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke was Vice-President of the College at Missouri when he +first saw her, and when he first became acquainted with the two +brothers, each of whom was called Colonel Lefroy. Then there +arose a great scandal in the city as to the treatment which the +wife received from her husband. He was about to go away South, +into Mexico, with the view of pushing his fortune there with +certain desperadoes, who were maintaining a perpetual war against +the authorities of the United States on the borders of Texas, and +he demanded that his wife should accompany him. This she refused +to do, and violence was used to force her. Then it came to pass +that certain persons in St. Louis interfered on her behalf, and +among these was the Reverend Mr. Peacocke, the Vice-President of +the College, upon whose feelings the singular beauty and dignified +demeanour of the woman, no doubt, had had much effect. The man +failed to be powerful over his wife, and then the two brothers +went away together. The woman was left to provide for herself, +and Mr. Peacocke was generous in the aid he gave to her in doing +so.</p> + +<p>It may be understood that in this way an intimacy was created, but +it must not be understood that the intimacy was of such a nature +as to be injurious to the fair fame of the lady. Things went on +in this way for two years, during which Mrs. Lefroy's conduct drew +down upon her reproaches from no one. Then there came tidings +that Colonel Lefroy had perished in making one of those raids in +which the two brothers were continually concerned. But which +Colonel Lefroy had perished? If it were the younger brother, that +would be nothing to Mr. Peacocke. If it were the elder, it would +be everything. If Ferdinand Lefroy were dead, he would not +scruple at once to ask the woman to be his wife. That which the +man had done, and that which he had not done, had been of such a +nature as to solve all bonds of affection. She had already +allowed herself to speak of the man as one whose life was a blight +upon her own; and though there had been no word of out-spoken love +from her lips to his ears, he thought that he might succeed if it +could be made certain that Ferdinand Lefroy was no longer among +the living.</p> + +<p>"I shall never know," she said in her misery. "What I do hear I +shall never believe. How can one know anything as to what happens +in a country such as that?"</p> + +<p>Then he took up his hat and staff, and, vice-president, professor, +and clergyman as he was, started off for the Mexican border. He +did tell her that he was going, but barely told her. "It's a +thing that ought to be found out," he said, "and I want a turn of +travelling. I shall be away three months." She merely bade God +bless him, but said not a word to hinder or to encourage his +going.</p> + +<p>He was gone just the three months which he had himself named, and +then returned elate with his news. He had seen the younger +brother, Robert Lefroy, and had learnt from him that the elder +Ferdinand had certainly been killed. Robert had been most +ungracious to him, having even on one occasion threatened his +life; but there had been no doubt that he, Robert, was alive, and +that Ferdinand had been killed by a party of United States +soldiers.</p> + +<p>Then the clergyman had his reward, and was accepted by the widow +with a full and happy heart. Not only had her release been +complete, but so was her present joy; and nothing seemed wanting +to their happiness during the six first months after their union. +Then one day, all of a sudden, Ferdinand Lefroy was standing +within her little drawing-room at the College of St. Louis.</p> + +<p>Dead? Certainly he was not dead! He did not believe that any one +had said that he was dead! She might be lying or not,—he did not +care; he, Peacocke, certainly had lied;—so said the Colonel. He +did not believe that Peacocke had ever seen his brother Robert. +Robert was dead,—must have been dead, indeed, before the date +given for that interview. The woman was a bigamist,—that is, if +any second marriage had ever been perpetrated. Probably both had +wilfully agreed to the falsehood. For himself he should resolve +at once what steps he meant to take. Then he departed, it being +at that moment after nine in the evening. In the morning he was +gone again, and from that moment they had never either heard of +him or seen him.</p> + +<p>How was it to be with them? They could have almost brought +themselves to think it a dream, were it not that others besides +themselves had seen the man, and known that Colonel Ferdinand +Lefroy had been in St. Louis. Then there came to him an idea that +even she might disbelieve the words which he had spoken;—that +even she might think his story to have been false. But to this she +soon put an end. "Dearest," she said, "I never knew a word that +was true to come from his mouth, or a word that was false from +yours."</p> + +<p>Should they part? There is no one who reads this but will say +that they should have parted. Every day passed together as man +and wife must be a falsehood and a sin. There would be absolute +misery for both in parting;—but there is no law from God or man +entitling a man to escape from misery at the expense of falsehood +and sin. Though their hearts might have burst in the doing of it, +they should have parted. Though she would have been friendless, +alone, and utterly despicable in the eyes of the world, abandoning +the name which she cherished, as not her own, and going back to +that which she utterly abhorred, still she should have done it. +And he, resolving, as no doubt he would have done under any +circumstances, that he must quit the city of his adoption,—he +should have left her with such material sustenance as her spirit +would have enabled her to accept, should have gone his widowed +way, and endured as best he might the idea that he had left the +woman whom he loved behind, in the desert, all alone! That he had +not done so the reader is aware. That he had lived a life of +sin,—that he and she had continued in one great falsehood,—is +manifest enough. Mrs. Stantiloup, when she hears it all, will +have her triumph. Lady De Lawle's soft heart will rejoice because +that invitation was not accepted. The Bishop will be unutterably +shocked; but, perhaps, to the good man there will be some solace +in the feeling that he had been right in his surmises. How the +Doctor bore it this story is intended to tell,—and how also Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke bore it, when the sin and the falsehood were +made known to all the world around them. The mystery has at any +rate been told, and they who feel that on this account all hope of +interest is at an end had better put down the book.</p> + + +<p><a name="c4" id="c4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Part II</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Doctor, instigated by the Bishop, had determined to ask some +questions of Mr. Peacocke as to his American life. The promise +had been given at the Palace, and the Doctor, as he returned home, +repented himself in that he had made it. His lordship was a +gossip, as bad as an old woman, as bad as Mrs. Stantiloup, and +wanted to know things in which a man should feel no interest. So +said the Doctor to himself. What was it to him, the Bishop, or to +him, the Doctor, what Mr. Peacocke had been doing in America? The +man's scholarship was patent, his morals were unexceptional, his +capacity for preaching undoubted, his peculiar fitness for his +place at Bowick unquestionable. Who had a right to know more? +That the man had been properly educated at Oxford, and properly +ordained on entering his Fellowship, was doubted by no man. Even +if there had been some temporary backslidings in America,—which +might be possible, for which of us have not backslided at some +time of our life?—why should they be raked up? There was an +uncharitableness in such a proceeding altogether opposed to the +Doctor's view of life. He hated severity. It may almost be said +that he hated that state of perfection which would require no +pardon. He was thoroughly human, quite content with his own +present position, anticipating no millennium for the future of the +world, and probably, in his heart, looking forward to heaven as +simply the better alternative when the happiness of this world +should be at an end. He himself was in no respect a wicked man, +and yet a little wickedness was not distasteful to him.</p> + +<p>And he was angry with himself in that he had made such a promise. +It had been a rule of life with him never to take advice. The +Bishop had his powers, within which he, as Rector of Bowick, would +certainly obey the Bishop; but it had been his theory to oppose +his Bishop, almost more readily than any one else, should the +Bishop attempt to exceed his power. The Bishop had done so in +giving this advice, and yet he had promised. He was angry with +himself, but did not on that account think that the promise should +be evaded. Oh no! Having said that he would do it, he would do +it. And having said that he would do it, the sooner that he did +it the better. When three or four days had passed by, he despised +himself because he had not yet made for himself a fit occasion. +"It is such a mean, sneaking thing to do," he said to himself. +But still it had to be done.</p> + +<p>It was on a Saturday afternoon that he said this to himself, as he +returned back to the parsonage garden from the cricket-ground, +where he had left Mr. Peacocke and the three other ushers playing +cricket with ten or twelve of the bigger boys of the school. +There was a French master, a German master, a master for +arithmetic and mathematics with the adjacent sciences, besides Mr. +Peacocke, as assistant classical master. Among them Mr. Peacocke +was <i>facile princeps</i> in rank and supposed ability; but they were +all admitted to the delights of the playground. Mr. Peacocke, in +spite of those years of his spent in America where cricket could +not have been familiar to him, remembered well his old pastime, +and was quite an adept at the game. It was ten thousand pities +that a man should be disturbed by unnecessary questionings who +could not only teach and preach, but play cricket also. But +nevertheless it must be done. When, therefore, the Doctor entered +his own house, he went into his study and wrote a short note to +his <span class="nowrap">assistant;—</span><br /> </p> + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Peacocke</span>,—Could +you come over and see me in my study +this evening for half an hour? I have a question or two which I +wish to ask you. Any hour you may name will suit me after +eight.—Yours most sincerely,</p> + + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey +Wortle</span>."<br /> </p> + +<p>In answer to this there came a note to say that at half-past eight +Mr. Peacocke would be with the Doctor.</p> + + +<p>At half-past eight Mr. Peacocke came. He had fancied, on reading +the Doctor's note, that some further question would be raised as +to money. The Doctor had declared that he could no longer accept +gratuitous clerical service in the parish, and had said that he +must look out for some one else if Mr. Peacocke could not oblige +him by allowing his name to be referred in the usual way to the +Bishop. He had now determined to say, in answer to this, that the +school gave him enough to do, and that he would much prefer to +give up the church;—although he would always be happy to take a +part occasionally if he should be wanted. The Doctor had been +sitting alone for the last quarter of an hour when his assistant +entered the room, and had spent the time in endeavouring to +arrange the conversation that should follow. He had come at last +to a conclusion. He would let Mr. Peacocke know exactly what had +passed between himself and the Bishop, and would then leave it to +his usher either to tell his own story as to his past life, or to +abstain from telling it. He had promised to ask the question, and +he would ask it; but he would let the man judge for himself +whether any answer ought to be given.</p> + +<p>"The Bishop has been bothering me about you, Peacocke," he said, +standing up with his back to the fireplace, as soon as the other +man had shut the door behind him. The Doctor's face was always +expressive of his inward feelings, and at this moment showed very +plainly that his sympathies were not with the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry that his lordship should have troubled himself," said +the other, "as I certainly do not intend to take any part in his +diocese."</p> + +<p>"We'll sink that for the present," said the Doctor. "I won't let +that be mixed up with what I have got to say just now. You have +taken a certain part in the diocese already, very much to my +satisfaction. I hope it may be continued; but I won't bother +about that now. As far as I can see, you are just the man that +would suit me as a colleague in the parish." Mr. Peacocke bowed, +but remained silent. "The fact is," continued the Doctor, "that +certain old women have got hold of the Bishop, and made him feel +that he ought to answer their objections. That Mrs. Stantiloup +has a tongue as loud as the town-crier's bell."</p> + +<p>"But what has Mrs. Stantiloup to say about me?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, except in so far as she can hit me through you."</p> + +<p>"And what does the Bishop say?"</p> + +<p>"He thinks that I ought to know something of your life during +those five years you were in America."</p> + +<p>"I think so also," said Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to know anything for myself. As far as I am +concerned, I am quite satisfied. I know where you were educated, +how you were ordained, and I can feel sure, from your present +efficiency, that you cannot have wasted your time. If you tell me +that you do not wish to say anything, I shall be contented, and I +shall tell the Bishop that, as far as I am concerned, there must +be an end of it."</p> + +<p>"And what will he do?" asked Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Well; as far as the curacy is concerned, of course he can refuse +his licence."</p> + +<p>"I have not the slightest intention of applying to his lordship +for a licence."</p> + +<p>This the usher said with a tone of self-assertion which grated a +little on the Doctor's ear, in spite of his good-humour towards +the speaker. "I don't want to go into that," he said. "A man +never can say what his intentions may be six months hence."</p> + +<p>"But if I were to refuse to speak of my life in America," said Mr. +Peacocke, "and thus to decline to comply with what I must confess +would be no more than a rational requirement on your part, how +then would it be with myself and my wife in regard to the school?"</p> + +<p>"It would make no difference whatever," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"There is a story to tell," said Mr. Peacocke, very slowly.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that it cannot be to your disgrace."</p> + +<p>"I do not say that it is,—nor do I say that it is not. There may +be circumstances in which a man may hardly know whether he has +done right or wrong. But this I do know,—that, had I done +otherwise, I should have despised myself. I could not have done +otherwise and have lived."</p> + +<p>"There is no man in the world," said the Doctor, earnestly, "less +anxious to pry into the secrets of others than I am. I take +things as I find them. If the cook sends me up a good dish I +don't care to know how she made it. If I read a good book, I am +not the less gratified because there may have been something amiss +with the author."</p> + +<p>"You would doubt his teaching," said Mr. Peacocke, "who had gone +astray himself."</p> + +<p>"Then I must doubt all human teaching, for all men have gone +astray. You had better hold your tongue about the past, and let +me tell those who ask unnecessary questions to mind their own +business."</p> + +<p>"It is very odd, Doctor," said Mr. Peacocke, "that all this should +have come from you just now."</p> + +<p>"Why odd just now?"</p> + +<p>"Because I had been turning it in my mind for the last fortnight +whether I ought not to ask you as a favour to listen to the story +of my life. That I must do so before I could formally accept the +curacy I had determined. But that only brought me to the +resolution of refusing the office. I think,—I think that, +irrespective of the curacy, it ought to be told. But I have not +quite made up my mind."</p> + +<p>"Do not suppose that I am pressing you."</p> + +<p>"Oh no; nor would your pressing me influence me. Much as I owe to +your undeserved kindness and forbearance, I am bound to say that. +Nothing can influence me in the least in such a matter but the +well-being of my wife, and my own sense of duty. And it is a +matter in which I can unfortunately take counsel from no one. +She, and she alone, besides myself, knows the circumstances, and +she is so forgetful of herself that I can hardly ask her for an +opinion."</p> + +<p>The Doctor by this time had no doubt become curious. There was a +something mysterious with which he would like to become +acquainted. He was by no means a philosopher, superior to the +ordinary curiosity of mankind. But he was manly, and even at this +moment remembered his former assurances. "Of course," said he, "I +cannot in the least guess what all this is about. For myself I +hate secrets. I haven't a secret in the world. I know nothing of +myself which you mightn't know too for all that I cared. But that +is my good fortune rather than my merit. It might well have been +with me as it is with you; but, as a rule, I think that where +there is a secret it had better be kept. No one, at any rate, +should allow it to be wormed out of him by the impertinent +assiduity of others. If there be anything affecting your wife +which you do not wish all the world on this side of the water to +know, do not tell it to any one on this side of the water."</p> + +<p>"There is something affecting my wife that I do not wish all the +world to know."</p> + +<p>"Then tell it to no one," said Dr. Wortle, authoritatively.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you what I will do," said Mr. Peacocke; "I will take +a week to think of it, and then I will let you know whether I will +tell it or whether I will not; and if I tell it I will let you +know also how far I shall expect you to keep my secret, and how +far to reveal it. I think the Bishop will be entitled to know +nothing about me unless I ask to be recognised as one of the +clergy of his diocese."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not; certainly not," said the Doctor. And then the +interview was at an end.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke, when he went away from the Rectory, did not at once +return to his own house, but went off for a walk alone. It was +now nearly midsummer, and there was broad daylight till ten +o'clock. It was after nine when he left the Doctor's, but still +there was time for a walk which he knew well through the fields, +which would take him round by Bowick Wood, and home by a path +across the squire's park and by the church. An hour would do it, +and he wanted an hour to collect his thoughts before he should see +his wife, and discuss with her, as he would be bound to do, all +that had passed between him and the Doctor. He had said that he +could not ask her advice. In this there had been much of truth. +But he knew also that he would do nothing as to which he had not +received at any rate her assent. She, for his sake, would have +annihilated herself, had that been possible. Again and again, +since that horrible apparition had showed itself in her room at +St. Louis, she had begged that she might leave him,—not on her +own behalf, not from any dread of the crime that she was +committing, not from shame in regard to herself should her secret +be found out, but because she felt herself to be an impediment to +his career in the world. As to herself, she had no pricks of +conscience. She had been true to the man,—brutal, abominable as +he had been to her,—until she had in truth been made to believe +that he was dead; and even when he had certainly been alive,—for +she had seen him,—he had only again seen her, again to desert +her. Duty to him she could owe never. There was no sting of +conscience with her in that direction. But to the other man she +owed, as she thought, everything that could be due from a woman to +a man. He had come within her ken, and had loved her without +speaking of his love. He had seen her condition, and had +sympathised with her fully. He had gone out, with his life in his +hand,—he, a clergyman, a quiet man of letters,—to ascertain +whether she was free; and finding her, as he believed, to be free, +he had returned to take her to his heart, and to give her all that +happiness which other women enjoy, but which she had hitherto only +seen from a distance. Then the blow had come. It was necessary, +it was natural, that she should be ruined by such a blow. +Circumstances had ruined her. That fate had betaken her which so +often falls upon a woman who trusts herself and her life to a man. +But why should he fall also with her fall? There was still a +career before him. He might be useful; he might be successful; he +might be admired. Everything might still be open to him,—except +the love of another woman. As to that, she did not doubt his +truth. Why should he be doomed to drag her with him as a log tied +to his foot, seeing that a woman with a misfortune is condemned by +the general voice of the world, whereas for a man to have stumbled +is considered hardly more than a matter of course? She would +consent to take from him the means of buying her bread; but it +would be better,—she had said,—that she should eat it on her +side of the water, while he might earn it on the other.</p> + +<p>We know what had come of these arguments. He had hitherto never +left her for a moment since that man had again appeared before +their eyes. He had been strong in his resolution. If it were a +crime, then he would be a criminal. If it were a falsehood, then +would he be a liar. As to the sin, there had no doubt been some +divergence of opinion between him and her. The teaching that he +had undergone in his youth had been that with which we, here, are +all more or less acquainted, and that had been strengthened in him +by the fact of his having become a clergyman. She had felt +herself more at liberty to proclaim to herself a gospel of her own +for the guidance of her own soul. To herself she had never seemed +to be vicious or impure, but she understood well that he was not +equally free from the bonds which religion had imposed upon him. +For his sake,—for his sake, it would be better that she should be +away from him.</p> + +<p>All this was known to him accurately, and all this had to be +considered by him as he walked across the squire's park in the +gloaming of the evening. No doubt,—he now said to himself,—the +Doctor should have been made acquainted with his condition before +he or she had taken their place at the school. Reticence under +such circumstances had been a lie. Against his conscience there +had been many pricks. Living in his present condition he +certainly should not have gone up into that pulpit to preach the +Word of God. Though he had been silent, he had known that the +evil and the deceit would work round upon him. But now what +should he do? There was only one thing on which he was altogether +decided;—nothing should separate them. As he had said so often +before, he said again now,—"If there be sin, let it be sin." But +this was clear to him,—were he to give Dr. Wortle a true history +of what had happened to him in America, then must he certainly +leave Bowick. And this was equally certain, that before telling +his tale, he must make known his purpose to his wife.</p> + +<p>But as he entered his own house he had determined that he would +tell the Doctor everything.</p> + + +<p><a name="c5" id="c5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>"THEN WE MUST GO."<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">"I thought</span> +you were never going to have done with that old +Jupiter," said Mrs. Peacocke, as she began at that late hour of +the evening to make tea for herself and her husband.</p> + +<p>"Why have you waited for me?"</p> + +<p>"Because I like company. Did you ever know me go to tea without +you when there was a chance of your coming? What has Jupiter been +talking about all this time?"</p> + +<p>"Jupiter has not been talking all this time. Jupiter talked only +for half an hour. Jupiter is a very good fellow."</p> + +<p>"I always thought so. Otherwise I should never have consented to +have been one of his satellites, or have been contented to see you +doing chief moon. But you have been with him an hour and a half."</p> + +<p>"Since I left him I have walked all round by Bowick Lodge. I had +something to think of before I could talk to you,—something to +decide upon, indeed, before I could return to the house."</p> + +<p>"What have you decided?" she asked. Her voice was altogether +changed. Though she was seated in her chair and had hardly moved, +her appearance and her carriage of herself were changed. She +still held the cup in her hand which she had been about to fill, +but her face was turned towards his, and her large brown speaking +eyes were fixed upon him.</p> + +<p>"Let me have my tea," he said, "and then I will tell you." While +he drank his tea she remained quite quiet, not touching her own, +but waiting patiently till it should suit him to speak. "Ella," +he said, "I must tell it all to Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"Why, dearest?" As he did not answer at once, she went on with her +question. "Why now more than before?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, it is not now more than before. As we have let the before +go by, we can only do it now."</p> + +<p>"But why at all, dear? Has the argument, which was strong when we +came, lost any of its force?"</p> + +<p>"It should have had no force. We should not have taken the man's +good things, and have subjected him to the injury which may come +to him by our bad name."</p> + +<p>"Have we not given him good things in return?"</p> + +<p>"Not the good things which he had a right to expect,—not that +respectability which is all the world to such an establishment as +this."</p> + +<p>"Let me go," she said, rising from her chair and almost shrieking.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Ella, nay; if you and I cannot talk as though we were one +flesh, almost with one soul between us, as though that which is +done by one is done by both, whether for weal or woe,—if you and +I cannot feel ourselves to be in a boat together either for +swimming or for sinking, then I think that no two persons on this +earth ever can be bound together after that fashion. 'Whither +thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. The +Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and +me."' Then she rose from her chair, and flinging herself on her +knees at his feet, buried her face in his lap. +<ins class="corr" title="Deleted space between +opening double quotation +mark and ‘Ella’">"Ella</ins>," he said, +"the only injury you can do me is to speak of leaving me. And it +is an injury which is surely unnecessary because you cannot carry +it beyond words. Now, if you will sit up and listen to me, I will +tell you what passed between me and the Doctor." Then she raised +herself from the ground and took her seat at the tea-table, and +listened patiently as he began his tale. "They have been talking +about us here in the county."</p> + +<p>"Who has found it necessary to talk about one so obscure as I?"</p> + +<p>"What does it matter who they might be? The Doctor in his kindly +wrath,—for he is very wroth,—mentions this name and the other. +What does it matter? Obscurity itself becomes mystery, and +mystery of course produces curiosity. It was bound to be so. It +is not they who are in fault, but we. If you are different from +others, of course you will be inquired into."</p> + +<p>"Am I so different?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—different in not eating the Doctor's dinners when they are +offered to you; different in not accepting Lady +<ins class="corr" title="‘de Lawle’s’ changed to +‘De Lawle’s’ to conform to majority usage +(11 out of 14 times with uppercase)">De Lawle's</ins> +hospitality; different in contenting yourself simply with your +duties and your husband. Of course we are different. How could +we not be different? And as we are different, so of course there +will be questions and wonderings, and that sifting and searching +which always at last finds out the facts. The Bishop says that he +knows nothing of my American life."</p> + +<p>"Why should he want to know anything?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have been preaching in one of his churches. It is +natural;—natural that the mothers of the boys should want to know +something. The Doctor says that he hates secrets. So do I."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dearest!"</p> + +<p>"A secret is always accompanied by more or less of fear, and +produces more or less of cowardice. But it can no more be avoided +than a sore on the flesh or a broken bone. Who would not go +about, with all his affairs such as the world might know, if it +were possible? But there come gangrenes in the heart, or perhaps +in the pocket. Wounds come, undeserved wounds, as those did to +you, my darling; but wounds which may not be laid bare to all +eyes. Who has a secret because he chooses it?"</p> + +<p>"But the Bishop?"</p> + +<p>"Well,—yes, the Bishop. The Bishop has told the Doctor to +examine me, and the Doctor has done it. I give him the credit of +saying that the task has been most distasteful to him. I do him +the justice of acknowledging that he has backed out of the work he +had undertaken. He has asked the question, but has said in the +same breath that I need not answer it unless I like."</p> + +<p>"And you? You have not answered it yet?"</p> + +<p>"No; I have answered nothing as yet. But I have, I think, made up +my mind that the question must be answered."</p> + +<p>"That everything should be told?"</p> + +<p>"Everything,—to him. My idea is to tell everything to him, and +to leave it to him to decide what should be done. Should he +refuse to repeat the story any further, and then bid us go away +from Bowick, I should think that his conduct had been altogether +straightforward and not uncharitable."</p> + +<p>"And you,—what would you do then?"</p> + +<p>"I should go. What else?"</p> + +<p>"But whither?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! on that we must decide. He would be friendly with me. +Though he might think it necessary that I should leave Bowick, he +would not turn against me violently."</p> + +<p>"He could do nothing."</p> + +<p>"I think he would assist me rather. He would help me, perhaps, to +find some place where I might still earn my bread by such skill as +I possess;—where I could do so without dragging in aught of my +domestic life, as I have been forced to do here."</p> + +<p>"I have been a curse to you," exclaimed the unhappy wife.</p> + +<p>"My dearest blessing," he said. "That which you call a curse has +come from circumstances which are common to both of us. There +need be no more said about it. That man has been a source of +terrible trouble to us. The trouble must be discussed from time +to time, but the necessity of enduring it may be taken for +granted."</p> + +<p>"I cannot be a philosopher such as you are," she said.</p> + +<p>"There is no escape from it. The philosophy is forced upon us. +When an evil thing is necessary, there remains only the +consideration how it may be best borne."</p> + +<p>"You must tell him, then?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. I have a week to consider of it; but I think so. +Though he is very kind at this moment in giving me the option, and +means what he says in declaring that I shall remain even though I +tell him nothing, yet his mind would become uneasy, and he would +gradually become discontented. Think how great is his stake in the +school! How would he feel towards me, were its success to be +gradually diminished because he kept a master here of whom people +believed some unknown evil?"</p> + +<p>"There has been no sign of any such falling off?"</p> + +<p>"There has been no time for it. It is only now that people are +beginning to talk. Had nothing of the kind been said, had this +Bishop asked no questions, had we been regarded as people simply +obscure, to whom no mystery attached itself, the thing might have +gone on; but as it is, I am bound to tell him the truth."</p> + +<p>"Then we must go?"</p> + +<p>"Probably."</p> + +<p>"At once?"</p> + +<p>"When it has been so decided, the sooner the better. How could we +endure to remain here when our going shall be desired?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no!"</p> + +<p>"We must flit, and again seek some other home. Though he should +keep our secret,—and I believe he will if he be asked,—it will +be known that there is a secret, and a secret of such a nature +that its circumstances have driven us hence. If I could get +literary work in London, perhaps we might live there."</p> + +<p>"But how,—how would you set about it? The truth is, dearest, +that for work such as yours you should either have no wife at all, +or else a wife of whom you need not be ashamed to speak the whole +truth before the world."</p> + +<p>"What is the use of it?" he said, rising from his chair as in +anger. "Why go back to all that which should be settled between +us, as fixed by fate? Each of us has given to the other all that +each has to give, and the partnership is complete. As far as that +is concerned, I at any rate am contented."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my darling!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"Let there be an end to distinctions and differences, which, +between you and me, can have no effect but to increase +<ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘out’">our</ins> +troubles. You are a woman, and I am a man; and therefore, no +doubt, your name, when brought in question, is more subject to +remark than mine,—as is my name, being that of a clergyman, more +subject to remark than that of one not belonging to a sacred +profession. But not on that account do I wish to unfrock myself; +nor certainly on that account do I wish to be deprived of my wife. +For good or bad, it has to be endured together; and expressions of +regret as to that which is unavoidable, only aggravate our +trouble." After that, he seated himself, and took up a book as +though he were able at once to carry off his mind to other +matters. She probably knew that he could not do so, but she sat +silent by him for a while, till he bade her take herself to bed, +promising that he would follow without delay.</p> + +<p>For three days nothing further was said between them on the +subject, nor was any allusion made to it between the Doctor and +his assistant. The school went on the same as ever, and the +intercourse between the two men was unaltered as to its general +mutual courtesy. But there did undoubtedly grow in the Doctor's +mind a certain feverish feeling of insecurity. At any rate, he +knew this, that there was a mystery, that there was something +about the Peacockes,—something referring especially to Mrs. +Peacocke,—which, if generally known, would be held to be +deleterious to their character. So much he could not help +deducing from what the man had already told him. No doubt he had +undertaken, in his generosity, that although the man should +decline to tell his secret, no alteration should be made as to the +school arrangements; but he became conscious that in so promising +he had in some degree jeopardised the well-being of the school. +He began to whisper to himself that persons in such a position as +that filled by this Mr. Peacocke and his wife should not be +subject to peculiar remarks from ill-natured tongues. A weapon +was afforded by such a mystery to the Stantiloups of the world, +which the Stantiloups would be sure to use with all their +virulence. To such an establishment as his school, respectability +was everything. Credit, he said to himself, is a matter so subtle +in its essence, that, as it may be obtained almost without reason, +so, without reason, may it be made to melt away. Much as he liked +Mr. Peacocke, much as he approved of him, much as there was in the +man of manliness and worth which was absolutely dear to +him,—still he was not willing to put the character of his school +in peril for the sake of Mr. Peacocke. Were he to do so, he would +be neglecting a duty much more sacred than any he could owe to Mr. +Peacocke. It was thus that, during these three days, he conversed +with himself on the subject, although he was able to maintain +outwardly the same manner and the same countenance as though all +things were going well between them. When they parted after the +interview in the study, the Doctor, no doubt, had so expressed +himself as rather to dissuade his usher from telling his secret +than to encourage him to do so. He had been free in declaring +that the telling of the secret should make no difference in his +assistant's position at Bowick. But in all that, he had acted +from his habitual impulse. He had since told himself that the +mystery ought to be disclosed. It was not right that his boys +should be left to the charge of one who, however competent, dared +not speak of his own antecedents. It was thus he thought of the +matter, after consideration. He must wait, of course, till the +week should be over before he made up his mind to anything +further.</p> + +<p>"So Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?"</p> + +<p>This was said to the Doctor by Mr. Pearson, the squire, in the +course of those two or three days of which we are speaking. Mr. +Pearson was an old gentleman, who did not live often at Bowick, +being compelled, as he always said, by his health, to spend the +winter and spring of every year in Italy, and the summer months by +his family in London. In truth, he did not much care for Bowick, +but had always been on good terms with the Doctor, and had never +opposed the school. Mr. Pearson had been good also as to Church +matters,—as far as goodness can be shown by generosity,—and had +interested himself about the curates. So it had come to pass that +the Doctor did not wish to snub his neighbour when the question +was asked. "I rather think not," said the Doctor. "I fear I +shall have to look out for some one else." He did not prolong the +conversation; for, though he wished to be civil, he did not wish +to be communicative. Mr. Pearson had shown his parochial +solicitude, and did not trouble himself with further questions.</p> + +<p>"So Mr. Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?" This, the very +same question in the very same words, was put to the Doctor on the +next morning by the vicar of the next parish. The Rev. Mr. +Puddicombe, a clergyman without a flaw who did his duty +excellently in every station of life, was one who would preach a +sermon or take a whole service for a brother parson in distress, +and never think of reckoning up that return sermons or return +services were due to him,—one who gave dinners, too, and had +pretty daughters;—but still our Doctor did not quite like him. +He was a little too pious, and perhaps given to ask questions. +"So Mr. Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?"</p> + +<p>There was a certain animation about the asking of this question by +Mr. Puddicombe very different from Mr. Pearson's listless manner. +It was clear to the Doctor that Mr. Puddicombe wanted to know. It +seemed to the Doctor that something of condemnation was implied in +the tone of the question, not only against Mr. Peacocke, but +against himself also, for having employed Mr. Peacocke. "Upon my +word I can't tell you," he said, rather crossly.</p> + +<p>"I thought that it had been all settled. I heard that it was +decided."</p> + +<p>"Then you have heard more than I have."</p> + +<p>"It was the Bishop told me."</p> + +<p>Now it certainly was the case that in that fatal conversation +which had induced the Doctor to interrogate Mr. Peacocke about his +past life, the Doctor himself had said that he intended to look +out for another curate. He probably did not remember that at the +moment. "I wish the Bishop would confine himself to asserting +things that he knows," said the Doctor, angrily.</p> + +<p>"I am sure the Bishop intends to do so," said Mr. Puddicombe, very +gravely. "But I apologise. I had not intended to touch a subject +on which there may perhaps be some reserve. I was only going to +tell you of an excellent young man of whom I have heard. But, +good morning." Then Mr. Puddicombe withdrew.</p> + + +<p><a name="c6" id="c6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>LORD CARSTAIRS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>DURING the last six months Mr. Peacocke's most intimate friend at +Bowick, excepting of course his wife, had been one of the pupils +at the school. The lad was one of the pupils, but could not be +said to be one of the boys. He was the young Lord Carstairs, +eldest son of Earl Bracy. He had been sent to Bowick now six +years ago, with the usual purpose of progressing from Bowick to +Eton. And from Bowick to Eton he had gone in due course. But +there, things had not gone well with the young lord. Some school +disturbance had taken place when he had been there about a year +and a half, in which he was, or was supposed to have been, a +ringleader. It was thought necessary, for the preservation of the +discipline of the school, that a victim should be made;—and it +was perhaps thought well, in order that the impartiality of the +school might be made manifest, that the victim should be a lord. +Earl Bracy was therefore asked to withdraw his son; and young Lord +Carstairs, at the age of seventeen, was left to seek his education +where he could. It had been, and still was, the Earl's purpose to +send his son to Oxford, but there was now an interval of two years +before that could be accomplished. During one year he was sent +abroad to travel with a tutor, and was then reported to have been +all that a well-conducted lad ought to be. He was declared to be +quite worthy of all that Oxford would do for him. It was even +suggested that Eton had done badly for herself in throwing off +from her such a young nobleman. But though Lord Carstairs had +done well with his French and German on the Continent, it would +certainly be necessary that he should rub up his Greek and Latin +before he went to Christ Church. Then a request was made to the +Doctor to take him in at Bowick in some sort as a private pupil. +After some demurring the Doctor consented. It was not his wont to +run counter to earls who treated him with respect and deference. +Earl Bracy had in a special manner been his friend, and Lord +Carstairs himself had been a great favourite at Bowick. When that +expulsion from Eton had come about, the Doctor had interested +himself, and had declared that a very scant measure of justice had +been shown to the young lord. He was thus in a measure compelled +to accede to the request made to him, and Lord Carstairs was +received back at Bowick, not without hesitation, but with a full +measure of affectionate welcome. His bed-room was in the +parsonage-house, and his dinner he took with the Doctor's family. +In other respects he lived among the boys.</p> + +<p>"Will it not be bad for Mary?" Mrs. Wortle had said anxiously to +her husband when the matter was first discussed.</p> + +<p>"Why should it be bad for Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know;—but young people together, you know? Mightn't +it be dangerous?"</p> + +<p>"He is a boy, and she is a mere child. They are both children. +It will be a trouble, but I do not think it will be at all +dangerous in that way." And so it was decided. Mrs. Wortle did +not at all agree as to their both being children. She thought +that her girl was far from being a child. But she had argued the +matter quite as much as she ever argued anything with the Doctor. +So the matter was arranged, and young Lord Carstairs came back to +Bowick.</p> + +<p>As far as the Doctor could see, nothing could be nicer than his +young pupil's manners. He was not at all above playing with the +other boys. He took very kindly to his old studies and his old +haunts, and of an evening, after dinner, went away from the +drawing-room to the study in pursuit of his Latin and his Greek, +without any precocious attempt at making conversation with Miss +Wortle. No doubt there was a good deal of lawn-tennis of an +afternoon, and the lawn-tennis was generally played in the rectory +garden. But then this had ever been the case, and the lawn-tennis +was always played with two on a side; there were no +<i>tête-à-tête</i> +games between his lordship and Mary, and whenever the game was +going on, Mrs. Wortle was always there to see fair-play. Among +other amusements the young lord took to walking far afield with +Mr. Peacocke. And then, no doubt, many things were said about that +life in America. When a man has been much abroad, and has passed +his time there under unusual circumstances, his doings will +necessarily become subjects of conversation to his companions. To +have travelled in France, Germany, or in Italy, is not uncommon; +nor is it uncommon to have lived a year or years in Florence or in +Rome. It is not uncommon now to have travelled all through the +United States. The Rocky Mountains or Peru are hardly uncommon, +so much has the taste for travelling increased. But for an Oxford +Fellow of a college, and a clergyman of the Church of England, to +have established himself as a professor in Missouri, is uncommon, +and it could hardly be but that Lord Carstairs should ask +questions respecting that far-away life.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke had no objection to such questions. He told his +young friend much about the manners of the people of St. +Louis,—told him how far the people had progressed in classical +literature, in what they fell behind, and in what they excelled +youths of their own age in England, and how far the college was a +success. Then he described his own life,—both before and after +his marriage. He had liked the people of St. Louis well +enough,—but not quite well enough to wish to live among them. No +doubt their habits were very different from those of Englishmen. +He could, however, have been happy enough there,—only that +circumstances arose.</p> + +<p>"Did Mrs. Peacocke like the place?" the young lord asked one day.</p> + +<p>"She is an American, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; I have heard. But did she come from St. Louis?"</p> + +<p>"No; her father was a planter in Louisiana, not far from New +Orleans, before the abolition of slavery."</p> + +<p>"Did she like St. Louis?"</p> + +<p>"Well enough, I think, when we were first married. She had been +married before, you know. She was a widow."</p> + +<p>"Did she like coming to England among strangers?"</p> + +<p>"She was glad to leave St. Louis. Things happened there which +made her life unhappy. It was on that account I came here, and +gave up a position higher and more lucrative than I shall ever now +get in England."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you might have had a school of your own," +said the lad. "You know so much, and get on so well with boys. I +should have thought you might have been tutor at a college."</p> + +<p>"To have a school of my own would take money," said he, "which I +have not got. To be tutor at a college would take— But never +mind. I am very well where I am, and have nothing to complain +of." He had been going to say that to be tutor of a college he +would want high standing. And then he would have been forced to +explain that he had lost at his own college that standing which he +had once possessed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said on another occasion, "she is unhappy; but do not +ask her any questions about it."</p> + +<p>"Who,—I? Oh dear, no! I should not think of taking such a +liberty."</p> + +<p>"It would be as a kindness, not as a liberty. But still, do not +speak to her about it. There are sorrows which must be hidden, +which it is better to endeavour to bury by never speaking of them, +by not thinking of them, if that were possible."</p> + +<p>"Is it as bad as that?" the lad asked.</p> + +<p>"It is bad enough sometimes. But never mind. You remember that +Roman wisdom,—'Dabit Deus his quoque finem.' And I think that all +things are bearable if a man will only make up his mind to bear +them. Do not tell any one that I have complained."</p> + +<p>"Who,—I? Oh, never!"</p> + +<p>"Not that I have said anything which all the world might not know; +but that it is unmanly to complain. Indeed I do not complain, +only I wish that things were lighter to her." Then he went off to +other matters; but his heart was yearning to tell everything to +this young lad.</p> + +<p>Before the end of the week had arrived, there came a letter to him +which he had not at all expected, and a letter also to the +Doctor,—both from Lord Bracy. The letter to Mr. Peacocke was as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">My dear Sir</span>,—I +have been much gratified by what I have heard +both from Dr. Wortle and my son as to his progress. He will have +to come home in July, when the Doctor's school is broken up, and, +as you are probably aware, will go up to Oxford in October. I +think it would be very expedient that he should not altogether +lose the holidays, and I am aware how much more he would do with +adequate assistance than without it. The meaning of all this is, +that I and Lady Bracy will feel very much obliged if you and Mrs. +Peacocke will come and spend your holidays with us at Carstairs. +I have written to Dr. Wortle on the subject, partly to tell him of +my proposal, because he has been so kind to my son, and partly to +ask him to fix the amount of remuneration, should you be so kind +as to accede to my request.</p> + +<p>"His mother has heard on more than one occasion from her son how +very good-natured you have been to him.—Yours faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">BRACY</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>It was, of course, quite out of the question. Mr. Peacocke, as +soon as he had read the letter, felt that it was so. Had things +been smooth and easy with him, nothing would have delighted him +more. His liking for the lad was most sincere, and it would have +been a real pleasure to him to have worked with him during the +holidays. But it was quite out of the question. He must tell +Lord Carstairs that it was so, and must at the moment give such +explanation as might occur to him. He almost felt that in giving +that explanation he would be tempted to tell his whole story.</p> + +<p>But the Doctor met him before he had an opportunity of speaking to +Lord Carstairs. The Doctor met him, and at once produced the +Earl's letter. "I have heard from Lord Bracy, and you, I suppose, +have had a letter too," said the Doctor. His manner was easy and +kind, as though no disagreeable communication was due to be made +on the following day.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have had a letter."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"His lordship has asked me to go to Carstairs for the holidays; +but it is out of the question."</p> + +<p>"It would do Carstairs all the good in the world," said the +Doctor; "and I do not see why you should not have a pleasant visit +and earn twenty-five pounds at the same time."</p> + +<p>"It is quite out of the question."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you would not like to leave Mrs. Peacocke," said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Either to leave her or to take her! To go myself under any +circumstances would be altogether out of the question. I shall +come to you to-morrow, Doctor, as I said I would last Saturday. +What hour will suit you?" Then the Doctor named an hour in the +afternoon, and knew that the revelation was to be made to him. He +felt, too, that that revelation would lead to the final departure +of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke from Bowick, and he was unhappy in his +heart. Though he was anxious for his school, he was anxious also +for his friend. There was a gratification in the feeling that +Lord Bracy thought so much of his assistant,—or would have been +but for this wretched mystery!</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Peacocke to the lad. "I regret to say that I +cannot go. I will tell you why, perhaps, another time, but not +now. I have written to your father by this post, because it is +right that he should be told at once. I have been obliged to say +that it is impossible."</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry! I should so much have liked it. My father would +have done everything to make you comfortable, and so would mamma." +In answer to all this Mr. Peacocke could only say that it was +impossible. This happened on Friday afternoon, Friday being a day +on which the school was always very busy. There was no time for +the doing of anything special, as there would be on the following +day, which was a half-holiday. At night, when the work was +altogether over, he showed the letter to his wife, and told her +what he had decided.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you have gone without me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"How can I do that," he said, "when before this time to-morrow I +shall have told everything to Dr. Wortle? After that, he would +not let me go. He would do no more than his duty in telling me +that if I proposed to go he must make it all known to Lord Bracy. +But this is a trifle. I am at the present moment altogether in +the dark as to what I shall do with myself when to-morrow evening +comes. I cannot guess, because it is so hard to know what are the +feelings in the breast of another man. It may so well be that he +should refuse me permission to go to my desk in the school again."</p> + +<p>"Will he be hard like that?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly tell myself whether it would be hard. I hardly know +what I should feel it my duty to do in such a position myself. I +have deceived him."</p> + +<p>"No!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have deceived him. Coming to him as I did, I gave him to +understand that there was nothing wrong;—nothing to which special +objection could be made in my position."</p> + +<p>"Then we are deceiving all the world in calling ourselves man and +wife."</p> + +<p>"Certainly we are; but to that we had made up our mind! We are +not injuring all the world. No doubt it is a lie,—but there are +circumstances in which a lie can hardly be a sin. I would have +been the last to say so before all this had come upon me, but I +feel it to be so now. It is a lie to say that you are my wife."</p> + +<p>"Is it? Is it?"</p> + +<p>"Is it not? And yet I would rather cut my tongue out than say +otherwise. To give you my name is a lie,—but what should I think +of myself were I to allow you to use any other? What would you +have thought if I had asked you to go away and leave me when that +bad hour came upon us?"</p> + +<p>"I would have borne it."</p> + +<p>"I could not have borne it. There are worse things than a lie. I +have found, since this came upon us, that it may be well to choose +one sin in order that another may be shunned. To cherish you, to +comfort you, to make the storm less sharp to you,—that has +already been my duty as well as my pleasure. To do the same to me +is your duty."</p> + +<p>"And my pleasure; and my pleasure,—my only pleasure."</p> + +<p>"We must cling to each other, let the world call us what names it +may. But there may come a time in which one is called on to do a +special act of justice to others. It has come now to me. From +the world at large I am prepared, if possible, to keep my secret, +even though I do it by lying;—but to this one man I am driven to +tell it, because I may not return his friendship by doing him an +evil."</p> + +<p>Morning school at this time of the year at Bowick began at +half-past seven. There was an hour of school before breakfast, at +which the Doctor did not himself put in an appearance. He was +wont to tell the boys that he had done all that when he was young, +and that now in his old age it suited him best to have his +breakfast before he began the work of the day. Mr. Peacocke, of +course, attended the morning school. Indeed, as the matutinal +performances were altogether classical, it was impossible that +much should be done without him. On this Saturday morning, +however, he was not present; and a few minutes after the proper +time, the mathematical master took his place. "I saw him coming +across out of his own door," little Jack Talbot said to the +younger of the two Clifford boys, "and there was a man coming up +from the gate who met him."</p> + +<p>"What sort of a man?" asked Clifford.</p> + +<p>"He was a rummy-looking fellow, with a great beard, and a queer +kind of coat. I never saw any one like him before."</p> + +<p>"And where did they go?"</p> + +<p>"They stood talking for a minute or two just before the front +door, and then Mr. Peacocke took him into the house. I heard him +tell Carstairs to go through and send word up to the Doctor that +he wouldn't be in school this morning."</p> + +<p>It had all happened just as young Talbot had said. A very +"rummy-looking fellow" had at that early hour been driven over +from Broughton to Bowick, and had caught Mr. Peacocke just as he +was going into the school. He was a man with a beard, loose, +flowing on both sides, as though he were winged like a bird,—a +beard that had been black, but was now streaked through and +through with grey hairs. The man had a coat with frogged buttons +that must have been intended to have a military air when it was +new, but which was now much the worse for wear. The coat was so +odd as to have caught young Talbot's attention at once. And the +man's hat was old and seedy. But there was a look about him as +though he were by no means ashamed either of himself or of his +present purpose. "He came in a gig," said Talbot to his friend; +"for I saw the horse standing at the gate, and the man sitting in +the gig."</p> + +<p>"You remember me, no doubt," the stranger said, when he +encountered Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"I do not remember you in the least," the schoolmaster answered.</p> + +<p>"Come, come; that won't do. You know me well enough. I'm Robert +Lefroy."</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Peacocke, looking at him again, knew that the man was the +brother of his wife's husband. He had not seen him often, but he +recognised him as Robert Lefroy, and having recognised him he took +him into the house.</p> + + +<p><a name="c7" id="c7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Part III</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>ROBERT LEFROY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Ferdinand Lefroy</span>, +the man who had in truth been the woman's +husband, had, during that one interview which had taken place +between him and the man who had married his wife, on his return to +St. Louis, declared that his brother Robert was dead. But so had +Robert, when Peacocke encountered him down at Texas, declared that +Ferdinand was dead. Peacocke knew that no word of truth could be +expected from the mouths of either of them. But seeing is +believing. He had seen Ferdinand alive at St. Louis after his +marriage, and by seeing him, had been driven away from his home +back to his old country. Now he also saw this other man, and was +aware that his secret was no longer in his own keeping.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you now. Why, when I saw you last, did you tell me +that your brother was dead? Why did you bring so great an injury +on your sister-in-law?"</p> + +<p>"I never told you anything of the kind."</p> + +<p>"As God is above us you told me so."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about that, my friend. Maybe I was cut. I +used to be drinking a good deal them days. Maybe I didn't say +anything of the kind,—only it suited you to go back and tell her +so. Anyways I disremember it altogether. Anyways he wasn't dead. +And I ain't dead now."</p> + +<p>"I can see that."</p> + +<p>"And I ain't drunk now. But I am not quite so well off as a +fellow would wish to be. Can you get me breakfast?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can get you breakfast," he said, after pausing for a +while. Then he rang the bell and told the girl to bring some +breakfast for the gentleman as soon as possible into the room in +which they were sitting. This was in a little library in which he +was in the habit of studying and going through lessons with the +boys. He had brought the man here so that his wife might not come +across him. As soon as the order was given, he ran up-stairs to +her room, to save her from coming down.</p> + +<p>"A man;—what man?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Robert Lefroy. I must go to him at once. Bear yourself well and +boldly, my darling. It is he, certainly. I know nothing yet of +what he may have to say, but it will be well that you should avoid +him if possible. When I have heard anything I will tell you all." +Then he hurried down and found the man examining the book-shelves.</p> + +<p>"You have got yourself up pretty tidy again, Peacocke," said +Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"Pretty well."</p> + +<p>"The old game, I suppose. Teaching the young idea. Is this what +you call a college, now, in your country?"</p> + +<p>"It is a school."</p> + +<p>"And you're one of the masters."</p> + +<p>"I am the second master."</p> + +<p>"It ain't as good, I reckon, as the Missouri College."</p> + +<p>"It's not so large, certainly."</p> + +<p>"What's the screw?" he said.</p> + +<p>"The payment, you mean. It can hardly serve us now to go into +matters such as that. What is it that has brought you here, +Lefroy?"</p> + +<p>"Well, a big ship, an uncommonly bad sort of railway car, and the +ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to. +<ins class="corr" title="Apostrophe added; +original read ‘Thems’">Them's</ins> +what's brought me here."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have something to say, or you would not have come," +said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've a good deal to say of one kind or another. But here's +the breakfast, and I'm well-nigh starved. What, cold meat! I'm +darned if I can eat cold meat. Haven't you got anything hot, my +dear?" Then it was explained to him that hot meat was not to be +had, unless he would choose to wait, to have some lengthened +cooking accomplished. To this, however, he objected, and then the +girl left the room.</p> + +<p>"I've a good many things to say of one kind or another," he +continued. "It's difficult to say, Peacocke, how you and I stand +with each other."</p> + +<p>"I do not know that we stand with each other at all, as you call +it."</p> + +<p>"I mean as to relationship. Are you my brother-in-law, or are you +not?" This was a question which in very truth the schoolmaster +found it hard to answer. He did not answer it at all, but +remained silent. "Are you my brother-in-law, or are you not? You +call her Mrs. Peacocke, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I call her Mrs. Peacocke."</p> + +<p>"And she is here living with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is here."</p> + +<p>"Had she not better come down and see me? She is my +sister-in-law, anyway."</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Peacocke; "I think, on the whole, that she had +better not come down and see you."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say she isn't my sister-in-law? She's that, +whatever else she is. She's that, whatever name she goes by. If +Ferdinand had been ever so much dead, and that marriage at St. +Louis had been ever so good, still she'd been my sister-in-law."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt about it," said Mr. Peacocke. "But still, under all +the circumstances, she had better not see you."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's a queer beginning, anyway. But perhaps you'll come +round by-and-by. She goes by Mrs. Peacocke?"</p> + +<p>"She is regarded as my wife," said the husband, feeling himself to +become more and more indignant at every word, but knowing at the +same time how necessary it was that he should keep his indignation +hidden.</p> + +<p>"Whether true or false?" asked the brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>"I will answer no such question as that."</p> + +<p>"You ain't very well disposed to answer any question, as far as I +can see. But I shall have to make you answer one or two before +I've done with you. There's a Doctor here, isn't there, as this +school belongs to?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is. It belongs to Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"It's him these boys are sent to?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is the master; I am only his assistant."</p> + +<p>"It's him they comes to for education, and morals, and religion?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so."</p> + +<p>"And he knows, no doubt, all about you and my sister-in-law;—how +you came and married her when she was another man's wife, and took +her away when you knew as that other man was alive and kicking?" +Mr. Peacocke, when these questions were put to him, remained +silent, because literally he did not know how to answer them. He +was quite prepared to take his position as he found it. He had +told himself before this dreadful man had appeared, that the truth +must be made known at Bowick, and that he and his wife must pack +up and flit. It was not that the man could bring upon him any +greater evil than he had anticipated. But the questions which +were asked him were in themselves so bitter! The man, no doubt, +was his wife's brother-in-law. He could not turn him out of the +house as he would a stranger, had a stranger come there asking +such questions without any claim of family. Abominable as the man +was to him, still he was there with a certain amount of right upon +his side.</p> + +<p>"I think," said he, "that questions such as those you've asked can +be of no service to you. To me they are intended only to be +injurious."</p> + +<p>"They're as a preface to what is to come," said Robert Lefroy, +with an impudent leer upon his face. "The questions, no doubt, +are disagreeable enough. She ain't your wife no more than she's +mine. You've no business with her; and that you knew when you +took her away from St. Louis. You may, or you mayn't, have been +fooled by some one down in Texas when you went back and married +her in all that hurry. But you knew what you were doing well +enough when you took her away. You won't dare to tell me that you +hadn't seen Ferdinand when you two mizzled off from the College?" +Then he paused, waiting again for a reply.</p> + +<p>"As I told you before," he said, "no further conversation on the +subject can be of avail. It does not suit me to be cross-examined +as to what I knew or what I did not know. If you have anything +for me to hear, you can say it. If you have anything to tell to +others, go and tell it to them."</p> + +<p>"That's just it," said Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"Then go and tell it."</p> + +<p>"You're in a terrible hurry, Mister Peacocke. I don't want to +drop in and spoil your little game. You're making money of your +little game. I can help you as to carrying on your little game, +better than you do at present. I don't want to blow upon you. +But as you're making money out of it, I'd like to make a little +too. I am precious hard up,—I am."</p> + +<p>"You will make no money of me," said the other.</p> + +<p>"A little will go a long way with me; and remember, I have got +tidings now which are worth paying for."</p> + +<p>"What tidings?"</p> + +<p>"If they're worth paying for, it's not likely that you are going +to get them for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Colonel Lefroy; whatever you may have to say about me +will certainly not be prevented by my paying you money. Though +you might be able to ruin me to-morrow I would not give you a +dollar to save myself."</p> + +<p>"But her," said Lefroy, pointing as it were up-stairs, with his +thumb over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Nor her," said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"You don't care very much about her, then?"</p> + +<p>"How much I may care I shall not trouble myself to explain to you. +I certainly shall not endeavour to serve her after that fashion. +I begin to understand why you have come, and can only beg you to +believe that you have come in vain."</p> + +<p>Lefroy turned to his food, which he had not yet finished, while +his companion sat silent at the window, trying to arrange in his +mind the circumstances of the moment as best he might. He +declared to himself that had the man come but one day later, his +coming would have been matter of no moment. The story, the entire +story, would then have been told to the Doctor, and the +brother-in-law, with all his malice, could have added nothing to +the truth. But now it seemed as though there would be a race +which should tell the story first. Now the Doctor would, no +doubt, be led to feel that the narration was made because it could +no longer be kept back. Should this man be with the Doctor first, +and should the story be told as he would tell it, then it would be +impossible for Mr. Peacocke, in acknowledging the truth of it all, +to bring his friend's mind back to the condition in which it would +have been had this intruder not been in the way. And yet he could +not make a race of it with the man. He could not rush across, +and, all but out of breath with his energy, begin his narration +while Lefroy was there knocking at the door. There would be an +absence of dignity in such a mode of proceeding which alone was +sufficient to deter him. He had fixed an hour already with the +Doctor. He had said that he would be there in the house at a +certain time. Let the man do what he would he would keep exactly +to his purpose, unless the Doctor should seek an earlier +interview. He would, in no tittle, be turned from his purpose by +the unfortunate coming of this wretched man. "Well!" said Lefroy, +as soon as he had eaten his last mouthful.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say to you," said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to say?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's queer. I should have thought there'd have been a +many words. I've got a lot to say to somebody, and mean to say +it;—precious soon too. Is there any hotel here, where I can put +this horse up? I suppose you haven't got stables of your own? I +wonder if the Doctor would give me accommodation?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't got a stable, and the Doctor certainly will not give +you accommodation. There is a public-house less than a quarter of +a mile further on, which no doubt your driver knows very well. +You had better go there yourself, because after what has taken +place, I am bound to tell you that you will not be admitted here."</p> + +<p>"Not admitted?"</p> + +<p>"No. You must leave this house, and will not be admitted into it +again as long as I live in it."</p> + +<p>"The Doctor will admit me."</p> + +<p>"Very likely. I, at any rate, shall do nothing to dissuade him. +If you go down to the road you'll see the gate leading up to his +house. I think you'll find that he is down-stairs by this time."</p> + +<p>"You take it very cool, Peacocke."</p> + +<p>"I only tell you the truth. With you I will have nothing more to +do. You have a story which you wish to tell to Dr. Wortle. Go +and tell it to him."</p> + +<p>"I can tell it to all the world," said Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"Go and tell it to all the world."</p> + +<p>"And I ain't to see my sister?"</p> + +<p>"No; you will not see your sister-in-law here. Why should she +wish to see one who has only injured her?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't injured her;—at any rate not as yet. I ain't done +nothing;—not as yet. I've been as dark as the grave;—as yet. +Let her come down, and you go away for a moment, and let us see if +we can't settle it."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing for you to settle. Nothing that you can do, +nothing that you can say, will influence either her or me. If you +have anything to tell, go and tell it."</p> + +<p>"Why should you smash up everything in that way, Peacocke? You're +comfortable here; why not remain so? I don't want to hurt you. I +want to help you;—and I can. Three hundred dollars wouldn't be +much to you. You were always a fellow as had a little money by +you."</p> + +<p>"If this box were full of gold," said the schoolmaster, laying his +hand upon a black desk which stood on the table, "I would not give +you one cent to induce you to hold your tongue for ever. I would +not condescend even to ask it of you as a favour. You think that +you can disturb our happiness by telling what you know of us to +Dr. Wortle. Go and try."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke's manner was so firm that the other man began to +doubt whether in truth he had a secret to tell. Could it be +possible that Dr. Wortle knew it all, and that the neighbours knew +it all, and that, in spite of what had happened, the position of +the man and of the woman was accepted among them? They certainly +were not man and wife, and yet they were living together as such. +Could such a one as this Dr. Wortle know that it was so? He, when +he had spoken of the purposes for which the boys were sent there, +asking whether they were not sent for education, for morals and +religion, had understood much of the Doctor's position. He had +known the peculiar value of his secret. He had been aware that a +schoolmaster with a wife to whom he was not in truth married must +be out of place in an English seminary such as this. But yet he +now began to doubt. "I am to be turned out, then?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, Colonel Lefroy. The sooner you go the better."</p> + +<p>"That's a pretty sort of welcome to your wife's brother-in-law, +who has just come over all the way from Mexico to see her."</p> + +<p>"To get what he can out of her by his unwelcome presence," said +Peacocke. "Here you can get nothing. Go and do your worst. If +you remain much longer I shall send for the policeman to remove +you."</p> + +<p>"<ins class="corr" title="Original had full stop after ‘will’ +instead of question mark">You will?</ins>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall. My time is not my own, and I cannot go over to my +work leaving you in my house. You have nothing to get by my +friendship. Go and see what you can do as my enemy."</p> + +<p>"I will," said the Colonel, getting up from his chair; "I will. +If I'm to be treated in this way it shall not be for nothing. I +have offered you the right hand of an affectionate +brother-in-law."</p> + +<p>"Bosh," said Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"And you tell me that I am an enemy. Very well; I will be an +enemy. I could have put you altogether on your legs, but I'll +leave you without an inch of ground to stand upon. You see if I +don't." Then he put his hat on his head, and stalked out of the +house, down the road towards the gate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke, when he was left alone, remained in the room +collecting his thoughts, and then went up-stairs to his wife.</p> + +<p>"Has he gone?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has gone."</p> + +<p>"And what has he said?"</p> + +<p>"He has asked for money,—to hold his tongue."</p> + +<p>"Have you given him any?"</p> + +<p>"Not a cent. I have given him nothing but hard words. I have +bade him go and do his worst. To be at the mercy of such a man as +that would be worse for you and for me than anything that fortune +has sent us even yet."</p> + +<p>"Did he want to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I refused. Was it not better?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; certainly, if you think so. What could I have said to him? +Certainly it was better. His presence would have half killed me. +But what will he do, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"He will tell it all to everybody that he sees."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darling!"</p> + +<p>"What matter though he tells it at the town-cross? It would have +been told to-day by myself."</p> + +<p>"But only to one."</p> + +<p>"It would have been the same. For any purpose of concealment it +would have been the same. I have got to hate the concealment. +What have we done but clung together as a man and woman should who +have loved each other, and have had a right to love? What have we +done of which we should be ashamed? Let it be told. Let it all +be known. Have you not been good and pure? Have not I been true +to you? Bear up your courage, and let the man do his worst. Not +to save even you would I cringe before such a man as that. And +were I to do so, I should save you from nothing."</p> + + +<p><a name="c8" id="c8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>THE STORY IS TOLD.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">During</span> +the whole of that morning the Doctor did not come into the +school. The school hours lasted from half-past nine to twelve, +during a portion of which time it was his practice to be there. +But sometimes, on a Saturday, he would be absent, when it was +understood generally that he was preparing his sermon for the +Sunday. Such, no doubt, might be the case now; but there was a +feeling among the boys that he was kept away by some other reason. +It was known that during the hour of morning school Mr. Peacocke +had been occupied with that uncouth stranger, and some of the boys +might have observed that the uncouth stranger had not taken +himself altogether away from the premises. There was at any rate +a general feeling that the uncouth stranger had something to do +with the Doctor's absence.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke did his best to go on with the work as though nothing +had occurred to disturb the usual tenor of his way, and as far as +the boys were aware he succeeded. He was just as clear about his +Greek verbs, just as incisive about that passage of Cæsar, as he +would have been had Colonel Lefroy remained on the other side of +the water. But during the whole time he was exercising his mind +in that painful process of thinking of two things at once. He was +determined that Cæsar should be uppermost; but it may be doubted +whether he succeeded. At that very moment Colonel Lefroy might be +telling the Doctor that his Ella was in truth the wife of another +man. At that moment the Doctor might be deciding in his anger +that the sinful and deceitful man should no longer be "officer of +his." The hour was too important to him to leave his mind at his +own disposal. Nevertheless he did his best. "Clifford, junior," +he said, "I shall never make you understand what Cæsar says here +or elsewhere if you do not give your entire mind to Cæsar."</p> + +<p>"I do give my entire mind to Cæsar," said Clifford, junior.</p> + +<p>"Very well; now go on and try again. But remember that Cæsar +wants all your mind." As he said this he was revolving in his own +mind how he would face the Doctor when the Doctor should look at +him in his wrath. If the Doctor were in any degree harsh with +him, he would hold his own against the Doctor as far as the +personal contest might go. At twelve the boys went out for an +hour before their dinner, and Lord Carstairs asked him to play a +game of rackets.</p> + +<p>"Not to-day, my Lord," he said.</p> + +<p>"Is anything wrong with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, something is very wrong." They had strolled out of the +building, and were walking up and down the gravel terrace in front +when this was said.</p> + +<p>"I knew something was wrong, because you called me my Lord."</p> + +<p>"Yes, something is so wrong as to alter for me all the ordinary +ways of my life. But I wasn't thinking of it. It came by +accident,—just because I am so troubled."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"There has been a man here,—a man whom I knew in America."</p> + +<p>"An enemy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—an enemy. One who is anxious to do me all the injury he +can."</p> + +<p>"Are you in his power, Mr. Peacocke?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank God; not that. I am in no man's power. He cannot do +me any material harm. Anything which may happen would have +happened whether he had come or not. But I am unhappy."</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew."</p> + +<p>"So do I,—with all my heart. I wish you knew; I wish you knew. +I would that all the world knew. But we shall live through it, no +doubt. And if we do not, what matter. 'Nil conscire sibi,—nulla +pallescere culpa.' That is all that is necessary to a man. I have +done nothing of which I repent;—nothing that I would not do +again; nothing of which I am ashamed to speak as far as the +judgment of other men is concerned. Go, now. They are making up +sides for cricket. Perhaps I can tell you more before the evening +is over."</p> + +<p>Both Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were accustomed to dine with the boys +at one, when Carstairs, being a private pupil, only had his lunch. +But on this occasion she did not come into the dining-room. "I +don't think I can to-day," she said, when he bade her to take +courage, and not be altered more than she could help, in her +outward carriage, by the misery of her present circumstances. "I +could not eat if I were there, and then they would look at me."</p> + +<p>"If it be so, do not attempt it. There is no necessity. What I +mean is, that the less one shrinks the less will be the suffering. +It is the man who shivers on the brink that is cold, and not he +who plunges into the water. If it were over,—if the first brunt +of it were over, I could find means to comfort you."</p> + +<p>He went through the dinner, as he had done the Cæsar, eating the +roast mutton and the baked potatoes, and the great plateful of +currant-pie that was brought to him. He was fed and nourished, no +doubt, but it may be doubtful whether he knew much of the flavour +of what he ate. But before the dinner was quite ended, before he +had said the grace which it was always his duty to pronounce, +there came a message to him from the rectory. "The Doctor would +be glad to see him as soon as dinner was done." He waited very +calmly till the proper moment should come for the grace, and then, +very calmly, he took his way over to the house. He was certain +now that Lefroy had been with the Doctor, because he was sent for +considerably before the time fixed for the interview.</p> + +<p>It was his chief resolve to hold his own before the Doctor. The +Doctor, who could read a character well, had so read that of Mr. +Peacocke's as to have been aware from the first that no censure, +no fault-finding, would be possible if the connection were to be +maintained. Other ushers, other curates, he had occasionally +scolded. He had been very careful never even to seem to scold Mr. +Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke had been aware of it too,—aware that he +could not endure it, and aware also that the Doctor avoided any +attempt at it. He had known that, as a consequence of this, he +was bound to be more than ordinarily prompt in the performance of +all his duties. The man who will not endure censure has to take +care that he does not deserve it. Such had been this man's +struggle, and it had been altogether successful. Each of the two +understood the other, and each respected the other. Now their +position must be changed. It was hardly possible, Mr. Peacocke +thought, as he entered the house, that he should not be rebuked +with grave severity, and quite out of the question that he should +bear any rebuke at all.</p> + +<p>The library at the rectory was a spacious and handsome room, in +the centre of which stood a large writing-table, at which the +Doctor was accustomed to sit when he was at work,—facing the +door, with a bow-window at his right hand. But he rarely remained +there when any one was summoned into the room, unless some one +were summoned with whom he meant to deal in a spirit of severity. +Mr. Peacocke would be there perhaps three or four times a-week, +and the Doctor would always get up from his chair and stand, or +seat himself elsewhere in the room, and would probably move about +with vivacity, being a fidgety man of quick motions, who sometimes +seemed as though he could not hold his own body still for a +moment. But now when Mr. Peacocke entered the room he did not +leave his place at the table. "Would you take a chair?" he said; +"there is something that we must talk about."</p> + +<p>"Colonel Lefroy has been with you, I take it."</p> + +<p>"A man calling himself by that name has been here. Will you not +take a chair?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know that it will be necessary. What he has told +you,—what I suppose he has told you,—is true."</p> + +<p>"You had better at any rate take a chair. I do not believe that +what he has told me is true."</p> + +<p>"But it is."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe that what he has told me is true. Some of it +cannot, I think, be true. Much of it is not so,—unless I am more +deceived in you than I ever was in any man. At any rate sit +down." Then the schoolmaster did sit down. +<ins class="corr" title="Opening double quotation +mark added">"He has</ins> made you out +to be a perjured, wilful, +<ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘crue’">cruel</ins> +bigamist."</p> + +<p>"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his +<ins class="corr" title="Closing double quotation mark +removed from after ‘chair.’">chair</ins>.</p> + +<p>"One who has been willing to sacrifice a woman to his passion."</p> + +<p>"No; no."</p> + +<p>"Who deceived her by false witnesses."</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"And who has now refused to allow her to see her own husband's +brother, lest she should learn the truth."</p> + +<p>"She is there,—at any rate for you to see."</p> + +<p>"Therefore the man is a liar. A long story has to be told, as to +which at present I can only guess what may be the nature. I +presume the story will be the same as that you would have told had +the man never come here."</p> + +<p>"Exactly the same, Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"Therefore you will own that I am right in asking you to sit down. +The story may be very long,—that is, if you mean to tell it."</p> + +<p>"I do,—and did. I was wrong from the first in supposing that the +nature of my marriage need be of no concern to others, but to +herself and to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—Mr. Peacocke; yes. We are, all of us, joined together too +closely to admit of isolation such as that." There was something +in this which grated against the schoolmaster's pride, though +nothing had been said as to which he did not know that much harder +things must meet his ears before the matter could be brought to an +end between him and the Doctor. The "Mister" had been prefixed to +his name, which had been omitted for the last three or four months +in the friendly intercourse which had taken place between them; +and then, though it had been done in the form of agreeing with +what he himself had said, the Doctor had made his first complaint +by declaring that no man had a right to regard his own moral life +as isolated from the lives of others around him. It was as much +as to declare at once that he had been wrong in bringing this +woman to Bowick, and calling her Mrs. Peacocke. He had said as +much himself, but that did not make the censure lighter when it +came to him from the mouth of the Doctor. "But come," said the +Doctor, getting up from his seat at the table, and throwing +himself into an easy-chair, so as to mitigate the austerity of the +position; "let us hear the true story. So big a liar as that +American gentleman probably never put his foot in this room +before."</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Peacocke told the story, beginning with all those +incidents of the woman's life which had seemed to be so cruel both +to him and to others at St. Louis before he had been in any degree +intimate with her. Then came the departure of the two men, and +the necessity for pecuniary assistance, which Mr. Peacocke now +passed over lightly, saying nothing specially of the assistance +which he himself had rendered. "And she was left quite alone?" +asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Quite alone."</p> + +<p>"And for how long?"</p> + +<p>"Eighteen months had passed before we heard any tidings. Then +there came news that Colonel Lefroy was dead."</p> + +<p>"The husband?"</p> + +<p>"We did not know which. They were both Colonels."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"Did he tell you that I went down into Mexico?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind what he told me. All that he told me were lies. What +you tell me I shall believe. But tell me everything."</p> + +<p>There was a tone of complete authority in the Doctor's voice, but +mixed with this there was a kindliness which made the schoolmaster +determined that he would tell everything as far as he knew how. +"When I heard that one of them was dead, I went away down to the +borders of Texas, in order that I might learn the truth."</p> + +<p>"Did she know that you were going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I told her the day I started."</p> + +<p>"And you told her why?"</p> + +<p>"That I might find out whether her husband were still alive."</p> + +<p>"But—" The Doctor hesitated as he asked the next question. He +knew, however, that it had to be asked, and went on with it. "Did +she know that you loved her?" To this the other made no immediate +answer. The Doctor was a man who, in such a matter, was +intelligent enough, and he therefore put his question in another +shape. "Had you told her that you loved her?"</p> + +<p>"Never,—while I thought that other man was living."</p> + +<p>"She must have guessed it," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"She might guess what she pleased. I told her that I was going, +and I went."</p> + +<p>"And how was it, then?"</p> + +<p>"I went, and after a time I came across the very man who is here +now, this Robert Lefroy. I met him and questioned him, and he +told me that his brother had been killed while fighting. It was a +lie."</p> + +<p>"Altogether a lie?" asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"How altogether?"</p> + +<p>"He might have been wounded and given over for dead. The brother +might have thought him to be dead."</p> + +<p>"I do not think so. I believe it to have been a plot in order +that the man might get rid of his wife. But I believed it. Then +I went back to St. Louis,—and we were married."</p> + +<p>"You thought there was no obstacle but what you might become man +and wife legally?"</p> + +<p>"I thought she was a widow."</p> + +<p>"There was no further delay?"</p> + +<p>"Very little. Why should there have been delay?"</p> + +<p>"I only ask."</p> + +<p>"She had suffered enough, and I had waited long enough."</p> + +<p>"She owed you a great deal," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"It was not a case of owing," said Mr. Peacocke. "At least I +think not. I think she had learnt to love me as I had learnt to +love her."</p> + +<p>"And how did it go with you then?"</p> + +<p>"Very well,—for some months. There was nothing to mar our +happiness,—till one day he came and made his way into our +presence."</p> + +<p>"The husband?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; the husband, Ferdinand Lefroy, the elder brother;—he of +whom I had been told that he was dead; he was there standing +before us, talking to us,—half drunk, but still well knowing what +he was doing."</p> + +<p>"Why had he come?"</p> + +<p>"In want of money, I suppose,—as this other one has come here."</p> + +<p>"Did he ask for money?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think he did then, though he spoke of his poor +condition. But on the next day he went away. We heard that he +had taken the steamer down the river for New Orleans. We have +never heard more of him from that day to this."</p> + +<p>"Can you imagine what caused conduct such as that?"</p> + +<p>"I think money was given to him that night to go; but if so, I do +not know by whom. I gave him none. During the next day or two I +found that many in St. Louis knew that he had been there."</p> + +<p>"They knew then that you—"</p> + +<p>"They knew that my wife was not my wife. That is what you mean to +ask?" The Doctor nodded his head. "Yes, they knew that."</p> + +<p>"And what then?"</p> + +<p>"Word was brought to me that she and I must part if I chose to +keep my place at the College."</p> + +<p>"That you must disown her?"</p> + +<p>"The President told me that it would be better that she should go +elsewhere. How could I send her from me?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed;—but as to the facts?"</p> + +<p>"You know them all pretty well now. I could not send her from me. +Nor could I go and leave her. Had we been separated then, because +of the law or because of religion, the burden, the misery, the +desolation, would all have been upon her."</p> + +<p>"I would have clung to her, let the law say what it might," said +the Doctor, rising from his chair.</p> + +<p>"You would?"</p> + +<p>"I would;—and I think that I could have reconciled it to my God. +But I might have been wrong," he added; "I might have been wrong. +I only say what I should have done."</p> + +<p>"It was what I did."</p> + +<p>"Exactly; exactly. We are both sinners. Both might have been +wrong. Then you brought her over here, and I suppose I know the +rest?"</p> + +<p>"You know everything now," said Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"And believe every word I have heard. Let me say that, if that +may be any consolation to you. Of my friendship you may remain +assured. Whether you can remain here is another question."</p> + +<p>"We are prepared to go."</p> + +<p>"You cannot expect that I should have thought it all out during +the hearing of the story. There is much to be considered;—very +much. I can only say this, as between man and man, that no man +ever <ins class="corr" title="Spelling as in original. +Usual Victorian spelling +is ‘sympathised’">sympathized</ins> with +another more warmly than I do with you. You +had better let me have till Monday to think about it."</p> + + +<p><a name="c9" id="c9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">In</span> +this way nothing was said at the first telling of the story to +decide the fate of the schoolmaster and of the lady whom we shall +still call his wife. There certainly had been no horror displayed +by the Doctor. "Whether you can remain here is another question." +The Doctor, during the whole interview, had said nothing harder +than that. Mr. Peacocke, as he left the rectory, did feel that +the Doctor had been very good to him. There had not only been no +horror, but an expression of the kindest sympathy. And as to the +going, that was left in doubt. He himself felt that he ought to +go;—but it would have been so very sad to have to go without a +friend left with whom he could consult as to his future condition!</p> + +<p>"He has been very kind, then?" said Mrs. Peacocke to her husband +when he related to her the particulars of the interview.</p> + +<p>"Very kind."</p> + +<p>"And he did not reproach you."</p> + +<p>"Not a word."</p> + +<p>"Nor me?"</p> + +<p>"He declared that had it been he who was in question he would have +clung to you for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>"Did he? Then will he leave us here?"</p> + +<p>"That does not follow. I should think not. He will know that +others must know it. Your brother-in-law will not tell him only. +Lefroy, when he finds that he can get no money here, from sheer +revenge will tell the story everywhere. When he left the rectory, +he was probably as angry with the Doctor as he is with me. He +will do all the harm that he can to all of us."</p> + +<p>"We must go, then?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so. Your position here would be insupportable +even if it could be permitted. You may be sure of +this;—everybody will know it."</p> + +<p>"What do I care for everybody?" she said. "It is not that I am +ashamed of myself."</p> + +<p>"No, dearest; nor am I,—ashamed of myself or of you. But there +will be bitter words, and bitter words will produce bitter looks +and scant respect. How would it be with you if the boys looked at +you as though they thought ill of you?"</p> + +<p>"They would not;—oh, they would not!"</p> + +<p>"Or the servants,—if they reviled you?"</p> + +<p>"Could it come to that?"</p> + +<p>"It must not come to that. But it is as the Doctor said himself +just now;—a man cannot isolate the morals, the manners, the ways +of his life from the morals of others. Men, if they live +together, must live together by certain laws."</p> + +<p>"Then there can be no hope for us."</p> + +<p>"None that I can see, as far as Bowick is concerned. We are too +closely joined in our work with other people. There is not a boy +here with whose father and mother and sisters we are not more or +less connected. When I was preaching in the church, there was not +one in the parish with whom I was not connected. Would it do, do +you think, for a priest to preach against drunkenness, whilst he +himself was a noted drunkard?"</p> + +<p>"Are we like that?"</p> + +<p>"It is not what the drunken priest might think of himself, but +what others might think of him. It would not be with us the +position which we know that we hold together, but that which +others would think it to be. If I were in Dr. Wortle's case, and +another were to me as I am to him, I should bid him go."</p> + +<p>"You would turn him away from you; him and his—wife?"</p> + +<p>"I should. My first duty would be to my parish and to my school. +If I could befriend him otherwise I would do so;—and that is what +I expect from Dr. Wortle. We shall have to go, and I shall be +forced to approve of our dismissal."</p> + +<p>In this way Mr. Peacocke came definitely and clearly to a +conclusion in his own mind. But it was very different with Dr. +Wortle. The story so disturbed him, that during the whole of that +afternoon he did not attempt to turn his mind to any other +subject. He even went so far as to send over to Mr. Puddicombe +and asked for some assistance for the afternoon service on the +following day. He was too unwell, he said, to preach himself, and +the one curate would have the two entire services unless Mr. +Puddicombe could help him. Could Mr. Puddicombe come himself and +see him on the Sunday afternoon? This note he sent away by a +messenger, who came back with a reply, saying that Mr. Puddicombe +would himself preach in the afternoon, and would afterwards call +in at the rectory.</p> + +<p>For an hour or two before his dinner, the Doctor went out on +horseback, and roamed about among the lanes, endeavouring to make +up his mind. He was hitherto altogether at a loss as to what he +should do in this present uncomfortable emergency. He could not +bring his conscience and his inclination to come square together. +And even when he counselled himself to yield to his conscience, +his very conscience,—a second conscience, as it were,—revolted +against the first. His first conscience told him that he owed a +primary duty to his parish, a second duty to his school, and a +third to his wife and daughter. In the performance of all these +duties he would be bound to rid himself of Mr. Peacocke. But then +there came that other conscience, telling him that the man had +been more "sinned against than sinning,"—that common humanity +required him to stand by a man who had suffered so much, and had +suffered so unworthily. Then this second conscience went on to +remind him that the man was pre-eminently fit for the duties which +he had undertaken,—that the man was a God-fearing, moral, and +especially intellectual assistant in his school,—that were he to +lose him he could not hope to find any one that would be his +equal, or at all approaching to him in capacity. This second +conscience went further, and assured him that the man's excellence +as a schoolmaster was even increased by the peculiarity of his +position. Do we not all know that if a man be under a cloud the +very cloud will make him more attentive to his duties than +another? If a man, for the wages which he receives, can give to +his employer high character as well as work, he will think that he +may lighten his work because of his character. And as to this +man, who was the very phœnix of school assistants, there would +really be nothing amiss with his character if only this piteous +incident as to his wife were unknown. In this way his second +conscience almost got the better of the first.</p> + +<p>But then it would be known. It would be impossible that it should +not be known. He had already made up his mind to tell Mr. +Puddicombe, absolutely not daring to decide in such an emergency +without consulting some friend. Mr. Puddicombe would hold his +peace if he were to promise to do so. Certainly he might be +trusted to do that. But others would know it; the Bishop would +know it; Mrs. Stantiloup would know it. That man, of course, +would take care that all Broughton, with its close full of +cathedral clergymen, would know it. When Mrs. Stantiloup should +know it there would not be a boy's parent through all the school +who would not know it. If he kept the man he must keep him +resolving that all the world should know that he kept him, that +all the world should know of what nature was the married life of +the assistant in whom he trusted. And he must be prepared to face +all the world, confiding in the uprightness and the humanity of +his purpose.</p> + +<p>In such case he must say something of this kind to all the world; +"I know that they are not married. I know that their condition of +life is opposed to the law of God and man. I know that she bears +a name that is not, in truth, her own; but I think that the +circumstances in this case are so strange, so peculiar, that they +excuse a disregard even of the law of God and man." Had he courage +enough for this? And if the courage were there, was he high +enough and powerful enough to carry out such a purpose? Could he +beat down the Mrs. Stantiloups? And, indeed, could he beat down +the Bishop and the Bishop's phalanx;—for he knew that the Bishop +and the Bishop's phalanx would be against him? They could not +touch him in his living, because Mr. Peacocke would not be +concerned in the services of the church; but would not his school +melt away to nothing in his hands, if he were to attempt to carry +it on after this fashion? And then would he not have destroyed +himself without advantage to the man whom he was anxious to +assist?</p> + +<p>To only one point did he make up his mind certainly during that +ride. Before he slept that night he would tell the whole story to +his wife. He had at first thought that he would conceal it from +her. It was his rule of life to act so entirely on his own will, +that he rarely consulted her on matters of any importance. As it +was, he could not endure the responsibility of acting by himself. +People would say of him that he had subjected his wife to +contamination, and had done so without giving her any choice in +the matter. So he resolved that he would tell his wife.</p> + +<p>"Not married," said Mrs. Wortle, when she heard the story.</p> + +<p>"Married; yes. They were married. It was not their fault that +the marriage was nothing. What was he to do when he heard that +they had been deceived in this way?"</p> + +<p>"Not married properly! Poor woman!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. What should I have done if such had happened to me +when we had been six months married?"</p> + +<p>"It couldn't have been."</p> + +<p>"Why not to you as well as to another?"</p> + +<p>"I was only a young girl."</p> + +<p>"But if you had been a widow?"</p> + +<p>"Don't, my dear; don't! It wouldn't have been possible."</p> + +<p>"But you pity her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"And you see that a great misfortune has fallen upon her, which +she could not help?"</p> + +<p>"Not till she knew it," said the wife who had been married quite +properly.</p> + +<p>"And what then? What should she have done then?"</p> + +<p>"Gone," said the wife, who had no doubt as to the comfort, the +beauty, the perfect security of her own position.</p> + +<p>"Gone?"</p> + +<p>"Gone away at once."</p> + +<p>"Whither should she go? Who would have taken her by the hand? +Who would have supported her? Would you have had her lay herself +down in the first gutter and die?"</p> + +<p>"Better that than what she did do," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Then, by all the faith I have in Christ, I think you are hard +upon her. Do you think what it is to have to go out and live +alone;—to have to look for your bread in desolation?"</p> + +<p>"I have never been tried, my dear," said she, clinging close to +him. "I have never had anything but what was good."</p> + +<p>"Ought we not to be kind to one to whom Fortune has been so +unkind?"</p> + +<p>"If we can do so without sin."</p> + +<p>"Sin! I despise the fear of sin which makes us think that its +contact will soil us. Her sin, if it be sin, is so near akin to +virtue, that I doubt whether we should not learn of her rather +than avoid her."</p> + +<p>"A woman should not live with a man unless she be his wife." Mrs. +Wortle said this with more of obstinacy than he had expected.</p> + +<p>"She was his wife, as far as she knew."</p> + +<p>"But when she knew that it was not so any longer,—then she should +have left him."</p> + +<p>"And have starved?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose she might have taken bread from him."</p> + +<p>"You think, then, that she should go away from here?"</p> + +<p>"Do not you think so? What will Mrs. Stantiloup say?"</p> + +<p>"And I am to turn them out into the cold because of a virago such +as she is? You would have no more charity than that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jeffrey! what would the Bishop say?"</p> + +<p>"Cannot you get beyond Mrs. Stantiloup and beyond the Bishop, and +think what Justice demands?"</p> + +<p>"The boys would all be taken away. If you had a son, would you +send him where there was a schoolmaster living,—living—. Oh, +you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>It is very clear to the Doctor that his wife's mind was made up on +the subject; and yet there was no softer-hearted woman than Mrs. +Wortle anywhere in the diocese, or one less likely to be severe +upon a neighbour. Not only was she a kindly, gentle woman, but she +was one who always had been willing to take her husband's opinion +on all questions of right and wrong. She, however, was decided +that they must go.</p> + +<p>On the next morning, after service, which the schoolmaster did not +attend, the Doctor saw Mr. Peacocke, and declared his intention of +telling the story to Mr. Puddicombe. "If you bid me hold my +tongue," he said, "I will do so. But it will be better that I +should consult another clergyman. He is a man who can keep a +secret." Then Mr. Peacocke gave him full authority to tell +everything to Mr. Puddicombe. He declared that the Doctor might +tell the story to whom he would. Everybody might know it now. He +had, he said, quite made up his mind about that. What was the +good of affecting secrecy when this man Lefroy was in the country?</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, after service, Mr. Puddicombe came up to the +house, and heard it all. He was a dry, thin, apparently +unsympathetic man, but just withal, and by no means given to +harshness. He could pardon whenever he could bring himself to +believe that pardon would have good results; but he would not be +driven by impulses and softness of heart to save the faulty one +from the effect of his fault, merely because that effect would be +painful. He was a man of no great mental calibre,—not sharp, and +quick, and capable of repartee as was the Doctor, but rational in +all things, and always guided by his conscience. "He has behaved +very badly to you," he said, when he heard the story.</p> + +<p>"I do not think so; I have no such feeling myself."</p> + +<p>"He behaved very badly in bringing her here without telling you +all the facts. Considering the position that she was to occupy, +he must have known that he was deceiving you."</p> + +<p>"I can forgive all that," said the Doctor, vehemently. "As far as +I myself am concerned, I forgive everything."</p> + +<p>"You are not entitled to do so."</p> + +<p>"How—not entitled?"</p> + +<p>"You must pardon me if I seem to take a liberty in expressing +myself too boldly in this matter. Of course I should not do so +unless you asked me."</p> + +<p>"I want you to speak freely,—all that you think."</p> + +<p>"In considering his conduct, we have to consider it all. First of +all there came a great and terrible misfortune which cannot but +excite our pity. According to his own story, he seems, up to that +time, to have been affectionate and generous."</p> + +<p>"I believe every word of it," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Allowing for a man's natural bias on his own side, so do I. He +had allowed himself to become attached to another man's wife; but +we need not, perhaps, insist upon that." The Doctor moved himself +uneasily in his chair, but said nothing. "We will grant that he +put himself right by his marriage, though in that, no doubt, there +should have been more of caution. Then came his great misfortune. +He knew that his marriage had been no marriage. He saw the man +and had no doubt."</p> + +<p>"Quite so; quite so," said the Doctor, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"He should, of course, have separated himself from her. There can +be no doubt about it. There is no room for any quibble."</p> + +<p>"Quibble!" said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"I mean that no reference in our own minds to the pity of the +thing, to the softness of the moment,—should make us doubt about +it. Feelings such as these should induce us to pardon sinners, +even to receive them back into our friendship and respect,—when +they have seen the error of their ways and have repented."</p> + +<p>"You are very hard."</p> + +<p>"I hope not. At any rate I can only say as I think. But, in +truth, in the present emergency you have nothing to do with all +that. If he asked you for counsel you might give it to him, but +that is not his present position. He has told you his story, not +in a spirit of repentance, but because such telling had become +necessary."</p> + +<p>"He would have told it all the same though this man had never +come."</p> + +<p>"Let us grant that it is so, there still remains his relation to +you. He came here under false pretences, and has done you a +serious injury."</p> + +<p>"I think not," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Would you have taken him into your establishment had you known it +all before? Certainly not. Therefore I say that he has deceived +you. I do not advise you to speak to him with severity; but he +should, I think, be made to know that you appreciate what he has +done."</p> + +<p>"And you would turn him off;—send him away at once, out about his +business?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I would send him away."</p> + +<p>"You think him such a reprobate that he should not be allowed to +earn his bread anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"I have not said so. I know nothing of his means of earning his +bread. Men living in sin earn their bread constantly. But he +certainly should not be allowed to earn his here."</p> + +<p>"Not though that man who was her husband should now be dead, and +he should again marry,—legally marry,—this woman to whom he has +been so true and loyal?"</p> + +<p>"As regards you and your school," said Mr. Puddicombe, "I do not +think it would alter his position."</p> + +<p>With this the conference ended, and Mr. Puddicombe took his leave. +As he left the house the Doctor declared to himself that the man +was a strait-laced, fanatical, hard-hearted bigot. But though he +said so to himself, he hardly thought so; and was aware that the +man's words had had effect upon him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c10" id="c10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Part IV</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>MR. PEACOCKE GOES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Doctor had been all but savage with his wife, and, for the +moment, had hated Mr. Puddicombe, but still what they said had +affected him. They were both of them quite clear that Mr. +Peacocke should be made to go at once. And he, though he hated +Mr. Puddicombe for his cold logic, could not but acknowledge that +all the man had said was true. According to the strict law of +right and wrong the two unfortunates should have parted when they +found that they were not in truth married. And, again, according +to the strict law of right and wrong, Mr. Peacocke should not have +brought the woman there, into his school, as his wife. There had +been deceit. But then would not he, Dr. Wortle himself, have been +guilty of similar deceit had it fallen upon him to have to defend +a woman who had been true and affectionate to him? Mr. Puddicombe +would have left the woman to break her heart and have gone away +and done his duty like a Christian, feeling no tugging at his +heart-strings. It was so that our Doctor spoke to himself of his +counsellor, sitting there alone in his library.</p> + +<p>During his conference with Lefroy something had been said which +had impressed him suddenly with an idea. A word had fallen from +the Colonel, an unintended word, by which the Doctor was made to +believe that the other Colonel was dead, at any rate now. He had +cunningly tried to lead up to the subject, but Robert Lefroy had +been on his guard as soon as he had perceived the Doctor's object, +and had drawn back, denying the truth of the word he had before +spoken. The Doctor at last asked him the question direct. Lefroy +then declared that his brother had been alive and well when he +left Texas, but he did this in such a manner as to strengthen in +the Doctor's mind the impression that he was dead. If it were so, +then might not all these crooked things be made straight?</p> + +<p>He had thought it better to raise no false hopes. He had said +nothing of this to Peacocke on discussing the story. He had not +even hinted it to his wife, from whom it might probably make its +way to Mrs. Peacocke. He had suggested it to Mr. +Puddicombe,—asking whether there might not be a way out of all +their difficulties. Mr. Puddicombe had declared that there could +be no such way as far as the school was concerned. Let them +marry, and repent their sins, and go away from the spot they had +contaminated, and earn their bread in some place in which there +need be no longer additional sin in concealing the story of their +past life. That seemed to have been Mr. Puddicombe's final +judgment. But it was altogether opposed to Dr. Wortle's feelings.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Puddicombe came down from the church to the rectory, Lord +Carstairs was walking home after the afternoon service with Miss +Wortle. It was his custom to go to church with the family, whereas +the school went there under the charge of one of the ushers and +sat apart in a portion of the church appropriated to themselves. +Mrs. Wortle, when she found that the Doctor was not going to the +afternoon service, declined to go herself. She was thoroughly +disturbed by all these bad tidings, and was, indeed, very little +able to say her prayers in a fit state of mind. She could hardly +keep herself still for a moment, and was as one who thinks that +the crack of doom is coming;—so terrible to her was her vicinity +and connection with this man, and with the woman who was not his +wife. Then, again, she became flurried when she found that Lord +Carstairs and Mary would have to walk alone together; and she made +little abortive attempts to keep first the one and then the other +from going to church. Mary probably saw no reason for staying +away, while Lord Carstairs possibly found an additional reason for +going. Poor Mrs. Wortle had for some weeks past wished that the +charming young nobleman had been at home with his father and +mother, or anywhere but in her house. It had been arranged, +however, that he should go in July and not return after the summer +holidays. Under these circumstances, having full confidence in +her girl, she had refrained from again expressing her fears to the +Doctor. But there were fears. It was evident to her, though the +Doctor seemed to see nothing of it, that the young lord was +falling in love. It might be that his youth and natural +bashfulness would come to her aid, and that nothing should be said +before that day in July which would separate them. But when it +suddenly occurred to her that they two would walk to and fro from +church together, there was cause for additional uneasiness.</p> + +<p>If she had heard their conversation as they came back she would +have been in no way disturbed by its tone on the score of the +young man's tenderness towards her daughter, but she might perhaps +have been surprised by his vehemence in another respect. She +would have been surprised also at finding how much had been said +during the last twenty-four hours by others besides herself and +her husband about the affairs of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what he came about?" asked Mary. The "he" had of +course been Robert Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least; but he came up there looking so queer, as +though he certainly had come about something unpleasant."</p> + +<p>"And then he was with papa afterwards," said Mary. "I am sure +papa and mamma not coming to church has something to do with it. +And Mr. Peacocke hasn't been to church all day."</p> + +<p>"Something has happened to make him very unhappy," said the boy. +"He told me so even before this man came here. I don't know any +one whom I like so much as Mr. Peacocke."</p> + +<p>"I think it is about his wife," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"How about his wife?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but I think it is. She is so very quiet."</p> + +<p>"How quiet, Miss Wortle?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"She never will come in to see us. Mamma has asked her to dinner +and to drink tea ever so often, but she never comes. She calls +perhaps once in two or three months in a formal way, and that is +all we see of her."</p> + +<p>"Do you like her?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"How can I say, when I so seldom see her."</p> + +<p>"I do. I like her very much. I go and see her often; and I'm +sure of this;—she is quite a lady. Mamma asked her to go to +Carstairs for the holidays because of what I said."</p> + +<p>"She is not going?"</p> + +<p>"No; neither of them will come. I wish they would; and oh, Miss +Wortle, I do so wish you were going to be there too." This is all +that was said of peculiar tenderness between them on that walk +home.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening,—so late that the boys had already gone to +bed,—the Doctor sent again for Mr. Peacocke. "I should not have +troubled you to-night," he said, "only that I have heard something +from Pritchett." Pritchett was the rectory gardener who had charge +also of the school buildings, and was a person of great authority +in the establishment. He, as well the Doctor, held Mr. Peacocke +in great respect, and would have been almost as unwilling as the +Doctor himself to tell stories to the schoolmaster's discredit. +"They are saying down at the Lamb"—the Lamb was the Bowick +public-house—"that Lefroy told them all yesterday—" the Doctor +hesitated before he could tell it.</p> + +<p>"That my wife is not my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Just so."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am prepared for it. I knew that it would be so; did +not you?"</p> + +<p>"I expected it."</p> + +<p>"I was sure of it. It may be taken for granted at once that there +is no longer a secret to keep. I would wish you to act just as +though all the facts were known to the entire diocese." After this +there was a +<ins class="corr" title="Changed full stop to +comma after ‘pause’">pause,</ins> during +which neither of them spoke for a few +moments. The Doctor had not intended to declare any purpose of +his own on that occasion, but it seemed to him now as though he +were almost driven to do so. Then Mr. Peacocke seeing the +difficulty at once relieved him from it. "I am quite prepared to +leave Bowick," he said, "at once. I know that it must be so. I +have thought about it, and have perceived that there is no +possible alternative. I should like to consult with you as to +whither I had better go. Where shall I first take her?"</p> + +<p>"Leave her here," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Here! Where?"</p> + +<p>"Where she is in the school-house. No one will come to fill your +place for a while."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought," said Mr. Peacocke very slowly, "that her +presence—would have been worse almost,—than my own."</p> + +<p>"To me,"—said the Doctor,—"to me she is as pure as the most +unsullied matron in the country." Upon this Mr. Peacocke, jumping +from his chair, seized the Doctor's hand, but could not speak for +his tears; then he seated himself again, turning his face away +towards the wall. "To no one could the presence of either of you +be an evil. The evil is, if I may say so, that the two of you +should be here together. You should be apart,—till some better +day has come upon you."</p> + +<p>"What better day can ever come?" said the poor man through his +tears.</p> + +<p>Then the Doctor declared his scheme. He told what he thought as +to Ferdinand Lefroy, and his reason for believing that the man was +dead. "I felt sure from his manner that his brother is now dead +in truth. Go to him and ask him boldly," he said.</p> + +<p>"But his word would not suffice for another marriage ceremony."</p> + +<p>To this the Doctor agreed. It was not his intention, he said, +that they should proceed on evidence as slight as that. No; a +step must be taken much more serious in its importance, and +occupying a considerable time. He, Peacocke, must go again to +Missouri and find out all the truth. The Doctor was of opinion +that if this were resolved upon, and that if the whole truth were +at once proclaimed, then Mr. Peacocke need not hesitate to pay +Robert Lefroy for any information which might assist him in his +search. "While you are gone," continued the Doctor almost wildly, +"let bishops and Stantiloups and Puddicombes say what they may, +she shall remain here. To say that she will be happy is of course +vain. There can be no happiness for her till this has been put +right. But she will be safe; and here, at my hand, she will, I +think, be free from insult. What better is there to be done?"</p> + +<p>"There can be nothing better," said Peacocke drawing his +breath,—as though a gleam of light had shone in upon him.</p> + +<p>"I had not meant to have spoken to you of this till to-morrow. I +should not have done so, but that Pritchett had been with me. But +the more I thought of it, the more sure I became that you could +not both remain,—till something had been done; till something had +been done."</p> + +<p>"I was sure of it, Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Puddicombe saw that it was so. Mr. Puddicombe is not all the +world to me by any means, but he is a man of common sense. I will +be frank with you. My wife said that it could not be so."</p> + +<p>"She shall not stay. Mrs. Wortle shall not be annoyed."</p> + +<p>"You don't see it yet," said the Doctor. "But you do. I know you +do. And she shall stay. The house shall be hers, as her +residence, for the next six months. As for +<span class="nowrap">money—"</span></p> + +<p>"I have got what will do for that, I think."</p> + +<p>"If she wants money she shall have what she wants. There is +nothing I will not do for you in your trouble,—except that you +may not both be here together till I shall have shaken hands with +her as Mrs. Peacocke in very truth."</p> + +<p>It was settled that Mr. Peacocke should not go again into the +school, or Mrs. Peacocke among the boys, till he should have gone +to America and have come back. It was explained in the school by +the Doctor early,—for the Doctor must now take the morning school +himself,—that circumstances of very grave import made it +necessary that Mr. Peacocke should start at once for America. +That the tidings which had been published at the Lamb would reach +the boys, was more than probable. Nay; was it not certain? It +would of course reach all the boys' parents. There was no use, no +service, in any secrecy. But in speaking to the school not a word +was said of Mrs. Peacocke. The Doctor explained that he himself +would take the morning school, and that Mr. Rose, the mathematical +master, would take charge of the school meals. Mrs. Cane, the +house-keeper, would look to the linen and the bed-rooms. It was +made plain that Mrs. Peacocke's services were not to be required; +but her name was not mentioned,—except that the Doctor, in order +to let it be understood that she was not to be banished from the +house, begged the boys as a favour that they would not interrupt +Mrs. Peacocke's tranquillity during Mr. Peacocke's absence.</p> + +<p>On the Tuesday morning Mr. Peacocke started, remaining, however, a +couple of days at Broughton, during which the Doctor saw him. +Lefroy declared that he knew nothing about his brother,—whether +he were alive or dead. He might be dead, because he was always in +trouble, and generally drunk. Robert, on the whole, thought it +probable that he was dead, but could not be got to say so. For a +thousand dollars he would go over to Missouri, and, if necessary +to Texas, so as to find the truth. He would then come back and +give undeniable evidence. While making this benevolent offer, he +declared, with tears in his eyes, that he had come over intending +to be a true brother to his sister-in-law, and had simply been +deterred from prosecuting his good intentions by Peacocke's +austerity. Then he swore a most solemn oath that if he knew +anything about his brother Ferdinand he would reveal it. The +Doctor and Peacocke agreed together that the man's word was worth +nothing; but that the man's services might be useful in enabling +them to track out the truth. They were both convinced, by words +which fell from him, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead; but this +would be of no avail unless they could obtain absolute evidence.</p> + +<p>During these two days there were various conversations at +Broughton between the Doctor, Mr. Peacocke, and Lefroy, in which a +plan of action was at length arranged. Lefroy and the +schoolmaster were to proceed to America together, and there obtain +what evidence they could as to the life or death of the elder +brother. When absolute evidence had been obtained of either, a +thousand dollars was to be handed to Robert Lefroy. But when this +agreement was made the man was given to understand that his own +uncorroborated word would go for nothing.</p> + +<p>"Who is to say what is evidence, and what not?" asked the man, not +unnaturally.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peacocke must be the judge," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"I ain't going to agree to that," said the other. "Though he were +to see him dead, he might swear he hadn't, and not give me a red +cent. Why ain't I to be judge as well as he?"</p> + +<p>"Because you can trust him, and he cannot in the least trust you," +said the Doctor. "You know well enough that if he were to see +your brother alive, or to see him dead, you would get the money. +At any rate, you have no other way of getting it but what we +propose." To all this Robert Lefroy at last assented.</p> + +<p>The prospect before Mr. Peacocke for the next three months was +certainly very sad. He was to travel from Broughton to St. Louis, +and possibly from thence down into the wilds of Texas, in company +with this man, whom he thoroughly despised. Nothing could be more +abominable to him than such an association; but there was no other +way in which the proposed plan could be carried out. He was to +pay Lefroy's expenses back to his own country, and could only hope +to keep the man true to his purpose by doing so from day to day. +Were he to give the man money, the man would at once disappear. +Here in England, and in their passage across the ocean, the man +might, in some degree, be amenable and obedient. But there was no +knowing to what he might have recourse when he should find himself +nearer to his country, and should feel that his companion was +distant from his own.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to keep a close watch upon him," whispered the Doctor +to his friend. "I should not advise all this if I did not think +you were a man of strong nerve."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," said the other; "but I doubt whether he may not +be too many for me. At any rate, I will try it. You will hear +from me as I go on."</p> + +<p>And so they parted as dear friends part. The Doctor had, in +truth, taken the man altogether to his heart since all the +circumstances of the story had come home to him. And it need +hardly be said that the other was aware how deep a debt of +gratitude he owed to the protector of his wife. Indeed the very +money that was to be paid to Robert Lefroy, if he earned it, was +advanced out of the Doctor's pocket. Mr. Peacocke's means were +sufficient for the expenses of the journey, but fell short when +these thousand dollars had to be provided.</p> + + +<p><a name="c11" id="c11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>THE BISHOP.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Mr. Peacocke</span> +had been quite right in saying that the secret would +at once be known through the whole diocese. It certainly was so +before he had been gone a week, and it certainly was the case also +that the diocese generally did not approve of the Doctor's +conduct. The woman ought not to have been left there. So said +the diocese. It was of course the case, that though the diocese +knew much, it did not know all. It is impossible to keep such a +story concealed, but it is quite as impossible to make known all +its details. In the eyes of the diocese the woman was of course +the chief sinner, and the chief sinner was allowed to remain at +the school! When this assertion was made to him the Doctor became +very angry, saying that Mrs. Peacocke did not remain at the +school; that, according to the arrangement as at present made, +Mrs. Peacocke had nothing to do with the school; that the house +was his own, and that he might lend it to whom he pleased. Was he +to turn the woman out houseless, when her husband had gone, on +such an errand, on his advice? Of course the house was his own, +but as clergyman of the parish he had not a right to do what he +liked with it. He had no right to encourage evil. And the man +was not the woman's husband. That was just the point made by the +diocese. And she was at the school,—living under the same roof +with the boys! The diocese was clearly of opinion that all the +boys would be taken away.</p> + +<p>The diocese spoke by the voice of its bishop, as a diocese should +do. Shortly after Mr. Peacocke's departure, the Doctor had an +interview with his lordship, and told the whole story. The doing +this went much against the grain with him, but he hardly dared not +to do it. He felt that he was bound to do it on the part of Mrs. +Peacocke if not on his own. And then the man, who had now gone, +though he had never been absolutely a curate, had preached +frequently in the diocese. He felt that it would not be wise to +abstain from telling the bishop.</p> + +<p>The bishop was a goodly man, comely in his person, and possessed +of manners which had made him popular in the world. He was one of +those who had done the best he could with his talent, not wrapping +it up in a napkin, but getting from it the best interest which the +world's market could afford. But not on that account was he other +than a good man. To do the best he could for himself and his +family,—and also to do his duty,—was the line of conduct which +he pursued. There are some who reverse this order, but he was not +one of them. He had become a scholar in his youth, not from love +of scholarship, but as a means to success. The Church had become +his profession, and he had worked hard at his calling. He had +taught himself to be courteous and urbane, because he had been +clever enough to see that courtesy and urbanity are agreeable to +men in high places. As a bishop he never spared himself the work +which a bishop ought to do. He answered letters, he studied the +characters of the clergymen under him, he was just with his +patronage, he endeavoured to be efficacious with his charges, he +confirmed children in cold weather as well as in warm, he +occasionally preached sermons, and he was beautiful and decorous +in his gait of manner, as it behoves a clergyman of the Church of +England to be. He liked to be master; but even to be master he +would not encounter the abominable nuisance of a quarrel. When +first coming to the diocese he had had some little difficulty with +our Doctor; but the Bishop had abstained from violent assertion, +and they had, on the whole, been friends. There was, however, on +the Bishop's part, something of a feeling that the Doctor was the +bigger man; and it was probable that, without active malignity, he +would take advantage of any chance which might lower the Doctor a +little, and bring him more within episcopal power. In some degree +he begrudged the Doctor his manliness.</p> + +<p>He listened with many smiles and with perfect courtesy to the +story as it was told to him, and was much less severe on the +unfortunates than Mr. Puddicombe had been. It was not the +wickedness of the two people in living together, or their +wickedness in keeping their secret, which offended him so much, as +the evil which they were likely to do,—and to have done. "No +doubt," he said, "an ill-living man may preach a good sermon, +perhaps a better one than a pious God-fearing clergyman, whose +intellect may be inferior though his morals are much better;—but +coming from tainted lips, the better sermon will not carry a +blessing with it." At this the Doctor shook his head. "Bringing a +blessing" was a phrase which the Doctor hated. He shook his head +not too civilly, saying that he had not intended to trouble his +lordship on so difficult a point in ecclesiastical morals. "But +we cannot but remember," said the Bishop, "that he has been +preaching in your parish church, and the people will know that he +has acted among them as a clergyman."</p> + +<p>"I hope the people, my lord, may never have the Gospel preached to +them by a worse man."</p> + +<p>"I will not judge him; but I do think that it has been a +misfortune. You, of course, were in ignorance."</p> + +<p>"Had I known all about it, I should have been very much inclined +to do the same."</p> + +<p>This was, in fact, not true, and was said simply in a spirit of +contradiction. The Bishop shook his head and smiled. "My school +is a matter of more importance," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Hardly, hardly, Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"Of more importance in this way, that my school may probably be +injured, whereas neither the morals nor the faith of the +parishioners will have been hurt."</p> + +<p>"But he has gone."</p> + +<p>"He has gone;—but she remains."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"He has gone, but she remains." He repeated the words very +distinctly, with a frown on his brow, as though to show that on +that branch of the subject he intended to put up with no +opposition,—hardly even with an adverse opinion.</p> + +<p>"She had a certain charge, as I understand,—as to the school."</p> + +<p>"She had, my lord; and very well she did her work. I shall have a +great loss in her,—for the present."</p> + +<p>"But you said she remained."</p> + +<p>"I have lent her the use of the house till her husband shall come +back."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peacocke, you mean," said the Bishop, who was unable not to +put in a contradiction against the untruth of the word which had +been used.</p> + +<p>"I shall always regard them as married."</p> + +<p>"But they are not."</p> + +<p>"I have lent her the house, at any rate, during his absence. I +could not turn her into the street."</p> + +<p>"Would not a lodging here in the city have suited her better?"</p> + +<p>"I thought not. People here would have refused to take +her,—because of her story. The wife of some religious grocer, +who sands his sugar regularly, would have thought her house +contaminated by such an inmate."</p> + +<p>"So it would have been, Doctor, to some extent." At hearing this +the Doctor made very evident signs of discontent. "You cannot +alter the ways of the world suddenly, though by example and +precept you may help to improve them slowly. In our present +imperfect condition of moral culture, it is perhaps well that the +company of the guilty should be shunned."</p> + +<p>"Guilty!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that I must say so. The knowledge that such a +feeling exists no doubt deters others from guilt. The fact that +wrong-doing in women is scorned helps to maintain the innocence of +women. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"I must hesitate before I trouble your lordship by arguing such +difficult questions. I thought it right to tell you the facts +after what had occurred. He has gone, she is there,—and there +she will remain for the present. I could not turn her out. +Thinking her, as I do, worthy of my friendship, I could not do +other than befriend her."</p> + +<p>"Of course you must be the judge yourself."</p> + +<p>"I had to be the judge, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that the parents of the boys will not understand it."</p> + +<p>"I also am afraid. It will be very hard to make them understand +it. There will be some who will work hard to make them +misunderstand it."</p> + +<p>"I hope not that."</p> + +<p>"There will. I must stand the brunt of it. I have had battles +before this, and had hoped that now, when I am getting old, they +might have been at an end. But there is something left of me, and +I can fight still. At any rate, I have made up my mind about +this. There she shall remain till he comes back to fetch her." +And so the interview was over, the Bishop feeling that he had in +some slight degree had the best of it,—and the Doctor feeling +that he, in some slight degree, had had the worst. If possible, +he would not talk to the Bishop on the subject again.</p> + +<p>He told Mr. Puddicombe also. "With your generosity and kindness +of heart I quite sympathise," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to +be pleasant in his manner.</p> + +<p>"But not with my prudence."</p> + +<p>"Not with your prudence," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be +true at the same time.</p> + +<p>But the Doctor's greatest difficulty was with his wife, whose +conduct it was necessary that he should guide, and whose feelings +and conscience he was most anxious to influence. When she first +heard his decision she almost wrung her hands in despair. If the +woman could have gone to America, and the man have remained, she +would have been satisfied. Anything wrong about a man was but of +little moment,—comparatively so, even though he were a clergyman; +but anything wrong about a woman,—and she so near to herself! O +dear! And the poor dear boys,—under the same roof with her! And +the boys' mammas! How would she be able to endure the sight of +that horrid Mrs. Stantiloup;—or Mrs. Stantiloup's words, which +would certainly be conveyed to her? But there was something much +worse for her even than all this. The Doctor insisted that she +should go and call upon the woman! "And take Mary?" asked Mrs. +Wortle.</p> + +<p>"What would be the good of taking Mary? Who is talking of a child +like that? It is for the sake of charity,—for the dear love of +Christ, that I ask you to do it. Do you ever think of Mary +Magdalene?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"This is no Magdalene. This is a woman led into no faults by +vicious propensities. Here is one who has been altogether +unfortunate,—who has been treated more cruelly than any of whom +you have ever read."</p> + +<p>"Why did she not leave him?"</p> + +<p>"Because she was a woman, with a heart in her bosom."</p> + +<p>"I am to go to her?"</p> + +<p>"I do not order it. I only ask it." Such asking from her husband +was, she knew, very near alike to ordering.</p> + +<p>"What shall I say to her?"</p> + +<p>"Bid her keep up her courage till he shall return. If you were +all alone, as she is, would not you wish that some other woman +should come to comfort you? Think of her desolation."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wortle did think of it, and after a day or two made up her +mind to obey her husband's—request. She made her call, but very +little came of it, except that she promised to come again. "Mrs. +Wortle," said the poor woman, "pray do not let me be a trouble to +you. If you stay away I shall quite understand that there is +sufficient reason. I know how good your husband has been to us." +Mrs. Wortle said, however, as she took her leave, that she would +come again in a day or two.</p> + +<p>But there were other troubles in store for Mrs. Wortle. Before +she had repeated her visit to Mrs. Peacocke, a lady, who lived +about ten miles off, the wife of the Rector of Buttercup, called +upon her. This was the Lady Margaret Momson, a daughter of the +Earl of Brigstock, who had, thirty years ago, married a young +clergyman. Nevertheless, up to the present day, she was quite as +much the Earl's daughter as the parson's wife. She was first +cousin to that Mrs. Stantiloup between whom and the Doctor +internecine war was always being waged; and she was also aunt to a +boy at the school, who, however, was in no way related to Mrs. +Stantiloup, young Momson being the son of the parson's eldest +brother. Lady Margaret had never absolutely and openly taken the +part of Mrs. Stantiloup. Had she done so, a visit even of +ceremony would have been impossible. But she was supposed to have +Stantiloup proclivities, and was not, therefore, much liked at +Bowick. There had been a question indeed whether young Momson +should be received at the school,—because of the <i>quasi</i> +connection with the arch-enemy; but Squire Momson of Buttercup, +the boy's father, had set that at rest by bursting out, in the +Doctor's hearing, into violent abuse against "the close-fisted, +vulgar old faggot." The son of a man imbued with such proper +feelings was, of course, accepted.</p> + +<p>But Lady Margaret was proud,—especially at the present time. +"What a romance this is, Mrs. Wortle," she said, "that has gone +all through the diocese!" The reader will remember that Lady +Margaret was also the wife of a clergyman.</p> + +<p>"You mean—the Peacockes?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do."</p> + +<p>"He has gone away."</p> + +<p>"We all know that, of course;—to look for his wife's husband. +Good gracious me! What a story!"</p> + +<p>"They think that he is—dead now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they thought so before," said Lady Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Of course they did."</p> + +<p>"Though it does seem that no inquiry was made at all. Perhaps +they don't care about those things over there as we do here. He +couldn't have cared very much,—nor she."</p> + +<p>"The Doctor thinks that they are very much to be pitied."</p> + +<p>"The Doctor always was a little Quixotic—eh?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think that at all, Lady Margaret."</p> + +<p>"I mean in the way of being so very good-natured and kind. Her +brother came;—didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Her first husband's brother," said Mrs. Wortle, blushing.</p> + +<p>"Her first husband!"</p> + +<p>"Well;—you know what I mean, Lady Margaret."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know what you mean. It is so very shocking; isn't it? +And so the two men have gone off together to look for the third. +Goodness me;—what a party they will be if they meet! Do you +think they'll quarrel?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Lady Margaret."</p> + +<p>"And that he should be a clergyman of the Church of England! +Isn't it dreadful? What does the Bishop say? Has he heard all +about it?"</p> + +<p>"The Bishop has nothing to do with it. Mr. Peacocke never held a +curacy in the diocese."</p> + +<p>"But he has preached here very often,—and has taken her to church +with him! I suppose the Bishop has been told?"</p> + +<p>"You may be sure that he knows it as well as you."</p> + +<p>"We are so anxious, you know, about dear little Gus." Dear little +Gus was Augustus Momson, the lady's nephew, who was supposed to be +the worst-behaved, and certainly the stupidest boy in the school.</p> + +<p>"Augustus will not be hurt, I should say."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not directly. But my sister has, I know, very strong +opinions on such subjects. Now, I want to ask you one thing. Is +it true that—she—remains here?"</p> + +<p>"She is still living in the school-house."</p> + +<p>"Is that prudent, Mrs. Wortle?"</p> + +<p>"If you want to have an opinion on that subject, Lady Margaret, I +would recommend you to ask the Doctor." By which she meant to +assert that Lady Margaret would not, for the life of her, dare to +ask the Doctor such a question. "He has done what he has thought +best."</p> + +<p>"Most good-natured, you mean, Mrs. Wortle."</p> + +<p>"I mean what I say, Lady Margaret. He has done what he has +thought best, looking at all the circumstances. He thinks that +they are very worthy people, and that they have been most cruelly +ill-used. He has taken that into consideration. You call it +good-nature. Others perhaps may call it—charity." The wife, +though she at her heart deplored her husband's action in the +matter, was not going to own to another lady that he had been +imprudent.</p> + +<p>"I am sure I hope they will," said Lady Margaret. Then as she was +taking her leave, she made a suggestion. "Some of the boys will +be taken away, I suppose. The Doctor probably expects that."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what he expects," said Mrs. Wortle. "Some are +always going, and when they go, others come in their places. As +for me, I wish he would give the school up altogether."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he means it," said Lady Margaret; "otherwise, perhaps he +wouldn't have been so good-natured." Then she took her departure.</p> + +<p>When her visitor was gone Mrs. Wortle was very unhappy. She had +been betrayed by her wrath into expressing that wish as to the +giving up of the school. She knew well that the Doctor had no +such intention. She herself had more than once suggested it in +her timid way, but the Doctor had treated her suggestions as being +worth nothing. He had his ideas about Mary, who was undoubtedly a +very pretty girl. Mary might marry well, and £20,000 would +probably assist her in doing so.</p> + +<p>When he was told of Lady Margaret's hints, he said in his wrath +that he would send young Momson away instantly if a word was said +to him by the boy's mamma. "Of course," said he, "if the lad +turns out a scapegrace, as is like enough, it will be because Mrs. +Peacocke had two husbands. It is often a question to me whether +the religion of the world is not more odious than its want of +religion." To this terrible suggestion poor Mrs. Wortle did not +dare to make any answer whatever.</p> + + +<p><a name="c12" id="c12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">We</span> +will now pass for a moment out of Bowick parish, and go over to +Buttercup. There, at Buttercup Hall, the squire's house, in the +drawing-room, were assembled Mrs. Momson, the squire's wife; Lady +Margaret Momson, the Rector's wife; Mrs. Rolland, the wife of the +Bishop; and the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup. A party was staying in the +house, collected for the purpose of entertaining the Bishop; and +it would perhaps not have been possible to have got together in +the diocese, four ladies more likely to be hard upon our Doctor. +For though Squire Momson was not very fond of Mrs. Stantiloup, and +had used strong language respecting her when he was anxious to +send his boy to the Doctor's school, Mrs. Momson had always been +of the other party, and had in fact adhered to Mrs. Stantiloup +from the beginning of the quarrel. "I do trust," said Mrs. +Stantiloup, "that there will be an end to all this kind of thing +now."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean an end to the school?" asked Lady Margaret.</p> + +<p>"I do indeed. I always thought it matter of great regret that +Augustus should have been sent there, after the scandalous +treatment that Bob received." Bob was the little boy who had drank +the champagne and required the carriage exercise.</p> + +<p>"But I always heard that the school was quite popular," said Mrs. +Rolland.</p> + +<p>"I think you'll find," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, "that there +won't be much left of its popularity now. Keeping that abominable +woman under the same roof with the boys! No master of a school +that wasn't absolutely blown up with pride, would have taken such +people as those Peacockes without making proper inquiry. And then +to let him preach in the church! I suppose Mr. Momson will allow +you to send for Augustus at once?" This she said turning to Mrs. +Momson.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Momson thinks so much of the Doctor's scholarship," said the +mother, apologetically. "And we are so anxious that Gus should do +well when he goes to Eton."</p> + +<p>"What is Latin and Greek as compared to his soul?" asked Lady +Margaret.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," said Mrs. Rolland. She had found herself compelled, +as wife of the Bishop, to assent to the self-evident proposition +which had been made. She was a quiet, silent little woman, whom +the Bishop had married in the days of his earliest preferment, and +who, though she was delighted to find herself promoted to the +society of the big people in the diocese, had never quite lifted +herself up into their sphere. Though she had her ideas as to what +it was to be a Bishop's wife, she had never yet been quite able to +act up to them.</p> + +<p>"I know that young Talbot is to leave," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "I +wrote to Mrs. Talbot immediately when all this occurred, and I've +heard from her cousin Lady Grogram that the boy is not to go back +after the holidays." This happened to be altogether untrue. What +she probably meant was, that the boy should not go back if she +could prevent his doing so.</p> + +<p>"I feel quite sure," said Lady Margaret, "that Lady Anne will not +allow her boys to remain when she finds out what sort of inmates +the Doctor chooses to entertain." The Lady Anne spoken of was Lady +Anne Clifford, the widowed mother of two boys who were intrusted +to the Doctor's care.</p> + +<p>"I do hope you'll be firm about Gus," said Mrs. Stantiloup to Mrs. +Momson. "If we're not to put down this kind of thing, what is the +good of having any morals in the country at all? We might just as +well live like pagans, and do without any marriage services, as +they do in so many parts of the United States."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what the Bishop does think about it?" asked Mrs. Momson +of the Bishop's wife.</p> + +<p>"It makes him very unhappy; I know that," said Mrs. Rolland. "Of +course he cannot interfere about the school. As for licensing the +gentleman as a curate, that was of course quite out of the +question."</p> + +<p>At this moment Mr. Momson, the clergyman, and the Bishop came into +the room, and were offered, as is usual on such occasions, cold +tea and the remains of the buttered toast. The squire was not +there. Had he been with the other gentlemen, Mrs. Stantiloup, +violent as she was, would probably have held her tongue; but as he +was absent, the opportunity was not bad for attacking the Bishop +on the subject under discussion. "We were talking, my lord, about +the Bowick school."</p> + +<p>Now the Bishop was a man who could be very confidential with one +lady, but was apt to be guarded when men are concerned. To any +one of those present he might have said what he thought, had no +one else been there to hear. That would have been the expression +of a private opinion; but to speak before the four would have been +tantamount to a public declaration.</p> + +<p>"About the Bowick school?" said he; "I hope there is nothing going +wrong with the Bowick school."</p> + +<p>"You must have heard about Mr. Peacocke," said Lady Margaret.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have certainly heard of Mr. Peacocke. He, I believe, has +left Dr. Wortle's seminary."</p> + +<p>"But she remains!" said Mrs. Stantiloup, with tragic energy.</p> + +<p>"So I understand;—in the house; but not as part of the +establishment."</p> + +<p>"Does that make so much difference?" asked Lady Margaret.</p> + +<p>"It does make a very great difference," said Lady Margaret's +husband, the parson, wishing to help the Bishop in his difficulty.</p> + +<p>"I don't see it at all," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "The main spirit +in the matter is just as manifest whether the lady is or is not +allowed to look after the boys' linen. In fact, I despise him for +making the pretence. Her doing menial work about the house would +injure no one. It is her presence there,—the presence of a woman +who has falsely pretended to be married, when she knew very well +that she had no husband."</p> + +<p>"When she knew that she had two," said Lady Margaret.</p> + +<p>"And fancy, Lady Margaret,—Lady Bracy absolutely asked her to go +to Carstairs! That woman was always infatuated about Dr. Wortle. +What would she have done if they had gone, and this other man had +followed his sister-in-law there. But Lord and Lady Bracy would +ask any one to Carstairs,—just any one that they could get hold +of!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Momson was one whose obstinacy was wont to give way when +sufficiently attacked. Even he, after having been for two days +subjected to the eloquence of Mrs. Stantiloup, acknowledged that +the Doctor took a great deal too much upon himself. "He does it," +said Mrs. Stantiloup, "just to show that there is nothing that he +can't bring parents to assent to. Fancy,—a woman living there as +house-keeper with a man as usher, pretending to be husband and +wife, when they knew all along that they were not married!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Momson, who didn't care a straw about the morals of the man +whose duty it was to teach his little boy his Latin grammar, or +the morals of the woman who looked after his little boy's +waistcoats and trousers, gave a half-assenting grunt. "And you +are to pay," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, with considerable +emphasis,—"you are to pay two hundred and fifty pounds a-year for +such conduct as that!"</p> + +<p>"Two hundred," suggested the squire, who cared as little for the +money as he did for the morals.</p> + +<p>"Two hundred and fifty,—every shilling of it, when you consider +the extras."</p> + +<p>"There are no extras, as far as I can see. But then my boy is +strong and healthy, thank God," said the squire, taking his +opportunity of having one fling at the lady. But while all this +was going on, he did give a half-assent that Gus should be taken +away at midsummer, being partly moved thereto by a letter from the +Doctor, in which he was told that his boy was not doing any good +at the school.</p> + +<p>It was a week after that that Mrs. Stantiloup wrote the following +letter to her friend Lady Grogram, after she had returned home +from Buttercup Hall. Lady Grogram was a great friend of hers, and +was first cousin to that Mrs. Talbot who had a son at the school. +Lady Grogram was an old woman of strong mind but small means, who +was supposed to be potential over those connected with her. Mrs. +Stantiloup feared that she could not be efficacious herself, +either with Mr. or Mrs. Talbot; but she hoped that she might carry +her purpose through Lady Grogram. It may be remembered that she +had declared at Buttercup Hall that young Talbot was not to go +back to Bowick. But this had been a figure of speech, as has been +already <span class="nowrap">explained:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Lady Grogram</span>,—Since +I got your last letter I have been +staying with the Momsons at Buttercup. It was awfully dull. He +and she are, I think, the stupidest people that ever I met. None +of those Momsons have an idea among them. They are just as heavy +and inharmonious as their name. Lady Margaret was one of the +party. She would have been better, only that our excellent Bishop +was there too, and Lady Margaret thought it well to show off all +her graces before the Bishop and the Bishop's wife. I never saw +such a dowdy in all my life as Mrs. Rolland. He is all very well, +and looks at any rate like a gentleman. It was, I take it, that +which got him his diocese. They say the Queen saw him once, and +was taken by his manners.</p> + +<p>"But I did one good thing at Buttercup. I got Mr. Momson to +promise that that boy of his should not go back to Bowick. Dr. +Wortle has become quite intolerable. I think he is determined to +show that whatever he does, people shall put up with it. It is +not only the most expensive establishment of the kind in all +England, but also the worst conducted. You know, of course, how +all this matter about that woman stands now. She is remaining +there at Bowick, absolutely living in the house, calling herself +Mrs. Peacocke, while the man she was living with has gone off with +her brother-in-law to look for her husband! Did you ever hear of +such a mess as that?</p> + +<p>"And the Doctor expects that fathers and mothers will still send +their boys to such a place as that? I am very much mistaken if he +will not find it altogether deserted before Christmas. Lord +Carstairs is already gone." [This was at any rate disingenuous, as +she had been very severe when at Buttercup on all the Carstairs +family because of their declared and perverse friendship for the +Doctor.] "Mr. Momson, though he is quite incapable of seeing the +meaning of anything, has determined to take his boy away. She may +thank me at any rate for that. I have heard that Lady Anne +Clifford's two boys will both leave." [In one sense she had heard +it, because the suggestion had been made by herself at Buttercup.] +"I do hope that Mr. Talbot's dear little boy will not be allowed +to return to such contamination as that! Fancy,—the man and the +woman living there in that way together; and the Doctor keeping +the woman on after he knew it all! It is really so horrible that +one doesn't know how to talk about it. When the Bishop was at +Buttercup I really felt almost obliged to be silent.</p> + +<p>"I know very well that Mrs. Talbot is always ready to take your +advice. As for him, men very often do not think so much about +these things as they ought. But he will not like his boy to be +nearly the only one left at the school. I have not heard of one +who is to remain for certain. How can it be possible that any boy +who has a mother should be allowed to remain there?</p> + +<p>"Do think of this, and do your best. I need not tell you that +nothing ought to be so dear to us as a high tone of morals.—Most +sincerely yours,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Juliana +Stantiloup</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>We need not pursue this letter further than to say that when it +reached Mr. Talbot's hands, which it did through his wife, he +spoke of Mrs. Stantiloup in language which shocked his wife +considerably, though she was not altogether unaccustomed to strong +language on his part. Mr. Talbot and the Doctor had been at +school together, and at Oxford, and were friends.</p> + +<p>I will give now a letter that was written by the Doctor to Mr. +Momson in answer to one in which that gentleman signified his +intention of taking little Gus away from the school.<br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Mr. Momson</span>,—After +what you have said, of course I shall +not expect your boy back after the holidays. Tell his mamma, with +my compliments, that he shall take all his things home with him. +As a rule I do charge for a quarter in advance when a boy is taken +away suddenly, without notice, and apparently without cause. But +I shall not do so at the present moment either to you or to any +parent who may withdraw his son. A circumstance has happened +which, though it cannot impair the utility of my school, and ought +not to injure its character, may still be held as giving offence +to certain persons. I will not be driven to alter my conduct by +what I believe to be foolish misconception on their part. But they +have a right to their own opinions, and I will not mulct them +because of their conscientious convictions.—Yours faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey +Wortle</span>."</p> + +<p>"If you come across any friend who has a boy here, you are +perfectly at liberty to show him or her this letter."<br /> </p> + + +<p>The defection of the Momsons wounded the Doctor, no doubt. He was +aware that Mrs. Stantiloup had been at Buttercup, and that the +Bishop also had been there—and he could put two and two together; +but it hurt him to think that one so "staunch" though so "stupid" +as Mrs. Momson, should be turned from her purpose by such a woman +as Mrs. Stantiloup. And he got other letters on the subject. +Here is one from Lady Anne Clifford.<br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">Dear Doctor</span>,—You +know how safe I think my dear boys are with +you, and how much obliged I am both to you and your wife for all +your kindness. But people are saying things to me about one of the +masters at your school and his wife. Is there any reason why I +should be afraid? You will see how thoroughly I trust you when I +ask you the question.—Yours very sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Anne +Clifford</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>Now Lady Anne Clifford was a sweet, confiding, affectionate, but +not very wise woman. In a letter, written not many days before to +Mary Wortle, who had on one occasion been staying with her, she +said that she was at that time in the same house with the Bishop +and Mrs. Rolland. Of course the Doctor knew again how to put two +and two together.</p> + +<p>Then there came a letter from Mr. Talbot—<br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">Dear Wortle</span>,—So +you are boiling for yourself another pot of hot +water. I never saw such a fellow as you are for troubles! Old +Mother Shipton has been writing such a letter to our old woman, +and explaining that no boy's soul would any longer be worth +looking after if he be left in your hands. Don't you go and get me +into a scrape more than you can help; but you may be quite sure of +this that if I had as many sons as Priam I should send them all to +you;—only I think that the cheques would be very long in +coming.—Yours always,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">John +Talbot</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>The Doctor answered this at greater length than he had done in +writing to Mr. Momson, who was not specially his friend.<br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Talbot</span>,—You +may be quite sure that I shall not repeat to +any one what you have told me of Mother Shipton. I knew, however, +pretty well what she was doing and what I had to expect from her. +It is astonishing to me that such a woman should still have the +power of persuading any one,—astonishing also that any human +being should continue to hate as she hates me. She has often +tried to do me an injury, but she has never succeeded yet. At any +rate she will not bend me. Though my school should be broken up +to-morrow, which I do not think probable, I should still have +enough to live upon,—which is more, by all accounts, than her +unfortunate husband can say for himself.</p> + +<p>"The facts are these. More than twelve months ago I got an +assistant named Peacocke, a clergyman, an Oxford man, and formerly +a Fellow of Trinity;—a man quite superior to anything I have a +right to expect in my school. He had gone as a Classical +Professor to a college in the United States;—a rash thing to do, +no doubt;—and had there married a widow, which was rasher still. +The lady came here with him and undertook the charge of the +school-house,—with a separate salary; and an admirable person in +the place she was. Then it turned out, as no doubt you have +heard, that her former husband was alive when they were married. +They ought probably to have separated, but they didn't. They came +here instead, and here they were followed by the brother of the +husband,—who I take it is now dead, though of that we know +nothing certain.</p> + +<p>"That he should have told me his position is more than any man has +a right to expect from another. Fortune had been most unkind to +him, and for her sake he was bound to do the best that he could +with himself. I cannot bring myself to be angry with him, though +I cannot defend him by strict laws of right and wrong. I have +advised him to go back to America and find out if the man be in +truth dead. If so, let him come back and marry the woman again +before all the world. I shall be ready to marry them and to ask +him and her to my house afterwards.</p> + +<p>"In the mean time what was to become of her? 'Let her go into +lodgings,' said the Bishop. Go to lodgings at Broughton! You +know what sort of lodgings she would get there among psalm-singing +greengrocers who would tell her of her misfortune every day of her +life! I would not subject her to the misery of going and seeking +for a home. I told him, when I persuaded him to go, that she +should have the rooms they were then occupying while he was away. +In settling this, of course I had to make arrangements for doing +in our own establishment the work which had lately fallen to her +share. I mention this for the sake of explaining that she has got +nothing to do with the school. No doubt the boys are under the +same roof with her. Will your boy's morals be the worse? It +seems that Gustavus Momson's will. You know the father; do you +not? I wonder whether anything will ever affect his morals?</p> + +<p>"Now, I have told you everything. Not that I have doubted you; +but, as you have been told so much, I have thought it well that +you should have the whole story from myself. What effect it may +have upon the school I do not know. The only boy of whose +secession I have yet heard is young Momson. But probably there +will be others. Four new boys were to have come, but I have +already heard from the father of one that he has changed his mind. +I think I can trace an acquaintance between him and Mother +Shipton. If the body of the school should leave me I will let you +know at once as you might not like to leave your boy under such +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"You may be sure of this, that here the lady remains until her +husband returns. I am not going to be turned from my purpose at +this time of day by anything that Mother Shipton may say or +do.—Yours always,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey Wortle</span>."</p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>END OF VOL. I.</h4> +<p> </p> + +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p><a name="v2" id="v2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> +<p> </p> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE.</h2> +<p> </p> +<h4>IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. II.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h5>LONDON:<br /> +CHAPMAN AND HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>, 193, PICCADILLY.<br /> +1881.</h5> + +<h5>[<i>All Rights reserved.</i>]</h5> + +<h6>LONDON:<br /> +R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,<br /> +BREAD STREET HILL.</h6> + + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS OF VOL. II. </h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td colspan="3"><b>PART V.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER I. </td> <td><a href="#c13" >MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER II. </td> <td><a href="#c14" >'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS'</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER III. </td> <td><a href="#c15" >"'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER IV. </td> <td><a href="#c16" >"IT IS IMPOSSIBLE"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER V. </td> <td><a href="#c17" >CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VI. </td> <td><a href="#c18" >THE JOURNEY</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VII. </td> <td><a href="#c19" >"NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER VIII. </td> <td><a href="#c20" >LORD BRACY'S LETTER</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER IX. </td> <td><a href="#c21" >AT CHICAGO</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> <br /><b>CONCLUSION.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER X. </td> <td><a href="#c22" >THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER XI. </td> <td><a href="#c23" >MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right" valign="top">CHAPTER XII. </td> <td><a href="#c24" >MARY'S SUCCESS</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="c13" id="c13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Part V</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT.<br /> </h4> + +<p><span class="smallcaps"> It</span> +was not to be expected that the matter should be kept out of +the county newspaper, or even from those in the metropolis. There +was too much of romance in the story, too good a tale to be told, +for any such hope. The man's former life and the woman's, the +disappearance of her husband and his reappearance after his +reported death, the departure of the couple from St. Louis and the +coming of Lefroy to Bowick, formed together a most attractive +subject. But it could not be told without reference to Dr. +Wortle's school, to Dr. Wortle's position as clergyman of the +parish,—and also to the fact which was considered by his enemies +to be of all the facts the most damning, that Mr. Peacocke had for +a time been allowed to preach in the parish church. The +'Broughton Gazette,' a newspaper which was supposed to be +altogether devoted to the interest of the diocese, was very +eloquent on this subject. "We do not desire," said the 'Broughton +Gazette,' "to make any remarks as to the management of Dr. +Wortle's school. We leave all that between him and the parents of +the boys who are educated there. We are perfectly aware that Dr. +Wortle himself is a scholar, and that his school has been +deservedly successful. It is advisable, no doubt, that in such an +establishment none should be employed whose lives are openly +immoral;—but as we have said before, it is not our purpose to +insist upon this. Parents, if they feel themselves to be +aggrieved, can remedy the evil by withdrawing their sons. But +when we consider the great power which is placed in the hands of +an incumbent of a parish, that he is endowed as it were with the +freehold of his pulpit, that he may put up whom he will to preach +the Gospel to his parishioners, even in a certain degree in +opposition to his bishop, we think that we do no more than our +duty in calling attention to such a case as this." Then the whole +story was told at great length, so as to give the "we" of the +'Broughton Gazette' a happy opportunity of making its leading +article not only much longer, but much more amusing, than usual. +"We must say," continued the writer, as he concluded his +narrative, "that this man should not have been allowed to preach +in the Bowick pulpit. He is no doubt a clergyman of the Church of +England, and Dr. Wortle was within his rights in asking for his +assistance; but the incumbent of a parish is responsible for those +he employs, and that responsibility now rests on Dr. Wortle."</p> + +<p>There was a great deal in this that made the Doctor very +angry,—so angry that he did not know how to restrain himself. +The matter had been argued as though he had employed the clergyman +in his church after he had known the history. "For aught I know," +he said to Mrs. Wortle, "any curate coming to me might have three +wives, all alive."</p> + +<p>"That would be most improbable," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"So was all this improbable,—just as improbable. Nothing could +be more improbable. Do we not all feel overcome with pity for the +poor woman because she encountered trouble that was so improbable? +How much more improbable was it that I should come across a +clergyman who had encountered such improbabilities." In answer to +this Mrs. Wortle could only shake her head, not at all +understanding the purport of her husband's argument.</p> + +<p>But what was said about his school hurt him more than what was +said about his church. In regard to his church he was +impregnable. Not even the Bishop could touch him,—or even annoy +him much. But this "penny-a-liner," as the Doctor indignantly +called him, had attacked him in his tenderest point. After +declaring that he did not intend to meddle with the school, he had +gone on to point out that an immoral person had been employed +there, and had then invited all parents to take away their sons. +"He doesn't know what moral and immoral means," said the Doctor, +again pleading his own case to his own wife. "As far as I know, +it would be hard to find a man of a higher moral feeling than Mr. +Peacocke, or a woman than his wife."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they ought to have separated when it was found out," +said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he shouted; "I hold that they were right. He was right +to cling to her, and she was bound to obey him. Such a fellow as +that,"—and he crushed the paper up in his hand in his wrath, as +though he were crushing the editor himself,—"such a fellow as +that knows nothing of morality, nothing of honour, nothing of +tenderness. What he did I would have done, and I'll stick to him +through it all in spite of the Bishop, in spite of the newspapers, +and in spite of all the rancour of all my enemies." Then he got up +and walked about the room in such a fury that his wife did not +dare to speak to him. Should he or should he not answer the +newspaper? That was a question which for the first two days after +he had read the article greatly perplexed him. He would have been +very ready to advise any other man what to do in such a case. +"Never notice what may be written about you in a newspaper," he +would have said. Such is the advice which a man always gives to +his friend. But when the case comes to himself he finds it +sometimes almost impossible to follow it. "What's the use? Who +cares what the 'Broughton Gazette' says? let it pass, and it will +be forgotten in three days. If you stir the mud yourself, it will +hang about you for months. It is just what they want you to do. +They cannot go on by themselves, and so the subject dies away from +them; but if you write rejoinders they have a contributor working +for them for nothing, and one whose writing will be much more +acceptable to their readers than any that comes from their own +anonymous scribes. It is very disagreeable to be worried like a +rat by a dog; but why should you go into the kennel and +unnecessarily put yourself in the way of it?" The Doctor had said +this more than once to clerical friends who were burning with +indignation at something that had been written about them. But +now he was burning himself, and could hardly keep his fingers from +pen and ink.</p> + +<p>In this emergency he went to Mr. Puddicombe, not, as he said to +himself, for advice, but in order that he might hear what Mr. +Puddicombe would have to say about it. He did not like Mr. +Puddicombe, but he believed in him,—which was more than he quite +did with the Bishop. Mr. Puddicombe would tell him his true +thoughts. Mr. Puddicombe would be unpleasant very likely; but he +would be sincere and friendly. So he went to Mr. Puddicombe. "It +seems to me," he said, "almost necessary that I should answer such +allegations as these for the sake of truth."</p> + +<p>"You are not responsible for the truth of the 'Broughton +Gazette,"' said Mr. Puddicombe.</p> + +<p>"But I am responsible to a certain degree that false reports shall +not be spread abroad as to what is done in my church."</p> + +<p>"You can contradict nothing that the newspaper has said."</p> + +<p>"It is implied," said the Doctor, "that I allowed Mr. Peacocke to +preach in my church after I knew his marriage was informal."</p> + +<p>"There is no such statement in the paragraph," said Mr. +Puddicombe, after attentive reperusal of the article. "The writer +has written in a hurry, as such writers generally do, but has made +no statement such as you presume. Were you to answer him, you +could only do so by an elaborate statement of the exact facts of +the case. It can hardly be worth your while, in defending +yourself against the 'Broughton Gazette,' to tell the whole story +in public of Mr. Peacocke's life and fortunes."</p> + +<p>"You would pass it over altogether?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I would."</p> + +<p>"And so acknowledge the truth of all that the newspaper says."</p> + +<p>"I do not know that the paper says anything untrue," said Mr. +Puddicombe, not looking the Doctor in the face, with his eyes +turned to the ground, but evidently with the determination to say +what he thought, however unpleasant it might be. "The fact is +that you have fallen into a—misfortune."</p> + +<p>"I don't acknowledge it at all," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"All your friends at any rate will think so, let the story be told +as it may. It was a misfortune that this lady whom you had taken +into your establishment should have proved not to be the +gentleman's wife. When I am taking a walk through the fields and +get one of my feet deeper than usual into the mud, I always +endeavour to bear it as well as I may before the eyes of those who +meet me rather than make futile efforts to get rid of the dirt and +look as though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is rubbed +and smudged and scraped is more palpably dirt than the honest +mud."</p> + +<p>"I will not admit that I am dirty at all," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Nor do I, in the case which I describe. I admit nothing; but I +let those who see me form their own opinion. If any one asks me +about my boot I tell him that it is a matter of no consequence. I +advise you to do the same. You will only make the smudges more +palpable if you write to the 'Broughton Gazette."'</p> + +<p>"Would you say nothing to the boys' parents?" asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"There, perhaps, I am not a judge, as I never kept a school;—but +I think not. If any father writes to you, then tell him the +truth."</p> + +<p>If the matter had gone no farther than this, the Doctor might +probably have left Mr. Puddicombe's house with a sense of +thankfulness for the kindness rendered to him; but he did go +farther, and endeavoured to extract from his friend some sense of +the injustice shown by the Bishop, the Stantiloups, the newspaper, +and his enemies in general through the diocese. But here he +failed signally. "I really think, Dr. Wortle, that you could not +have expected it otherwise."</p> + +<p>"Expect that people should lie?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about lies. If people have told lies I have not +seen them or heard them. I don't think the Bishop has lied."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean the Bishop; though I do think that he has shown a +great want of what I may call liberality towards a clergyman in +his diocese."</p> + +<p>"No doubt he thinks you have been wrong. By liberality you mean +sympathy. Why should you expect him to sympathise with your +wrong-doing?"</p> + +<p>"What have I done wrong?"</p> + +<p>"You have countenanced immorality and deceit in a brother +clergyman."</p> + +<p>"I deny it," said the Doctor, rising up impetuously from his +chair.</p> + +<p>"Then I do not understand the position, Dr. Wortle. That is all I +can say."</p> + +<p>"To my thinking, Mr. Puddicombe, I never came across a better man +than Mr. Peacocke in my life."</p> + +<p>"I cannot make comparisons. As to the best man I ever met in my +life I might have to acknowledge that even he had done wrong in +certain circumstances. As the matter is forced upon me, I have to +express my opinion that a great sin was committed both by the man +and by the woman. You not only condone the sin, but declare both +by your words and deeds that you sympathise with the sin as well +as with the sinners. You have no right to expect that the Bishop +will sympathise with you in that;—nor can it be but that in such +a country as this the voices of many will be loud against you."</p> + +<p>"And yours as loud as any," said the Doctor, angrily.</p> + +<p>"That is unkind and unjust," said Mr. Puddicombe. "What I have +said, I have said to yourself, and not to others; and what I have +said, I have said in answer to questions asked by yourself." Then +the Doctor apologised with what grace he could. But when he left +the house his heart was still bitter against Mr. Puddicombe.</p> + +<p>He was almost ashamed of himself as he rode back to +Bowick,—first, because he had condescended to ask advice, and +then because, after having asked it, he had been so thoroughly +scolded. There was no one whom Mr. Puddicombe would admit to have +been wrong in the matter except the Doctor himself. And yet +though he had been so counselled and so scolded, he had found +himself obliged to +<ins class="corr" title="Spelling as in original. +Usual Victorian spelling +is ‘apologise’">apologize</ins> before +he left the house! And, too, +he had been made to understand that he had better not rush into +print. Though the 'Broughton Gazette' should come to the attack +again and again, he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. +<ins class="corr" title="‘b’ added to +‘Puddicome’">Puddicombe's</ins> +dirty boot had convinced him. He could see the +thoroughly squalid look of the boot that had been scraped in vain, +and appreciate the wholesomeness of the unadulterated mud. There +was more in the man than he had ever acknowledged before. There +was a consistency in him, and a courage, and an honesty of +purpose. But there was no softness of heart. Had there been a +grain of tenderness there, he could +<ins class="corr" title="Original read +‘not not’">not</ins> have spoken so often as he +had done of Mrs. Peacocke without expressing some grief at the +unmerited sorrows to which that poor lady had been subjected.</p> + +<p>His own heart melted with ruth as he thought, while riding home, +of the cruelty to which she had been and was subjected. She was +all alone there, waiting, waiting, waiting, till the dreary days +should have gone by. And if no good news should come, if Mr. +Peacocke should return with tidings that her husband was alive and +well, what should she do then? What would the world then have in +store for her? "If it were me," said the Doctor to himself, "I'd +take her to some other home and treat her as my wife in spite of +all the Puddicombes in creation;—in spite of all the bishops."</p> + +<p>The Doctor, though he was a self-asserting and somewhat violent +man, was thoroughly soft-hearted. It is to be hoped that the +reader has already learned as much as that;—a man with a kind, +tender, affectionate nature. It would perhaps be unfair to raise a +question whether he would have done as much, been so willing to +sacrifice himself, for a plain woman. Had Mr. Stantiloup, or Sir +Samuel Griffin if he had suddenly come again to life, been found +to have prior wives also living, would the Doctor have found +shelter for them in their ignominy and trouble? Mrs. Wortle, who +knew her husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done +so. Mrs. Peacocke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was +a man who thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was +jealous would be quite untrue. She liked to see her husband +talking to a pretty woman, because he would be sure to be in a +good humour and sure to make the best of himself. She loved to +see him shine. But she almost wished that Mrs. Peacocke had been +ugly, because there would not then have been so much danger about +the school.</p> + +<p>"I'm just going up to see her," said the Doctor, as soon as he got +home,—"just to ask her what she wants."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she wants anything," said Mrs. Wortle, weakly.</p> + +<p>"Does she not? She must be a very odd woman if she can live there +all day alone, and not want to see a human creature."</p> + +<p>"I was with her yesterday."</p> + +<p>"And therefore I will call to-day," said the Doctor, leaving the +room with his hat on.</p> + +<p>When he was shown up into the sitting-room he found Mrs. Peacocke +with a newspaper in her hand. He could see at a glance that it +was a copy of the 'Broughton Gazette,' and could see also the +length and outward show of the very article which he had been +discussing with Mr. Puddicombe. "Dr. Wortle," she said, "if you +don't mind, I will go away from this."</p> + +<p>"But I do mind. Why should you go away?"</p> + +<p>"They have been writing about me in the newspapers."</p> + +<p>"That was to be expected."</p> + +<p>"But they have been writing about you."</p> + +<p>"That was to have been expected also. You don't suppose they can +hurt me?" This was a false boast, but in such conversations he was +almost bound to boast.</p> + +<p>"It is I, then, am hurting you?"</p> + +<p>"You;—oh dear, no; not in the least."</p> + +<p>"But I do. They talk of boys going away from the school."</p> + +<p>"Boys will go and boys will come, but we run on for ever," said +the Doctor, playfully.</p> + +<p>"I can well understand that it should be so," said Mrs. Peacocke, +passing over the Doctor's parody as though unnoticed; "and I +perceive that I ought not to be here."</p> + +<p>"Where ought you to be, then?" said he, intending simply to carry +on his joke.</p> + +<p>"Where indeed! There is no where. But wherever I may do least +injury to innocent people,—to people who have not been driven by +storms out of the common path of life. For this place I am +peculiarly unfit."</p> + +<p>"Will you find any place where you will be made more welcome?"</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<p>"Then let me manage the rest. You have been reading that +dastardly article in the paper. It will have no effect upon me. +Look here, Mrs. Peacocke;"—then he got up and held her hand as +though he were going, but he remained some moments while he was +still speaking to her,—still holding her hand;—"it was settled +between your husband and me, when he went away, that you should +remain here under my charge till his return. I am bound to him to +find a home for you. I think you are as much bound to obey +him,—which you can only do by remaining here."</p> + +<p>"I would wish to obey him, certainly."</p> + +<p>"You ought to do so,—from the peculiar circumstances more +especially. Don't trouble your mind about the school, but do as he +desired. There is no question but that you must do so. Good-bye. +Mrs. Wortle or I will come and see you to-morrow." Then, and not +till then, he dropped her hand.</p> + +<p>On the next day Mrs. Wortle did call, though these visits were to +her an intolerable nuisance. But it was certainly better that she +should alternate the visits with the Doctor than that he should go +every day. The Doctor had declared that charity required that one +of them should see the poor woman daily. He was quite willing +that they should perform the task day and day about,—but should +his wife omit the duty he must go in his wife's place. What would +all the world of Bowick say if the Doctor were to visit a lady, a +young and a beautiful lady, every day, whereas his wife visited +the lady not at all? Therefore they took it turn about, except +that sometimes the Doctor accompanied his wife. The Doctor had +once suggested that his wife should take the poor lady out in her +carriage. But against this even Mrs. Wortle had rebelled. "Under +such circumstances as hers she ought not to be seen driving +about," said Mrs. Wortle. The Doctor had submitted to this, but +still thought that the world of Bowick was very cruel.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wortle, though she made no complaint, thought that she was +used cruelly in the matter. There had been an intention of going +into Brittany during these summer holidays. The little tour had +been almost promised. But the affairs of Mrs. Peacocke were of +such a nature as not to allow the Doctor to be absent. "You and +Mary can go, and Henry will go with you." Henry was a bachelor +brother of Mrs. Wortle, who was always very much at the Doctor's +disposal, and at hers. But certainly she was not going to quit +England, not going to quit home at all, while her husband remained +there, and while Mrs. Peacocke was an inmate of the school. It +was not that she was jealous. The idea was absurd. But she knew +very well what Mrs. Stantiloup would say.</p> + + +<p><a name="c14" id="c14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS.'<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">But</span> +there arose a trouble greater than that occasioned by the +'Broughton Gazette.' There came out an article in a London weekly +newspaper, called 'Everybody's Business,' which nearly drove the +Doctor mad. This was on the last Saturday of the holidays. The +holidays had been commenced in the middle of July, and went on +till the end of August. Things had not gone well at Bowick during +these weeks. The parents of all the four newly-expected boys +had—changed their minds. One father had discovered that he could +not afford it. Another declared that the mother could not be got +to part with her darling quite so soon as he had expected. A +third had found that a private tutor at home would best suit his +purposes. While the fourth boldly said that he did not like to +send his boy because of the "fuss" which had been made about Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke. Had this last come alone, the Doctor would +probably have resented such a communication; but following the +others as it did, he preferred the fourth man to any of the other +three. "Miserable cowards," he said to himself, as he docketed +the letters and put them away. But the greatest blow of all,—of +all blows of this sort,—came to him from poor Lady Anne Clifford. +She wrote a piteous letter to him, in which she implored him to +allow her to take her two boys away.</p> + +<p>"My dear Doctor Wortle," she said, "so many people have been +telling so many dreadful things about this horrible affair, that I +do not dare to send my darling boys back to Bowick again. Uncle +Clifford and Lord Robert both say that I should be very wrong. +The Marchioness has said so much about it that I dare not go +against her. You know what my own feelings are about you and dear +Mrs. Wortle; but I am not my own mistress. They all tell me that +it is my first duty to think about the dear boys' welfare; and of +course that is true. I hope you won't be very angry with me, and +will write one line to say that you forgive me.—Yours most +sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Anne +Clifford</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>In answer to this the Doctor did write as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Lady Anne</span>,—Of +course your duty is very plain,—to do +what you think best for the boys; and it is natural enough that +you should follow the advice of your relatives and +theirs.—Faithfully yours,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey +Wortle</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>He could not bring himself to write in a more friendly tone, or to +tell her that he forgave her. His sympathies were not with her. +His sympathies at the present moment were only with Mrs. Peacocke. +But then Lady Anne Clifford was not a beautiful woman, as was Mrs. +Peacocke.</p> + +<p>This was a great blow. Two other boys had also been summoned +away, making five in all, whose premature departure was owing +altogether to the virulent tongue of that wretched old Mother +Shipton. And there had been four who were to come in the place of +four others, who, in the course of nature, were going to carry on +their more advanced studies elsewhere. Vacancies such as these had +always been pre-occupied long beforehand by ambitious parents. +These very four places had been pre-occupied, but now they were +all vacant. There would be nine empty beds in the school when it +met again after the holidays; and the Doctor well understood that +nine beds remaining empty would soon cause others to be emptied. +It is success that creates success, and decay that produces decay. +Gradual decay he knew that he could not endure. He must shut up +his school,—give up his employment,—and retire altogether from +the activity of life. He felt that if it came to this with him he +must in very truth turn his face to the wall and die. Would +it,—would it really come to that, that Mrs. Stantiloup should +have altogether conquered him in the combat that had sprung up +between them?</p> + +<p>But yet he would not give up Mrs. Peacocke. Indeed, circumstanced +as he was, he could not give her up. He had promised not only +her, but her absent husband, that until his return there should be +a home for her in the school-house. There would be a cowardice in +going back from his word which was altogether foreign to his +nature. He could not bring himself to retire from the fight, even +though by doing so he might save himself from the actual final +slaughter which seemed to be imminent. He thought only of making +fresh attacks upon his enemy, instead of meditating flight from +those which were made upon him. As a dog, when another dog has +got him well by the ear, thinks not at all of his own wound, but +only how he may catch his enemy by the lip, so was the Doctor in +regard to Mrs. Stantiloup. When the two Clifford boys were taken +away, he took some joy to himself in remembering that Mr. +Stantiloup could not pay his butcher's bill.</p> + +<p>Then, just at the end of the holidays, some good-natured friend +sent to him a copy of 'Everybody's Business.' There is no duty +which a man owes to himself more clearly than that of throwing +into the waste-paper basket, unsearched and even unopened, all +newspapers sent to him without a previously-declared purpose. The +sender has either written something himself which he wishes to +force you to read, or else he has been desirous of wounding you by +some ill-natured criticism upon yourself. 'Everybody's Business' +was a paper which, in the natural course of things, did not find +its way into the Bowick Rectory; and the Doctor, though he was no +doubt acquainted with the title, had never even looked at its +columns. It was the purpose of the periodical to amuse its +readers, as its name declared, with the private affairs of their +neighbours. It went boldly about its work, excusing itself by the +assertion that Jones was just as well inclined to be talked about +as Smith was to hear whatever could be said about Jones. As both +parties were served, what could be the objection? It was in the +main good-natured, and probably did most frequently gratify the +Joneses, while it afforded considerable amusement to the listless +and numerous Smiths of the world. If you can't read and +understand Jones's speech in Parliament, you may at any rate have +mind enough to interest yourself with the fact that he never +composed a word of it in his own room without a ring on his finger +and a flower in his button-hole. It may also be agreeable to know +that Walker the poet always takes a mutton-chop and two glasses of +sherry at half-past one. 'Everybody's Business' did this for +everybody to whom such excitement was agreeable. But in managing +everybody's business in that fashion, let a writer be as +good-natured as he may and let the principle be ever so +well-founded that nobody is to be hurt, still there are dangers. +It is not always easy to know what will hurt and what will not. +And then sometimes there will come a temptation to be, not +spiteful, but specially amusing. There must be danger, and a +writer will sometimes be indiscreet. Personalities will lead to +libels even when the libeller has been most innocent. It may be +that after all the poor poet never drank a glass of sherry before +dinner in his life,—it may be that a little toast-and-water, even +with his dinner, gives him all the refreshment that he wants, and +that two glasses of alcoholic mixture in the middle of the day +shall seem, when imputed to him, to convey a charge of downright +inebriety. But the writer has perhaps learned to regard two +glasses of meridian wine as but a moderate amount of sustentation. +This man is much flattered if it be given to be understood of him +that he falls in love with every pretty woman that he +sees;—whereas another will think that he has been made subject to +a foul calumny by such insinuation.</p> + +<p>'Everybody's Business' fell into some such mistake as this, in +that very amusing article which was written for the delectation of +its readers in reference to Dr. Wortle and Mrs. Peacocke. The +'Broughton Gazette' no doubt confined itself to the clerical and +highly moral views of the case, and, having dealt with the subject +chiefly on behalf of the Close and the admirers of the Close, had +made no allusion to the fact that Mrs. Peacocke was a very pretty +woman. One or two other local papers had been more scurrilous, +and had, with ambiguous and timid words, alluded to the Doctor's +personal admiration for the lady. These, or the rumours created +by them, had reached one of the funniest and lightest-handed of +the contributors to 'Everybody's Business,' and he had concocted +an amusing article,—which he had not intended to be at all +libellous, which he had thought to be only funny. He had not +appreciated, probably, the tragedy of the lady's position, or the +sanctity of that of the gentleman. There was comedy in the idea +of the Doctor having sent one husband away to America to look +after the other while he consoled the wife in England. "It must be +admitted," said the writer, "that the Doctor has the best of it. +While one gentleman is gouging the other,—as cannot but be +expected,—the Doctor will be at any rate in security, enjoying +the smiles of beauty under his own fig-tree at Bowick. After a +hot morning with 'τυπτω' in the school, +there will be 'amo' in +the cool of the evening." And this was absolutely sent to him by +some good-natured friend!</p> + +<p>The funny writer obtained a popularity wider probably than he had +expected. His words reached Mrs. Stantiloup, as well as the +Doctor, and were read even in the Bishop's palace. They were +quoted even in the 'Broughton Gazette,' not with approbation, but +in a high tone of moral severity. "See the nature of the language +to which Dr. Wortle's conduct has subjected the whole of the +diocese!" That was the tone of the criticism made by the +'Broughton Gazette' on the article in 'Everybody's Business.' +"What else has he a right to expect?" said Mrs. Stantiloup to Mrs. +Rolland, having made quite a journey into Broughton for the sake +of discussing it at the palace. There she explained it all to +Mrs. Rolland, having herself studied the passage so as fully to +appreciate the virus contained in it. "He passes all the morning +in the school whipping the boys himself because he has sent Mr. +Peacocke away, and then amuses himself in the evening by making +love to Mr. Peacocke's wife, as he calls her." Dr. Wortle, when he +read and re-read the article, and when the jokes which were made +upon it reached his ears, as they were sure to do, was nearly +maddened by what he called the heartless iniquity of the world; +but his state became still worse when he received an affectionate +but solemn letter from the Bishop warning him of his danger. An +affectionate letter from a bishop must surely be the most +disagreeable missive which a parish clergyman can receive. +Affection from one man to another is not natural in letters. A +bishop never writes affectionately unless he means to reprove +severely. When he calls a clergyman his "dear brother in Christ," +he is sure to go on to show that the man so called is altogether +unworthy of the name. So it was with a letter now received at +Bowick, in which the Bishop expressed his opinion that Dr. Wortle +ought not to pay any further visits to Mrs. Peacocke till she +should have settled herself down with one legitimate husband, let +that legitimate husband be who it might. The Bishop did not +indeed, at first, make reference by name to 'Everybody's +Business,' but he stated that the "metropolitan press" had taken +up the matter, and that scandal would take place in the diocese if +further cause were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said +the Bishop, "but men must know +<ins class="corr" title="Ending double quotation +mark added">that we are so."</ins></p> + +<p>Then there came a sharp and pressing correspondence between the +Bishop and the Doctor, which lasted four or five days. The +Doctor, without referring to any other portion of the Bishop's +letter, demanded to know to what "metropolitan newspaper" the +Bishop had alluded, as, if any such paper had spread scandalous +imputations as to him, the Doctor, respecting the lady in +question, it would be his, the Doctor's, duty to proceed against +that newspaper for libel. In answer to this the Bishop, in a note +much shorter and much less affectionate than his former letter, +said that he did not wish to name any metropolitan newspaper. But +the Doctor would not, of course, put up with such an answer as +this. He wrote very solemnly now, if not affectionately. "His +lordship had spoken of 'scandal in the diocese.' The words," said +the Doctor, "contained a most grave charge. He did not mean to +say that any such accusation had been made by the Bishop himself; +but such accusation must have been made by some one at least of +the London newspapers or the Bishop would not have been justified +in what he has written. Under such circumstances he, Dr. Wortle, +thought himself entitled to demand from the Bishop the name of the +newspaper in question, and the date on which the article had +appeared."</p> + +<p>In answer to this there came no written reply, but a copy of the +'Everybody's Business' which the Doctor had already seen. He had, +no doubt, known from the first that it was the funny paragraph +about 'τυπτω' +and "amo" to which the Bishop had referred. But +in the serious steps which he now intended to take, he was +determined to have positive proof from the hands of the Bishop +himself. The Bishop had not directed the pernicious newspaper +with his own hands, but if called upon, could not deny that it had +been sent from the palace by his orders. Having received it, the +Doctor wrote back at once as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">Right Reverend and dear +Lord</span>,—Any word coming from your lordship +to me is of grave importance, as should, I think, be all words +coming from a bishop to his clergy; and they are of special +importance when containing a reproof, whether deserved or +undeserved. The scurrilous and vulgar attack made upon me in the +newspaper which your lordship has sent to me would not have been +worthy of my serious notice had it not been made worthy by your +lordship as being the ground on which such a letter was written to +me as that of your lordship's of the 12th instant. Now it has +been invested with so much solemnity by your lordship's notice of +it that I feel myself obliged to defend myself against it by +public action.</p> + +<p>"If I have given just cause of scandal to the diocese I will +retire both from my living and from my school. But before doing +so I will endeavour to prove that I have done neither. This I can +only do by publishing in a court of law all the circumstances in +reference to my connection with Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. As regards +myself, this, though necessary, will be very painful. As regards +them, I am inclined to think that the more the truth is known, the +more general and the more generous will be the sympathy felt for +their position.</p> + +<p>"As the newspaper sent to me, no doubt by your lordship's orders, +from the palace, has been accompanied by no letter, it may be +necessary that your lordship should be troubled by a subpœna, so +as to prove that the newspaper alluded to by your lordship is the +one against which my proceedings will be taken. It will be +necessary, of course, that I should show that the libel in +question has been deemed important enough to bring down upon me +ecclesiastical rebuke of such a nature as to make my remaining in +the diocese unbearable,—unless it is shown that that rebuke was +undeserved."<br /> </p> + + +<p>There was consternation in the palace when this was received. So +stiffnecked a man, so obstinate, so unclerical,—so determined to +make much of little! The Bishop had felt himself bound to warn a +clergyman that, for the sake of the Church, he could not do +altogether as other men might. No doubt certain ladies had got +around him,—especially Lady Margaret Momson,—filling his ears +with the horrors of the Doctor's proceedings. The gentleman who +had written the article about the Greek and the Latin words had +seen the truth of the thing at once,—so said Lady Margaret. The +Doctor had condoned the offence committed by the Peacockes because +the woman had been beautiful, and was repaying himself for his +mercy by basking in her loveliness. There was no saying that +there was not some truth in this? Mrs. Wortle herself entertained +a feeling of the same kind. It was palpable, on the face of it, +to all except Dr. Wortle himself,—and to Mrs. Peacocke. Mrs. +Stantiloup, who had made her way into the palace, was quite +convincing on this point. Everybody knew, she said, that the +Doctor went across, and saw the lady all alone, every day. +Everybody did not know that. If everybody had been accurate, +everybody would have asserted that he did this thing every other +day. But the matter, as it was represented to the Bishop by the +ladies, with the assistance of one or two clergymen in the Close, +certainly seemed to justify his lordship's interference.</p> + +<p>But this that was threatened was very terrible. There was a +determination about the Doctor which made it clear to the Bishop +that he would be as bad as he said. When he, the Bishop, had +spoken of scandal, of course he had not intended to say that the +Doctor's conduct was scandalous; nor had he said anything of the +kind. He had used the word in its proper sense,—and had declared +that offence would be created in the minds of people unless an +injurious report were stopped. "It is not enough to be innocent," +he had said, "but men must know that we are so." He had declared +in that his belief in Dr. Wortle's innocence. But yet there +might, no doubt, be an action for libel against the newspaper. +And when damages came to be considered, much weight would be +placed naturally on the attention which the Bishop had paid to the +article. The result of this was that the Bishop invited the +Doctor to come and spend a night with him in the palace.</p> + +<p>The Doctor went, reaching the palace only just before dinner. +During dinner and in the drawing-room Dr. Wortle made himself very +pleasant. He was a man who could always be soft and gentle in a +drawing-room. To see him talking with Mrs. Rolland and the +Bishop's daughters, you would not have thought that there was +anything wrong with him. The discussion with the Bishop came +after that, and lasted till midnight. "It will be for the +disadvantage of the diocese that this matter should be dragged +into Court,—and for the disadvantage of the Church in general +that a clergyman should seem to seek such redress against his +bishop." So said the Bishop.</p> + +<p>But the Doctor was obdurate. "I seek no redress," he said, +"against my bishop. I seek redress against a newspaper which has +calumniated me. It is your good opinion, my lord,—your good +opinion or your ill opinion which is the breath of my nostrils. I +have to refer to you in order that I may show that this paper, +which I should otherwise have despised, has been strong enough to +influence that opinion."</p> + + +<p><a name="c15" id="c15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>"'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING."<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Doctor went up to London, and was told by his lawyers that an +action for damages probably would lie. "'Amo' in the cool of the +evening," certainly meant making love. There could be no doubt +that allusion was made to Mrs. Peacocke. To accuse a clergyman of +a parish, and a schoolmaster, of making love to a lady so +circumstanced as Mrs. Peacocke, no doubt was libellous. Presuming +that the libel could not be justified, he would probably succeed. +"Justified!" said the Doctor, almost shrieking, to his lawyers; "I +never said a word to the lady in my life except in pure kindness +and charity. Every word might have been heard by all the world." +Nevertheless, had all the world been present, he would not have +held her hand so tenderly or so long as he had done on a certain +occasion which has been mentioned.</p> + +<p>"They will probably apologise," said the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"Shall I be bound to accept their apology?"</p> + +<p>"No; not bound; but you would have to show, if you went on with +the action, that the damage complained of was of so grievous a +nature that the apology would not salve it."</p> + +<p>"The damage has been already done," said the Doctor, eagerly. "I +have received the Bishop's rebuke,—a rebuke in which he has said +that I have brought scandal upon the diocese."</p> + +<p>"Rebukes break no bones," said the lawyer. "Can you show that it +will serve to prevent boys from coming to your school?"</p> + +<p>"It may not improbably force me to give up the living. I +certainly will not remain there subject to the censure of the +Bishop. I do not in truth want any damages. I would not accept +money. I only want to set myself right before the world." It was +then agreed that the necessary communication should be made by the +lawyer to the newspaper proprietors, so as to put the matter in a +proper train for the action.</p> + +<p>After this the Doctor returned home, just in time to open his +school with his diminished forces. At the last moment there was +another defaulter, so that there were now no more than twenty +pupils. The school had not been so low as this for the last +fifteen years. There had never been less than eight-and-twenty +before, since Mrs. Stantiloup had first begun her campaign. It +was heartbreaking to him. He felt as though he were almost +ashamed to go into his own school. In directing his housekeeper +to send the diminished orders to the tradesmen he was thoroughly +ashamed of himself; in giving his directions to the usher as to +the re-divided classes he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He +wished that there was no school, and would have been contented now +to give it all up, and to confine Mary's fortune to £10,000 +instead of £20,000, had it not been that he could not bear to +confess that he was beaten. The boys themselves seemed almost to +carry their tails between their legs, as though even they were +ashamed of their own school. If, as was too probable, another +half-dozen should go at Christmas, then the thing must be +abandoned. And how could he go on as rector of the parish with +the abominable empty building staring him in the face every moment +of his <ins class="corr" title="One might expect a question +mark after ‘life’, but the original +has a full stop.">life.</ins></p> + +<p>"I hope you are not really going to law," said his wife to him.</p> + +<p>"I must, my dear. I have no other way of defending my honour."</p> + +<p>"Go to law with the Bishop?"</p> + +<p>"No, not with the Bishop."</p> + +<p>"But the Bishop would be brought into it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he will certainly be brought into it."</p> + +<p>"And as an enemy. What I mean is, that he will be brought in very +much against his own will."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt about it," said the Doctor. "But he will have +brought it altogether upon himself. How he can have condescended +to send that scurrilous newspaper is more than I can understand. +That one gentleman should have so treated another is to me +incomprehensible. But that a bishop should have done so to a +clergyman of his own diocese shakes all my old convictions. There +is a vulgarity about it, a meanness of thinking, an aptitude to +suspect all manner of evil, which I cannot fathom. What! did he +really think that I was making love to the woman; did he doubt +that I was treating her and her husband with kindness, as one +human being is bound to treat another in affliction; did he +believe, in his heart, that I sent the man away in order that I +might have an opportunity for a wicked purpose of my own? It is +impossible. When I think of myself and of him, I cannot believe +it. That woman who has succeeded at last in stirring up all this +evil against me,—even she could not believe it. Her malice is +sufficient to make her conduct intelligible;—but there is no +malice in the Bishop's mind against me. He would infinitely +sooner live with me on pleasant terms if he could justify his +doing so to his conscience. He has been stirred to do this in the +execution of some presumed duty. I do not accuse him of malice. +But I do accuse him of a meanness of intellect lower than what I +could have presumed to have been possible in a man so placed. I +never thought him clever; I never thought him great; I never +thought him even to be a gentleman, in the fullest sense of the +word; but I did think he was a man. This is the performance of a +creature not worthy to be called so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jeffrey, he did not believe all that."</p> + +<p>"What did he believe? When he read that article, did he see in it +a true rebuke against a hypocrite, or did he see in it a +scurrilous attack upon a brother clergyman, a neighbour, and a +friend? If the latter, he certainly would not have been +instigated by it to write to me such a letter as he did. He +certainly would not have sent the paper to me had he felt it to +contain a foul-mouthed calumny."</p> + +<p>"He wanted you to know what people of that sort were saying."</p> + +<p>"Yes; he wanted me to know that, and he wanted me to know also +that the knowledge had come to me from my bishop. I should have +thought evil of any one who had sent me the vile ribaldry. But +coming from him, it fills me with despair."</p> + +<p>"Despair!" she said, repeating his word.</p> + +<p>"Yes; despair as to the condition of the Church when I see a man +capable of such meanness holding so high place. '"Amo" in the +cool of the evening!' That words such as those should have been +sent to me by the Bishop, as showing what the 'metropolitan press' +of the day was saying about my conduct! Of course, my action will +be against him,—against the Bishop. I shall be bound to expose +his conduct. What else can I do? There are things which a man +cannot bear and live. Were I to put up with this I must leave the +school, leave the parish;—nay, leave the country. There is a +stain upon me which I must wash out, or I cannot remain here."</p> + +<p>"No, no, no," said his wife, embracing him.</p> + +<p>"'"Amo" in the cool of the evening!' And that when, as God is my +judge above me, I have done my best to relieve what has seemed to +me the unmerited sorrows of two poor sufferers! Had it come from +Mrs. Stantiloup, it would, of course, have been nothing. I could +have understood that her malice should have condescended to +anything, however low. But from the Bishop!"</p> + +<p>"How will you be the worse? Who will know?"</p> + +<p>"I know it," said he, striking his breast. "I know it. The wound +is here. Do you think that when a coarse libel is welcomed in the +Bishop's palace, and treated there as true, that it will not be +spread abroad among other houses? When the Bishop has thought it +necessary to send it me, what will other people do,—others who +are not bound to be just and righteous in their dealings with me +as he is? '"Amo" in the cool of the evening!'" Then he seized his +hat and rushed out into the garden.</p> + +<p>The gentleman who had written the paragraph certainly had had no +idea that his words would have been thus effectual. The little +joke had seemed to him to be good enough to fill a paragraph, and +it had gone from him without further thought. Of the Doctor or of +the lady he had conceived no idea whatsoever. Somebody else had +said somewhere that a clergyman had sent a lady's reputed husband +away to look for another husband, while he and the lady remained +together. The joke had not been much of a joke, but it had been +enough. It had gone forth, and had now brought the whole palace +of Broughton into grief, and had nearly driven our excellent +Doctor mad! "'Amo' in the cool of the evening!" The words stuck +to him like the shirt of Nessus, lacerating his very spirit. That +words such as those should have been sent to him in a solemn sober +spirit by the bishop of his diocese! It never occurred to him +that he had, in truth, been imprudent when paying his visits alone +to Mrs. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening, and he wandered away up through the +green rides of a wood the borders of which came down to the glebe +fields. He had been boiling over with indignation while talking +to his wife. But as soon as he was alone he +endeavoured,—purposely endeavoured to rid himself for a while of +his wrath. This matter was so important to him that he knew well +that it behoved him to look at it all round in a spirit other than +that of anger. He had talked of giving up his school, and giving +up his parish, and had really for a time almost persuaded himself +that he must do so unless he could induce the Bishop publicly to +withdraw the censure which he felt to have been expressed against +him.</p> + +<p>And then what would his life be afterwards? His parish and his +school had not been only sources of income to him. The duty also +had been dear, and had been performed on the whole with +conscientious energy. Was everything to be thrown up, and his +whole life hereafter be made a blank to him, because the Bishop +had been unjust and injudicious? He could see that it well might +be so, if he were to carry this contest on. He knew his own +temper well enough to be sure that, as he fought, he would grow +hotter in the fight, and that when he was once in the midst of it +nothing would be possible to him but absolute triumph or absolute +annihilation. If once he should succeed in getting the Bishop +into court as a witness, either the Bishop must be crushed or he +himself. The Bishop must be got to say why he had sent that low +ribaldry to a clergyman in his parish. He must be asked whether +he had himself believed it, or whether he had not believed it. He +must be made to say that there existed no slightest reason for +believing the insinuation contained; and then, having confessed so +much, he must be asked why he had sent that letter to Bowick +parsonage. If it were false as well as ribald, slanderous as well +as vulgar, malicious as well as mean, was the sending of it a mode +of communication between a bishop and a clergyman of which he as a +bishop could approve? Questions such as these must be asked him; +and the Doctor, as he walked alone, arranging these questions +within his own bosom, putting them into the strongest language +which he could find, almost assured himself that the Bishop would +be crushed in answering them. The Bishop had made a great +mistake. So the Doctor assured himself. He had been entrapped by +bad advisers, and had fallen into a pit. He had gone wrong, and +had lost himself. When cross-questioned, as the Doctor suggested +to himself that he should be cross-questioned, the Bishop would +have to own all this;—and then he would be crushed.</p> + +<p>But did he really want to crush the Bishop? Had this man been so +bitter an enemy to him that, having him on the hip, he wanted to +strike him down altogether? In describing the man's character to +his wife, as he had done in the fury of his indignation, he had +acquitted the man of malice. He was sure now, in his calmer +moments, that the man had not intended to do him harm. If it were +left in the Bishop's bosom, his parish, his school, and his +character would all be made safe to him. He was sure of that. +There was none of the spirit of Mrs. Stantiloup in the feeling +that had prevailed at the palace. The Bishop, who had never yet +been able to be masterful over him, had desired in a mild way to +become masterful. He had liked the opportunity of writing that +affectionate letter. That reference to the "metropolitan press" +had slipt from him unawares; and then, when badgered for his +authority, when driven to give an instance from the London +newspapers, he had sent the objectionable periodical. He had, in +point of fact, made a mistake;—a stupid, foolish mistake, into +which a really well-bred man would hardly have fallen. "Ought I +to take advantage of it?" said the Doctor to himself when he had +wandered for an hour or more alone through the wood. He certainly +did not wish to be crushed himself. Ought he to be anxious to +crush the Bishop because of this error?</p> + +<p>"As for the paper," he said to himself, walking quicker as his +mind turned to this side of the subject,—"as for the paper +itself, it is beneath my notice. What is it to me what such a +publication, or even the readers of it, may think of me? As for +damages, I would rather starve than soil my hands with their +money. Though it should succeed in ruining me, I could not accept +redress in that shape." And thus having thought the matter fully +over, he returned home, still wrathful, but with mitigated wrath.</p> + +<p>A Saturday was fixed on which he should again go up to London to +see the lawyer. He was obliged now to be particular about his +days, as, in the absence of Mr. Peacocke, the school required his +time. Saturday was a half-holiday, and on that day he could be +absent on condition of remitting the classical lessons in the +morning. As he thought of it all he began to be almost tired of +Mr. Peacocke. Nevertheless, on the Saturday morning, before he +started, he called on Mrs. Peacocke,—in company with his +wife,—and treated her with all his usual cordial kindness. "Mrs. +Wortle," he said, "is going up to town with me; but we shall be +home to-night, and we will see you on Monday if not to-morrow." +Mrs. Wortle was going with him, not with the view of being present +at his interview with the lawyer, which she knew would not be +allowed, but on the pretext of shopping. Her real reason for +making the request to be taken up to town was, that she might use +the last moment possible in mitigating her husband's wrath against +the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"I have seen one of the proprietors and the editor," said the +lawyer, "and they are quite willing to apologise. I really do +believe they are very sorry. The words had been allowed to pass +without being weighed. Nothing beyond an innocent joke was +intended."</p> + +<p>"I dare say. It seems innocent enough to them. If soot be thrown +at a chimney-sweeper the joke is innocent, but very offensive when +it is thrown at you."</p> + +<p>"They are quite aware that you have ground to complain. Of course +you can go on if you like. The fact that they have offered to +apologise will no doubt be a point in their favour. Nevertheless +you would probably get a verdict."</p> + +<p>"We could bring the Bishop into court?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. You have got his letter speaking of the +'metropolitan press'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"It is for you to think, Dr. Wortle, whether there would not be a +feeling against you among clergymen."</p> + +<p>"Of course there will. Men in authority always have public +sympathy with them in this country. No man more rejoices that it +should be so than I do. But not the less is it necessary that now +and again a man shall make a stand in his own defence. He should +never have sent me that paper."</p> + +<p>"Here," said the lawyer, "is the apology they propose to insert if +you approve of it. They will also pay my bill,—which, however, +will not, I am sorry to say, be very heavy." Then the lawyer +handed to the Doctor a slip of paper, on which the following words +were <span class="nowrap">written;—</span></p> + +<p>"Our attention has been called to a notice which was made in our +impression of the <span class="nowrap">–––</span> +ultimo on the conduct of a clergyman in the +diocese of Broughton. A joke was perpetrated which, we are sorry +to find, has given offence where certainly no offence was +intended. We have since heard all the details of the case to +which reference was made, and are able to say that the conduct of +the clergyman in question has deserved neither censure nor +ridicule. Actuated by the purest charity he has proved himself a +sincere friend to persons in great trouble."</p> + +<p>"They'll put in your name if you wish it," said the lawyer, "or +alter it in any way you like, so that they be not made to eat too +much dirt."</p> + +<p>"I do not want them to alter it," said the Doctor, sitting +thoughtfully. "Their eating dirt will do no good to me. They are +nothing to me. It is the Bishop." Then, as though he were not +thinking of what he did, he tore the paper and threw the fragments +down on the floor. "They are nothing to me."</p> + +<p>"You will not accept their apology?" said the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes;—or rather, it is unnecessary. You may tell them that I +have changed my mind, and that I will ask for no apology. As far +as the paper is concerned, it will be better to let the thing die +a natural death. I should never have troubled myself about the +newspaper if the Bishop had not sent it to me. Indeed I had seen +it before the Bishop sent it, and thought little or nothing of it. +Animals will after their kind. The wasp stings, and the polecat +stinks, and the lion tears its prey asunder. Such a paper as that +of course follows its own bent. One would have thought that a +bishop would have done the same."</p> + +<p>"I may tell them that the action is +<ins class="corr" title="One might expect a question mark +after ‘withdrawn’, but the original +has a full stop.">withdrawn.</ins>"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; certainly. Tell them also that they will oblige me by +putting in no apology. And as for your bill, I would prefer to +pay it myself. I will exercise no anger against them. It is not +they who in truth have injured me." As he returned home he was not +altogether happy, feeling that the Bishop would escape him; but he +made his wife happy by telling her the decision to which he had +come.</p> + + +<p><a name="c16" id="c16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>"IT IS IMPOSSIBLE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +absence of Dr. and Mrs. Wortle was peculiarly unfortunate on +that afternoon, as a visitor rode over from a distance to make a +call,—a visitor whom they both would have been very glad to +welcome, but of whose coming Mrs. Wortle was not so delighted to +hear when she was told by Mary that he had spent two or three +hours at the Rectory. Mrs. Wortle began to think whether the +visitor could have known of her intended absence and the Doctor's. +That Mary had not known that the visitor was coming she was quite +certain. Indeed she did not really suspect the visitor, who was +one too ingenuous in his nature to preconcert so subtle and so +wicked a scheme. The visitor, of course, had been Lord Carstairs.</p> + +<p>"Was he here long?" asked Mrs. Wortle anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Two or three hours, mamma. He rode over from Buttercup where he +is staying, for a cricket match, and of course I got him some +lunch."</p> + +<p>"I should hope so," said the Doctor. "But I didn't think that +Carstairs was so fond of the Momson lot as all that."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wortle at once doubted the declared purpose of this visit to +Buttercup. Buttercup was more than half-way between Carstairs and +Bowick.</p> + +<p>"And then we had a game of lawn-tennis. Talbot and Monk came +through to make up sides." So much Mary told at once, but she did +not tell more till she was alone with her mother.</p> + +<p>Young Carstairs had certainly not come over on the sly, as we may +call it, but nevertheless there had been a project in his mind, +and fortune had favoured him. He was now about nineteen, and had +been treated for the last twelve months almost as though he had +been a man. It had seemed to him that there was no possible +reason why he should not fall in love as well as another. Nothing +more sweet, nothing more lovely, nothing more lovable than Mary +Wortle had he ever seen. He had almost made up his mind to speak +on two or three occasions before he left Bowick; but either his +courage or the occasion had failed him. Once, as he was walking +home with her from church, he had said one word;—but it had +amounted to nothing. She had escaped from him before she was bound +to understand what he meant. He did not for a moment suppose that +she had understood anything. He was only too much afraid that she +regarded him as a mere boy. But when he had been away from Bowick +two months he resolved that he would not be regarded as a mere boy +any longer. Therefore he took an opportunity of going to +Buttercup, which he certainly would not have done for the sake of +the Momsons or for the sake of the cricket.</p> + +<p>He ate his lunch before he said a word, and then, with but poor +grace, submitted to the lawn-tennis with Talbot and Monk. Even to +his youthful mind it seemed that Talbot and Monk were brought in +on purpose. They were both of them boys he had liked, but he +hated them now. However, he played his game, and when that was +over, managed to get rid of them, sending them back through the +gate to the school-ground.</p> + +<p>"I think I must say good-bye now," said Mary, "because there are +ever so many things in the house which I have got to do."</p> + +<p>"I am going almost immediately," said the young lord.</p> + +<p>"Papa will be so sorry not to have seen you." This had been said +once or twice before.</p> + +<p>"I came over," he said, "on purpose to see you."</p> + +<p>They were now standing on the middle of the lawn, and Mary had +assumed a look which intended to signify that she expected him to +go. He knew the place well enough to get his own horse, or to +order the groom to get it for him. But instead of that, he stood +his ground, and now declared his purpose.</p> + +<p>"To see me, Lord Carstairs!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Wortle. And if the Doctor had been here, or your +mother, I should have told them."</p> + +<p>"Have told them what?" she asked. She knew; she felt sure that +she knew; and yet she could not refrain from the question.</p> + +<p>"I have come here to ask if you can love me."</p> + +<p>It was a most decided way of declaring his purpose, and one which +made Mary feel that a great difficulty was at once thrown upon +her. She really did not know whether she could love him or not. +Why shouldn't she have been able to love him? Was it not natural +enough that she should be able? But she knew that she ought not to +love him, whether able or not. There were various reasons which +were apparent enough to her though it might be very difficult to +make him see them. He was little more than a boy, and had not yet +finished his education. His father and mother would not expect +him to fall in love, at any rate till he had taken his degree. +And they certainly would not expect him to fall in love with the +daughter of his tutor. She had an idea that, circumstanced as she +was, she was bound by loyalty both to her own father and to the +lad's father not to be able to love him. She thought that she +would find it easy enough to say that she did not love him; but +that was not the question. As for being able to love him,—she +could not answer that at all.</p> + +<p>"Lord Carstairs," she said, severely, "you ought not to have come +here when papa and mamma are away."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know they were away. I expected to find them here."</p> + +<p>"But they ain't. And you ought to go away."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you can say to me?"</p> + +<p>"I think it is. You know you oughtn't to talk to me like that. +Your own papa and mamma would be angry if they knew it."</p> + +<p>"Why should they be angry? Do you think that I shall not tell +them?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure they would disapprove it altogether," said Mary. "In +fact it is all nonsense, and you really must go away."</p> + +<p>Then she made a decided attempt to enter the house by the +drawing-room window, which opened out on a gravel terrace.</p> + +<p>But he stopped her, standing boldly by the window. "I think you +ought to give me an answer, Mary," he said.</p> + +<p>"I have; and I cannot say anything more. You must let me go in."</p> + +<p>"If they say that it's all right at Carstairs, then will you love +me?"</p> + +<p>"They won't say that it's all right; and papa won't think that +it's right. It's very wrong. You haven't been to Oxford yet, and +you'll have to remain there for three years. I think it's very +ill-natured of you to come and talk to me like this. Of course it +means nothing. You are only a boy, but yet you ought to know +better."</p> + +<p>"It does mean something. It means a great deal. As for being a +boy, I am older than you are, and have quite as much right to know +my own mind."</p> + +<p>Hereupon she took advantage of some little movement in his +position, and, tripping by him hastily, made good her escape into +the house. Young Carstairs, perceiving that his occasion for the +present was over, went into the yard and got upon his horse. He +was by no means contented with what he had done, but still he +thought that he must have made her understand his purpose.</p> + +<p>Mary, when she found herself safe within her own room, could not +refrain from asking herself the question which her lover had asked +her. "Could she love him?" She didn't see any reason why she +couldn't love him. It would be very nice, she thought, to love +him. He was sweet-tempered, handsome, bright, and thoroughly +good-humoured; and then his position in the world was very high. +Not for a moment did she tell herself that she would love him. +She did not understand all the differences in the world's ranks +quite as well as did her father, but still she felt that because +of his rank,—because of his rank and his youth combined,—she +ought not to allow herself to love him. There was no reason why +the son of a peer should not marry the daughter of a clergyman. +The peer and the clergyman might be equally gentlemen. But young +Carstairs had been there in trust. Lord Bracy had sent him there +to be taught Latin and Greek, and had a right to expect that he +should not be encouraged to fall in love with his tutor's +daughter. It was not that she did not think herself good enough +to be loved by any young lord, but that she was too good to bring +trouble on the people who had trusted her father. Her father +would despise her were he to hear that she had encouraged the lad, +or as some might say, had entangled him. She did not know whether +she should not have spoken to Lord Carstairs more decidedly. But +she could, at any rate, comfort herself with the assurance that +she had given him no encouragement. Of course she must tell it +all to her mother, but in doing so could declare positively that +she had given the young man no encouragement.</p> + +<p>"It was very unfortunate that Lord Carstairs should have come just +when I was away," said Mrs. Wortle to her daughter as soon as they +were alone together.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma; it was."</p> + +<p>"And so odd. I haven't been away from home any day all the summer +before."</p> + +<p>"He expected to find you."</p> + +<p>"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to +<ins class="corr" title="Note Trollope's use of an +exclamation point instead +of a question mark after +‘say’">say!</ins>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma."</p> + +<p>"He had? What was it, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I was very much surprised, mamma, but I couldn't help it. He +asked <span class="nowrap">me—"</span></p> + +<p>"Asked you what, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma!" Here she knelt down and hid her face in her mother's +lap.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, this is very bad;—very bad indeed."</p> + +<p>"It needn't be bad for you, mamma; or for papa."</p> + +<p>"Is it bad for you, my child?"</p> + +<p>"No, mamma; except of course that I am sorry that it should be +so."</p> + +<p>"What did you say to him?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I told him that it was impossible. He is only a boy, +and I told him so."</p> + +<p>"You made him no promise."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma; no! A promise! Oh dear no! Of course it is +impossible. I knew that. I never dreamed of anything of the +kind; but he said it all there out on the lawn."</p> + +<p>"Had he come on purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—so he said. I think he had. But he will go to Oxford, and +will of course forget it."</p> + +<p>"He is such a nice boy," said Mrs. Wortle, who, in all her +anxiety, could not but like the lad the better for having fallen +in love with her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma; he is. I always liked him. But this is quite out of +the question. What would his papa and mamma say?"</p> + +<p>"It would be very dreadful to have a quarrel, wouldn't it,—and +just at present, when there are so many things to trouble your +papa." Though Mrs. Wortle was quite honest and true in the feeling +she had expressed as to the young lord's visit, yet she was alive +to the glory of having a young lord for her son-in-law.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is out of the question, mamma. It has never +occurred to me for a moment as otherwise. He has got to go to +Oxford and take his degree before he thinks of such a thing. I +shall be quite an old woman by that time, and he will have +forgotten me. You may be sure, mamma, that whatever I did say to +him was quite plain. I wish you could have been here and heard it +all, and seen it all."</p> + +<p>"My darling," said the mother, embracing her, "I could not believe +you more thoroughly even though I saw it all, and heard it all."</p> + +<p>That night Mrs. Wortle felt herself constrained to tell the whole +story to her husband. It was indeed impossible for her to keep +any secret from her husband. When Mary, in her younger years, had +torn her frock or cut her finger, that was always told to the +Doctor. If a gardener was seen idling his time, or a housemaid +flirting with the groom, that certainly would be told to the +Doctor. What comfort does a woman get out of her husband unless +she may be allowed to talk to him about everything? When it had +been first proposed that Lord Carstairs should come into the house +as a private pupil she had expressed her fear to the +Doctor,—because of Mary. The Doctor had ridiculed her fears, and +this had been the result. Of course she must tell the Doctor. +"Oh, dear," she said, "what do you think has happened while we +were up in London?"</p> + +<p>"Carstairs was here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; he was here. He came on purpose to make a regular +declaration of love to Mary."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense."</p> + +<p>"But he did, Jeffrey."</p> + +<p>"How do you know he came on purpose."</p> + +<p>"He told her so."</p> + +<p>"I did not think the boy had so much spirit in him," said the +Doctor. This was a way of looking at it which Mrs. Wortle had not +expected. Her husband seemed rather to approve than otherwise of +what had been done. At any rate, he had expressed none of that +loud horror which she had expected. "Nevertheless," continued the +Doctor, "he's a stupid fool for his pains."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that he is a fool," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is. He is not yet twenty, and he has all Oxford before +him. How did Mary behave?"</p> + +<p>"Like an angel," said Mary's mother.</p> + +<p>"That's of course. You and I are bound to believe so. But what +did she do, and what did she say?"</p> + +<p>"She told him that it was simply impossible."</p> + +<p>"So it is,—I'm afraid. She at any rate was bound to give him no +encouragement."</p> + +<p>"She gave him none. She feels quite strongly that it is +altogether impossible. What would Lord Bracy say?"</p> + +<p>"If Carstairs were but three or four years older," said the +Doctor, proudly, "Lord Bracy would have much to be thankful for in +the attachment on the part of his son, if it were met by a return +of affection on the part of my daughter. What better could he +want?"</p> + +<p>"But he is only a boy," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"No; that's where it is. And Mary was quite right to tell him +that it is impossible. It is impossible. And I trust, for her +sake, that his words have not touched her young heart."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Had it been otherwise how could we have been angry with the +child?"</p> + +<p>Now this did seem to the mother to be very much in contradiction +to that which the Doctor had himself said when she had whispered +to him that Lord Carstairs's coming might be dangerous. "I was +afraid of it, as you know," said she.</p> + +<p>"His character has altered during the last twelve months."</p> + +<p>"I suppose when boys grow into men it is so with them."</p> + +<p>"Not so quickly," said the Doctor. "A boy when he leaves Eton is +not generally thinking of these things."</p> + +<p>"A boy at Eton is not thrown into such society," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"I suppose his being here and seeing Mary every day has done it. +Poor Mary!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think she is poor at all," said Mary's mother.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid she must not dream of her young lover."</p> + +<p>"Of course she will not dream of him. She has never entertained +any idea of the kind. There never was a girl with less nonsense +of that kind than Mary. When Lord Carstairs spoke to her to-day I +do not suppose she had thought about him more than any other boy +that has been here."</p> + +<p>"But she will think now."</p> + +<p>"No;—not in the least. She knows it is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless she will think about it. And so will you."</p> + +<p>"I!"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—why not? Why should you be different from other mothers? +Why should I not think about it as other fathers might do? It is +impossible. I wish it were not. For Mary's sake, I wish he were +three or four years older. But he is as he is, and we know that +it is impossible. Nevertheless, it is natural that she should +think about him. I only hope that she will not think about him +too much." So saying he closed the conversation for that night.</p> + +<p>Mary did not think very much about "it" in such a way as to create +disappointment. She at once realised the impossibilities, so far +as to perceive that the young lord was the top brick of the +chimney as far as she was concerned. The top brick of the chimney +may be very desirable, but one doesn't cry for it, because it is +unattainable. Therefore Mary did not in truth think of loving her +young lover. He had been to her a very nice boy; and so he was +still; that;—that, and nothing +<ins class="corr" title="Full stop added +after ‘more’">more.</ins> Then had come this little +episode in her life which seemed to lend it a gentle tinge of +romance. But had she inquired of her bosom she would have +declared that she had not been in love. With her mother there was +perhaps something of regret. But it was exactly the regret which +may be felt in reference to the top brick. It would have been so +sweet had it been possible; but then it was so evidently +impossible.</p> + +<p>With the Doctor the feeling was somewhat different. It was not +quite so manifest to him that this special brick was altogether +unattainable, nor even that it was quite at the top of the +chimney. There was no reason why his daughter should not marry an +earl's son and heir. No doubt the lad had been confided to him in +trust. No doubt it would have been his duty to have prevented +anything of the kind, had anything of the kind seemed to him to be +probable. Had there been any moment in which the duty had seemed +to him to be a duty, he would have done it, even though it had +been necessary to caution the Earl to take his son away from +Bowick. But there had been nothing of the kind. He had acted in +the simplicity of his heart, and this had been the result. Of +course it was impossible. He acknowledged to himself that it was +so, because of the necessity of those Oxford studies and those +long years which would be required for the taking of the degree. +But to his thinking there was no other ground for saying that it +was impossible. The thing must stand as it was. If this youth +should show himself to be more constant than other youths,—which +was not probable,—and if, at the end of three or four years, Mary +should not have given her heart to any other lover,—which was +also improbable,—why, then, it might come to pass that he should +some day find himself father-in-law to the future Earl Bracy. +Though Mary did not think of it, nor Mrs. Wortle, he thought of +it,—so as to give an additional interest to these disturbed days.</p> + + +<p><a name="c17" id="c17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +possible glory of Mary's future career did not deter the +Doctor from thinking of his troubles,—and especially that trouble +with the Bishop which was at present heavy on his hand. He had +determined not to go on with his action, and had so resolved +because he had felt, in his more sober moments, that in bringing +the Bishop to disgrace, he would be as a bird soiling its own +nest. It was that conviction, and not any idea as to the +sufficiency or insufficiency, as to the truth or falsehood, of the +editor's apology, which had actuated him. As he had said to his +lawyer, he did not in the least care for the newspaper people. He +could not condescend to be angry with them. The abominable joke +as to the two verbs was altogether in their line. As coming from +them, they were no more to him than the ribald words of boys which +he might hear in the street. The offence to him had come from the +Bishop,—and he resolved to spare the Bishop because of the +Church. But yet something must be done. He could not leave the +man to triumph over +<ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘hiim’">him</ins>. +If nothing further were done in the +matter, the Bishop would have triumphed over him. As he could not +bring himself to expose the Bishop, he must see whether he could +not reach the man by means of his own power of words;—so he wrote +as <span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p>"MY DEAR LORD,—I have to own that this letter is written with +feelings which have been very much lacerated by what your lordship +has done. I must tell you, in the first place, that I have +abandoned my intention of bringing an action against the +proprietors of the scurrilous newspaper which your lordship sent +me, because I am unwilling to bring to public notice the fact of a +quarrel between a clergyman of the Church of England and his +Bishop. I think that, whatever may be the difficulty between us, +it should be arranged without bringing down upon either of us +adverse criticism from the public press. I trust your lordship +will appreciate my feeling in this matter. Nothing less strong +could have induced me to abandon what seems to be the most certain +means by which I could obtain redress.</p> + +<p>"I had seen the paper which your lordship sent to me before it +came to me from the palace. The scurrilous, unsavoury, and vulgar +words which it contained did not matter to me much. I have lived +long enough to know that, let a man's own garments be as clean as +they may be, he cannot hope to walk through the world without +rubbing against those who are dirty. It was only when those words +came to me from your lordship,—when I found that the expressions +which I found in that paper were those to which your lordship had +before alluded as being criticisms on my conduct in the +metropolitan press,—criticisms so grave as to make your lordship +think it necessary to admonish me respecting them,—it was only +then, I say, that I considered them to be worthy of my notice. +When your lordship, in admonishing me, found it necessary to refer +me to the metropolitan press, and to caution me to look to my +conduct because the metropolitan press had expressed its +dissatisfaction, it was, I submit to you, natural for me to ask +you where I should find that criticism which had so strongly +affected your lordship's judgment. There are perhaps half a score +of newspapers published in London whose animadversions I, as a +clergyman, might have reason to respect,—even if I did not fear +them. Was I not justified in thinking that at least some two or +three of these had dealt with my conduct, when your lordship held +the metropolitan press <i>in terrorem</i> over my head? I applied to +your lordship for the names of these newspapers, and your +lordship, when pressed for a reply, sent to me—that copy of +'Everybody's Business.'</p> + +<p>"I ask your lordship to ask yourself whether, so far, I have +overstated anything. Did not that paper come to me as the only +sample you were able to send me of criticism made on my conduct in +the metropolitan press? No doubt my conduct was handled there in +very severe terms. No doubt the insinuations, if true,—or if of +such kind as to be worthy of credit with your lordship, whether +true or false,—were severe, plain-spoken, and damning. The +language was so abominable, so vulgar, so nauseous, that I will +not trust myself to repeat it. Your lordship, probably, when +sending me one copy, kept another. Now, I must ask your +lordship,—and I must beg of your lordship for a reply,—whether +the periodical itself has such a character as to justify your +lordship in founding a complaint against a clergyman on its +unproved statements, and also whether the facts of the case, as +they were known to you, were not such as to make your lordship +well aware that the insinuations were false. Before these ribald +words were printed, your lordship had heard all the facts of the +case from my own lips. Your lordship had known me and my +character for, I think, a dozen years. You know the character +that I bear among others as a clergyman, a schoolmaster, and a +gentleman. You have been aware how great is the friendship I have +felt for the unfortunate gentleman whose career is in question, +and for the lady who bears his name. When you read those +abominable words did they induce your lordship to believe that I +had been guilty of the inexpressible treachery of making love to +the poor lady whose misfortunes I was endeavouring to relieve, and +of doing so almost in my wife's presence?</p> + +<p>"I defy you to have believed them. Men are various, and their +minds work in different ways,—but the same causes will produce +the same effects. You have known too much of me to have thought it +possible that I should have done as I was accused. I should hold +a man to be no less than mad who could so have believed, knowing +as much as your lordship knew. Then how am I to reconcile to my +idea of your lordship's character the fact that you should have +sent me that paper? What am I to think of the process going on in +your lordship's mind when your lordship could have brought +yourself to use a narrative which you must have known to be false, +made in a newspaper which you knew to be scurrilous, as the ground +for a solemn admonition to a clergyman of my age and standing? +You wrote to me, as is evident from the tone and context of your +lordship's letter, because you found that the metropolitan press +had denounced my conduct. And this was the proof you sent to me +that such had been the case!</p> + +<p>"It occurred to me at once that, as the paper in question had +vilely slandered me, I could redress myself by an action of law, +and that I could prove the magnitude of the evil done me by +showing the grave importance which your lordship had attached to +the words. In this way I could have forced an answer from your +lordship to the questions which I now put to you. Your lordship +would have been required to state on oath whether you believed +those insinuations or not; and, if so, why you believed them. On +grounds which I have already explained I have thought it improper +to do so. Having abandoned that course, I am unable to force any +answer from your lordship. But I appeal to your sense of honour +and justice whether you should not answer my questions;—and I +also ask from your lordship an ample apology, if, on +consideration, you shall feel that you have done me an undeserved +injury.—I have the honour to be, my lord, your lordship's most +obedient, very humble servant,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey +Wortle</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>He was rather proud of this letter as he read it to himself, and +yet a little afraid of it, feeling that he had addressed his +Bishop in very strong language. It might be that the Bishop +should send him no answer at all, or some curt note from his +chaplain in which it would be explained that the tone of the +letter precluded the Bishop from answering it. What should he do +then? It was not, he thought, improbable, that the curt note from +the chaplain would be all that he might receive. He let the +letter lie by him for four-and-twenty hours after he had composed +it, and then determined that not to send it would be cowardly. He +sent it, and then occupied himself for an hour or two in +meditating the sort of letter he would write to the Bishop when +that curt reply had come from the chaplain.</p> + +<p>That further letter must be one which must make all amicable +intercourse between him and the Bishop impossible. And it must be +so written as to be fit to meet the public eye if he should be +ever driven by the Bishop's conduct to put it in print. A great +wrong had been done him;—a great wrong! The Bishop had been +induced by influences which should have had no power over him to +use his episcopal rod and to smite him,—him Dr. Wortle! He would +certainly show the Bishop that he should have considered +beforehand whom he was about to smite. +"<ins class="corr" title="Opening and closing single +quotation marks added +to enclose ‘Amo’">'Amo'</ins> in the cool of the +evening!" And that given as an expression of opinion from the +metropolitan press in general! He had spared the Bishop as far as +that action was concerned, but he would not spare him should he be +driven to further measures by further injustice. In this way he +lashed himself again into a rage. Whenever those odious words +occurred to him he was almost mad with anger against the Bishop.</p> + +<p>When the letter had been two days sent, so that he might have had +a reply had a reply come to him by return of post, he put a copy +of it into his pocket and rode off to call on Mr. Puddicombe. He +had thought of showing it to Mr. Puddicombe before he sent it, but +his mind had revolted from such submission to the judgment of +another. Mr. Puddicombe would no doubt have advised him not to +send it, and then he would have been almost compelled to submit to +such advice. But the letter was gone now. The Bishop had read +it, and no doubt re-read it two or three times. But he was +anxious that some other clergyman should see it,—that some other +clergyman should tell him that, even if inexpedient, it had still +been justified. Mr. Puddicombe had been made acquainted with the +former circumstances of the affair; and now, with his mind full of +his own injuries, he went again to Mr. Puddicombe.</p> + +<p>"It is just the sort of letter that you would write, as a matter +of course," said Mr. Puddicombe.</p> + +<p>"Then I hope that you think it is a good letter?"</p> + +<p>"Good as being expressive, and good also as being true, I do think +it."</p> + +<p>"But not good as being wise?"</p> + +<p>"Had I been in your case I should have thought it unnecessary. +But you are self-demonstrative, and cannot control your feelings."</p> + +<p>"I do not quite understand you."</p> + +<p>"What did it all matter? The Bishop did a foolish thing in +talking of the metropolitan press. But he had only meant to put +you on your guard."</p> + +<p>"I do not choose to be put on my guard in that way," said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>"No; exactly. And he should have known you better than to suppose +you would bear it. Then you pressed him, and he found himself +compelled to send you that stupid newspaper. Of course he had +made a mistake. But don't you think that the world goes easier +when mistakes are forgiven?"</p> + +<p>"I did forgive it, as far as foregoing the action."</p> + +<p>"That, I think, was a matter of course. If you had succeeded in +putting the poor Bishop into a witness-box you would have had +every sensible clergyman in England against you. You felt that +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Not quite that," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Something very near it; and therefore you withdrew. But you +cannot get the sense of the injury out of your mind, and, +therefore, you have persecuted the Bishop with that letter."</p> + +<p>"Persecuted?"</p> + +<p>"He will think so. And so should I, had it been addressed to me. +As I said before, all your arguments are true,—only I think you +have made so much more of the matter than was necessary! He ought +not to have sent you that newspaper, nor ought he to have talked +about the metropolitan press. But he did you no harm; nor had he +wished to do you harm;—and perhaps it might have been as well to +pass it over."</p> + +<p>"Could you have done so?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine myself in such a position. I could not, at any +rate, have written such a letter as that, even if I would; and +should have been afraid to write it if I could. I value peace and +quiet too greatly to quarrel with my bishop,—unless, indeed, he +should attempt to impose upon my conscience. There was nothing of +that kind here. I think I should have seen that he had made a +mistake, and have passed it over."</p> + +<p>The Doctor, as he rode home, was, on the whole, better pleased +with his visit than he had expected to be. He had been told that +his letter was argumentative and true, and that in itself had been +much.</p> + +<p>At the end of the week he received a reply from the Bishop, and +found that it was not, at any rate, written by the +chaplain.<br /> </p> + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Dr. Wortle</span>," +said the reply; "your letter has pained me +exceedingly, because I find that I have caused you a degree of +annoyance which I am certainly very sorry I have inflicted. When +I wrote to you in my letter,—which I certainly did not intend as +an admonition,—about the metropolitan press, I only meant to tell +you, for your own information, that the newspapers were making +reference to your affair with Mr. Peacocke. I doubt whether I +knew anything of the nature of 'Everybody's Business.' I am not +sure even whether I had ever actually read the words to which you +object so strongly. At any rate, they had had no weight with me. +If I had read them,—which I probably did very cursorily,—they +did not rest on my mind at all when I wrote to you. My object was +to caution you, not at all as to your own conduct, but as to +others who were speaking evil of you.</p> + +<p>"As to the action of which you spoke so strongly when I had the +pleasure of seeing you here, I am very glad that you abandoned it, +for your own sake and for mine, and the sake of all us generally +to whom the peace of the Church is dear.</p> + +<p>"As to the nature of the language in which you have found yourself +compelled to write to me, I must remind you that it is unusual as +coming from a clergyman to a bishop. I am, however, ready to +admit that the circumstances of the case were unusual, and I can +understand that you should have felt the matter severely. Under +these circumstances, I trust that the affair may now be allowed to +rest without any breach of those kind feelings which have hitherto +existed between us.—Yours very faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><ins class="corr" title="Opening double quotation +mark added"><span class="smallcaps">"C. +Broughton</span>."</ins><br /> </p> + + +<p>"It is a beastly letter," the Doctor said to himself, when he had +read it, "a beastly letter;" and then he put it away without +saying any more about it to himself or to any one else. It had +appeared to him to be a "beastly letter," because it had exactly +the effect which the Bishop had intended. It did not eat "humble +pie;" it did not give him the full satisfaction of a complete +apology; and yet it left no room for a further rejoinder. It had +declared that no censure had been intended, and expressed sorrow +that annoyance had been caused. But yet to the Doctor's thinking +it was an unmanly letter. "Not intended as an admonition!" Then +why had the Bishop written in that severely affectionate and +episcopal style? He had intended it as an admonition, and the +excuse was false. So thought the Doctor, and comprised all his +criticism in the one epithet given above. After that he put the +letter away, and determined to think no more about it.</p> + +<p>"Will you come in and see Mrs. Peacocke after lunch?" the Doctor +said to his wife the next morning. They paid their visit +together; and after that, when the Doctor called on the lady, he +was generally accompanied by Mrs. Wortle. So much had been +effected by +<ins class="corr" title="Opening single quotation +mark added">'Everybody's Business,'</ins> and its abominations.</p> + + +<p><a name="c18" id="c18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>THE JOURNEY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">We</span> +will now follow Mr. Peacocke for a while upon his journey. He +began his close connection with Robert Lefroy by paying the man's +bill at the inn before he left Broughton, and after that found +himself called upon to defray every trifle of expense incurred as +they went along. Lefroy was very anxious to stay for a week in +town. It would, no doubt, have been two weeks or a month had his +companion given way;—but on this matter a line of conduct had +been fixed by Mr. Peacocke in conjunction with the Doctor from +which he never departed. "If you will not be guided by me, I will +go without you," Mr. Peacocke had said, "and leave you to follow +your own devices on your own resources."</p> + +<p>"And what can you do by yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Most probably I shall be able to learn all that I want to learn. +It may be that I shall fail to learn anything either with you or +without you. I am willing to make the attempt with you if you +will come along at once;—but I will not be delayed for a single +day. I shall go whether you go or stay." Then Lefroy had yielded, +and had agreed to be put on board a German steamer starting from +Southampton to New York.</p> + +<p>But an hour or two before the steamer started he made a +revelation. "This is all gammon, Peacocke," he said, when on +board.</p> + +<p>"What is all gammon?"</p> + +<p>"My taking you across to the +<ins class="corr" title="Changed closing single quotation +mark to double quotation mark +after ‘States.’">States."</ins></p> + +<p>"Why is it gammon?"</p> + +<p>"Because Ferdinand died more than a year since;—almost +immediately after you took her off."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not tell me that at Bowick?"</p> + +<p>"Because you were so uncommon uncivil. Was it likely I should +have told you that when you cut up so uncommon rough?"</p> + +<p>"An honest man would have told me the very moment that he saw me."</p> + +<p>"When one's poor brother has died, one does not blurt it like that +all at once."</p> + +<p>"Your poor brother!"</p> + +<p>"Why not my poor brother as well as anybody else's? And her +husband too! How was I to let it out in that sort of way? At any +rate he is dead as Julius Cæsar. I saw him buried,—right away at +'Frisco."</p> + +<p>"Did he go to San Francisco?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—we both went there right away from St. Louis. When we got +up to St. Louis we were on our way with them other fellows. +Nobody meant to disturb you; but Ferdy got drunk, and would go and +have a spree, as he called it."</p> + +<p>"A spree, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"But we were off by train to Kansas at five o'clock the next +morning. The devil wouldn't keep him sober, and he died of D.T. +the day after we got him to 'Frisco. So there's the truth of it, +and you needn't go to New York at all. Hand me the dollars. I'll +be off to the States; and you can go back and marry the widow,—or +leave her alone, just as you please."</p> + +<p>They were down below when this story was told, sitting on their +portmanteaus in the little cabin in which they were to sleep. The +prospect of the journey certainly had no attraction for Mr. +Peacocke. His companion was most distasteful to him; the ship was +abominable; the expense was most severe. How glad would he avoid +it all if it were possible! "You know it all as well as if you +were there," said Robert, "and were standing on his grave." He did +believe it. The man in all probability had at the last moment +told the true story. Why not go back and be married again? The +Doctor could be got to believe it.</p> + +<p>But then if it were not true? It was only for a moment that he +doubted. "I must go to 'Frisco all the same," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why so?"</p> + +<p>"Because I must in truth stand upon his grave. I must have proof +that he has been buried there."</p> + +<p>"Then you may go by yourself," said Robert Lefroy. He had said +this more than once or twice already, and had been made to change +his tone. He could go or stay as he pleased, but no money would +be paid to him until Peacocke had in his possession positive proof +of Ferdinand Lefroy's death. So the two made their unpleasant +journey to New York together. There was complaining on the way, +even as to the amount of liquor that should be allowed. Peacocke +would pay for nothing that he did not himself order. Lefroy had +some small funds of his own, and was frequently drunk while on +board. There were many troubles; but still they did at last reach +New York.</p> + +<p>Then there was a great question whether they would go on direct +from thence to San Francisco, or delay themselves three or four +days by going round by +<ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘St Louis’">St. +Louis</ins>. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. +Louis,—and on that account Peacocke was almost resolved to take +tickets direct through for San Francisco. Why should Lefroy wish +to go to St. Louis? But then, if the story were altogether false, +some truth might be learned at St. Louis; and it was at last +decided that thither they would go. As they went on from town to +town, changing carriages first at one place and then at another, +Lefroy's manner became worse and worse, and his language more and +more threatening. Peacocke was asked whether he thought a man was +to be brought all that distance without being paid for his time. +"You will be paid when you have performed your part of the +bargain," said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"I'll see some part of the money at St. Louis," said Lefroy, "or +I'll know the reason why. A thousand dollars! What are a +thousand dollars? Hand out the money." This was said as they were +sitting together in a corner or separated portion of the +smoking-room of a little hotel at which they were waiting for a +steamer which was to take them down the Mississippi to St. Louis. +Peacocke looked round and saw that they were alone.</p> + +<p>"I shall hand out nothing till I see your brother's grave," said +Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar! What is the good of your going on like that? You +ought to know me well enough by this time."</p> + +<p>"But you do not know me well enough. You must have taken me for a +very tame sort o' critter."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I have."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'll change your mind."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shall. It is quite possible that you should murder me. +But you will not get any money by that."</p> + +<p>"Murder you. You ain't worth murdering." Then they sat in +silence, waiting another hour and a half till the steamboat came. +The reader will understand that it must have been a bad time for +Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>They were on the steamer together for about twenty-four hours, +during which Lefroy hardly spoke a word. As far as his companion +could understand he was out of funds, because he remained sober +during the greater part of the day, taking only what amount of +liquor was provided for him. Before, however, they reached St. +Louis, which they did late at night, he had made acquaintance with +certain fellow-travellers, and was drunk and noisy when they got +out upon the quay. Mr. Peacocke bore his position as well as he +could, and accompanied him up to the hotel. It was arranged that +they should remain two days at St. Louis, and then start for San +Francisco by the railway which runs across the State of Kansas. +Before he went to bed Lefroy insisted on going into the large hall +in which, as is usual in American hotels, men sit and loafe and +smoke and read the newspapers. Here, though it was twelve +o'clock, there was still a crowd; and Lefroy, after he had seated +himself and lit his cigar, got up from his seat and addressed all +the men around him.</p> + +<p>"Here's a fellow," said he, "has come out from England to find out +what's become of Ferdinand Lefroy."</p> + +<p>"I knew Ferdinand Lefroy," said one man, "and I know you too, +Master Robert."</p> + +<p>"What has become of Ferdinand Lefroy?" asked Mr. Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"He's gone where all the good fellows go," said another.</p> + +<p>"You mean that he is dead?" asked Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Of course he's dead," said Robert. "I've been telling him so +ever since we left England; but he is such a +<span class="nowrap">d––––</span> unbelieving +infidel that he wouldn't credit the man's own brother. He won't +learn much here about him."</p> + +<p>"Ferdinand Lefroy," said the first man, "died on the way as he was +going out West. I was over the road the day after."</p> + +<p>"You know nothing about it," said Robert. "He died at 'Frisco two +days after we'd got him there."</p> + +<p>"He died at Ogden Junction, where you turn down to Utah City."</p> + +<p>"You didn't see him dead," said the other.</p> + +<p>"If I remember right," continued the first man, "they'd taken him +away to bury him somewhere just there in the neighbourhood. I +didn't care much about him, and I didn't ask any particular +questions. He was a drunken beast,—better dead than alive."</p> + +<p>"You've been drunk as often as him, I guess," said Robert.</p> + +<p>"I never gave nobody the trouble to bury me at any rate," said the +other.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say positively of your own knowledge," asked +Peacocke, "that Ferdinand Lefroy died at that station?"</p> + +<p>"Ask him; he's his brother, and he ought to know best."</p> + +<p>"I tell you," said Robert, earnestly, "that we carried him on to +'Frisco, and there he died. If you think you know best, you can +go to Utah City and wait there till you hear all about it. I +guess they'll make you one of their elders if you wait long +enough." Then they all went to bed.</p> + +<p>It was now clear to Mr. Peacocke that the man as to whose life or +death he was so anxious had really died. The combined evidence of +these men, which had come out without any preconcerted +arrangement, was proof to his mind. But there was no evidence +which he could take back with him to England and use there as +proof in a court of law, or even before the Bishop and Dr. Wortle. +On the next morning, before Robert Lefroy was up, he got hold of +the man who had been so positive that death had overtaken the poor +wretch at the railway station which is distant from San Francisco +two days' journey. Had the man died there, and been buried there, +nothing would be known of him in San Francisco. The journey to +San Francisco would be entirely thrown away, and he would be as +badly off as ever.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't like to say for certain," said the man when he was +interrogated. "I only tell you what they told me. As I was +passing along somebody said as Ferdy Lefroy had been taken dead +out of the cars on to the platform. Now you know as much about it +as I do."</p> + +<p>He was thus assured that at any rate the journey to San Francisco +had not been altogether a fiction. The man had gone "West," as +had been said, and nothing more would be known of him at St. +Louis. He must still go on upon his journey and make such inquiry +as might be possible at the Ogden Junction.</p> + +<p>On the day but one following they started again, taking their +tickets as far as Leavenworth. They were told by the officials +that they would find a train at Leavenworth waiting to take them +on across country into the regular San Francisco line. But, as is +not unusual with railway officials in that part of the world, they +were deceived. At Leavenworth they were forced to remain for +four-and-twenty hours, and there they put themselves up at a +miserable hotel in which they were obliged to occupy the same +room. It was a rough, uncouth place, in which, as it seemed to +Mr. Peacocke, the men were more uncourteous to him, and the things +around more unlike to what he had met elsewhere, than in any other +town of the Union. Robert Lefroy, since the first night at St. +Louis, had become sullen rather than disobedient. He had not +refused to go on when the moment came for starting, but had left +it in doubt till the last moment whether he did or did not intend +to prosecute his journey. When the ticket was taken for him he +pretended to be altogether indifferent about it, and would himself +give no help whatever in any of the usual troubles of travelling. +But as far as this little town of Leavenworth he had been carried, +and Peacocke now began to think it probable that he might succeed +in taking him to San Francisco.</p> + +<p>On that night he endeavoured to induce him to go first to bed, but +in this he failed. Lefroy insisted on remaining down at the bar, +where he had ordered for himself some liquor for which Mr. +Peacocke, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary, would have +to pay. If the man would get drunk and lie there, he could not +help himself. On this he was determined, that whether with or +without the man, he would go on by the first train;—and so he +took himself to his bed.</p> + +<p>He had been there perhaps half-an-hour when his companion came +into the room,—certainly not drunk. He seated himself on his +bed, and then, pulling to him a large travelling-bag which he +used, he unpacked it altogether, laying all the things which it +contained out upon the bed. "What are you doing that for?" said +Mr. Peacocke; "we have to start from here to-morrow morning at +five."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to start to-morrow at five, nor yet to-morrow at +all, nor yet next day."</p> + +<p>"You are not?"</p> + +<p>"Not if I know it. I have had enough of this game. I am not +going further West for any one. Hand out the money. You have +been told everything about my brother, true and honest, as far as +I know it. Hand out the money."</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar," said Peacocke. "All that I have heard as yet will +be of no service to me. As far as I can see, you will earn it; +but you will have to come on a little further yet."</p> + +<p>"Not a foot; I ain't +<ins class="corr" title="Example of inconsistent ‘a-verbing.’ +This example is hyphenated. Two others +(‘alooking’ and ‘agoing’) are not.">a-going</ins> +out of this room to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Then I must go without you;—that's all."</p> + +<p>"You may go and be <span class="nowrap">––––</span>. +But you'll have to shell out the money +first, old fellow."</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar."</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I will not. How often have I told you so."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall take it."</p> + +<p>"That you will find very difficult. In the first place, if you +were to cut my <span class="nowrap">throat—"</span></p> + +<p>"Which is just what I intend to do."</p> + +<p>"If you were to cut my throat,—which in itself will be +difficult,—you would only find the trifle of gold which I have +got for our journey as far as 'Frisco. That won't do you much +good. The rest is in circular notes, which to you would be of no +service whatever."</p> + +<p>"My God," said the man suddenly, "I am not going to be done in +this way." And with that he drew out a bowie-knife which he had +concealed among the things which he had extracted from the bag. +"You don't know the sort of country you're in now. They don't +think much here of the life of such a skunk as you. If you mean +to live till to-morrow morning you must come to terms."</p> + +<p>The room was a narrow chamber in which two beds ran along the +wall, each with its foot to the other, having a narrow space +between them and the other wall. Peacocke occupied the one +nearest to the door. Lefroy now got up from the bed in the +further corner, and with the bowie-knife in his hand rushed +against the door as though to prevent his companion's escape. +Peacocke, who was in bed undressed, sat up at once; but as he did +so he brought a revolver out from under his pillow. "So you have +been and armed yourself, have you?" said Robert Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peacocke;—"if you come nearer me with that knife I +shall shoot you. Put it down."</p> + +<p>"Likely I shall put it down at your bidding."</p> + +<p>With the pistol still held at the other man's head, Peacocke +slowly extracted himself from his bed. "Now," said he, "if you +don't come away from the door I shall fire one barrel just to let +them know in the house what sort of affair is going on. Put the +knife down. You know that I shall not hurt you then."</p> + +<p>After hesitating for a moment or two, Lefroy did put the knife +down. "I didn't mean anything, old fellow," said he. "I only +wanted to frighten you."</p> + +<p>"Well; you have frightened me. Now, what's to come next?"</p> + +<p>"No, I ain't;—not frightened you a bit. A pistol's always better +than a knife any day. Well now, I'll tell ye how it all is." +Saying this, he seated himself on his own bed, and began a long +narration. He would not go further West than Leavenworth. +Whether he got his money or whether he lost it, he would not +travel a foot further. There were reasons which would make it +disagreeable for him to go into California. But he made a +proposition. If Peacocke would only give him money enough to +support himself for the necessary time, he would remain at +Leavenworth till his companion should return there, or would make +his way to Chicago, and stay there till Peacocke should come to +him. Then he proceeded to explain how absolute evidence might be +obtained at San Francisco as to his brother's death. "That fellow +was lying altogether," he said, "about my brother dying at the +Ogden station. He was very bad there, no doubt, and we thought it +was going to be all up with him. He had the horrors there, worse +than I ever saw before, and I hope never to see the like again. +But we did get him on to San Francisco; and when he was able to +walk into the city on his own legs, I thought that, might be, he +would rally and come round. However, in two days he died;—and we +buried him in the big cemetery just out of the town."</p> + +<p>"Did you put a stone over him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; there is a stone as large as life. You'll find the name on +it,—Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana. Kilbrack was the +name of our plantation, where we should be living now as gentlemen +ought, with three hundred niggers of our own, but for these +accursed Northern hypocrites."</p> + +<p>"How can I find the stone?"</p> + +<p>"There's a chap there who knows, I guess, where all them graves +are to be found. But it's on the right hand, a long way down, +near the far wall at the bottom, just where the ground takes a +little dip to the north. It ain't so long ago but what the +letters on the stone will be as fresh as if they were cut +yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Does no one in San Francisco know of his death?"</p> + +<p>"There's a chap named Burke at Johnson's, the cigar-shop in +Montgomery Street. He was brother to one of our party, and he +went out to the funeral. Maybe you'll find him, or, any way, some +traces of him."</p> + +<p>The two men sat up discussing the matter nearly the whole of the +night, and Peacocke, before he started, had brought himself to +accede to Lefroy's last proposition. He did give the man money +enough to support him for two or three weeks and also to take him +to Chicago, promising at the same time that he would hand to him +the thousand dollars at Chicago should he find him there at the +appointed time, and should he also have found Ferdinand Lefroy's +grave at San Francisco in the manner described.</p> + + +<p><a name="c19" id="c19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>"NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Wortle</span>, +when she perceived that her husband no longer called +on Mrs. Peacocke alone, became herself more assiduous in her +visits, till at last she too entertained a great liking for the +woman. When Mr. Peacocke had been gone for nearly a month she had +fallen into a habit of going across every day after the +performance of her own domestic morning duties, and remaining in +the school-house for an hour. On one morning she found that Mrs. +Peacocke had just received a letter from New York, in which her +husband had narrated his adventures so far. He had written from +Southampton, but not after the revelation which had been made to +him there as to the death of Ferdinand. He might have so done, +but the information given to him had, at the spur of the moment, +seemed to be so doubtful that he had refrained. Then he had been +able to think of it all during the voyage, and from New York he +had written at great length, detailing everything. Mrs. Peacocke +did not actually read out loud the letter, which was full of such +terms of affection as are common between man and wife, knowing +that her title to be called a wife was not admitted by Mrs. +Wortle; but she read much of it, and told all the circumstances as +they were related.</p> + +<p>"Then," said Mrs. Wortle, "he certainly is—no more." There came a +certain accession of sadness to her voice, as she reflected that, +after all, she was talking to this woman of the death of her +undoubted husband.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is dead—at last." Mrs. Wortle uttered a deep sigh. It +was dreadful to her to think that a woman should speak in that way +of the death of her husband. "I know all that is going on in your +mind," said Mrs. Peacocke, looking up into her face.</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Every thought. You are telling yourself how terrible it is that +a woman should speak of the death of her husband without a tear in +her eye, without a sob,—without one word of sorrow."</p> + +<p>"It is very sad."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is sad. Has it not all been sad? But what would +you have me do? It is not because he was always bad to +me,—because he marred all my early life, making it so foul a +blotch that I hardly dare to look back upon it from the quietness +and comparative purity of these latter days. It is not because he +has so treated me as to make me feel that it has been a misfortune +to me to be born, that I now receive these tidings with joy. It is +because of him who has always been good to me as the other was +bad, who has made me wonder at the noble instincts of a man, as +the other has made me shudder at his possible meanness."</p> + +<p>"It has been very hard upon you," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"And hard upon him, who is dearer to me than my own soul. Think +of his conduct to me! How he went away to ascertain the truth +when he first heard tidings which made him believe that I was free +to become his! How he must have loved me then, when, after all my +troubles, he took me to himself at the first moment that was +possible! Think, too, what he has done for me since,—and I for +him! How I have marred his life, while he has striven to repair +mine! Do I not owe him everything?"</p> + +<p>"Everything," said Mrs. Wortle,—"except to do what is wrong."</p> + +<p>"I did do what was wrong. Would not you have done so under such +circumstances? Would not you have obeyed the man who had been to +you so true a husband while he believed himself entitled to the +name? Wrong! I doubt whether it was wrong. It is hard to know +sometimes what is right and what is wrong. What he told me to do, +that to me was right. Had he told me to go away and leave him, I +should have gone,—and have died. I suppose that would have been +right." She paused as though she expected an answer. But the +subject was so difficult that Mrs. Wortle was unable to make one. +"I have sometimes wished that he had done so. But as I think of +it when I am alone, I feel how impossible that would have been to +him. He could not have sent me away. That which you call right +would have been impossible to him whom I regard as the most +perfect of human beings. As far as I know him, he is +faultless;—and yet, according to your judgment, he has committed +a sin so deep that he must stand disgraced before the eyes of all +men."</p> + +<p>"I have not said so."</p> + +<p>"It comes to that. I know how good you are; how much I owe to +you. I know that Dr. Wortle and yourself have been so kind to us, +that were I not grateful beyond expression I should be the meanest +human creature. Do not suppose that I am angry or vexed with you +because you condemn me. It is necessary that you should do so. +But how can I condemn myself;—or how can I condemn him?"</p> + +<p>"If you are both free now, it may be made right."</p> + +<p>"But how about repentance? Will it be all right though I shall +not have repented? I will never repent. There are laws in +accordance with which I will admit that I have done wrong; but had +I not broken those laws when he bade me, I should have hated +myself through all my life afterwards."</p> + +<p>"It was very different."</p> + +<p>"If you could know, Mrs. Wortle, how difficult it would have been +to go away and leave him! It was not till he came to me and told +me that he was going down to Texas, to see how it had been with my +husband, that I ever knew what it was to love a man. He had never +said a word. He tried not to look it. But I knew that I had his +heart and that he had mine. From that moment I have thought of +him day and night. When I gave him my hand then as he parted from +me, I gave it him as his own. It has been his to do what he liked +with it ever since, let who might live or who might die. Ought I +not to rejoice that he is dead?" Mrs. Wortle could not answer the +question. She could only shudder. "It was not by any will of my +own," continued the eager woman, "that I married Ferdinand Lefroy. +Everything in our country was then destroyed. All that we loved +and all that we valued had been taken away from us. War had +destroyed everything. When I was just springing out of childhood, +we were ruined. We had to go, all of us; women as well as men, +girls as well as boys;—and be something else than we had been. I +was told to marry him."</p> + +<p>"That was wrong."</p> + +<p>"When everything is in ruin about you, what room is there for +ordinary well-doing? It seemed then that he would have some +remnant of property. Our fathers had known each other long. The +wretched man whom drink afterwards made so vile might have been as +good a gentleman as another, if things had gone well with him. He +could not have been a hero like him whom I will always call my +husband; but it is not given to every man to be a hero."</p> + +<p>"Was he bad always from the first?"</p> + +<p>"He always drank,—from his wedding-day; and then Robert was with +him, who was worse than he. Between them they were very bad. My +life was a burden to me. It was terrible. It was a comfort to me +even to be deserted and to be left. Then came this Englishman in +my way; and it seemed to me, on a sudden, that the very nature of +mankind was altered. He did not lie when he spoke. He was never +debased by drink. He had other care than for himself. For +himself, I think, he never cared. Since he has been here, in the +school, have you found any cause of fault in him?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed! nor ever will;—unless it be a fault to love a woman +as he loves me. See what he is doing now,—where he has +gone,—what he has to suffer, coupled as he is with that wretch! +And all for my sake!"</p> + +<p>"For both your sakes."</p> + +<p>"He would have been none the worse had he chosen to part with me. +He was in no trouble. I was not his wife; and he need only—bid +me go. There would have been no sin with him then,—no wrong. +Had he followed out your right and your wrong, and told me that, +as we could not be man and wife, we must just part, he would have +been in no trouble;—would he?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know how it would have been then," said Mrs. Wortle, who +was by this time sobbing aloud in tears.</p> + +<p>"No; nor I, nor I. I should have been dead;—but he? He is a +sinner now, so that he may not preach in your churches, or teach +in your schools; so that your dear husband has to be ruined almost +because he has been kind to him. He then might have preached in +any church,—have taught in any school. What am I to think that +God will think of it? Will God condemn him?"</p> + +<p>"We must leave that to Him," sobbed Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but in thinking of our souls we must reflect a little as to +what we believe to be probable. He, you say, has sinned,—is +sinning still in calling me his wife. Am I not to believe that if +he were called to his long account he would stand there pure and +bright, in glorious garments,—one fit for heaven, because he has +loved others better than he has loved himself, because he has done +to others as he might have wished that they should do to him? I +do believe it! Believe! I know it. And if so, what am I to +think of his sin, or of my own? Not to obey him, not to love him, +not to do in everything as he counsels me,—that, to me, would be +sin. To the best of my conscience he is my husband and my master. +I will not go into the rooms of such as you, Mrs. Wortle, good and +kind as you are; but it is not because I do not think myself fit. +It is because I will not injure you in the estimation of those who +do not know what is fit and what is unfit. I am not ashamed of +myself. I owe it to him to blush for nothing that he has caused +me to do. I have but two judges,—the Lord in heaven, and he, my +husband, upon earth."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has condemned you here."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—they have condemned me. But I am not angry at that. You +do not think, Mrs. Wortle, that I can be angry with you,—so kind +as you have been, so generous, so forgiving;—the more kind +because you think that we are determined, headstrong sinners? Oh +no! It is natural that you should think so,—but I think +differently. Circumstances have so placed me that they have made +me unfit for your society. If I had no decent gown to wear, or +shoes to my feet, I should be unfit also;—but not on that account +disgraced in my own estimation. I comfort myself by thinking that +I cannot be altogether bad when a man such as he has loved me and +does love me."</p> + +<p>The two women, when they parted on that morning, kissed each +other, which they had not done before; and Mrs. Wortle had been +made to doubt whether, after all, the sin had been so very sinful. +She did endeavour to ask herself whether she would not have done +the same in the same circumstances. The woman, she thought, must +have been right to have married the man whom she loved, when she +heard that that first horrid husband was dead. There could, at +any rate, have been no sin in that. And then, what ought she to +have done when the dead man,—dead as he was supposed to have +been,—burst into her room? Mrs. Wortle,—who found it indeed +extremely difficult to imagine herself to be in such a +position,—did at last acknowledge that, in such circumstances, +she certainly would have done whatever Dr. Wortle had told her. +She could not bring it nearer to herself than that. She could not +suggest to herself two men as her own husbands. She could not +imagine that the Doctor had been either the bad husband, who had +unexpectedly come to life,—or the good husband, who would not, in +truth, be her husband at all; but she did determine, in her own +mind, that, however all that might have been, she would clearly +have done whatever the Doctor told her. She would have sworn to +obey him, even though, when swearing, she should not have really +married him. It was terrible to think of,—so terrible that she +could not quite think of it; but in struggling to think of it her +heart was softened towards this other woman. After that day she +never spoke further of the woman's sin.</p> + +<p>Of course she told it all to the Doctor,—not indeed explaining +the working of her own mind as to that suggestion that he should +have been, in his first condition, a very bad man, and have been +reported dead, and have come again, in a second shape, as a good +man. She kept that to herself. But she did endeavour to describe +the effect upon herself of the description the woman had given her +of her own conduct.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know how she could have done otherwise," said Mrs. +Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Nor I either; I have always said so."</p> + +<p>"It would have been so very hard to go away, when he told her +not."</p> + +<p>"It would have been very hard to go away," said the Doctor, "if he +had told her to do so. Where was she to go? What was she to do? +They had been brought together by circumstances, in such a manner +that it was, so to say, impossible that they should part. It is +not often that one comes across events like these, so altogether +out of the ordinary course that the common rules of life seem to +be insufficient for guidance. To most of us it never happens; and +it is better for us that it should not happen. But when it does, +one is forced to go beyond the common rules. It is that feeling +which has made me give them my protection. It has been a great +misfortune; but, placed as I was, I could not help myself. I +could not turn them out. It was clearly his duty to go, and +almost as clearly mine to give her shelter till he should come +back."</p> + +<p>"A great misfortune, Jeffrey?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so. Look at this." Then he handed to her a letter +from a nobleman living at a great distance,—at a distance so +great that Mrs. Stantiloup would hardly have reached him +there,—expressing his intention to withdraw his two boys from the +school at Christmas.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't give this as a reason."</p> + +<p>"No; we are not acquainted with each other personally, and he +could hardly have alluded to my conduct in this matter. It was +easier for him to give a mere notice such as this. But not the +less do I understand it. The intention was that the elder Mowbray +should remain for another year, and the younger for two years. Of +course he is at liberty to change his mind; nor do I feel myself +entitled to complain. A school such as mine must depend on the +credit of the establishment. He has heard, no doubt, something of +the story which has injured our credit, and it is natural that he +should take the boys away."</p> + +<p>"Do you think that the school will be put an end to?"</p> + +<p>"It looks very like it."</p> + +<p>"Altogether?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not care to drag it on as a failure. I am too old now to +begin again with a new attempt if this collapses. I have no +offers to fill up the vacancies. The parents of those who remain, +of course, will know how it is going with the school. I shall not +be disposed to let it die of itself. My idea at present is to +carry it on without saying anything till the Christmas holidays, +and then to give notice to the parents that the establishment will +be closed at Midsummer."</p> + +<p>"Will it make you very unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt it will. A man does not like to fail. I am not sure +but what I am less able to bear such failure than most men."</p> + +<p>"But you have sometimes thought of giving it up."</p> + +<p>"Have I? I have not known it. Why should I give it up? Why +should any man give up a profession while he has health and +strength to carry it on?"</p> + +<p>"You have another."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but it is not the one to which my energies have been chiefly +applied. The work of a parish such as this can be done by one +person. I have always had a curate. It is, moreover, nonsense to +say that a man does not care most for that by which he makes his +money. I am to give up over £2000 a-year, which I have had not a +trouble but a delight in making! It is like coming to the end of +one's life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jeffrey!"</p> + +<p>"It has to be looked in the face, you know."</p> + +<p>"I wish,—I wish they had never come."</p> + +<p>"What is the good of wishing? They came, and according to my way +of thinking I did my duty by them. Much as I am grieved by this, +I protest that I would do the same again were it again to be done. +Do you think that I would be deterred from what I thought to be +right by the machinations of a she-dragon such as that?"</p> + +<p>"Has she done it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I think so," said the Doctor, after some little hesitation. +"I think it has been, in truth, her doing. There has been a grand +opportunity for slander, and she has used it with uncommon skill. +It was a wonderful chance in her favour. She has been enabled +without actual lies,—lies which could be proved to be lies,—to +spread abroad reports which have been absolutely damning. And she +has succeeded in getting hold of the very people through whom she +could injure me. Of course all this correspondence with the +Bishop has helped. The Bishop hasn't kept it as a secret. Why +should he?"</p> + +<p>"The Bishop has had nothing to do with the school," said Mrs. +Wortle.</p> + +<p>"No; but the things have been mixed up together. Do you think it +would have no effect with such a woman as Lady Anne Clifford, to +be told that the Bishop had censured my conduct severely? If it +had not been for Mrs. Stantiloup, the Bishop would have heard +nothing about it. It is her doing. And it pains me to feel that +I have to give her credit for her skill and her energy."</p> + +<p>"Her wickedness, you mean."</p> + +<p>"What does it signify whether she has been wicked or not in this +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jeffrey!"</p> + +<p>"Her wickedness is a matter of course. We all knew that +beforehand. If a person has to be wicked, it is a great thing for +him to be successful in his wickedness. He would have to pay the +final penalty even if he failed. To be wicked and to do nothing is +to be mean all round. I am afraid that Mrs. Stantiloup will have +succeeded in her wickedness."</p> + + +<p><a name="c20" id="c20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>LORD BRACY'S LETTER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +school and the parish went on through August and September, +and up to the middle of October, very quietly. The quarrel +between the Bishop and the Doctor had altogether subsided. People +in the diocese had ceased to talk continually of Mr. and Mrs. +Peacocke. There was still alive a certain interest as to what +might be the ultimate fate of the poor lady; but other matters had +come up, and she no longer formed the one topic of conversation at +all meetings. The twenty boys at the school felt that, as their +numbers had been diminished, so also had their reputation. They +were less loud, and, as other boys would have said of them, less +"cocky" than of yore. But they ate and drank and played, and, let +us hope, learnt their lessons as usual. Mrs. Peacocke had from +time to time received letters from her husband, the last up to the +time of which we speak having been written at the Ogden +<ins class="corr" title="Lowercase ‘junction’ changed to uppercase +‘Junction’ to conform to majority usage +(3 out of 4 times with uppercase).">Junction</ins>, +at which Mr. Peacocke had stopped for four-and-twenty hours with +the object of making inquiry as to the statement made to him at +St. Louis. Here he learned enough to convince him that Robert +Lefroy had told him the truth in regard to what had there +occurred. The people about the station still remembered the +condition of the man who had been taken out of the car when +suffering from delirium tremens; and remembered also that the man +had not died there, but had been carried on by the next train to +San Francisco. One of the porters also declared that he had heard +a few days afterwards that the sufferer had died almost +immediately on his arrival at San Francisco. Information as far +as this Mr. Peacocke had sent home to his wife, and had added his +firm belief that he should find the man's grave in the cemetery, +and be able to bring home with him testimony to which no authority +in England, whether social, episcopal, or judicial, would refuse +to give credit.</p> + +<p>"Of course he will be married again," said Mrs. Wortle to her +husband.</p> + +<p>"They shall be married here, and I will perform the ceremony. I +don't think the Bishop himself would object to that; and I +shouldn't care a straw if he did."</p> + +<p>"Will he go on with the school?" whispered Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"Will the school go on? If the school goes on, he will go on, I +suppose. About that you had better ask Mrs. Stantiloup."</p> + +<p>"I will ask nobody but you," said the wife, putting up her face to +kiss him. As this was going on, everything was said to comfort +Mrs. Peacocke, and to give her hopes of new life. Mrs. Wortle +told her how the Doctor had promised that he himself would marry +them as soon as the forms of the Church and the legal requisitions +would allow. Mrs. Peacocke accepted all that was said to her +quietly and thankfully, but did not again allow herself to be +roused to such excitement as she had shown on the one occasion +recorded.</p> + +<p>It was at this time that the Doctor received a letter which +greatly affected his mode of thought at the time. He had +certainly become hipped and low-spirited, if not despondent, and +clearly showed to his wife, even though he was silent, that his +mind was still intent on the injury which that wretched woman had +done him by her virulence. But the letter of which we speak for a +time removed this feeling, and gave him, as it were, a new life. +The letter, which was from Lord Bracy, was as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Doctor +Wortle</span>.—Carstairs left us for Oxford yesterday, +and before he went, startled his mother and me considerably by a +piece of information. He tells us that he is over head and ears +in love with your daughter. The communication was indeed made +three days ago, but I told him that I should take a day or two to +think of it before I wrote to you. He was very anxious, when he +told me, to go off at once to Bowick, and to see you and your +wife, and of course the young lady;—but this I stopped by the +exercise of somewhat peremptory parental authority. Then he +informed me that he had been to Bowick, and had found his +lady-love at home, you and Mrs. Wortle having by chance been +absent at the time. It seems that he declared himself to the +young lady, who, in the exercise of a wise discretion, ran away +from him and left him planted on the terrace. That is his account +of what passed, and I do not in the least doubt its absolute +truth. It is at any rate quite clear, from his own showing, that +the young lady gave him no encouragement.</p> + +<p>"Such having been the case, I do not think that I should have +found it necessary to write to you at all had not Carstairs +persevered with me till I promised to do so. He was willing, he +said, not to go to Bowick on condition that I would write to you +on the subject. The meaning of this is, that had he not been very +much in earnest, I should have considered it best to let the +matter pass on as such matters do, and be forgotten. But he is +very much in earnest. However foolish it is,—or perhaps I had +better say unusual,—that a lad should be in love before he is +twenty, it is, I suppose, possible. At any rate it seems to be +the case with him, and he has convinced his mother that it would +be cruel to ignore the fact.</p> + +<p>"I may at once say that, as far as you and your girl are +concerned, I should be quite satisfied that he should choose for +himself such a marriage. I value rank, at any rate, as much as it +is worth; but that he will have of his own, and does not need to +strengthen it by intermarriage with another house of peculiarly +old lineage. As far as that is concerned, I should be contented. +As for money, I should not wish him to think of it in marrying. +If it comes, <i>tant mieux</i>. If not, he will have enough of his +own. I write to you, therefore, exactly as I should do if you had +happened to be a brother peer instead of a clergyman.</p> + +<p>"But I think that long engagements are very dangerous; and you +probably will agree with me that they are likely to be more +prejudicial to the girl than to the man. It may be that, as +difficulties arise in the course of years, he can forget the +affair, and that she cannot. He has many things of which to +think; whereas she, perhaps, has only that one. She may have made +that thing so vital to her that it cannot be got under and +conquered; whereas, without any fault or heartlessness on his +part, occupation has conquered it for him. In this case I fear +that the engagement, if made, could not but be long. I should be +sorry that he should not take his degree. And I do not think it +wise to send a lad up to the University hampered with the serious +feeling that he has already betrothed himself.</p> + +<p>"I tell you all just as it is, and I leave it to your wisdom to +suggest what had better be done. He wished me to promise that I +would undertake to induce you to tell Miss Wortle of his +conversation with me. He said that he had a right to demand so +much as that, and that, though he would not for the present go to +Bowick, he should write to you. The young gentleman seems to have +a will of his own,—which I cannot say that I regret. What you +will do as to the young lady,—whether you will or will not tell +her what I have written,—I must leave to yourself. If you do, I +am to send word to her from Lady Bracy to say that she shall be +delighted to see her here. She had better, however, come when +that inflammatory young gentleman shall be at Oxford. Yours very +faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Bracy</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>This letter certainly did a great deal to invigorate the Doctor, +and to console him in his troubles. Even though the debated +marriage might prove to be impossible, as it had been declared by +the voices of all the Wortles one after another, still there was +something in the tone in which it was discussed by the young man's +father which was in itself a relief. There was, at any rate, no +contempt in the letter. "I may at once say that, as far as you +and your girl are concerned, I shall be very well pleased." That, +at any rate, was satisfactory. And the more he looked at it the +less he thought that it need be altogether impossible. If Lord +Bracy liked it, and Lady Bracy liked it,—and young Carstairs, as +to whose liking there seemed to be no reason for any doubt,—he +did not see why it should be impossible. As to Mary,—he could +not conceive that she should make objection if all the others were +agreed. How could she possibly fail to love the young man if +encouraged to do so? Suitors who are good-looking, rich, of high +rank, sweet-tempered, and at the same time thoroughly devoted, are +not wont to be discarded. All the difficulty lay in the lad's +youth. After all, how many noblemen have done well in the world +without taking a degree? Degrees, too, have been taken by married +men. And, again, young men have been persistent before now, even +to the extent of waiting three years. Long engagements are +bad,—no doubt. Everybody has always said so. But a long +engagement may be better than none at all.</p> + +<p>He at last made up his mind that he would speak to Mary; but he +determined that he would consult his wife first. Consulting Mrs. +Wortle, on his part, generally amounted to no more than +instructing her. He found it sometimes necessary to talk her +over, as he had done in that matter of visiting Mrs. Peacocke; but +when he set himself to work he rarely failed. She had nowhere else +to go for a certain foundation and support. Therefore he hardly +doubted much when he began his operation about this suggested +engagement.</p> + +<p>"I have got that letter this morning from Lord Bracy," he said, +handing her the document.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! Has he heard about Carstairs?"</p> + +<p>"You had better read it."</p> + +<p>"He has told it all," she exclaimed, when she had finished the +first sentence.</p> + +<p>"He has told it all, certainly. But you had better read the +letter through."</p> + +<p>Then she seated herself and read it, almost trembling, however, as +she went on with it. "Oh dear;—that is very nice what he says +about you and Mary."</p> + +<p>"It is all very nice as far as that goes. There is no reason why +it should not be nice."</p> + +<p>"It might have made him so angry!"</p> + +<p>"Then he would have been very unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"He acknowledges that Mary did not encourage him."</p> + +<p>"Of course she did not encourage him. He would have been very +unlike a gentleman had he thought so. But in truth, my dear, it +is a very good letter. Of course there are difficulties."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—it is impossible!"</p> + +<p>"I do not see that at all. It must rest very much with him, no +doubt;—with Carstairs; and I do not like to think that our girl's +happiness should depend on any young man's constancy. But such +dangers have to be encountered. You and I were engaged for three +years before we were married, and we did not find it so very bad."</p> + +<p>"It was very good. Oh, I was so happy at the time."</p> + +<p>"Happier than you've been since?"</p> + +<p>"Well; I don't know. It was very nice to know that you were my +lover."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't Mary think it very nice to have a lover?"</p> + +<p>"But I knew that you would be true."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't Carstairs be true?"</p> + +<p>"Remember he is so young. You were in orders."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I was at all more likely to be true on that +account. A clergyman can jilt a girl just as well as another. It +depends on the nature of the man."</p> + +<p>"And you were so good."</p> + +<p>"I never came across a better youth than Carstairs. You see what +his father says about his having a will of his own. When a young +man shows a purpose of that kind he generally sticks to it."</p> + +<p>The upshot of it all was, that Mary was to be told, and that her +father was to tell her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa, he did come," she said. "I told mamma all about me."</p> + +<p>"And she told me, of course. You did what was quite right, and I +should not have thought it necessary to speak to you had not Lord +Bracy written to me."</p> + +<p>"Lord Bracy has written!" said Mary. It seemed to her, as it had +done to her mother, that Lord Bracy must have written angrily; but +though she thought so, she plucked up her spirit gallantly, +telling herself that though Lord Bracy might be angry with his own +son, he could have no cause to be displeased with her.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have a letter, which you shall read. The young man seems +to have been very much in earnest."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Mary, with some little exultation at her +heart.</p> + +<p>"It seems but the other day that he was a boy, and now he has +become suddenly a man." To this Mary said nothing; but she also +had come to the conclusion that, in this respect, Lord Carstairs +had lately changed,—very much for the better. "Do you like him, +Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Like him, papa?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my darling; how am I to put it? He is so much in earnest +that he has got his father to write to me. He was coming over +himself again before he went to Oxford; but he told his father +what he was going to do, and the Earl stopped him. There's the +letter, and you may read it."</p> + +<p>Mary read the letter, taking herself apart to a corner of the +room, and seemed to her father to take a long time in reading it. +But there was very much on which she was called upon to make up +her mind during those few minutes. Up to the present time,—up to +the moment in which her father had now summoned her into his +study, she had resolved that it was "impossible." She had become +so clear on the subject that she would not ask herself the +question whether she could love the young man. Would it not be +wrong to love the young man? Would it not be a longing for the +top brick of the chimney, which she ought to know was out of her +reach? So she had decided it, and had therefore already taught +herself to regard the declaration made to her as the ebullition of +a young man's folly. But not the less had she known how great had +been the thing suggested to her,—how excellent was this top brick +of the chimney; and as to the young man himself, she could not but +feel that, had matters been different, she might have loved him. +Now there had come a sudden change; but she did not at all know +how far she might go to meet the change, nor what the change +altogether meant. She had been made sure by her father's question +that he had taught himself to hope. He would not have asked her +whether she liked him,—would not, at any rate, have asked that +question in that voice,—had he not been prepared to be good to +her had she answered in the affirmative. But then this matter did +not depend upon her father's wishes,—or even on her father's +judgment. It was necessary that, before she said another word, +she should find out what Lord Bracy said about it. There she had +Lord Bracy's letter in her hand, but her mind was so disturbed +that she hardly knew how to read it aright at the spur of the +moment.</p> + +<p>"You understand what he says, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, papa."</p> + +<p>"It is a very kind letter."</p> + +<p>"Very kind indeed. I should have thought that he would not have +liked it at all."</p> + +<p>"He makes no objection of that kind. To tell the truth, Mary, I +should have thought it unreasonable had he done so. A gentleman +can do no better than marry a lady. And though it is much to be a +nobleman, it is more to be a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Some people think so much of it. And then his having been here +as a pupil! I was very sorry when he spoke to me."</p> + +<p>"All that is past and gone. The danger is that such an engagement +would be long."</p> + +<p>"Very long."</p> + +<p>"You would be afraid of that, Mary?" Mary felt that this was hard +upon her, and unfair. Were she to say that the danger of a long +engagement did not seem to her to be very terrible, she would at +once be giving up everything. She would have declared then that +she did love the young man; or, at any rate, that she intended to +do so. She would have succumbed at the first hint that such +succumbing was possible to her. And yet she had not known that +she was very much afraid of a long +<ins class="corr" title="Full stop added +after ‘engagement’">engagement</ins>. She would, she +thought, have been much more afraid had a speedy marriage been +proposed to her. Upon the whole, she did not know whether it +would not be nice to go on knowing that the young man loved her, +and to rest secure on her faith in him. She was sure of +this,—that the reading of Lord Bracy's letter had in some way +made her happy, though she was unwilling at once to express her +happiness to her father. She was quite sure that she could make +no immediate reply to that question, whether she was afraid of a +long engagement. "I must answer Lord Bracy's letter, you know," +said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"And what shall I say to him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, papa."</p> + +<p>"And yet you must tell me what to say, my darling."</p> + +<p>"Must I, papa?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly! Who else can tell me? But I will not answer it +to-day. I will put it off till Monday." It was Saturday morning +on which the letter was being discussed,—a day of which a +considerable portion was generally appropriated to the preparation +of a sermon. "In the mean time you had better talk to mamma; and +on Monday we will settle what is to be said to Lord Bracy."</p> + + +<p><a name="c21" id="c21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>AT CHICAGO.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Mr. Peacocke</span> +went on alone to San Francisco from the Ogden +Junction, and there obtained full information on the matter which +had brought him upon this long and disagreeable journey. He had +no difficulty in obtaining the evidence which he required. He had +not been twenty-four hours in the place before he was, in truth, +standing on the stone which had been placed over the body of +Ferdinand Lefroy, as he had declared to Robert Lefroy that he +would stand before he would be satisfied. On the stone was cut +simply the names, Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana; and to +these were added the dates of the days on which the man had been +born and on which he died. Of this stone he had a photograph +made, of which he took copies with him; and he obtained also from +the minister who had buried the body and from the custodian who +had charge of the cemetery certificates of the interment. Armed +with these he could no longer doubt himself, or suppose that +others would doubt, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead.</p> + +<p>Having thus perfected his object, and feeling but little interest +in a town to which he had been brought by such painful +circumstances, he turned round, and on the second day after his +arrival, again started for Chicago. Had it been possible, he would +fain have avoided any further meeting with Robert Lefroy. Short +as had been his stay at San Francisco he had learnt that Robert, +after his brother's death, had been concerned in buying mining +shares and paying for them with forged notes. It was not supposed +that he himself had been engaged in the forgery, but that he had +come into the city with men who had been employed for years on +this operation, and had bought shares and endeavoured to sell them +on the following day. He had, however, managed to leave the place +before the police had got hold of him, and had escaped, so that no +one had been able to say at what station he had got upon the +railway. Nor did any one in San Francisco know where Robert +Lefroy was now to be found. His companions had been taken, tried, +and convicted, and were now in the State prison,—where also would +Robert Lefroy soon be if any of the officers of the State could +get hold of him. Luckily Mr. Peacocke had said little or nothing +of the man in making his own inquiries. Much as he had hated and +dreaded the man; much as he had suffered from his +companionship,—good reason as he had to dislike the whole +family,—he felt himself bound by their late companionship not to +betray him. The man had assisted Mr. Peacocke simply for money; +but still he had assisted him. Mr. Peacocke therefore held his +peace and said nothing. But he would have been thankful to have +been able to send the money that was now due to him without having +again to see him. That, however, was impossible.</p> + +<p>On reaching Chicago he went to an hotel far removed from that +which Lefroy had designated. Lefroy had explained to him +something of the geography of the town, and had explained that for +himself he preferred a "modest, quiet hotel." The modest, quiet +hotel was called Mrs. Jones's boarding-house, and was in one of +the suburbs far from the main street. "You needn't say as you're +coming to me," Lefroy had said to him; "nor need you let on as you +know anything of Mrs. Jones at all. People are so curious; and it +may be that a gentleman sometimes likes to lie <i>perdu</i>." Mr. +Peacocke, although he had but small sympathy for the taste of a +gentleman who likes to lie <i>perdu</i>, nevertheless did as he was +bid, and found his way to Mrs. Jones's boarding-house without +telling any one whither he was going.</p> + +<p>Before he started he prepared himself with a thousand dollars in +bank-notes, feeling that this wretched man had earned them in +accordance with their compact. His only desire now was to hand +over the money as quickly as possible, and to hurry away out of +Chicago. He felt as though he himself were almost guilty of some +crime in having to deal with this man, in having to give him money +secretly, and in carrying out to the end an arrangement of which +no one else was to know the details. How would it be with him if +the police of Chicago should come upon him as a friend, and +probably an accomplice, of one who was "wanted" on account of +forgery at San Francisco? But he had no help for himself, and at +Mrs. Jones's he found his wife's brother-in-law seated in the bar +of the public-house,—that everlasting resort for American +loungers,—with a cigar as usual stuck in his mouth, loafing away +his time as only American frequenters of such establishments know +how to do. In England such a man would probably be found in such +a place with a glass of some alcoholic mixture beside him, but +such is never the case with an American. If he wants a drink he +goes to the bar and takes it standing,—will perhaps take two or +three, one after another; but when he has settled himself down to +loafe, he satisfies himself with chewing a cigar, and covering a +circle around him with the results. With this amusement he will +remain contented hour after hour;—nay, throughout the entire day +if no harder work be demanded of him. So was Robert Lefroy found +now. When Peacocke entered the hall or room the man did not rise +from his chair, but accosted him as though they had parted only an +hour since. "So, old fellow, you've got back all alive."</p> + +<p>"I have reached this place at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Well; that's getting back, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"I have come back from San Francisco."</p> + +<p>"H'sh!" exclaimed Lefroy, looking round the room, in which, +however, there was no one but themselves. "You needn't tell +everybody where you've been."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to conceal."</p> + +<p>"That is more than anybody knows of himself. It's a good maxim to +keep your own affairs quiet till they're wanted. In this country +everybody is spry enough to learn all about everything. I never +see any good in letting them know without a reason. Well;—what +did you do when you got there?"</p> + +<p>"It was all as you told me."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say so? What was the good of bringing me all this way, +when, if you'd only believed me, you might have saved me the +trouble. Ain't I to be paid for that?"</p> + +<p>"You are to be paid. I have come here to pay you."</p> + +<p>"That's what you owe for the knowledge. But for coming? Ain't I +to be paid extra for the journey?"</p> + +<p>"You are to have a thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>"H'sh!—you speak of money as though every one has a business to +know that you have got your pockets full. What's a thousand +dollars, seeing all that I have done for you!"</p> + +<p>"It's all that you're going to get. It's all, indeed, that I have +got to give you."</p> + +<p>"Gammon."</p> + +<p>"It's all, at any rate, that you're going to get. Will you have +it now?"</p> + +<p>"You found the tomb, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I found the tomb. Here is a photograph of it. You can keep +a copy if you like it."</p> + +<p>"What do I want of a copy," said the man, taking the photograph in +his hand. "He was always more trouble than he was worth,—was +Ferdy. It's a pity she didn't marry me. I'd 've made a woman of +her." Peacocke shuddered as he heard this, but he said nothing. +"You may as well give us the picter;—it'll do to hang up +somewhere if ever I have a room of my own. How plain it is. +Ferdinand Lefroy,—of Kilbrack! Kilbrack indeed! It's little +either of us was the better for Kilbrack. Some of them +psalm-singing rogues from New England has it now;—or perhaps a +right-down nigger. I shouldn't wonder. One of our own lot, +maybe! Oh; that's the money, is it?—A thousand dollars; all that +I'm to have for coming to England and telling you, and bringing +you back, and showing you where you could get this pretty picter +made." Then he took the money, a thick roll of notes, and crammed +them into his pocket.</p> + +<p>"You'd better count them."</p> + +<p>"It ain't worth the while with such a trifle as that."</p> + +<p>"Let me count them then."</p> + +<p>"You'll never have that plunder in your fists again, my fine +fellow."</p> + +<p>"I do not want it."</p> + +<p>"And now about my expenses out to England, on purpose to tell you +all this. You can go and make her your wife now,—or can leave +her, just as you please. You couldn't have done neither if I +hadn't gone out to you."</p> + +<p>"You have got what was promised."</p> + +<p>"But my expenses,—going out?"</p> + +<p>"I have promised you nothing for your expenses going out,—and +will pay you nothing."</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar more."</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. I do not suppose that you expect it for a moment, +although you are so persistent in asking for it."</p> + +<p>"And you think you've got the better of me, do you? You think +you've carried me along with you, just to do your bidding and take +whatever you please to give me? That's your idea of me?"</p> + +<p>"There was a clear bargain between us. I have not got the better +of you at all."</p> + +<p>"I rather think not, Peacocke. I rather think not. You'll have +to get up earlier before you get the better of Robert Lefroy. You +don't expect to get this money back again,—do you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not,—any more than I should expect a pound of meat out +of a dog's jaw." Mr. Peacocke, as he said this, was waxing angry.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you do;—but you expected that I was to earn it +by doing your bidding;—didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"And you have."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have; but how? You never heard of my cousin, did +you;—Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana?"</p> + +<p>"Heard of whom?"</p> + +<p>"My cousin; Ferdinand Lefroy. He was very well known in his own +State, and in California too, till he died. He was a good fellow, +but given to drink. We used to tell him that if he would marry it +would be better for him;—but he never would;—he never did." +Robert Lefroy as he said this put his left hand into his +trousers-pocket over the notes which he had placed there, and drew +a small revolver out of his pocket with the other hand. "I am +better prepared now," he said, "than when you had your six-shooter +under your pillow at Leavenworth."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe a word of it. It's a lie," said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Very well. You're a chap that's fond of travelling, and have got +plenty of money. You'd better go down to Louisiana and make your +way straight from New Orleans to Kilbrack. It ain't above forty +miles to the south-west, and there's a rail goes within fifteen +miles of it. You'll learn there all about Ferdinand Lefroy as was +our cousin,—him as never got married up to the day he died of +drink and was buried at San Francisco. They'll be very glad, I +shouldn't wonder, to see that pretty little picter of yours, +because they was always uncommon fond of cousin Ferdy at Kilbrack. +And I'll tell you what; you'll be sure to come across my brother +Ferdy in them parts, and can tell him how you've seen me. You can +give him all the latest news, too, about his own wife. He'll be +glad to hear about her, poor woman." Mr. Peacocke listened to this +without saying a word since that last exclamation of his. It +might be true. Why should it not be true? If in truth there had +been these two cousins of the same name, what could be more likely +than that his money should be lured out of him by such a fraud as +this? But yet,—yet, as he came to think of it all, it could not +be true. The chance of carrying such a scheme to a successful +issue would have been too small to induce the man to act upon it +from the day of his first appearance at Bowick. Nor was it +probable that there should have been another Ferdinand Lefroy +unknown to his wife; and the existence of such a one, if known to +his wife, would certainly have been made known to him.</p> + +<p>"It's a lie," said he, "from beginning to end."</p> + +<p>"Very well; very well. I'll take care to make the truth known by +letter to Dr. Wortle and the Bishop and all them pious swells over +there. To think that such a chap as you, a minister of the +gospel, living with another man's wife and looking as though +butter wouldn't melt in your mouth! I tell you what; I've got a +little money in my pocket now, and I don't mind going over to +England again and explaining the whole truth to the Bishop myself. +I could make him understand how that photograph ain't worth +nothing, and how I explained to you myself as the lady's righteous +husband is all alive, keeping house on his own property down in +Louisiana. Do you think we Lefroys hadn't any place beside +Kilbrack among us?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly you are a liar," said Peacocke.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Prove it."</p> + +<p>"Did you not tell me that your brother was buried at San +Francisco?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, as for that, that don't matter. It don't count for much +whether I told a crammer or not. That picter counts for nothing. +It ain't my word you were going on as evidence. You is able to +prove that Ferdy Lefroy was buried at 'Frisco. True enough. I +buried him. I can prove that. And I would never have treated you +this way, and not have said a word as to how the dead man was only +a cousin, if you'd treated me civil over there in England. But +you didn't."</p> + +<p>"I am going to treat you worse now," said Peacocke, looking him in +the face.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do now? It's I that have the revolver this +time." As he said this he turned the weapon round in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to shoot you,—nor yet to frighten you, as I did in +the bed-room at Leavenworth. Not but what I have a pistol too." +And he slowly drew his out of his pocket. At this moment two men +sauntered in and took their places in the further corner of the +room. "I don't think there is to be any shooting between us."</p> + +<p>"There may," said Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"The police would have you."</p> + +<p>"So they would—for a time. What does that matter to me? Isn't a +fellow to protect himself when a fellow like you comes to him +armed?"</p> + +<p>"But they would soon know that you are the swindler who escaped +from San Francisco eighteen months ago. Do you think it wouldn't +be found out that it was you who paid for the shares in forged +notes?"</p> + +<p>"I never did. That's one of your lies."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now you know what I know; and you had better tell me +over again who it is that lies buried under the stone that's been +photographed there."</p> + +<p>"What are you men doing with them pistols?" said one of the +strangers, walking across the room, and standing over the backs of +their chairs.</p> + +<p>"We are +<ins class="corr" title="Example of inconsistent ‘a-verbing.’ +This example is not hyphenated. One +other is hyphenated (‘a-going’) and the +third is not (‘agoing’).">alooking</ins> +at 'em," said Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"If you're +<ins class="corr" title="Example of inconsistent ‘a-verbing.’ +This example is not hyphenated. One +other is hyphenated (‘a-going’) and the +third is not (‘alooking’).">agoing</ins> to do anything of that kind you'd better go and +do it elsewhere," said the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Just so," said Lefroy. "That's what I was thinking myself."</p> + +<p>"But we are not going to do anything," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have +not the slightest idea of shooting the gentleman; and he has just +as little of shooting me."</p> + +<p>"Then what do you sit with 'em out in your hands in that fashion +for?" said the stranger. "It's a decent widow woman as keeps this +house, and I won't see her set upon. Put 'em up." Whereupon +Lefroy did return his pistol to his pocket,—upon which Mr. +Peacocke did the same. Then the stranger slowly walked back to +his seat at the other side of the room.</p> + +<p>"So they told you that lie; did they,—at 'Frisco?" asked Lefroy.</p> + +<p>"That was what I heard over there when I was inquiring about your +brother's death."</p> + +<p>"You'd believe anything if you'd believe that."</p> + +<p>"I'd believe anything if I'd believe in your cousin." Upon this +Lefroy laughed, but made no further allusion to the romance which +he had craftily invented on the spur of the moment. After that +the two men sat without a word between them for a quarter of an +hour, when the Englishman got up to take his leave. "Our business +is over now," he said, "and I will bid you good-bye."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'm athinking," said Lefroy. Mr. Peacocke +stood with his hand ready for a final adieu, but he said nothing. +"I've half a mind to go back with you to England. There ain't +nothing to keep me here."</p> + +<p>"What could you do there?"</p> + +<p>"I'd be evidence for you, as to Ferdy's death, you know."</p> + +<p>"I have evidence. I do not want you."</p> + +<p>"I'll go, nevertheless."</p> + +<p>"And spend all your money on the journey."</p> + +<p>"You'd help;—wouldn't you now?"</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar," said Peacocke, turning away and leaving the room. +As he did so he heard the wretch laughing loud at the excellence +of his own joke.</p> + +<p>Before he made his journey back again to England he only once more +saw Robert Lefroy. As he was seating himself in the railway car +that was to take him to Buffalo the man came up to him with an +affected look of solicitude. "Peacocke," he said, "there was only +nine hundred dollars in that roll."</p> + +<p>"There were a thousand. I counted them half-an-hour before I +handed them to you."</p> + +<p>"There was only nine hundred when I got 'em."</p> + +<p>"There were all that you will get. What kind of notes were they +you had when you paid for the shares at 'Frisco?" This question he +asked out loud, before all the passengers. Then Robert Lefroy +left the car, and Mr. Peacocke never saw him or heard from him +again.</p> + + +<p><a name="c22" id="c22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smallcaps">Conclusion</span>.</h3> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">When</span> +the Monday came there was much to be done and to be thought +of at Bowick. Mrs. Peacocke on that day received a letter from +San Francisco, giving her all the details of the evidence that her +husband had obtained, and enclosing a copy of the photograph. +There was now no reason why she should not become the true and +honest wife of the man whom she had all along regarded as her +husband in the sight of God. The writer declared that he would so +quickly follow his letter that he might be expected home within a +week, or, at the longest, ten days, from the date at which she +would receive it. Immediately on his arrival at Liverpool, he +would, of course, give her notice by telegraph.</p> + +<p>When this letter reached her, she at once sent a message across to +Mrs. Wortle. Would Mrs. Wortle kindly come and see her? Mrs. +Wortle was, of course, bound to do as she was asked, and started +at once. But she was, in truth, but little able to give counsel +on any subject outside the one which was at the moment nearest to +her heart. At one o'clock, when the boys went to their dinner, +Mary was to instruct her father as to the purport of the letter +which was to be sent to Lord Bracy,—and Mary had not as yet come +to any decision. She could not go to her father for aid;—she +could not, at any rate, go to him until the appointed hour should +come; and she was, therefore, entirely thrown upon her mother. +Had she been old enough to understand the effect and the power of +character, she would have known that, at the last moment, her +father would certainly decide for her,—and had her experience of +the world been greater, she might have been quite sure that her +father would decide in her favour. But as it was, she was +quivering and shaking in the dark, leaning on her mother's very +inefficient aid, nearly overcome with the feeling that by one +o'clock she must be ready to say something quite decided.</p> + +<p>And in the midst of this her mother was taken away from her, just +at ten o'clock. There was not, in truth, much that the two ladies +could say to each other. Mrs. Peacocke felt it to be necessary to +let the Doctor know that Mr. Peacocke would be back almost at +once, and took this means of doing so. "In a week!" said Mrs. +Wortle, as though painfully surprised by the suddenness of the +coming arrival.</p> + +<p>"In a week or ten days. He was to follow his letter as quickly as +possible from San Francisco."</p> + +<p>"And he has found it all out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he has learned everything, I think. Look at this!" And Mrs. +Peacocke handed to her friend the photograph of the tombstone.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wortle. "Ferdinand Lefroy! And this was his +grave?"</p> + +<p>"That is his grave," said Mrs. Peacocke, turning her face away.</p> + +<p>"It is very sad; very sad indeed;—but you had to learn it, you +know."</p> + +<p>"It will not be sad for him, I hope," said Mrs. Peacocke. "In all +this, I endeavour to think of him rather than of myself. When I +am forced to think of myself, it seems to me that my life has been +so blighted and destroyed that it must be indifferent what happens +to me now. What has happened to me has been so bad that I can +hardly be injured further. But if there can be a good time coming +for him,—something at least of relief, something perhaps of +comfort,—then I shall be satisfied."</p> + +<p>"Why should there not be comfort for you both?"</p> + +<p>"I am almost as dead to hope as I am to shame. Some year or two +ago I should have thought it impossible to bear the eyes of people +looking at me, as though my life had been sinful and impure. I +seem now to care nothing for all that. I can look them back again +with bold eyes and a brazen face, and tell them that their +hardness is at any rate as bad as my impurity."</p> + +<p>"We have not looked at you like that," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"No; and therefore I send to you in my trouble, and tell you all +this. The strangest thing of all to me is that I should have come +across one man so generous as your husband, and one woman so +soft-hearted as yourself." There was nothing further to be said +then. Mrs. Wortle was instructed to tell her husband that Mr. +Peacocke was to be expected in a week or ten days, and then +hurried back to give what assistance she could in the much more +important difficulties of her own daughter.</p> + +<p>Of course they were much more important to her. Was her girl to +become the wife of a young lord,—to be a future countess? Was +she destined to be the mother-in-law of an earl? Of course this +was much more important to her. And then through it all,—being +as she was a dear, good, Christian, motherly woman,—she was well +aware that there was something, in truth, much more important even +than that. Though she thought much of the earl-ship, and the +countess-ship, and the great revenue, and the big house at +Carstairs, and the fine park with its magnificent avenues, and the +carriage in which her daughter would be rolled about to London +parties, and the diamonds which she would wear when she should be +presented to the Queen as the bride of the young Lord Carstairs, +yet she knew very well that she ought not in such an emergency as +the present to think of these things as being of primary +importance. What would tend most to her girl's happiness,—and +welfare in this world and the next? It was of that she ought to +think,—of that only. If some answer were now returned to Lord +Bracy, giving his lordship to understand that they, the Wortles, +were anxious to encourage the idea, then in fact her girl would be +tied to an engagement whether the young lord should hold himself +to be so tied or no! And how would it be with her girl if the +engagement should be allowed to run on in a doubtful way for +years, and then be dropped by reason of the young man's +indifference? How would it be with her if, after perhaps three or +four years, a letter should come saying that the young lord had +changed his mind, and had engaged himself to some nobler bride? +Was it not her duty, as a mother, to save her child from the too +probable occurrence of some crushing grief such as this? All of +it was clear to her mind;—but then it was clear also that, if +this opportunity of greatness were thrown away, no such chance in +all probability would ever come again. Thus she was so tossed to +and fro between a prospect of glorious prosperity for her child on +one side, and the fear of terrible misfortune for her child on the +other, that she was altogether unable to give any salutary advice. +She, at any rate, ought to have known that her advice would at +last be of no importance. Her experience ought to have told her +that the Doctor would certainly settle the matter himself. Had it +been her own happiness that was in question, her own conduct, her +own greatness, she would not have dreamed of having an opinion of +her own. She would have consulted the Doctor, and simply have done +as he directed. But all this was for her child, and in a vague, +vacillating way she felt that for her child she ought to be ready +with counsel of her own.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Mary, when her mother came back from Mrs. Peacocke, +"what am I to say when he sends for me?"</p> + +<p>"If you think that you can love him, my dear—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, you shouldn't ask me!"</p> + +<p>"My dear!"</p> + +<p>"I do like him,—very much."</p> + +<p>"If so—"</p> + +<p>"But I never thought of it before;—and then, if he,—if he—"</p> + +<p>"If he what, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"If he were to change his mind?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes;—there it is. It isn't as though you could be married +in three months' time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma! I shouldn't like that at all."</p> + +<p>"Or even in six."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Of course he is very young."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma."</p> + +<p>"And when a young man is so very young, I suppose he doesn't quite +know his own mind."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma. But—"</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear."</p> + +<p>"His father says that he has got—such a strong will of his own," +said poor Mary, who was anxious, unconsciously anxious, to put in +a good word on her own side of the question, without making her +own desire too visible.</p> + +<p>"He always had that. When there was any game to be played, he +always liked to have his own way. But then men like that are just +as likely to change as others."</p> + +<p>"Are they, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"But I do think that he is a lad of very high principle."</p> + +<p>"Papa has always said that of him."</p> + +<p>"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a +<ins class="corr" title="Example of inconsistent hyphenation. +The word is used one other time, and +there is spelled ‘weathercock’ without +hyphenation">weather-cock</ins>."</p> + +<p>"If you think he would change at all, I would +rather,—rather,—rather—. Oh, mamma, why did you tell me?"</p> + +<p>"My darling, my child, my angel! What am I to tell you? I do +think of all the young men I ever knew he is the nicest, and the +sweetest, and the most thoroughly good and affectionate."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, do you?" said Mary, rushing at her mother and kissing +her and embracing her.</p> + +<p>"But if there were to be no regular engagement, and you were to +let him have your heart,—and then things were to go wrong!"</p> + +<p>Mary left the embracings, gave up the kissings, and seated herself +on the sofa alone. In this way the morning was passed;—and when +Mary was summoned to her father's study, the mother and daughter +had not arrived between them at any decision.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," said the Doctor, smiling, "what am I to say to +the Earl?"</p> + +<p>"Must you write to-day, papa?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. His letter is one that should not be left longer +unanswered. Were we to do so, he would only think that we didn't +know what to say for ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Would he, papa?"</p> + +<p>"He would fancy that we are half-ashamed to accept what has been +offered to us, and yet anxious to take it."</p> + +<p>"I am not ashamed of anything."</p> + +<p>"No, my dear; you have no reason."</p> + +<p>"Nor have you, papa."</p> + +<p>"Nor have I. That is quite true. I have never been wont to be +ashamed of myself;—nor do I think that you ever will have cause +to be ashamed of yourself. Therefore, why should we hesitate? +Shall I help you, my darling, in coming to a decision on the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"If I can understand your heart on this matter, it has never as +yet been given to this young man."</p> + +<p>"No, papa." This Mary said not altogether with that complete power +of asseveration which the negative is sometimes made to bear.</p> + +<p>"But there must be a beginning to such things. A man throws +himself into it headlong,—as my Lord Carstairs seems to have +done. At least all the best young men do." Mary at this point +felt a great longing to get up and kiss her father; but she +restrained herself. "A young woman, on the other hand, if she is +such as I think you are, waits till she is asked. Then it has to +begin." The Doctor, as he said this, smiled his sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"And when it has begun, she does not like to blurt it out at once, +even to her loving old father."</p> + +<p>"Papa!"</p> + +<p>"That's about it, isn't it? Haven't I hit it off?" He paused, as +though for a reply, but she was not as yet able to make him any. +"Come here, my dear." She came and stood by him, so that he could +put his arm round her waist. "If it be as I suppose, you are +better disposed to this young man than you are likely to be to any +other, just at present."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"To all others you are quite indifferent?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—indeed, papa."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are. But not quite indifferent to this one? Give +me a kiss, my darling, and I will take that for your speech." Then +she kissed him,—giving him her very best kiss. "And now, my +child, what shall I say to the Earl?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, papa."</p> + +<p>"Nor do I, quite. I never do know what to say till I've got the +pen in my hand. But you'll commission me to write as I may think +best?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"And I may presume that I know your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Then you had better leave me, so that I can go to +work with the paper straight before me, and my pen fixed in my +fingers. I can never begin to think till I find myself in that +position." Then she left him, and went back to her mother.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wortle.</p> + +<p>"He is going to write to Lord Bracy."</p> + +<p>"But what does he mean to say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know at all, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Not know!"</p> + +<p>"I think he means to tell Lord Bracy that he has got no +objection."</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Wortle was sure that the Doctor meant to face all the +dangers, and that therefore it would behove her to face them also.</p> + +<p>The Doctor, when he was left alone, sat a while thinking of the +matter before he put himself into the position fitted for +composition which he had described to his daughter. He +acknowledged to himself that there was a difficulty in making a +fit reply to the letter which he had to answer. When his mind was +set on sending an indignant epistle to the Bishop, the words flew +from him like lightning out of the thunder-clouds. But now he had +to think much of it before he could make any light to come which +should not bear a different colour from that which he intended. +"Of course such a marriage would suit my child, and would suit +me," he wished to say;—"not only, or not chiefly, because your +son is a nobleman, and will be an earl and a man of great +property. That goes a long way with us. We are too true to deny +it. We hate humbug, and want you to know simply the truth about +us. The title and the money go far,—but not half so far as the +opinion which we entertain of the young man's own good gifts. I +would not give my girl to the greatest and richest nobleman under +the British Crown, if I did not think that he would love her and +be good to her, and treat her as a husband should treat his wife. +But believing this young man to have good gifts such as these, and +a fine disposition, I am willing, on my girl's behalf,—and she +also is willing,—to encounter the acknowledged danger of a long +engagement in the hope of realising all the good things which +would, if things went fortunately, thus come within her reach." +This was what he wanted to say to the Earl, but he found it very +difficult to say it in language that should be natural.<br /> </p> + + +<p>"<span class="smallcaps">My dear Lord Bracy</span>,—When +I learned, through Mary's mother, that +Carstairs had been here in our absence and made a declaration of +love to our girl, I was, I must confess, annoyed. I felt, in the +first place, that he was too young to have taken in hand such a +business as that; and, in the next, that you might not unnaturally +have been angry that your son, who had come here simply for +tuition, should have fallen into a matter of love. I imagine that +you will understand exactly what were my feelings. There was, +however, nothing to be said about it. The evil, so far as it was +an evil, had been done, and Carstairs was going away to Oxford, +where, possibly, he might forget the whole affair. I did not, at +any rate, think it necessary to make a complaint to you of his +coming.</p> + +<p>"To all this your letter has given altogether a different aspect. +I think that I am as little likely as another to spend my time or +thoughts in looking for external advantages, but I am as much +alive as another to the great honour to myself and advantage to my +child of the marriage which is suggested to her. I do not know +how any more secure prospect of happiness could be opened to her +than that which such a marriage offers. I have thought myself +bound to give her your letter to read because her heart and her +imagination have naturally been affected by what your son said to +her. I think I may say of my girl that none sweeter, none more +innocent, none less likely to be over-anxious for such a prospect +could exist. But her heart has been touched; and though she had +not dreamt of him but as an acquaintance till he came here and +told his own tale, and though she then altogether declined to +entertain his proposal when it was made, now that she has learnt +so much more through you, she is no longer indifferent. This, I +think, you will find to be natural.</p> + +<p>"I and her mother also are of course alive to the dangers of a +long engagement, and the more so because your son has still before +him a considerable portion of his education. Had he asked advice +either of you or of me he would of course have been counselled not +to think of marriage as yet. But the very passion which has +prompted him to take this action upon himself shows,—as you +yourself say of him,—that he has a stronger will than is usual to +be found at his years. As it is so, it is probable that he may +remain constant to this as to a fixed idea.</p> + +<p>"I think you will now understand my mind and Mary's and her +mother's." Lord Bracy as he read this declared to himself that +though the Doctor's mind was very clear, Mrs. Wortle, as far as he +knew, had no mind in the matter at all. "I would suggest that the +affair should remain as it is, and that each of the young people +should be made to understand that any future engagement must +depend, not simply on the persistency of one of them, but on the +joint persistency of the two.</p> + +<p>"If, after this, Lady Bracy should be pleased to receive Mary at +Carstairs, I need not say that Mary will be delighted to make the +visit.—Believe me, my dear Lord Bracy, yours most faithfully.</p> + +<p class="ind15">"<span class="smallcaps">Jeffrey +Wortle</span>."<br /> </p> + + +<p>The Earl, when he read this, though there was not a word in it to +which he could take exception, was not altogether pleased. "Of +course it will be an engagement," he said to his wife.</p> + +<p>"Of course it will," said the Countess. "But then Carstairs is so +very much in earnest. He would have done it for himself if you +hadn't done it for him."</p> + +<p>"At any rate the Doctor is a gentleman," the Earl said, comforting +himself.</p> + + +<p><a name="c23" id="c23"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">The</span> +Earl's rejoinder to the Doctor was very short: "So let it be." +There was not another word in the body of the letter; but there +was appended to it a postscript almost equally short; "Lady Bracy +will write to Mary and settle with her some period for her visit." +And so it came to be understood by the Doctor, by Mrs. Wortle, and +by Mary herself, that Mary was engaged to Lord Carstairs.</p> + +<p>The Doctor, having so far arranged the matter, said little or +nothing more on the subject, but turned his mind at once to that +other affair of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. It was evident to his +wife, who probably alone understood the buoyancy of his spirit and +its corresponding susceptibility to depression, that he at once +went about Mr. Peacocke's affairs with renewed courage. Mr. +Peacocke should resume his duties as soon as he was remarried, and +let them see what Mrs. Stantiloup or the Bishop would dare to say +then! It was impossible, he thought, that parents would be such +asses as to suppose that their boys' morals could be affected to +evil by connection with a man so true, so gallant, and so manly as +this. He did not at this time say anything further as to +abandoning the school, but seemed to imagine that the vacancies +would get themselves filled up as in the course of nature. He ate +his dinner again as though he liked it, and abused the Liberals, +and was anxious about the grapes and peaches, as was always the +case with him when things were going well. All this, as Mrs. +Wortle understood, had come to him from the brilliancy of Mary's +prospects.</p> + +<p>But though he held his tongue on the subject, Mrs. Wortle did not. +She found it absolutely impossible not to talk of it when she was +alone with Mary, or alone with the Doctor. As he counselled her +not to make Mary think too much about it, she was obliged to hold +her peace when both were with her; but with either of them alone +she was always full of it. To the Doctor she communicated all her +fears and all her doubts, showing only too plainly that she would +be altogether broken-hearted if anything should interfere with the +grandeur and prosperity which seemed to be partly within reach, +but not altogether within reach of her darling child. If he, +Carstairs, should prove to be a recreant young lord! If Aristotle +and Socrates should put love out of his heart! If those other +wicked young lords at Christ-Church were to teach him that it was +a foolish thing for a young lord to become engaged to his tutor's +daughter before he had taken his degree! If some better born +young lady were to come in his way and drive Mary out of his +heart! No more lovely or better girl could be found to do so;—of +that she was sure. To the latter assertion the Doctor agreed, +telling her that, as it was so, she ought to have a stronger trust +in her daughter's charms,—telling her also, with somewhat sterner +voice, that she should not allow herself to be so disturbed by the +glories of the Bracy coronet. In this there was, I think, some +hypocrisy. Had the Doctor been as simple as his wife in showing +her own heart, it would probably have been found that he was as +much set upon the coronet as she.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Wortle would carry the Doctor's wisdom to her daughter. +"Papa says, my dear, that you shouldn't think of it too much."</p> + +<p>"I do think of him, mamma. I do love him now, and of course I +think of him."</p> + +<p>"Of course you do, my dear;—of course you do. How should you not +think of him when he is all in all to you? But papa means that it +can hardly be called an engagement yet."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what it should be called; but of course I love him. +He can change it if he likes."</p> + +<p>"But you shouldn't think of it, knowing his rank and wealth."</p> + +<p>"I never did, mamma; but he is what he is, and I must think of +him."</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Wortle did not know what special advice to give when +this declaration was made. To have held her tongue would have +been the wisest, but that was impossible to her. Out of the full +heart the mouth speaks, and her heart was very full of Lord +Carstairs and of Carstairs House, and of the diamonds which her +daughter would certainly be called upon to wear before the +Queen,—if only that young man would do his duty.</p> + +<p>Poor Mary herself probably had the worst of it. No provision was +made either for her to see her lover or to write to him. The only +interview which had ever taken place between them as lovers was +that on which she had run by him into the house, leaving him, as +the Earl had said, planted on the terrace. She had never been +able to whisper one single soft word into his ear, to give him +even one touch of her fingers in token of her affection. She did +not in the least know when she might be allowed to see +him,—whether it had not been settled among the elders that they +were not to see each other as real lovers till he should have +taken his degree,—which would be almost in a future world, so +distant seemed the time. It had been already settled that she was +to go to Carstairs in the middle of November and stay till the +middle of December; but it was altogether settled that her lover +was not to be at Carstairs during the time. He was to be at +Oxford then, and would be thinking only of his Greek and +Latin,—or perhaps amusing himself, in utter forgetfulness that he +had a heart belonging to him at Bowick Parsonage. In this way +Mary, though no doubt she thought the most of it all, had less +opportunity of talking of it than either her father or her mother.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Mr. Peacocke was coming home. The Doctor, as +soon as he heard that the day was fixed, or nearly fixed, being +then, as has been explained, in full good humour with all the +world except Mrs. Stantiloup and the Bishop, bethought himself as +to what steps might best be taken in the very delicate matter in +which he was called upon to give advice. He had declared at first +that they should be married at his own parish church; but he felt +that there would be difficulties in this. "She must go up to +London and meet him there," he said to Mrs. Wortle. "And he must +not show himself here till he brings her down as his actual wife." +Then there was very much to be done in arranging all this. And +something to be done also in making those who had been his +friends, and perhaps more in making those who had been his +enemies, understand exactly how the matter stood. Had no injury +been inflicted upon him, as though he had done evil to the world +in general in befriending Mr. Peacocke, he would have been quite +willing to pass the matter over in silence among his friends; but +as it was he could not afford to hide his own light under a +bushel. He was being punished almost to the extent of ruin by the +cruel injustice which had been done him by the evil tongue of Mrs. +Stantiloup, and, as he thought, by the folly of the Bishop. He +must now let those who had concerned themselves know as accurately +as he could what he had done in the matter, and what had been the +effect of his doing. He wrote a letter, therefore, which was not, +however, to be posted till after the Peacocke marriage had been +celebrated, copies of which he prepared with his own hand in order +that he might send them to the Bishop and to Lady +<ins class="corr" title="Original read ‘Ann’">Anne</ins> +Clifford, and to Mr. Talbot and,—not, indeed, to Mrs. Stantiloup, +but to Mrs. Stantiloup's husband. There was a copy also made for Mr. +Momson, though in his heart he despised Mr. Momson thoroughly. In +this letter he declared the great respect which he had +entertained, since he had first known them, both for Mr. and Mrs. +Peacocke, and the distress which he had felt when Mr. Peacocke had +found himself obliged to explain to him the facts,—the facts +which need not be repeated, because the reader is so well +acquainted with them. "Mr. Peacocke," he went on to say, "has +since been to America, and has found that the man whom he believed +to be dead when he married his wife, has died since his calamitous +reappearance. Mr. Peacocke has seen the man's grave, with the +stone on it bearing his name, and has brought back with him +certificates and evidence as to his burial.</p> + +<p>"Under these circumstances, I have no hesitation in re-employing +both him and his wife; and I think that you will agree that I +could not do less. I think you will agree, also, that in the +whole transaction I have done nothing of which the parent of any +boy intrusted to me has a right to complain."</p> + +<p>Having done this, he went up to London, and made arrangements for +having the marriage celebrated there as soon as possible after the +arrival of Mr. Peacocke. And on his return to Bowick, he went off +to Mr. Puddicombe with a copy of his letter in his pocket. He had +not addressed a copy to his friend, nor had he intended that one +should be sent to him. Mr. Puddicombe had not interfered in +regard to the boys, and had, on the whole, shown himself to be a +true friend. There was no need for him to advocate his cause to +Mr. Puddicombe. But it was right, he thought, that that gentleman +should know what he did; and it might be that he hoped that he +would at length obtain some praise from Mr. Puddicombe. But Mr. +Puddicombe did not like the letter. "It does not tell the truth," +he said.</p> + +<p>"Not the truth!"</p> + +<p>"Not the whole truth."</p> + +<p>"As how! Where have I concealed anything?"</p> + +<p>"If I understand the question rightly, they who have thought +proper to take their children away from your school because of Mr. +Peacocke, have done so because that gentleman continued to live +with that lady when they both knew that they were not man and +wife."</p> + +<p>"That wasn't my doing."</p> + +<p>"You condoned it. I am not condemning you. You condoned it, and +now you defend yourself in this letter. But in your defence you +do not really touch the offence as to which you are, according to +your own showing, accused. In telling the whole story, you should +say; 'They did live together though they were not married;—and, +under all the circumstances, I did not think that they were on +that account unfit to be left in charge of my boys."'</p> + +<p>"But I sent him away immediately,—to America."</p> + +<p>"You allowed the lady to remain."</p> + +<p>"Then what would you have me say?" demanded the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Mr. Puddicombe;—"not a word. Live it down in +silence. There will be those, like myself, who, though they could +not dare to say that in morals you were strictly correct, will +love you the better for what you did." The Doctor turned his face +towards the dry, hard-looking man and showed that there was a tear +in each of his eyes. "There are few of us not so infirm as +sometimes to love best that which is not best. But when a man is +asked a downright question, he is bound to answer the truth."</p> + +<p>"You would say nothing in your own defence."</p> + +<p>"Not a word. You know the French proverb: 'Who excuses himself is +his own accuser.' The truth generally makes its way. As far as I +can see, a slander never lives long."</p> + +<p>"Ten of my boys are gone!" said the Doctor, who had not hitherto +spoken a word of this to any one out of his own family;—"ten out +of twenty."</p> + +<p>"That will only be a temporary loss."</p> + +<p>"That is nothing,—nothing. It is the idea that the school should +be failing."</p> + +<p>"They will come again. I do not believe that that letter would +bring a boy. I am almost inclined to say, Dr. Wortle, that a man +should never defend himself."</p> + +<p>"He should never have to defend himself."</p> + +<p>"It is much the same thing. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Dr. +Wortle,—if it will suit your plans. I will go up with you and +will assist at the marriage. I do not for a moment think that you +will require any countenance, or that if you did, that I could +give it you."</p> + +<p>"No man that I know so efficiently."</p> + +<p>"But it may be that Mr. Peacocke will like to find that the +clergymen from his neighbourhood are standing with him." And so it +was settled, that when the day should come on which the Doctor +would take Mrs. Peacocke up with him to London, Mr. Puddicombe was +to accompany them.</p> + +<p>The Doctor when he left Mr. Puddicombe's parsonage had by no means +pledged himself not to send the letters. When a man has written a +letter, and has taken some trouble with it, and more specially +when he has copied it several times himself so as to have made +many letters of it,—when he has argued his point successfully to +himself, and has triumphed in his own mind, as was likely to be +the case with Dr. Wortle in all that he did, he does not like to +make waste paper of his letters. As he rode home he tried to +persuade himself that he might yet use them. He could not quite +admit his friend's point. Mr. Peacocke, no doubt, had known his +own condition, and him a strict moralist might condemn. But +he,—he,—Dr. Wortle,—had known nothing. All that +he had done was not to condemn the other man when he did +<ins class="corr" title="Closing double quotation mark +removed from after ‘know!’">know!</ins></p> + +<p>Nevertheless as he rode into his own yard, he made up his mind +that he would burn the letters. He had shown them to no one else. +He had not even mentioned them to his wife. He could burn them +without condemning himself in the opinion of any one. And he +burned them. When Mr. Puddicombe found him at the station at +Broughton as they were about to proceed to London with Mrs. +Peacocke, he simply whispered the fate of the letters. "After +what you said I destroyed what I had written."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was as well," said Mr. Puddicombe.</p> + +<p>When the telegram came to say that Mr. Peacocke was at Liverpool, +Mrs. Peacocke was anxious immediately to rush up to London. But +she was restrained by the Doctor,—or rather by Mrs. Wortle under +the Doctor's orders. "No, my dear; no. You must not go till all +will be ready for you to meet him in the church. The Doctor says +so."</p> + +<p>"Am I not to see him till he comes up to the altar?"</p> + +<p><ins class="corr" title="Opening double quotation +mark removed from +beginning of sentence.">On this</ins> there +was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle and the +Doctor, at which she explained how impossible it would be for the +woman to go through the ceremony with due serenity and propriety +of manner unless she should be first allowed to throw herself into +his arms, and to welcome him back to her. "Yes," she said, "he +can come and see you at the hotel on the evening before, and again +in the morning,—so that if there be a word to say you can say it. +Then when it is over he will bring you down here. The Doctor and +Mr. Puddicombe will come down by a later train. Of course it is +painful," said Mrs. Wortle, "but you must bear up." To her it +seemed to be so painful that she was quite sure that she could not +have borne it. To be married for the third time, and for the +second time to the same husband! To Mrs. Peacocke, as she thought +of it, the pain did not so much rest in that, as in the condition +of life which these things had forced upon her.</p> + +<p>"I must go up to town to-morrow, and must be away for two days," +said the Doctor out loud in the school, speaking immediately to +one of the ushers, but so that all the boys present might hear +him. "I trust that we shall have Mr. Peacocke with us the day +after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"We shall be very glad of that," said the usher.</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Peacocke will come and eat her dinner again like +before?" asked a little boy.</p> + +<p>"I hope so, Charley."</p> + +<p>"We shall like that, because she has to eat it all by herself +now."</p> + +<p>All the school, down even to Charley, the smallest boy in it, knew +all about it. Mr. Peacocke had gone to America, and Mrs. Peacocke +was going up to London to be married once more to her own +husband,—and the Doctor and Mr. Puddicombe were both going to +marry them. The usher of course knew the details more clearly +than that,—as did probably the bigger boys. There had even been a +rumour of the photograph which had been seen by one of the +maid-servants,—who had, it is to be feared, given the information +to the French teacher. So much, however, the Doctor had felt it +wise to explain, not thinking it well that Mr. Peacocke should +make his reappearance among them without notice.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of the next day but one, Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke +were driven up to the school in one of the Broughton flys. She +went quickly up into her own house, when Mr. Peacocke walked into +the school. The boys clustered round him, and the three +assistants, and every word said to him was kind and friendly;—but +in the whole course of his troubles there had never been a moment +to him more difficult than this,—in which he found it so nearly +impossible to say anything or to say nothing. "Yes, I have been +over very many miles since I saw you last." This was an answer to +young Talbot, who asked him whether he had not been a great +traveller whilst he was away.</p> + +<p>"In America," suggested the French usher, who had heard of the +photograph, and knew very well where it had been taken.</p> + +<p>"Yes, in America."</p> + +<p>"All the way to San Francisco," suggested Charley.</p> + +<p>"All the way to San Francisco, Charley,—and back again."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know you're come back again," said Charley, "because I see +you here."</p> + +<p>"There are only twenty boys this half," said one of the twenty.</p> + +<p>"Then I shall have more time to attend to you now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," said the lad, not seeming to find any special +consolation in that view of the matter.</p> + +<p>Painful as this first re-introduction had been, there was not much +more in it than that. No questions were asked, and no +explanations expected. It may be that Mrs. Stantiloup was +affected with fresh moral horrors when she heard of the return, +and that the Bishop said that the Doctor was foolish and +headstrong as ever. It may be that there was a good deal of talk +about it in the Close at Broughton. But at the school there was +very little more said about it than what has been stated above.</p> + + +<p><a name="c24" id="c24"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>MARY'S SUCCESS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p><span class="smallcaps">In</span> +this last chapter of our short story I will venture to run +rapidly over a few months so as to explain how the affairs of +Bowick arranged themselves up to the end of the current year. I +cannot pretend that the reader shall know, as he ought to be made +to know, the future fate and fortunes of our personages. They +must be left still struggling. But then is not such always in +truth the case, even when the happy marriage has been +celebrated?—even when, in the course of two rapid years, two +normal children make their appearance to gladden the hearts of +their parents?</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke fell into their accustomed duties in the +diminished school, apparently without difficulty. As the Doctor +had not sent those ill-judged letters he of course received no +replies, and was neither troubled by further criticism nor +consoled by praise as to his conduct. Indeed, it almost seemed to +him as though the thing, now that it was done, excited less +observation than it deserved. He heard no more of the +metropolitan press, and was surprised to find that the 'Broughton +Gazette' inserted only a very short paragraph, in which it stated +that "they had been given to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke +had resumed their usual duties at the Bowick School, after the +performance of an interesting ceremony in London, at which Dr. +Wortle and Mr. Puddicombe had assisted." The press, as far as the +Doctor was aware, said nothing more on the subject. And if +remarks injurious to his conduct were made by the Stantiloups and +the Momsons, they did not reach his ears. Very soon after the +return of the Peacockes there was a grand dinner-party at the +palace, to which the Doctor and his wife were invited. It was not +a clerical dinner-party, and so the honour was the greater. The +aristocracy of the neighbourhood were there, including Lady Anne +Clifford, who was devoted, with almost repentant affection, to her +old friend. And Lady Margaret Momson was there, the only +clergyman's wife besides his own, who declared to him with +unblushing audacity that she had never regretted anything so much +in her life as that Augustus should have been taken away from the +school. It was evident that there had been an intention at the +palace to make what amends the palace could for the injuries it +had done.</p> + +<p>"Did Lady Anne say anything about the boys?" asked Mrs. Wortle, as +they were going home.</p> + +<p>"She was going to, but I would not let her. I managed to show her +that I did not wish it, and she was clever enough to stop."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. +<ins class="corr" title="Full stop added +after ‘Wortle’">Wortle</ins>.</p> + +<p>"She won't do that. Indeed, I doubt whether I should take them. +But if it should come to pass that she should wish to send them +back, you may be sure that others will come. In such a matter she +is very good as a +<ins class="corr" title="Example of inconsistent hyphenation. +The word is used one other time, and +there is hyphenated ‘weather-cock’">weathercock</ins>, +showing how the wind blows." In +this way the dinner-party at the palace was in a degree comforting +and consolatory.</p> + +<p>But an incident which of all was most comforting and most +consolatory to one of the inhabitants of the parsonage took place +two or three days after the dinner-party. On going out of his own +hall-door one Saturday afternoon, immediately after lunch, whom +should the Doctor see driving himself into the yard in a hired gig +from Broughton—but young Lord Carstairs. There had been no +promise, or absolute compact made, but it certainly had seemed to +be understood by all of them that Carstairs was not to show +himself at Bowick till at some long distant period, when he should +have finished all the trouble of his education. It was understood +even that he was not to be at Carstairs during Mary's visit,—so +imperative was it that the young people should not meet. And now +here he was getting out of a gig in the Rectory yard! "Halloa! +Carstairs, is that you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Dr. Wortle,—here I am."</p> + +<p>"We hardly expected to see you, my boy."</p> + +<p>"No,—I suppose not. But when I heard that Mr. Peacocke had come +back, and all about his marriage, you know, I could not but come +over to see him. He and I have always been such great friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—to see Mr. Peacocke?"</p> + +<p>"I thought he'd think it unkind if I didn't look him up. He has +made it all right; hasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—he has made it all right, I think. A finer fellow never +lived. But he'll tell you all about it. He travelled with a +pistol in his pocket, and seemed to want it too. I suppose you +must come in and see the ladies after we have been to Peacocke?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I can just see them," said the young lord, as though +moved by equal anxiety as to the mother and as to the daughter.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave word that you are here, and then we'll go into the +school." So the Doctor found a servant, and sent what message he +thought fit into the house.</p> + +<p>"Lord Carstairs here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, Miss! He's with your papa, going across to the +school. He told me to take word in to Missus that he supposes his +lordship will stay to dinner." The maid who carried the tidings, +and who had received no commission to convey them to Miss Mary, +was, no doubt, too much interested in an affair of love, not to +take them first to the one that would be most concerned with them.</p> + +<p>That very morning Mary had been bemoaning herself as to her hard +condition. Of what use was it to her to have a lover, if she was +never to see him, never to hear from him,—only to be told about +him,—that she was not to think of him more than she could help? +She was already beginning to think that a long engagement carried +on after this fashion would have more of suffering in it than she +had anticipated. It seemed to her that while she was, and always +would be, thinking of him, he never, never would continue to think +of her. If it could be only a word once a month it would be +something,—just one or two written words under an envelope,—even +that would have sufficed to keep her hope alive! But never to see +him;—never to hear from him! Her mother had told her that very +morning that there was to be no meeting,—probably for three +years, till he should have done with Oxford. And here he was in +the house,—and her papa had sent in word to say that he was to +eat his dinner there! It so astonished her that she felt that she +would be afraid to meet him. Before she had had a minute to think +of it all, her mother was with her. "Carstairs, love, is here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh mamma, what has brought him?"</p> + +<p>"He has gone into the school with your papa to see Mr. Peacocke. +He always was very fond of Mr. Peacocke." For a moment something +of a feeling of jealousy crossed her heart,—but only for a +moment. He would not surely have come to Bowick if he had begun +to be indifferent to her already! "Papa says that he will +probably stay to dinner."</p> + +<p>"Then I am to see him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—of course you must see him."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Don't you wish to see him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, mamma. If he were to come and go, and we were not to +meet at all, I should think it was all over then. Only,—I don't +know what to say to him."</p> + +<p>"You must take that as it comes, my dear."</p> + +<p>Two hours afterwards they were walking, the two of them alone +together, out in the Bowick woods. When once the law,—which had +been rather understood than spoken,—had been infringed and set at +naught, there was no longer any use in endeavouring to maintain a +semblance of its restriction. The two young people had met in the +presence both of the father and mother, and the lover had had her +in his arms before either of them could interfere. There had been +a little scream from Mary, but it may probably be said of her that +she was at the moment the happiest young lady in the diocese.</p> + +<p>"Does your father know you are here?" said the Doctor, as he led +the young lord back from the school into the house.</p> + +<p>"He knows I'm coming, for I wrote and told my mother. I always +tell everything; but it's sometimes best to make up your mind +before you get an answer." Then the Doctor made up his mind that +Lord Carstairs would have his own way in anything that he wished +to accomplish.</p> + +<p>"Won't the Earl be angry?" Mrs. Wortle asked.</p> + +<p>"No;—not angry. He knows the world too well not to be quite sure +that something of the kind would happen. And he is too fond of +his son not to think well of anything that he does. It wasn't to +be supposed that they should never meet. After all that has +passed I am bound to make him welcome if he chooses to come here, +and as Mary's lover to give him the best welcome that I can. He +won't stay, I suppose, because he has got no clothes."</p> + +<p>"But he has;—John brought in a portmanteau and a dressing-bag out +of the gig." So that was settled.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Lord Carstairs had taken Mary out for a walk into +the wood, and she, as she walked beside him, hardly knew whether +she was going on her head or her heels. This, indeed, it was to +have a lover. In the morning she was thinking that when three +years were past he would hardly care to see her ever again. And +now they were together among the falling leaves, and sitting about +under the branches as though there was nothing in the world to +separate them. Up to that day there had never been a word between +them but such as is common +<ins class="corr" title="Opening single quotation mark +removed from before‘to’">to mere</ins> +acquaintances, and now he was +calling her every instant by her Christian name, and telling her +all his secrets.</p> + +<p>"We have such jolly woods at Carstairs," he said; "but we shan't +be able to sit down when we're there, because it will be winter. +We shall be hunting, and you must come out and see us."</p> + +<p>"But you won't be there when I am," she said, timidly.</p> + +<p>"Won't I? That's all you know about it. I can manage better than +that."</p> + +<p>"You'll be at Oxford."</p> + +<p>"You must stay over Christmas, Mary; that's what you must do. You +musn't think of going till January."</p> + +<p>"But Lady Bracy won't want me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she will. We must make her want you. At any rate they'll +understand this; if you don't stay for me, I shall come home even +if it's in the middle of term. I'll arrange that. You don't +suppose I'm not going to be there when you make your first visit +to the old place."</p> + +<p>All this was being in Paradise. She felt when she walked home +with him, and when she was alone afterwards in her own room, that, +in truth, she had only liked him before. Now she loved him. Now +she was beginning to know him, and to feel that she would +really,—really die of a broken heart if anything were to rob her +of him. But she could let him go now, without a feeling of +discomfort, if she thought that she was to see him again when she +was at Carstairs.</p> + +<p>But this was not the last walk in the woods, even on this +occasion. He remained two days at Bowick, so necessary was it for +him to renew his intimacy with Mr. Peacocke. He explained that he +had got two days' leave from the tutor of his College, and that +two days, in College parlance, always meant three. He would be +back on the third day, in time for "gates"; and that was all which +the strictest college discipline would require of him. It need +hardly be said of him that the most of his time he spent with +Mary; but he did manage to devote an hour or two to his old +friend, the school-assistant.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peacocke told his whole story, and Carstairs, whose morals +were perhaps not quite so strict as those of Mr. Puddicombe, gave +him all his sympathy. "To think that a man can be such a brute as +that," he said, when he heard that Ferdinand Lefroy had shown +himself to his wife at St. Louis,—"only on a spree."</p> + +<p>"There is no knowing to what depth utter ruin may reduce a man who +has been born to better things. He falls into idleness, and then +comforts himself with drink. So it seems to have been with him."</p> + +<p>"And that other fellow;—do you think he meant to shoot you?"</p> + +<p>"Never. But he meant to frighten me. And when he brought out his +knife in the bedroom at Leavenworth he did. My pistol was not +loaded."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because little as I wish to be murdered, I should prefer that to +murdering any one else. But he didn't mean it. His only object +was to get as much out of me as he could. As for me, I couldn't +give him more because I hadn't got it." After that they made a +league of friendship, and Mr. Peacocke promised that he would, on +some distant occasion, take his wife with him on a visit to +Carstairs.</p> + +<p>It was about a month after this that Mary was packed up and sent +on her journey to Carstairs. When that took place, the Doctor was +in supreme good-humour. There had come a letter from the father +of the two Mowbrays, saying that he had again changed his mind. +He had, he said, heard a story told two ways. He trusted Dr. +Wortle would understand him and forgive him, when he declared that +he had believed both the stories. If after this the Doctor chose +to refuse to take his boys back again, he would have, he +acknowledged, no ground for offence. But if the Doctor would take +them, he would intrust them to the Doctor's care with the greatest +satisfaction in the world,—as he had done before.</p> + +<p>For a while the Doctor had hesitated; but here, perhaps for the +first time in her life, his wife was allowed to persuade him. +"They are such leading people," she said.</p> + +<p>"Who cares for that? I have never gone in for that." This, +however, was hardly true. "When I have been sure that a man is a +gentleman, I have taken his son without inquiring much farther. +It was mean of him to withdraw after I had acceded to his +request."</p> + +<p>"But he withdraws his withdrawal in such a flattering way!" Then +the Doctor assented, and the two boys were allowed to come. Lady +Anne Clifford hearing this, learning that the Doctor was so far +willing to relent, became very piteous and implored forgiveness. +The noble relatives were all willing now. It had not been her +fault. As far as she was concerned herself she had always been +anxious that her boys should remain at Bowick. And so the two +Cliffords came back to their old beds in the old room.</p> + +<p>Mary, when she first arrived at Carstairs, hardly knew how to +carry herself. Lady Bracy was very cordial and the Earl friendly, +but for the first two days nothing was said about Carstairs. +There was no open acknowledgment of her position. But then she +had expected none; and though her tongue was burning to talk, of +course she did not say a word. But before a week was over Lady +Bracy had begun, and by the end of the fortnight Lord Bracy had +given her a beautiful brooch. "That means," said Lady Bracy in +the confidence of her own little sitting-room up-stairs, "that he +looks upon you as his daughter."</p> + +<p>"Does it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, yes." Then they fell to kissing each other, and did +nothing but talk about Carstairs and all his perfections, and his +unalterable love, and how these three years could be made to wear +themselves away, till the conversation,—simmering over as such +conversation is wont to do,—gave the whole household to +understand that Miss Wortle was staying there as Lord Carstairs's +future bride.</p> + +<p>Of course she stayed over the Christmas, or went back to Bowick +for a week, and then returned to Carstairs, so that she might tell +her mother everything, and hear of the six new boys who were to +come after the holidays. "Papa couldn't take both the Buncombes," +said Mrs. Wortle in her triumph, "and one must remain till +midsummer. Sir George did say that it must be two or none, but he +had to give way. I wanted papa to have another bed in the east +room, but he wouldn't hear of it."</p> + +<p>Mary went back for the Christmas and Carstairs came; and the house +was full, and everybody knew of the engagement. She walked with +him, and rode with him, and danced with him, and talked secrets +with him,—as though there were no Oxford, no degree before him. +No doubt it was very imprudent, but the Earl and the Countess knew +all about it. What might be, or would be, or was the end of such +folly, it is not my purpose here to tell. I fear that there was +trouble before them. It may, however, be possible that the degree +should be given up on the score of love, and Lord Carstairs should +marry his bride,—at any rate when he came of age.</p> + +<p>As to the school, it certainly suffered nothing by the Doctor's +generosity, and when last I heard of Mr. Peacocke, the Bishop had +offered to grant him a licence for the curacy. Whether he +accepted it I have not yet heard, but I am inclined to think that +in this matter he will adhere to his old determination. </p> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 21847-h.txt or 21847-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/8/4/21847">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/4/21847</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Dr. Wortle's School + + +Author: Anthony Trollope + + + +Release Date: June 18, 2007 [eBook #21847] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL*** + + +E-text prepared by Stanford Carmack + + + +Transcriber's note: + + This e-text was taken from the first edition of this novel and + attempts to reproduce the original spelling, punctuation etc. + Some corrections have been made--a complete list of changes and + items to note is at the end of the e-text. + + The Table of Contents of Volume II is located at the beginning + of that volume. + + + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +A Novel. + +BY + +ANTHONY TROLLOPE. + +IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I. + + + + + + + +London: +Chapman and Hall, Limited, 193, Piccadilly. +1881. + +London: +R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers, +Bread Street Hill. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + + PART I. + + CHAPTER I. DR. WORTLE + + CHAPTER II. THE NEW USHER + + CHAPTER III. THE MYSTERY + + PART II. + + CHAPTER IV. THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION + + CHAPTER V. "THEN WE MUST GO" + + CHAPTER VI. LORD CARSTAIRS + + PART III. + + CHAPTER VII. ROBERT LEFROY + + CHAPTER VIII. THE STORY IS TOLD + + CHAPTER IX. MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE + + PART IV. + + CHAPTER X. MR. PEACOCKE GOES + + CHAPTER XI. THE BISHOP + + CHAPTER XII. THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +PART I. + +CHAPTER I. + +DR. WORTLE. + +THE Rev. Jeffrey Wortle, D.D., was a man much esteemed by others,--and by +himself. He combined two professions, in both of which he had been +successful,--had been, and continued to be, at the time in which we speak +of him. I will introduce him to the reader in the present tense as Rector +of Bowick, and proprietor and head-master of the school established in the +village of that name. The seminary at Bowick had for some time enjoyed a +reputation under him;--not that he had ever himself used so new-fangled +and unpalatable a word in speaking of his school. Bowick School had been +established by himself as preparatory to Eton. Dr. Wortle had been +elected to an assistant-mastership at Eton early in life soon after he had +become a Fellow of Exeter. There he had worked successfully for ten +years, and had then retired to the living of Bowick. On going there he +had determined to occupy his leisure, and if possible to make his fortune, +by taking a few boys into his house. By dint of charging high prices and +giving good food,--perhaps in part, also, by the quality of the education +which he imparted,--his establishment had become popular and had outgrown +the capacity of the parsonage. He had been enabled to purchase a field or +two close abutting on the glebe gardens, and had there built convenient +premises. He now limited his number to thirty boys, for each of which he +charged L200 a-year. It was said of him by his friends that if he would +only raise his price to L250, he might double the number, and really make +a fortune. In answer to this, he told his friends that he knew his own +business best;--he declared that his charge was the only sum that was +compatible both with regard to himself and honesty to his customers, and +asserted that the labours he endured were already quite heavy enough. In +fact, he recommended all those who gave him advice to mind their own +business. + +It may be said of him that he knew his own so well as to justify him in +repudiating counsel from others. There are very different ideas of what +"a fortune" may be supposed to consist. It will not be necessary to give +Dr. Wortle's exact idea. No doubt it changed with him, increasing as his +money increased. But he was supposed to be a comfortable man. He paid +ready money and high prices. He liked that people under him should +thrive,--and he liked them to know that they throve by his means. He +liked to be master, and always was. He was just, and liked his justice to +be recognised. He was generous also, and liked that, too, to be known. +He kept a carriage for his wife, who had been the daughter of a poor +clergyman at Windsor, and was proud to see her as well dressed as the wife +of any county squire. But he was a domineering husband. As his wife +worshipped him, and regarded him as a Jupiter on earth from whose nod +there could be and should be no appeal, but little harm came from this. +If a tyrant, he was an affectionate tyrant. His wife felt him to be so. +His servants, his parish, and his school all felt him to be so. They +obeyed him, loved him, and believed in him. + +So, upon the whole, at the time with which we are dealing, did the +diocese, the county, and that world of parents by whom the boys were sent +to his school. But this had not come about without some hard fighting. +He was over fifty years of age, and had been Rector of Bowick for nearly +twenty. During that time there had been a succession of three bishops, +and he had quarrelled more or less with all of them. It might be juster +to say that they had all of them had more or less of occasion to find +fault with him. Now Dr. Wortle,--or Mr. Wortle, as he should be called in +reference to that period,--was a man who would bear censure from no human +being. He had left his position at Eton because the Head-master had +required from him some slight change of practice. There had been no +quarrel on that occasion, but Mr. Wortle had gone. He at once commenced +his school at Bowick, taking half-a-dozen pupils into his own house. The +bishop of that day suggested that the cure of the souls of the +parishioners of Bowick was being subordinated to the Latin and Greek of +the sons of the nobility. The bishop got a response which gave an +additional satisfaction to his speedy translation to a more comfortable +diocese. Between the next bishop and Mr. Wortle there was, unfortunately, +misunderstanding, and almost feud for the entire ten years during which +his lordship reigned in the Palace of Broughton. This Bishop of Broughton +had been one of that large batch of Low Church prelates who were brought +forward under Lord Palmerston. Among them there was none more low, more +pious, more sincere, or more given to interference. To teach Mr. Wortle +his duty as a parish clergyman was evidently a necessity to such a bishop. +To repudiate any such teaching was evidently a necessity to Mr. Wortle. +Consequently there were differences, in all of which Mr. Wortle carried +his own. What the good bishop suffered no one probably knew except his +wife and his domestic chaplain. What Mr. Wortle enjoyed,--or Dr. Wortle, +as he came to be called about this time,--was patent to all the county and +all the diocese. The sufferer died, not, let us hope, by means of the +Doctor; and then came the third bishop. He, too, had found himself +obliged to say a word. He was a man of the world,--wise, prudent, not +given to interference or fault-finding, friendly by nature, one who +altogether hated a quarrel, a bishop beyond all things determined to be +the friend of his clergymen;--and yet he thought himself obliged to say a +word. There were matters in which Dr. Wortle affected a peculiarly +anti-clerical mode of expression, if not of feeling. He had been foolish +enough to declare openly that he was in search of a curate who should have +none of the "grace of godliness" about him. He was wont to ridicule the +piety of young men who devoted themselves entirely to their religious +offices. In a letter which he wrote he spoke of one youthful divine as "a +conceited ass who had preached for forty minutes." He not only disliked, +but openly ridiculed all signs of a special pietistic bearing. It was +said of him that he had been heard to swear. There can be no doubt that +he made himself wilfully distasteful to many of his stricter brethren. +Then it came to pass that there was a correspondence between him and the +bishop as to that outspoken desire of his for a curate without the grace +of godliness. But even here Dr. Wortle was successful. The management of +his parish was pre-eminently good. The parish school was a model. The +farmers went to church. Dissenters there were none. The people of Bowick +believed thoroughly in their parson, and knew the comfort of having an +open-handed, well-to-do gentleman in the village. This third episcopal +difficulty did not endure long. Dr. Wortle knew his man, and was willing +enough to be on good terms with his bishop so long as he was allowed to be +in all things his own master. + +There had, too, been some fighting between Dr. Wortle and the world about +his school. He was, as I have said, a thoroughly generous man, but he +required, himself, to be treated with generosity. Any question as to the +charges made by him as schoolmaster was unendurable. He explained to all +parents that he charged for each boy at the rate of two hundred a-year for +board, lodging, and tuition, and that anything required for a boy's +benefit or comfort beyond that ordinarily supplied would be charged for as +an extra at such price as Dr. Wortle himself thought to be an equivalent. +Now the popularity of his establishment no doubt depended in a great +degree on the sufficiency and comfort of the good things of the world +which he provided. The beer was of the best; the boys were not made to +eat fat; their taste in the selection of joints was consulted. The +morning coffee was excellent. The cook was a great adept at cakes and +puddings. The Doctor would not himself have been satisfied unless +everything had been plentiful, and everything of the best. He would have +hated a butcher who had attempted to seduce him with meat beneath the +usual price. But when he had supplied that which was sufficient according +to his own liberal ideas, he did not give more without charging for it. +Among his customers there had been a certain Honourable Mr. Stantiloup, +and,--which had been more important,--an Honourable Mrs. Stantiloup. Mrs. +Stantiloup was a lady who liked all the best things which the world could +supply, but hardly liked paying the best price. Dr. Wortle's school was +the best thing the world could supply of that kind, but then the price was +certainly the very best. Young Stantiloup was only eleven, and as there +were boys at Bowick as old as seventeen,--for the school had not +altogether maintained its old character as being merely preparatory,--Mrs. +Stantiloup had thought that her boy should be admitted at a lower fee. +The correspondence which had ensued had been unpleasant. Then young +Stantiloup had had the influenza, and Mrs. Stantiloup had sent her own +doctor. Champagne had been ordered, and carriage exercise. Mr. +Stantiloup had been forced by his wife to refuse to pay sums demanded for +these undoubted extras. Ten shillings a-day for a drive for a little boy +seemed to her a great deal,--seemed so to Mrs. Stantiloup. Ought not the +Doctor's wife to have been proud to take out her little boy in her own +carriage? And then L2 10_s_. for champagne for the little boy! It was +monstrous. Mr. Stantiloup remonstrated. Dr. Wortle said that the little +boy had better be taken away and the bill paid at once. The little boy +was taken away and the money was offered, short of L5. The matter was +instantly put into the hands of the Doctor's lawyer, and a suit commenced. +The Doctor, of course, got his money, and then there followed an +acrimonious correspondence in the "Times" and other newspapers. Mrs. +Stantiloup did her best to ruin the school, and many very eloquent +passages were written not only by her or by her own special scribe, but by +others who took the matter up, to prove that two hundred a-year was a +great deal more than ought to be paid for the charge of a little boy +during three quarters of the year. But in the course of the next twelve +months Dr. Wortle was obliged to refuse admittance to a dozen eligible +pupils because he had not room for them. + +No doubt he had suffered during these contests,--suffered, that is, in +mind. There had been moments in which it seemed that the victory would be +on the other side, that the forces congregated against him were too many +for him, and that not being able to bend he would have to be broken; but +in every case he had fought it out, and in every case he had conquered. +He was now a prosperous man, who had achieved his own way, and had made +all those connected with him feel that it was better to like him and obey +him, than to dislike him and fight with him. His curates troubled him as +little as possible with the grace of godliness, and threw off as far as +they could that zeal which is so dear to the youthful mind but which so +often seems to be weak and flabby to their elders. His ushers or +assistants in the school fell in with his views implicitly, and were +content to accept compensation in the shape of personal civilities. It +was much better to go shares with the Doctor in a joke than to have to +bear his hard words. + +It is chiefly in reference to one of these ushers that our story has to be +told. But before we commence it, we must say a few more words as to the +Doctor and his family. Of his wife I have already spoken. She was +probably as happy a woman as you shall be likely to meet on a summer's +day. She had good health, easy temper, pleasant friends, abundant means, +and no ambition. She went nowhere without the Doctor, and whenever he +went she enjoyed her share of the respect which was always shown to him. +She had little or nothing to do with the school, the Doctor having many +years ago resolved that though it became him as a man to work for his +bread, his wife should not be a slave. When the battles had been going +on,--those between the Doctor and the bishops, and the Doctor and Mrs. +Stantiloup, and the Doctor and the newspapers,--she had for a while been +unhappy. It had grieved her to have it insinuated that her husband was an +atheist, and asserted that her husband was a cormorant; but his courage +had sustained her, and his continual victories had taught her to believe +at last that he was indomitable. + +They had one child, a daughter, Mary, of whom it was said in Bowick that +she alone knew the length of the Doctor's foot. It certainly was so that, +if Mrs. Wortle wished to have anything done which was a trifle beyond her +own influence, she employed Mary. And if the boys collectively wanted to +carry a point, they would "collectively" obtain Miss Wortle's aid. But +all this the Doctor probably knew very well; and though he was often +pleased to grant favours thus asked, he did so because he liked the +granting of favours when they had been asked with a proper degree of care +and attention. She was at the present time of the age in which fathers +are apt to look upon their children as still children, while other men +regard them as being grown-up young ladies. It was now June, and in the +approaching August she would be eighteen. It was said of her that of the +girls all round she was the prettiest; and indeed it would be hard to find +a sweeter-favoured girl than Mary Wortle. Her father had been all his +life a man noted for the manhood of his face. He had a broad forehead, +with bright grey eyes,--eyes that had always a smile passing round them, +though the smile would sometimes show that touch of irony which a smile +may contain rather than the good-humour which it is ordinarily supposed to +indicate. His nose was aquiline, not hooky like a true bird's-beak, but +with that bend which seems to give to the human face the clearest +indication of individual will. His mouth, for a man, was perhaps a little +too small, but was admirably formed, as had been the chin with a deep +dimple on it, which had now by the slow progress of many dinners become +doubled in its folds. His hair had been chestnut, but dark in its hue. +It had now become grey, but still with the shade of the chestnut through +it here and there. He stood five feet ten in height, with small hands and +feet. He was now perhaps somewhat stout, but was still as upright on his +horse as ever, and as well able to ride to hounds for a few fields when by +chance the hunt came in the way of Bowick. Such was the Doctor. Mrs. +Wortle was a pretty little woman, now over forty years of age, of whom it +was said that in her day she had been the beauty of Windsor and those +parts. Mary Wortle took mostly after her father, being tall and comely, +having especially her father's eyes; but still they who had known Mrs. +Wortle as a girl declared that Mary had inherited also her mother's +peculiar softness and complexion. + +For many years past none of the pupils had been received within the +parsonage,--unless when received there as guests, which was of frequent +occurrence. All belonging to the school was built outside the glebe land, +as a quite separate establishment, with a door opening from the parsonage +garden to the school-yard. Of this door the rule was that the Doctor and +the gardener should have the only two keys; but the rule may be said to +have become quite obsolete, as the door was never locked. Sometimes the +bigger boys would come through unasked,--perhaps in search of a game of +lawn-tennis with Miss Wortle, perhaps to ask some favour of Mrs. Wortle, +who always was delighted to welcome them, perhaps even to seek the Doctor +himself, who never on such occasions would ask how it came to pass that +they were on that side of the wall. Sometimes Mrs. Wortle would send her +housekeeper through for some of the little boys. It would then be a good +time for the little boys. But this would generally be during the Doctor's +absence. + +Here, on the school side of the wall, there was a separate establishment +of servants, and a separate kitchen. There was no sending backwards or +forwards of food or of clothes,--unless it might be when some special +delicacy was sent in if a boy were unwell. For these no extra charge was +ever made, as had been done in the case of young Stantiloup. Then a +strange doctor had come, and had ordered the wine and the carriage. There +was no extra charge for the kindly glasses of wine which used to be +administered in quite sufficient plenty. + +Behind the school, and running down to the little river Pin, there is a +spacious cricket-ground, and a court marked out for lawn-tennis. Up close +to the school is a racket-court. No doubt a good deal was done to make +the externals of the place alluring to those parents who love to think +that their boys shall be made happy at school. Attached to the school, +forming part of the building, is a pleasant, well-built residence, with +six or eight rooms, intended for the senior or classical assistant-master. +It had been the Doctor's scheme to find a married gentleman to occupy this +house, whose wife should receive a separate salary for looking after the +linen and acting as matron to the school,--doing what his wife did till he +became successful,--while the husband should be in orders and take part of +the church duties as a second curate. But there had been a difficulty in +this. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE NEW USHER. + +THE Doctor had found it difficult to carry out the scheme described in the +last chapter. They indeed who know anything of such matters will be +inclined to call it Utopian, and to say that one so wise in worldly +matters as our schoolmaster should not have attempted to combine so many +things. He wanted a gentleman, a schoolmaster, a curate, a matron, and a +lady,--we may say all in one. Curates and ushers are generally unmarried. +An assistant schoolmaster is not often in orders, and sometimes is not a +gentleman. A gentleman, when he is married, does not often wish to +dispose of the services of his wife. A lady, when she has a husband, has +generally sufficient duties of her own to employ her, without undertaking +others. The scheme, if realised, would no doubt be excellent, but the +difficulties were too many. The Stantiloups, who lived about twenty miles +off, made fun of the Doctor and his project; and the Bishop was said to +have expressed himself as afraid that he would not be able to license as +curate any one selected as usher to the school. One attempt was made +after another in vain;--but at last it was declared through the country +far and wide that the Doctor had succeeded in this, as in every other +enterprise that he had attempted. There had come a Rev. Mr. Peacocke and +his wife. Six years since, Mr. Peacocke had been well known at Oxford as +a Classic, and had become a Fellow of Trinity. Then he had taken orders, +and had some time afterwards married, giving up his Fellowship as a matter +of course. Mr. Peacocke, while living at Oxford, had been well known to a +large Oxford circle, but he had suddenly disappeared from that world, and +it had reached the ears of only a few of his more intimate friends that he +had undertaken the duties of vice-president of a classical college at +Saint Louis in the State of Missouri. Such a disruption as this was for a +time complete; but after five years Mr. Peacocke appeared again at Oxford, +with a beautiful American wife, and the necessity of earning an income by +his erudition. + +It would at first have seemed very improbable that Dr. Wortle should have +taken into his school or into his parish a gentleman who had chosen the +United States as a field for his classical labours. The Doctor, whose +mind was by no means logical, was a thoroughgoing Tory of the old school, +and therefore considered himself bound to hate the name of a republic. He +hated rolling stones, and Mr. Peacocke had certainly been a rolling stone. +He loved Oxford with all his heart, and some years since had been heard to +say hard things of Mr. Peacocke, when that gentleman deserted his college +for the sake of establishing himself across the Atlantic. But he was one +who thought that there should be a place of penitence allowed to those who +had clearly repented of their errors; and, moreover, when he heard that +Mr. Peacocke was endeavouring to establish himself in Oxford as a "coach" +for undergraduates, and also that he was a married man without any +encumbrance in the way of family, there seemed to him to be an additional +reason for pardoning that American escapade. Circumstances brought the +two men together. There were friends at Oxford who knew how anxious the +Doctor was to carry out that plan of his in reference to an usher, a +curate, and a matron, and here were the very things combined. Mr. +Peacocke's scholarship and power of teaching were acknowledged; he was +already in orders; and it was declared that Mrs. Peacocke was undoubtedly +a lady. Many inquiries were made. Many meetings took place. Many +difficulties arose. But at last Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke came to Bowick, and +took up their abode in the school. + +All the Doctor's requirements were not at once fulfilled. Mrs. Peacocke's +position was easily settled. Mrs. Peacocke, who seemed to be a woman +possessed of sterling sense and great activity, undertook her duties +without difficulty. But Mr. Peacocke would not at first consent to act as +curate in the parish. He did, however, after a time perform a portion of +the Sunday services. When he first came to Bowick he had declared that he +would undertake no clerical duty. Education was his profession, and to +that he meant to devote himself exclusively. Nor for the six or eight +months of his sojourn did he go back from this; so that the Doctor may be +said even still to have failed in carrying out his purpose. But at last +the new schoolmaster appeared in the pulpit of the parish church and +preached a sermon. + +All that had passed in private conference between the Doctor and his +assistant on the subject need not here be related. Mr. Peacocke's +aversion to do more than attend regularly at the church services as one of +the parishioners had been very strong. The Doctor's anxiety to overcome +his assistant's reasoning had also been strong. There had no doubt been +much said between them. Mr. Peacocke had been true to his principles, +whatever those principles were, in regard to his appointment as a +curate,--but it came to pass that he for some months preached regularly +every Sunday in the parish church, to the full satisfaction of the +parishioners. For this he had accepted no payment, much to the Doctor's +dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, it was certainly the case that they who +served the Doctor gratuitously never came by the worse of the bargain. + +Mr. Peacocke was a small wiry man, anything but robust in appearance, but +still capable of great bodily exertion. He was a great walker. Labour in +the school never seemed to fatigue him. The addition of a sermon to +preach every week seemed to make no difference to his energies in the +school. He was a constant reader, and could pass from one kind of mental +work to another without fatigue. The Doctor was a noted scholar, but it +soon became manifest to the Doctor himself, and to the boys, that Mr. +Peacocke was much deeper in scholarship than the Doctor. Though he was a +poor man, his own small classical library was supposed to be a repository +of all that was known about Latin and Greek. In fact, Mr. Peacocke grew +to be a marvel; but of all the marvels about him, the thing most +marvellous was the entire faith which the Doctor placed in him. Certain +changes even were made in the old-established "curriculum" of +tuition,--and were made, as all the boys supposed, by the advice of Mr. +Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke was treated with a personal respect which almost +seemed to imply that the two men were equal. This was supposed by the +boys to come from the fact that both the Doctor and the assistant had been +Fellows of their colleges at Oxford; but the parsons and other gentry +around could see that there was more in it than that. Mr. Peacocke had +some power about him which was potent over the Doctor's spirit. + +Mrs. Peacocke, in her line, succeeded almost as well. She was a woman +something over thirty years of age when she first came to Bowick, in the +very pride and bloom of woman's beauty. Her complexion was dark and +brown,--so much so, that it was impossible to describe her colour +generally by any other word. But no clearer skin was ever given to a +woman. Her eyes were brown, and her eye-brows black, and perfectly +regular. Her hair was dark and very glossy, and always dressed as simply +as the nature of a woman's head will allow. Her features were regular, +but with a great show of strength. She was tall for a woman, but without +any of that look of length under which female altitude sometimes suffers. +She was strong and well made, and apparently equal to any labour to which +her position might subject her. When she had been at Bowick about three +months, a boy's leg had been broken, and she had nursed him, not only with +assiduity, but with great capacity. The boy was the youngest son of the +Marchioness of Altamont; and when Lady Altamont paid a second visit to +Bowick, for the sake of taking her boy home as soon as he was fit to be +moved, her ladyship made a little mistake. With the sweetest and most +caressing smile in the world, she offered Mrs. Peacocke a ten-pound note. +"My dear madam," said Mrs. Peacocke, without the slightest reserve or +difficulty, "it is so natural that you should do this, because you cannot +of course understand my position; but it is altogether out of the +question." The Marchioness blushed, and stammered, and begged a hundred +pardons. Being a good-natured woman, she told the whole story to Mrs. +Wortle. "I would just as soon have offered the money to the Marchioness +herself," said Mrs. Wortle, as she told it to her husband. "I would have +done it a deal sooner," said the Doctor. "I am not in the least afraid of +Lady Altamont; but I stand in awful dread of Mrs. Peacocke." Nevertheless +Mrs. Peacocke had done her work by the little lord's bed-side, just as +though she had been a paid nurse. + +And so she felt herself to be. Nor was she in the least ashamed of her +position in that respect. If there was aught of shame about her, as some +people said, it certainly did not come from the fact that she was in the +receipt of a salary for the performance of certain prescribed duties. +Such remuneration was, she thought, as honourable as the Doctor's income; +but to her American intelligence, the acceptance of a present of money +from a Marchioness would have been a degradation. + +It certainly was said of her by some persons that there must have been +something in her former life of which she was ashamed. The Honourable +Mrs. Stantiloup, to whom all the affairs of Bowick had been of consequence +since her husband had lost his lawsuit, and who had not only heard much, +but had inquired far and near about Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, declared +diligently among her friends, with many nods and winks, that there was +something "rotten in the state of Denmark." She did at first somewhat +imprudently endeavour to spread a rumour abroad that the Doctor had become +enslaved by the lady's beauty. But even those hostile to Bowick could not +accept this. The Doctor certainly was not the man to put in jeopardy the +respect of the world and his own standing for the beauty of any woman; +and, moreover, the Doctor, as we have said before, was over fifty years of +age. But there soon came up another ground on which calumny could found a +story. It was certainly the case that Mrs. Peacocke had never accepted +any hospitality from Mrs. Wortle or other ladies in the neighbourhood. It +reached the ears of Mrs. Stantiloup, first, that the ladies had called +upon each other, as ladies are wont to do who intend to cultivate a mutual +personal acquaintance, and then that Mrs. Wortle had asked Mrs. Peacocke +to dinner. But Mrs. Peacocke had refused not only that invitation, but +subsequent invitations to the less ceremonious form of tea-drinking. + +All this had been true, and it had been true also,--though of this Mrs. +Stantiloup had not heard the particulars,--that Mrs. Peacocke had +explained to her neighbour that she did not intend to put herself on a +visiting footing with any one. "But why not, my dear?" Mrs. Wortle had +said, urged to the argument by precepts from her husband. "Why should you +make yourself desolate here, when we shall be so glad to have you?" "It +is part of my life that it must be so," Mrs. Peacocke had answered. "I am +quite sure that the duties I have undertaken are becoming a lady; but I do +not think that they are becoming to one who either gives or accepts +entertainments." + +There had been something of the same kind between the Doctor and Mr. +Peacocke. "Why the mischief shouldn't you and your wife come and eat a +bit of mutton, and drink a glass of wine, over at the Rectory, like any +other decent people?" I never believed that accusation against the Doctor +in regard to swearing; but he was no doubt addicted to expletives in +conversation, and might perhaps have indulged in a strong word or two, had +he not been prevented by the sanctity of his orders. "Perhaps I ought to +say," replied Mr. Peacocke, "because we are not like any other decent +people." Then he went on to explain his meaning. Decent people, he +thought, in regard to social intercourse, are those who are able to give +and take with ease among each other. He had fallen into a position in +which neither he nor his wife could give anything, and from which, though +some might be willing to accept him, he would be accepted only, as it +were, by special favour. "Bosh!" ejaculated the Doctor. Mr. Peacocke +simply smiled. He said it might be bosh, but that even were he inclined +to relax his own views, his wife would certainly not relax hers. So it +came to pass that although the Doctor and Mr. Peacocke were really +intimate, and that something of absolute friendship sprang up between the +two ladies, when Mr. Peacocke had already been more than twelve months in +Bowick neither had he nor Mrs. Peacocke broken bread in the Doctor's +house. + +And yet the friendship had become strong. An incident had happened early +in the year which had served greatly to strengthen it. At the school +there was a little boy, just eleven years old, the only son of a Lady De +Lawle, who had in early years been a dear friend to Mrs. Wortle. Lady De +Lawle was the widow of a baronet, and the little boy was the heir to a +large fortune. The mother had been most loath to part with her treasure. +Friends, uncles, and trustees had declared that the old prescribed form of +education for British aristocrats must be followed,--a t'other school, +namely, then Eton, and then Oxford. No; his mother might not go with him, +first to one, and then to the other. Such going and living with him would +deprive his education of all the real salt. Therefore Bowick was chosen +as the t'other school, because Mrs. Wortle would be more like a mother to +the poor desolate boy than any other lady. So it was arranged, and the +"poor desolate boy" became the happiest of the young pickles whom it was +Mrs. Wortle's special province to spoil whenever she could get hold of +them. + +Now it happened that on one beautiful afternoon towards the end of April, +Mrs. Wortle had taken young De Lawle and another little boy with her over +the foot-bridge which passed from the bottom of the parsonage garden to +the glebe-meadow which ran on the other side of a little river, and with +them had gone a great Newfoundland dog, who was on terms equally friendly +with the inmates of the Rectory and the school. Where this bridge passed +across the stream the gardens and the field were on the same level. But +as the water ran down to the ground on which the school-buildings had been +erected, there arose a steep bank over a bend in the river, or, rather, +steep cliff; for, indeed, it was almost perpendicular, the force of the +current as it turned at this spot having washed away the bank. In this +way it had come to pass that there was a precipitous fall of about a dozen +feet from the top of the little cliff into the water, and that the water +here, as it eddied round the curve, was black and deep, so that the bigger +boys were wont to swim in it, arrangements for bathing having been made on +the further or school side. There had sometimes been a question whether a +rail should not be placed for protection along the top of this cliff, but +nothing of the kind had yet been done. The boys were not supposed to play +in this field, which was on the other side of the river, and could only be +reached by the bridge through the parsonage garden. + +On this day young De Lawle and his friend and the dog rushed up the hill +before Mrs. Wortle, and there began to romp, as was their custom. Mary +Wortle, who was one of the party, followed them, enjoining the children to +keep away from the cliff. For a while they did so, but of course +returned. Once or twice they were recalled and scolded, always asserting +that the fault was altogether with Neptune. It was Neptune that knocked +them down and always pushed them towards the river. Perhaps it was +Neptune; but be that as it might, there came a moment very terrible to +them all. The dog in one of his gyrations came violently against the +little boy, knocked him off his legs, and pushed him over the edge. Mrs. +Wortle, who had been making her way slowly up the hill, saw the fall, +heard the splash, and fell immediately to the ground. + +Other eyes had also seen the accident. The Doctor and Mr. Peacocke were +at the moment walking together in the playgrounds at the school side of +the brook. When the boy fell they had paused in their walk, and were +standing, the Doctor with his back to the stream, and the assistant with +his face turned towards the cliff. A loud exclamation broke from his lips +as he saw the fall, but in a moment,--almost before the Doctor had +realised the accident which had occurred,--he was in the water, and two +minutes afterwards young De Lawle, drenched indeed, frightened, and out of +breath, but in nowise seriously hurt, was out upon the bank; and Mr. +Peacocke, drenched also, but equally safe, was standing over him, while +the Doctor on his knees was satisfying himself that his little charge had +received no fatal injury. It need hardly be explained that such a +termination as this to such an accident had greatly increased the good +feeling with which Mr. Peacocke was regarded by all the inhabitants of the +school and Rectory. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE MYSTERY. + +MR. PEACOCKE himself said that in this matter a great deal of fuss was +made about nothing. Perhaps it was so. He got a ducking, but, being a +strong swimmer, probably suffered no real danger. The boy, rolling down +three or four feet of bank, had then fallen down six or eight feet into +deep water. He might, no doubt, have been much hurt. He might have +struck against a rock and have been killed,--in which case Mr. Peacocke's +prowess would have been of no avail. But nothing of this kind happened. +Little Jack De Lawle was put to bed in one of the Rectory bed-rooms, and +was comforted with sherry-negus and sweet jelly. For two days he rejoiced +thoroughly in his accident, being freed from school, and subjected only to +caresses. After that he rebelled, having become tired of his bed. But by +that time his mother had been most unnecessarily summoned. Unless she was +wanted to examine the forlorn condition of his clothes, there was nothing +that she could do. But she came, and, of course, showered blessings on +Mr. Peacocke's head,--while Mrs. Wortle went through to the school and +showered blessings on Mrs. Peacocke. What would they have done had the +Peacockes not been there? + +"You must let them have their way, whether for good or bad," the Doctor +said, when his assistant complained rather of the blessings,--pointing out +at any rate their absurdity. "One man is damned for ever, because, in the +conscientious exercise of his authority, he gives a little boy a rap which +happens to make a small temporary mark on his skin. Another becomes a +hero because, when in the equally conscientious performance of a duty, he +gives himself a ducking. I won't think you a hero; but, of course, I +consider myself very fortunate to have had beside me a man younger than +myself, and quick and ready at such an emergence. Of course I feel +grateful, but I shan't bother you by telling you so." + +But this was not the end of it. Lady De Lawle declared that she could not +be happy unless Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke would bring Jack home for the +holidays to De Lawle Park. Of course she carried her blessings up into +Mrs. Peacocke's little drawing-room, and became quite convinced, as was +Mrs. Wortle, that Mrs. Peacocke was in all respects a lady. She heard of +Mr. Peacocke's antecedents at Oxford, and expressed her opinion that they +were charming people. She could not be happy unless they would promise to +come to De Lawle Park for the holidays. Then Mrs. Peacocke had to explain +that in her present circumstances she did not intend to visit anywhere. +She was very much flattered, and delighted to think that the dear little +boy was none the worse for his accident; but there must be an end of it. +There was something in her manner, as she said this, which almost overawed +Lady De Lawle. She made herself, at any rate, understood, and no further +attempt was made for the next six weeks to induce her or Mr. Peacocke to +enter the Rectory dining-room. But a good deal was said about Mr. +Peacocke,--generally in his favour. + +Generally in his favour,--because he was a fine scholar, and could swim +well. His preaching perhaps did something for him, but the swimming did +more. But though there was so much said of good, there was something also +of evil. A man would not altogether refuse society for himself and his +wife unless there were some cause for him to do so. He and she must have +known themselves to be unfit to associate with such persons as they would +have met at De Lawle Park. There was a mystery, and the mystery, when +unravelled, would no doubt prove to be very deleterious to the character +of the persons concerned. Mrs. Stantiloup was quite sure that such must +be the case. "It might be very well," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "for Dr. +Wortle to obtain the services of a well-educated usher for his school, but +it became quite another thing when he put a man up to preach in the +church, of whose life, for five years, no one knew anything." Somebody +had told her something as to the necessity of a bishop's authority for the +appointment of a curate; but no one had strictly defined to her what a +curate is. She was, however, quite ready to declare that Mr. Peacocke had +no business to preach in that pulpit, and that something very disagreeable +would come of it. + +Nor was this feeling altogether confined to Mrs. Stantiloup, though it had +perhaps originated with what she had said among her own friends. "Don't +you think it well you should know something of his life during these five +years?" This had been said to the Rector by the Bishop himself,--who +probably would have said nothing of the kind had not these reports reached +his ears. But reports, when they reach a certain magnitude, and attain a +certain importance, require to be noticed. + +So much in this world depends upon character that attention has to be paid +to bad character even when it is not deserved. In dealing with men and +women, we have to consider what they believe, as well as what we believe +ourselves. The utility of a sermon depends much on the idea that the +audience has of the piety of the man who preaches it. Though the words of +God should never have come with greater power from the mouth of man, they +will come in vain if they be uttered by one who is known as a breaker of +the Commandments;--they will come in vain from the mouth of one who is +even suspected to be so. To all this, when it was said to him by the +Bishop in the kindest manner, Dr. Wortle replied that such suspicions were +monstrous, unreasonable, and uncharitable. He declared that they +originated with that abominable virago, Mrs. Stantiloup. "Look round the +diocese," said the Bishop in reply to this, "and see if you can find a +single clergyman acting in it, of the details of whose life for the last +five years you know absolutely nothing." Thereupon the Doctor said that he +would make inquiry of Mr. Peacocke himself. It might well be, he thought, +that Mr. Peacocke would not like such inquiry, but the Doctor was quite +sure that any story told to him would be true. On returning home he found +it necessary, or at any rate expedient, to postpone his questions for a +few days. It is not easy to ask a man what he has been doing with five +years of his life, when the question implies a belief that these five +years have been passed badly. And it was understood that the questioning +must in some sort apply to the man's wife. The Doctor had once said to +Mrs. Wortle that he stood in awe of Mrs. Peacocke. There had certainly +come upon him an idea that she was a lady with whom it would not be easy +to meddle. She was obedient, diligent, and minutely attentive to any wish +that was expressed to her in regard to her duties; but it had become +manifest to the Doctor that in all matters beyond the school she was +independent, and was by no means subject to external influences. She was +not, for instance, very constant in her own attendance at church, and +never seemed to feel it necessary to apologise for her absence. The +Doctor, in his many and familiar conversations with Mr. Peacocke, had not +found himself able to allude to this; and he had observed that the husband +did not often speak of his own wife unless it were on matters having +reference to the school. So it came to pass that he dreaded the +conversation which he proposed to himself, and postponed it from day to +day with a cowardice which was quite unusual to him. + +And now, O kind-hearted reader, I feel myself constrained, in the telling +of this little story, to depart altogether from those principles of +story-telling to which you probably have become accustomed, and to put the +horse of my romance before the cart. There is a mystery respecting Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke which, according to all laws recognised in such matters, +ought not to be elucidated till, let us say, the last chapter but two, so +that your interest should be maintained almost to the end,--so near the +end that there should be left only space for those little arrangements +which are necessary for the well-being, or perhaps for the evil-being, of +our personages. It is my purpose to disclose the mystery at once, and to +ask you to look for your interest,--should you choose to go on with my +chronicle,--simply in the conduct of my persons, during this disclosure, +to others. You are to know it all before the Doctor or the +Bishop,--before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or Lady De Lawle. +You are to know it all before the Peacockes become aware that it must +necessarily be disclosed to any one. It may be that when I shall have +once told the mystery there will no longer be any room for interest in the +tale to you. That there are many such readers of novels I know. I doubt +whether the greater number be not such. I am far from saying that the +kind of interest of which I am speaking,--and of which I intend to deprive +myself,--is not the most natural and the most efficacious. What would the +'Black Dwarf' be if every one knew from the beginning that he was a rich +man and a baronet?--or 'The Pirate,' if all the truth about Norna of the +Fitful-head had been told in the first chapter? Therefore, put the book +down if the revelation of some future secret be necessary for your +enjoyment. Our mystery is going to be revealed in the next paragraph,--in +the next half-dozen words. Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were not man and wife. + +The story how it came to be so need not be very long;--nor will it, as I +think, entail any great degree of odious criminality either upon the man +or upon the woman. At St. Louis Mrs. Peacocke had become acquainted with +two brothers named Lefroy, who had come up from Louisiana, and had +achieved for themselves characters which were by no means desirable. They +were sons of a planter who had been rich in extent of acres and number of +slaves before the war of the Secession. General Lefroy had been in those +days a great man in his State, had held command during the war, and had +been utterly ruined. When the war was over the two boys,--then seventeen +and sixteen years of age,--were old enough to remember and to regret all +that they had lost, to hate the idea of Abolition, and to feel that the +world had nothing left for them but what was to be got by opposition to +the laws of the Union, which was now hateful to them. They were both +handsome, and, in spite of the sufferings of their State, an attempt had +been made to educate them like gentlemen. But no career of honour had +been open to them, and they had fallen by degrees into dishonour, +dishonesty, and brigandage. + +The elder of these, when he was still little more than a stripling, had +married Ella Beaufort, the daughter of another ruined planter in his +State. She had been only sixteen when her father died, and not seventeen +when she married Ferdinand Lefroy. It was she who afterwards came to +England under the name of Mrs. Peacocke. + +Mr. Peacocke was Vice-President of the College at Missouri when he first +saw her, and when he first became acquainted with the two brothers, each +of whom was called Colonel Lefroy. Then there arose a great scandal in +the city as to the treatment which the wife received from her husband. He +was about to go away South, into Mexico, with the view of pushing his +fortune there with certain desperadoes, who were maintaining a perpetual +war against the authorities of the United States on the borders of Texas, +and he demanded that his wife should accompany him. This she refused to +do, and violence was used to force her. Then it came to pass that certain +persons in St. Louis interfered on her behalf, and among these was the +Reverend Mr. Peacocke, the Vice-President of the College, upon whose +feelings the singular beauty and dignified demeanour of the woman, no +doubt, had had much effect. The man failed to be powerful over his wife, +and then the two brothers went away together. The woman was left to +provide for herself, and Mr. Peacocke was generous in the aid he gave to +her in doing so. + +It may be understood that in this way an intimacy was created, but it must +not be understood that the intimacy was of such a nature as to be +injurious to the fair fame of the lady. Things went on in this way for +two years, during which Mrs. Lefroy's conduct drew down upon her +reproaches from no one. Then there came tidings that Colonel Lefroy had +perished in making one of those raids in which the two brothers were +continually concerned. But which Colonel Lefroy had perished? If it were +the younger brother, that would be nothing to Mr. Peacocke. If it were +the elder, it would be everything. If Ferdinand Lefroy were dead, he +would not scruple at once to ask the woman to be his wife. That which the +man had done, and that which he had not done, had been of such a nature as +to solve all bonds of affection. She had already allowed herself to speak +of the man as one whose life was a blight upon her own; and though there +had been no word of out-spoken love from her lips to his ears, he thought +that he might succeed if it could be made certain that Ferdinand Lefroy +was no longer among the living. + +"I shall never know," she said in her misery. "What I do hear I shall +never believe. How can one know anything as to what happens in a country +such as that?" + +Then he took up his hat and staff, and, vice-president, professor, and +clergyman as he was, started off for the Mexican border. He did tell her +that he was going, but barely told her. "It's a thing that ought to be +found out," he said, "and I want a turn of travelling. I shall be away +three months." She merely bade God bless him, but said not a word to +hinder or to encourage his going. + +He was gone just the three months which he had himself named, and then +returned elate with his news. He had seen the younger brother, Robert +Lefroy, and had learnt from him that the elder Ferdinand had certainly +been killed. Robert had been most ungracious to him, having even on one +occasion threatened his life; but there had been no doubt that he, Robert, +was alive, and that Ferdinand had been killed by a party of United States +soldiers. + +Then the clergyman had his reward, and was accepted by the widow with a +full and happy heart. Not only had her release been complete, but so was +her present joy; and nothing seemed wanting to their happiness during the +six first months after their union. Then one day, all of a sudden, +Ferdinand Lefroy was standing within her little drawing-room at the +College of St. Louis. + +Dead? Certainly he was not dead! He did not believe that any one had +said that he was dead! She might be lying or not,--he did not care; he, +Peacocke, certainly had lied;--so said the Colonel. He did not believe +that Peacocke had ever seen his brother Robert. Robert was dead,--must +have been dead, indeed, before the date given for that interview. The +woman was a bigamist,--that is, if any second marriage had ever been +perpetrated. Probably both had wilfully agreed to the falsehood. For +himself he should resolve at once what steps he meant to take. Then he +departed, it being at that moment after nine in the evening. In the +morning he was gone again, and from that moment they had never either +heard of him or seen him. + +How was it to be with them? They could have almost brought themselves to +think it a dream, were it not that others besides themselves had seen the +man, and known that Colonel Ferdinand Lefroy had been in St. Louis. Then +there came to him an idea that even she might disbelieve the words which +he had spoken;--that even she might think his story to have been false. +But to this she soon put an end. "Dearest," she said, "I never knew a +word that was true to come from his mouth, or a word that was false from +yours." + +Should they part? There is no one who reads this but will say that they +should have parted. Every day passed together as man and wife must be a +falsehood and a sin. There would be absolute misery for both in +parting;--but there is no law from God or man entitling a man to escape +from misery at the expense of falsehood and sin. Though their hearts +might have burst in the doing of it, they should have parted. Though she +would have been friendless, alone, and utterly despicable in the eyes of +the world, abandoning the name which she cherished, as not her own, and +going back to that which she utterly abhorred, still she should have done +it. And he, resolving, as no doubt he would have done under any +circumstances, that he must quit the city of his adoption,--he should have +left her with such material sustenance as her spirit would have enabled +her to accept, should have gone his widowed way, and endured as best he +might the idea that he had left the woman whom he loved behind, in the +desert, all alone! That he had not done so the reader is aware. That he +had lived a life of sin,--that he and she had continued in one great +falsehood,--is manifest enough. Mrs. Stantiloup, when she hears it all, +will have her triumph. Lady De Lawle's soft heart will rejoice because +that invitation was not accepted. The Bishop will be unutterably shocked; +but, perhaps, to the good man there will be some solace in the feeling +that he had been right in his surmises. How the Doctor bore it this story +is intended to tell,--and how also Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke bore it, when the +sin and the falsehood were made known to all the world around them. The +mystery has at any rate been told, and they who feel that on this account +all hope of interest is at an end had better put down the book. + + + +Part II. + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE DOCTOR ASKS HIS QUESTION. + +THE Doctor, instigated by the Bishop, had determined to ask some questions +of Mr. Peacocke as to his American life. The promise had been given at +the Palace, and the Doctor, as he returned home, repented himself in that +he had made it. His lordship was a gossip, as bad as an old woman, as bad +as Mrs. Stantiloup, and wanted to know things in which a man should feel +no interest. So said the Doctor to himself. What was it to him, the +Bishop, or to him, the Doctor, what Mr. Peacocke had been doing in +America? The man's scholarship was patent, his morals were unexceptional, +his capacity for preaching undoubted, his peculiar fitness for his place +at Bowick unquestionable. Who had a right to know more? That the man had +been properly educated at Oxford, and properly ordained on entering his +Fellowship, was doubted by no man. Even if there had been some temporary +backslidings in America,--which might be possible, for which of us have +not backslided at some time of our life?--why should they be raked up? +There was an uncharitableness in such a proceeding altogether opposed to +the Doctor's view of life. He hated severity. It may almost be said that +he hated that state of perfection which would require no pardon. He was +thoroughly human, quite content with his own present position, +anticipating no millennium for the future of the world, and probably, in +his heart, looking forward to heaven as simply the better alternative when +the happiness of this world should be at an end. He himself was in no +respect a wicked man, and yet a little wickedness was not distasteful to +him. + +And he was angry with himself in that he had made such a promise. It had +been a rule of life with him never to take advice. The Bishop had his +powers, within which he, as Rector of Bowick, would certainly obey the +Bishop; but it had been his theory to oppose his Bishop, almost more +readily than any one else, should the Bishop attempt to exceed his power. +The Bishop had done so in giving this advice, and yet he had promised. He +was angry with himself, but did not on that account think that the promise +should be evaded. Oh no! Having said that he would do it, he would do +it. And having said that he would do it, the sooner that he did it the +better. When three or four days had passed by, he despised himself +because he had not yet made for himself a fit occasion. "It is such a +mean, sneaking thing to do," he said to himself. But still it had to be +done. + +It was on a Saturday afternoon that he said this to himself, as he +returned back to the parsonage garden from the cricket-ground, where he +had left Mr. Peacocke and the three other ushers playing cricket with ten +or twelve of the bigger boys of the school. There was a French master, a +German master, a master for arithmetic and mathematics with the adjacent +sciences, besides Mr. Peacocke, as assistant classical master. Among them +Mr. Peacocke was _facile princeps_ in rank and supposed ability; but they +were all admitted to the delights of the playground. Mr. Peacocke, in +spite of those years of his spent in America where cricket could not have +been familiar to him, remembered well his old pastime, and was quite an +adept at the game. It was ten thousand pities that a man should be +disturbed by unnecessary questionings who could not only teach and preach, +but play cricket also. But nevertheless it must be done. When, +therefore, the Doctor entered his own house, he went into his study and +wrote a short note to his assistant;-- + + +"MY DEAR PEACOCKE,--Could you come over and see me in my study this +evening for half an hour? I have a question or two which I wish to ask +you. Any hour you may name will suit me after eight.--Yours most +sincerely, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +In answer to this there came a note to say that at half-past eight Mr. +Peacocke would be with the Doctor. + +At half-past eight Mr. Peacocke came. He had fancied, on reading the +Doctor's note, that some further question would be raised as to money. +The Doctor had declared that he could no longer accept gratuitous clerical +service in the parish, and had said that he must look out for some one +else if Mr. Peacocke could not oblige him by allowing his name to be +referred in the usual way to the Bishop. He had now determined to say, in +answer to this, that the school gave him enough to do, and that he would +much prefer to give up the church;--although he would always be happy to +take a part occasionally if he should be wanted. The Doctor had been +sitting alone for the last quarter of an hour when his assistant entered +the room, and had spent the time in endeavouring to arrange the +conversation that should follow. He had come at last to a conclusion. He +would let Mr. Peacocke know exactly what had passed between himself and +the Bishop, and would then leave it to his usher either to tell his own +story as to his past life, or to abstain from telling it. He had promised +to ask the question, and he would ask it; but he would let the man judge +for himself whether any answer ought to be given. + +"The Bishop has been bothering me about you, Peacocke," he said, standing +up with his back to the fireplace, as soon as the other man had shut the +door behind him. The Doctor's face was always expressive of his inward +feelings, and at this moment showed very plainly that his sympathies were +not with the Bishop. + +"I'm sorry that his lordship should have troubled himself," said the +other, "as I certainly do not intend to take any part in his diocese." + +"We'll sink that for the present," said the Doctor. "I won't let that be +mixed up with what I have got to say just now. You have taken a certain +part in the diocese already, very much to my satisfaction. I hope it may +be continued; but I won't bother about that now. As far as I can see, you +are just the man that would suit me as a colleague in the parish." Mr. +Peacocke bowed, but remained silent. "The fact is," continued the Doctor, +"that certain old women have got hold of the Bishop, and made him feel +that he ought to answer their objections. That Mrs. Stantiloup has a +tongue as loud as the town-crier's bell." + +"But what has Mrs. Stantiloup to say about me?" + +"Nothing, except in so far as she can hit me through you." + +"And what does the Bishop say?" + +"He thinks that I ought to know something of your life during those five +years you were in America." + +"I think so also," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"I don't want to know anything for myself. As far as I am concerned, I am +quite satisfied. I know where you were educated, how you were ordained, +and I can feel sure, from your present efficiency, that you cannot have +wasted your time. If you tell me that you do not wish to say anything, I +shall be contented, and I shall tell the Bishop that, as far as I am +concerned, there must be an end of it." + +"And what will he do?" asked Mr. Peacocke. + +"Well; as far as the curacy is concerned, of course he can refuse his +licence." + +"I have not the slightest intention of applying to his lordship for a +licence." + +This the usher said with a tone of self-assertion which grated a little on +the Doctor's ear, in spite of his good-humour towards the speaker. "I +don't want to go into that," he said. "A man never can say what his +intentions may be six months hence." + +"But if I were to refuse to speak of my life in America," said Mr. +Peacocke, "and thus to decline to comply with what I must confess would be +no more than a rational requirement on your part, how then would it be +with myself and my wife in regard to the school?" + +"It would make no difference whatever," said the Doctor. + +"There is a story to tell," said Mr. Peacocke, very slowly. + +"I am sure that it cannot be to your disgrace." + +"I do not say that it is,--nor do I say that it is not. There may be +circumstances in which a man may hardly know whether he has done right or +wrong. But this I do know,--that, had I done otherwise, I should have +despised myself. I could not have done otherwise and have lived." + +"There is no man in the world," said the Doctor, earnestly, "less anxious +to pry into the secrets of others than I am. I take things as I find +them. If the cook sends me up a good dish I don't care to know how she +made it. If I read a good book, I am not the less gratified because there +may have been something amiss with the author." + +"You would doubt his teaching," said Mr. Peacocke, "who had gone astray +himself." + +"Then I must doubt all human teaching, for all men have gone astray. You +had better hold your tongue about the past, and let me tell those who ask +unnecessary questions to mind their own business." + +"It is very odd, Doctor," said Mr. Peacocke, "that all this should have +come from you just now." + +"Why odd just now?" + +"Because I had been turning it in my mind for the last fortnight whether I +ought not to ask you as a favour to listen to the story of my life. That +I must do so before I could formally accept the curacy I had determined. +But that only brought me to the resolution of refusing the office. I +think,--I think that, irrespective of the curacy, it ought to be told. +But I have not quite made up my mind." + +"Do not suppose that I am pressing you." + +"Oh no; nor would your pressing me influence me. Much as I owe to your +undeserved kindness and forbearance, I am bound to say that. Nothing can +influence me in the least in such a matter but the well-being of my wife, +and my own sense of duty. And it is a matter in which I can unfortunately +take counsel from no one. She, and she alone, besides myself, knows the +circumstances, and she is so forgetful of herself that I can hardly ask +her for an opinion." + +The Doctor by this time had no doubt become curious. There was a +something mysterious with which he would like to become acquainted. He +was by no means a philosopher, superior to the ordinary curiosity of +mankind. But he was manly, and even at this moment remembered his former +assurances. "Of course," said he, "I cannot in the least guess what all +this is about. For myself I hate secrets. I haven't a secret in the +world. I know nothing of myself which you mightn't know too for all that +I cared. But that is my good fortune rather than my merit. It might well +have been with me as it is with you; but, as a rule, I think that where +there is a secret it had better be kept. No one, at any rate, should +allow it to be wormed out of him by the impertinent assiduity of others. +If there be anything affecting your wife which you do not wish all the +world on this side of the water to know, do not tell it to any one on this +side of the water." + +"There is something affecting my wife that I do not wish all the world to +know." + +"Then tell it to no one," said Dr. Wortle, authoritatively. + +"I will tell you what I will do," said Mr. Peacocke; "I will take a week +to think of it, and then I will let you know whether I will tell it or +whether I will not; and if I tell it I will let you know also how far I +shall expect you to keep my secret, and how far to reveal it. I think the +Bishop will be entitled to know nothing about me unless I ask to be +recognised as one of the clergy of his diocese." + +"Certainly not; certainly not," said the Doctor. And then the interview +was at an end. + +Mr. Peacocke, when he went away from the Rectory, did not at once return +to his own house, but went off for a walk alone. It was now nearly +midsummer, and there was broad daylight till ten o'clock. It was after +nine when he left the Doctor's, but still there was time for a walk which +he knew well through the fields, which would take him round by Bowick +Wood, and home by a path across the squire's park and by the church. An +hour would do it, and he wanted an hour to collect his thoughts before he +should see his wife, and discuss with her, as he would be bound to do, all +that had passed between him and the Doctor. He had said that he could not +ask her advice. In this there had been much of truth. But he knew also +that he would do nothing as to which he had not received at any rate her +assent. She, for his sake, would have annihilated herself, had that been +possible. Again and again, since that horrible apparition had showed +itself in her room at St. Louis, she had begged that she might leave +him,--not on her own behalf, not from any dread of the crime that she was +committing, not from shame in regard to herself should her secret be found +out, but because she felt herself to be an impediment to his career in the +world. As to herself, she had no pricks of conscience. She had been true +to the man,--brutal, abominable as he had been to her,--until she had in +truth been made to believe that he was dead; and even when he had +certainly been alive,--for she had seen him,--he had only again seen her, +again to desert her. Duty to him she could owe never. There was no sting +of conscience with her in that direction. But to the other man she owed, +as she thought, everything that could be due from a woman to a man. He +had come within her ken, and had loved her without speaking of his love. +He had seen her condition, and had sympathised with her fully. He had +gone out, with his life in his hand,--he, a clergyman, a quiet man of +letters,--to ascertain whether she was free; and finding her, as he +believed, to be free, he had returned to take her to his heart, and to +give her all that happiness which other women enjoy, but which she had +hitherto only seen from a distance. Then the blow had come. It was +necessary, it was natural, that she should be ruined by such a blow. +Circumstances had ruined her. That fate had betaken her which so often +falls upon a woman who trusts herself and her life to a man. But why +should he fall also with her fall? There was still a career before him. +He might be useful; he might be successful; he might be admired. +Everything might still be open to him,--except the love of another woman. +As to that, she did not doubt his truth. Why should he be doomed to drag +her with him as a log tied to his foot, seeing that a woman with a +misfortune is condemned by the general voice of the world, whereas for a +man to have stumbled is considered hardly more than a matter of course? +She would consent to take from him the means of buying her bread; but it +would be better,--she had said,--that she should eat it on her side of the +water, while he might earn it on the other. + +We know what had come of these arguments. He had hitherto never left her +for a moment since that man had again appeared before their eyes. He had +been strong in his resolution. If it were a crime, then he would be a +criminal. If it were a falsehood, then would he be a liar. As to the +sin, there had no doubt been some divergence of opinion between him and +her. The teaching that he had undergone in his youth had been that with +which we, here, are all more or less acquainted, and that had been +strengthened in him by the fact of his having become a clergyman. She had +felt herself more at liberty to proclaim to herself a gospel of her own +for the guidance of her own soul. To herself she had never seemed to be +vicious or impure, but she understood well that he was not equally free +from the bonds which religion had imposed upon him. For his sake,--for +his sake, it would be better that she should be away from him. + +All this was known to him accurately, and all this had to be considered by +him as he walked across the squire's park in the gloaming of the evening. +No doubt,--he now said to himself,--the Doctor should have been made +acquainted with his condition before he or she had taken their place at +the school. Reticence under such circumstances had been a lie. Against +his conscience there had been many pricks. Living in his present +condition he certainly should not have gone up into that pulpit to preach +the Word of God. Though he had been silent, he had known that the evil +and the deceit would work round upon him. But now what should he do? +There was only one thing on which he was altogether decided;--nothing +should separate them. As he had said so often before, he said again +now,--"If there be sin, let it be sin." But this was clear to him,--were +he to give Dr. Wortle a true history of what had happened to him in +America, then must he certainly leave Bowick. And this was equally +certain, that before telling his tale, he must make known his purpose to +his wife. + +But as he entered his own house he had determined that he would tell the +Doctor everything. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"THEN WE MUST GO." + +"I THOUGHT you were never going to have done with that old Jupiter," said +Mrs. Peacocke, as she began at that late hour of the evening to make tea +for herself and her husband. + +"Why have you waited for me?" + +"Because I like company. Did you ever know me go to tea without you when +there was a chance of your coming? What has Jupiter been talking about +all this time?" + +"Jupiter has not been talking all this time. Jupiter talked only for half +an hour. Jupiter is a very good fellow." + +"I always thought so. Otherwise I should never have consented to have +been one of his satellites, or have been contented to see you doing chief +moon. But you have been with him an hour and a half." + +"Since I left him I have walked all round by Bowick Lodge. I had +something to think of before I could talk to you,--something to decide +upon, indeed, before I could return to the house." + +"What have you decided?" she asked. Her voice was altogether changed. +Though she was seated in her chair and had hardly moved, her appearance +and her carriage of herself were changed. She still held the cup in her +hand which she had been about to fill, but her face was turned towards +his, and her large brown speaking eyes were fixed upon him. + +"Let me have my tea," he said, "and then I will tell you." While he +drank his tea she remained quite quiet, not touching her own, but waiting +patiently till it should suit him to speak. "Ella," he said, "I must tell +it all to Dr. Wortle." + +"Why, dearest?" As he did not answer at once, she went on with her +question. "Why now more than before?" + +"Nay, it is not now more than before. As we have let the before go by, we +can only do it now." + +"But why at all, dear? Has the argument, which was strong when we came, +lost any of its force?" + +"It should have had no force. We should not have taken the man's good +things, and have subjected him to the injury which may come to him by our +bad name." + +"Have we not given him good things in return?" + +"Not the good things which he had a right to expect,--not that +respectability which is all the world to such an establishment as this." + +"Let me go," she said, rising from her chair and almost shrieking. + +"Nay, Ella, nay; if you and I cannot talk as though we were one flesh, +almost with one soul between us, as though that which is done by one is +done by both, whether for weal or woe,--if you and I cannot feel ourselves +to be in a boat together either for swimming or for sinking, then I think +that no two persons on this earth ever can be bound together after that +fashion. 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will +lodge. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee +and me."' Then she rose from her chair, and flinging herself on her knees +at his feet, buried her face in his lap. "Ella," he said, "the only +injury you can do me is to speak of leaving me. And it is an injury which +is surely unnecessary because you cannot carry it beyond words. Now, if +you will sit up and listen to me, I will tell you what passed between me +and the Doctor." Then she raised herself from the ground and took her seat +at the tea-table, and listened patiently as he began his tale. "They have +been talking about us here in the county." + +"Who has found it necessary to talk about one so obscure as I?" + +"What does it matter who they might be? The Doctor in his kindly +wrath,--for he is very wroth,--mentions this name and the other. What +does it matter? Obscurity itself becomes mystery, and mystery of course +produces curiosity. It was bound to be so. It is not they who are in +fault, but we. If you are different from others, of course you will be +inquired into." + +"Am I so different?" + +"Yes;--different in not eating the Doctor's dinners when they are offered +to you; different in not accepting Lady De Lawle's hospitality; different +in contenting yourself simply with your duties and your husband. Of +course we are different. How could we not be different? And as we are +different, so of course there will be questions and wonderings, and that +sifting and searching which always at last finds out the facts. The +Bishop says that he knows nothing of my American life." + +"Why should he want to know anything?" + +"Because I have been preaching in one of his churches. It is +natural;--natural that the mothers of the boys should want to know +something. The Doctor says that he hates secrets. So do I." + +"Oh, my dearest!" + +"A secret is always accompanied by more or less of fear, and produces more +or less of cowardice. But it can no more be avoided than a sore on the +flesh or a broken bone. Who would not go about, with all his affairs such +as the world might know, if it were possible? But there come gangrenes in +the heart, or perhaps in the pocket. Wounds come, undeserved wounds, as +those did to you, my darling; but wounds which may not be laid bare to all +eyes. Who has a secret because he chooses it?" + +"But the Bishop?" + +"Well,--yes, the Bishop. The Bishop has told the Doctor to examine me, +and the Doctor has done it. I give him the credit of saying that the task +has been most distasteful to him. I do him the justice of acknowledging +that he has backed out of the work he had undertaken. He has asked the +question, but has said in the same breath that I need not answer it unless +I like." + +"And you? You have not answered it yet?" + +"No; I have answered nothing as yet. But I have, I think, made up my mind +that the question must be answered." + +"That everything should be told?" + +"Everything,--to him. My idea is to tell everything to him, and to leave +it to him to decide what should be done. Should he refuse to repeat the +story any further, and then bid us go away from Bowick, I should think +that his conduct had been altogether straightforward and not +uncharitable." + +"And you,--what would you do then?" + +"I should go. What else?" + +"But whither?" + +"Ah! on that we must decide. He would be friendly with me. Though he +might think it necessary that I should leave Bowick, he would not turn +against me violently." + +"He could do nothing." + +"I think he would assist me rather. He would help me, perhaps, to find +some place where I might still earn my bread by such skill as I +possess;--where I could do so without dragging in aught of my domestic +life, as I have been forced to do here." + +"I have been a curse to you," exclaimed the unhappy wife. + +"My dearest blessing," he said. "That which you call a curse has come +from circumstances which are common to both of us. There need be no more +said about it. That man has been a source of terrible trouble to us. The +trouble must be discussed from time to time, but the necessity of enduring +it may be taken for granted." + +"I cannot be a philosopher such as you are," she said. + +"There is no escape from it. The philosophy is forced upon us. When an +evil thing is necessary, there remains only the consideration how it may +be best borne." + +"You must tell him, then?" + +"I think so. I have a week to consider of it; but I think so. Though he +is very kind at this moment in giving me the option, and means what he +says in declaring that I shall remain even though I tell him nothing, yet +his mind would become uneasy, and he would gradually become discontented. +Think how great is his stake in the school! How would he feel towards me, +were its success to be gradually diminished because he kept a master here +of whom people believed some unknown evil?" + +"There has been no sign of any such falling off?" + +"There has been no time for it. It is only now that people are beginning +to talk. Had nothing of the kind been said, had this Bishop asked no +questions, had we been regarded as people simply obscure, to whom no +mystery attached itself, the thing might have gone on; but as it is, I am +bound to tell him the truth." + +"Then we must go?" + +"Probably." + +"At once?" + +"When it has been so decided, the sooner the better. How could we endure +to remain here when our going shall be desired?" + +"Oh no!" + +"We must flit, and again seek some other home. Though he should keep our +secret,--and I believe he will if he be asked,--it will be known that +there is a secret, and a secret of such a nature that its circumstances +have driven us hence. If I could get literary work in London, perhaps we +might live there." + +"But how,--how would you set about it? The truth is, dearest, that for +work such as yours you should either have no wife at all, or else a wife +of whom you need not be ashamed to speak the whole truth before the +world." + +"What is the use of it?" he said, rising from his chair as in anger. "Why +go back to all that which should be settled between us, as fixed by fate? +Each of us has given to the other all that each has to give, and the +partnership is complete. As far as that is concerned, I at any rate am +contented." + +"Ah, my darling!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms round his neck. + +"Let there be an end to distinctions and differences, which, between you +and me, can have no effect but to increase our troubles. You are a woman, +and I am a man; and therefore, no doubt, your name, when brought in +question, is more subject to remark than mine,--as is my name, being that +of a clergyman, more subject to remark than that of one not belonging to a +sacred profession. But not on that account do I wish to unfrock myself; +nor certainly on that account do I wish to be deprived of my wife. For +good or bad, it has to be endured together; and expressions of regret as +to that which is unavoidable, only aggravate our trouble." After that, he +seated himself, and took up a book as though he were able at once to carry +off his mind to other matters. She probably knew that he could not do so, +but she sat silent by him for a while, till he bade her take herself to +bed, promising that he would follow without delay. + +For three days nothing further was said between them on the subject, nor +was any allusion made to it between the Doctor and his assistant. The +school went on the same as ever, and the intercourse between the two men +was unaltered as to its general mutual courtesy. But there did +undoubtedly grow in the Doctor's mind a certain feverish feeling of +insecurity. At any rate, he knew this, that there was a mystery, that +there was something about the Peacockes,--something referring especially +to Mrs. Peacocke,--which, if generally known, would be held to be +deleterious to their character. So much he could not help deducing from +what the man had already told him. No doubt he had undertaken, in his +generosity, that although the man should decline to tell his secret, no +alteration should be made as to the school arrangements; but he became +conscious that in so promising he had in some degree jeopardised the +well-being of the school. He began to whisper to himself that persons in +such a position as that filled by this Mr. Peacocke and his wife should +not be subject to peculiar remarks from ill-natured tongues. A weapon was +afforded by such a mystery to the Stantiloups of the world, which the +Stantiloups would be sure to use with all their virulence. To such an +establishment as his school, respectability was everything. Credit, he +said to himself, is a matter so subtle in its essence, that, as it may be +obtained almost without reason, so, without reason, may it be made to melt +away. Much as he liked Mr. Peacocke, much as he approved of him, much as +there was in the man of manliness and worth which was absolutely dear to +him,--still he was not willing to put the character of his school in peril +for the sake of Mr. Peacocke. Were he to do so, he would be neglecting a +duty much more sacred than any he could owe to Mr. Peacocke. It was thus +that, during these three days, he conversed with himself on the subject, +although he was able to maintain outwardly the same manner and the same +countenance as though all things were going well between them. When they +parted after the interview in the study, the Doctor, no doubt, had so +expressed himself as rather to dissuade his usher from telling his secret +than to encourage him to do so. He had been free in declaring that the +telling of the secret should make no difference in his assistant's +position at Bowick. But in all that, he had acted from his habitual +impulse. He had since told himself that the mystery ought to be +disclosed. It was not right that his boys should be left to the charge of +one who, however competent, dared not speak of his own antecedents. It +was thus he thought of the matter, after consideration. He must wait, of +course, till the week should be over before he made up his mind to +anything further. + +"So Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?" + +This was said to the Doctor by Mr. Pearson, the squire, in the course of +those two or three days of which we are speaking. Mr. Pearson was an old +gentleman, who did not live often at Bowick, being compelled, as he always +said, by his health, to spend the winter and spring of every year in +Italy, and the summer months by his family in London. In truth, he did +not much care for Bowick, but had always been on good terms with the +Doctor, and had never opposed the school. Mr. Pearson had been good also +as to Church matters,--as far as goodness can be shown by generosity,--and +had interested himself about the curates. So it had come to pass that the +Doctor did not wish to snub his neighbour when the question was asked. "I +rather think not," said the Doctor. "I fear I shall have to look out for +some one else." He did not prolong the conversation; for, though he wished +to be civil, he did not wish to be communicative. Mr. Pearson had shown +his parochial solicitude, and did not trouble himself with further +questions. + +"So Mr. Peacocke isn't going to take the curacy?" This, the very same +question in the very same words, was put to the Doctor on the next morning +by the vicar of the next parish. The Rev. Mr. Puddicombe, a clergyman +without a flaw who did his duty excellently in every station of life, was +one who would preach a sermon or take a whole service for a brother parson +in distress, and never think of reckoning up that return sermons or return +services were due to him,--one who gave dinners, too, and had pretty +daughters;--but still our Doctor did not quite like him. He was a little +too pious, and perhaps given to ask questions. "So Mr. Peacocke isn't +going to take the curacy?" + +There was a certain animation about the asking of this question by Mr. +Puddicombe very different from Mr. Pearson's listless manner. It was +clear to the Doctor that Mr. Puddicombe wanted to know. It seemed to the +Doctor that something of condemnation was implied in the tone of the +question, not only against Mr. Peacocke, but against himself also, for +having employed Mr. Peacocke. "Upon my word I can't tell you," he said, +rather crossly. + +"I thought that it had been all settled. I heard that it was decided." + +"Then you have heard more than I have." + +"It was the Bishop told me." + +Now it certainly was the case that in that fatal conversation which had +induced the Doctor to interrogate Mr. Peacocke about his past life, the +Doctor himself had said that he intended to look out for another curate. +He probably did not remember that at the moment. "I wish the Bishop would +confine himself to asserting things that he knows," said the Doctor, +angrily. + +"I am sure the Bishop intends to do so," said Mr. Puddicombe, very +gravely. "But I apologise. I had not intended to touch a subject on +which there may perhaps be some reserve. I was only going to tell you of +an excellent young man of whom I have heard. But, good morning." Then Mr. +Puddicombe withdrew. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +LORD CARSTAIRS. + +DURING the last six months Mr. Peacocke's most intimate friend at Bowick, +excepting of course his wife, had been one of the pupils at the school. +The lad was one of the pupils, but could not be said to be one of the +boys. He was the young Lord Carstairs, eldest son of Earl Bracy. He had +been sent to Bowick now six years ago, with the usual purpose of +progressing from Bowick to Eton. And from Bowick to Eton he had gone in +due course. But there, things had not gone well with the young lord. +Some school disturbance had taken place when he had been there about a +year and a half, in which he was, or was supposed to have been, a +ringleader. It was thought necessary, for the preservation of the +discipline of the school, that a victim should be made;--and it was +perhaps thought well, in order that the impartiality of the school might +be made manifest, that the victim should be a lord. Earl Bracy was +therefore asked to withdraw his son; and young Lord Carstairs, at the age +of seventeen, was left to seek his education where he could. It had been, +and still was, the Earl's purpose to send his son to Oxford, but there was +now an interval of two years before that could be accomplished. During +one year he was sent abroad to travel with a tutor, and was then reported +to have been all that a well-conducted lad ought to be. He was declared +to be quite worthy of all that Oxford would do for him. It was even +suggested that Eton had done badly for herself in throwing off from her +such a young nobleman. But though Lord Carstairs had done well with his +French and German on the Continent, it would certainly be necessary that +he should rub up his Greek and Latin before he went to Christ Church. +Then a request was made to the Doctor to take him in at Bowick in some +sort as a private pupil. After some demurring the Doctor consented. It +was not his wont to run counter to earls who treated him with respect and +deference. Earl Bracy had in a special manner been his friend, and Lord +Carstairs himself had been a great favourite at Bowick. When that +expulsion from Eton had come about, the Doctor had interested himself, and +had declared that a very scant measure of justice had been shown to the +young lord. He was thus in a measure compelled to accede to the request +made to him, and Lord Carstairs was received back at Bowick, not without +hesitation, but with a full measure of affectionate welcome. His bed-room +was in the parsonage-house, and his dinner he took with the Doctor's +family. In other respects he lived among the boys. + +"Will it not be bad for Mary?" Mrs. Wortle had said anxiously to her +husband when the matter was first discussed. + +"Why should it be bad for Mary?" + +"Oh, I don't know;--but young people together, you know? Mightn't it be +dangerous?" + +"He is a boy, and she is a mere child. They are both children. It will +be a trouble, but I do not think it will be at all dangerous in that way." +And so it was decided. Mrs. Wortle did not at all agree as to their both +being children. She thought that her girl was far from being a child. +But she had argued the matter quite as much as she ever argued anything +with the Doctor. So the matter was arranged, and young Lord Carstairs +came back to Bowick. + +As far as the Doctor could see, nothing could be nicer than his young +pupil's manners. He was not at all above playing with the other boys. He +took very kindly to his old studies and his old haunts, and of an evening, +after dinner, went away from the drawing-room to the study in pursuit of +his Latin and his Greek, without any precocious attempt at making +conversation with Miss Wortle. No doubt there was a good deal of +lawn-tennis of an afternoon, and the lawn-tennis was generally played in +the rectory garden. But then this had ever been the case, and the +lawn-tennis was always played with two on a side; there were no +_tete-a-tete_ games between his lordship and Mary, and whenever the game +was going on, Mrs. Wortle was always there to see fair-play. Among other +amusements the young lord took to walking far afield with Mr. Peacocke. +And then, no doubt, many things were said about that life in America. +When a man has been much abroad, and has passed his time there under +unusual circumstances, his doings will necessarily become subjects of +conversation to his companions. To have travelled in France, Germany, or +in Italy, is not uncommon; nor is it uncommon to have lived a year or +years in Florence or in Rome. It is not uncommon now to have travelled +all through the United States. The Rocky Mountains or Peru are hardly +uncommon, so much has the taste for travelling increased. But for an +Oxford Fellow of a college, and a clergyman of the Church of England, to +have established himself as a professor in Missouri, is uncommon, and it +could hardly be but that Lord Carstairs should ask questions respecting +that far-away life. + +Mr. Peacocke had no objection to such questions. He told his young friend +much about the manners of the people of St. Louis,--told him how far the +people had progressed in classical literature, in what they fell behind, +and in what they excelled youths of their own age in England, and how far +the college was a success. Then he described his own life,--both before +and after his marriage. He had liked the people of St. Louis well +enough,--but not quite well enough to wish to live among them. No doubt +their habits were very different from those of Englishmen. He could, +however, have been happy enough there,--only that circumstances arose. + +"Did Mrs. Peacocke like the place?" the young lord asked one day. + +"She is an American, you know." + +"Oh yes; I have heard. But did she come from St. Louis?" + +"No; her father was a planter in Louisiana, not far from New Orleans, +before the abolition of slavery." + +"Did she like St. Louis?" + +"Well enough, I think, when we were first married. She had been married +before, you know. She was a widow." + +"Did she like coming to England among strangers?" + +"She was glad to leave St. Louis. Things happened there which made her +life unhappy. It was on that account I came here, and gave up a position +higher and more lucrative than I shall ever now get in England." + +"I should have thought you might have had a school of your own," said the +lad. "You know so much, and get on so well with boys. I should have +thought you might have been tutor at a college." + +"To have a school of my own would take money," said he, "which I have not +got. To be tutor at a college would take---- But never mind. I am very +well where I am, and have nothing to complain of." He had been going to +say that to be tutor of a college he would want high standing. And then +he would have been forced to explain that he had lost at his own college +that standing which he had once possessed. + +"Yes," he said on another occasion, "she is unhappy; but do not ask her +any questions about it." + +"Who,--I? Oh dear, no! I should not think of taking such a liberty." + +"It would be as a kindness, not as a liberty. But still, do not speak to +her about it. There are sorrows which must be hidden, which it is better +to endeavour to bury by never speaking of them, by not thinking of them, +if that were possible." + +"Is it as bad as that?" the lad asked. + +"It is bad enough sometimes. But never mind. You remember that Roman +wisdom,--'Dabit Deus his quoque finem.' And I think that all things are +bearable if a man will only make up his mind to bear them. Do not tell +any one that I have complained." + +"Who,--I? Oh, never!" + +"Not that I have said anything which all the world might not know; but +that it is unmanly to complain. Indeed I do not complain, only I wish +that things were lighter to her." Then he went off to other matters; but +his heart was yearning to tell everything to this young lad. + +Before the end of the week had arrived, there came a letter to him which +he had not at all expected, and a letter also to the Doctor,--both from +Lord Bracy. The letter to Mr. Peacocke was as follows:-- + + +"MY DEAR SIR,--I have been much gratified by what I have heard both from +Dr. Wortle and my son as to his progress. He will have to come home in +July, when the Doctor's school is broken up, and, as you are probably +aware, will go up to Oxford in October. I think it would be very +expedient that he should not altogether lose the holidays, and I am aware +how much more he would do with adequate assistance than without it. The +meaning of all this is, that I and Lady Bracy will feel very much obliged +if you and Mrs. Peacocke will come and spend your holidays with us at +Carstairs. I have written to Dr. Wortle on the subject, partly to tell +him of my proposal, because he has been so kind to my son, and partly to +ask him to fix the amount of remuneration, should you be so kind as to +accede to my request. + +"His mother has heard on more than one occasion from her son how very +good-natured you have been to him.--Yours faithfully, + +"BRACY." + + +It was, of course, quite out of the question. Mr. Peacocke, as soon as he +had read the letter, felt that it was so. Had things been smooth and easy +with him, nothing would have delighted him more. His liking for the lad +was most sincere, and it would have been a real pleasure to him to have +worked with him during the holidays. But it was quite out of the +question. He must tell Lord Carstairs that it was so, and must at the +moment give such explanation as might occur to him. He almost felt that +in giving that explanation he would be tempted to tell his whole story. + +But the Doctor met him before he had an opportunity of speaking to Lord +Carstairs. The Doctor met him, and at once produced the Earl's letter. +"I have heard from Lord Bracy, and you, I suppose, have had a letter too," +said the Doctor. His manner was easy and kind, as though no disagreeable +communication was due to be made on the following day. + +"Yes," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have had a letter." + +"Well?" + +"His lordship has asked me to go to Carstairs for the holidays; but it is +out of the question." + +"It would do Carstairs all the good in the world," said the Doctor; "and I +do not see why you should not have a pleasant visit and earn twenty-five +pounds at the same time." + +"It is quite out of the question." + +"I suppose you would not like to leave Mrs. Peacocke," said the Doctor. + +"Either to leave her or to take her! To go myself under any circumstances +would be altogether out of the question. I shall come to you to-morrow, +Doctor, as I said I would last Saturday. What hour will suit you?" Then +the Doctor named an hour in the afternoon, and knew that the revelation +was to be made to him. He felt, too, that that revelation would lead to +the final departure of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke from Bowick, and he was +unhappy in his heart. Though he was anxious for his school, he was +anxious also for his friend. There was a gratification in the feeling +that Lord Bracy thought so much of his assistant,--or would have been but +for this wretched mystery! + +"No," said Mr. Peacocke to the lad. "I regret to say that I cannot go. I +will tell you why, perhaps, another time, but not now. I have written to +your father by this post, because it is right that he should be told at +once. I have been obliged to say that it is impossible." + +"I am so sorry! I should so much have liked it. My father would have +done everything to make you comfortable, and so would mamma." In answer +to all this Mr. Peacocke could only say that it was impossible. This +happened on Friday afternoon, Friday being a day on which the school was +always very busy. There was no time for the doing of anything special, as +there would be on the following day, which was a half-holiday. At night, +when the work was altogether over, he showed the letter to his wife, and +told her what he had decided. + +"Couldn't you have gone without me?" she asked. + +"How can I do that," he said, "when before this time to-morrow I shall +have told everything to Dr. Wortle? After that, he would not let me go. +He would do no more than his duty in telling me that if I proposed to go +he must make it all known to Lord Bracy. But this is a trifle. I am at +the present moment altogether in the dark as to what I shall do with +myself when to-morrow evening comes. I cannot guess, because it is so +hard to know what are the feelings in the breast of another man. It may +so well be that he should refuse me permission to go to my desk in the +school again." + +"Will he be hard like that?" + +"I can hardly tell myself whether it would be hard. I hardly know what I +should feel it my duty to do in such a position myself. I have deceived +him." + +"No!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes; I have deceived him. Coming to him as I did, I gave him to +understand that there was nothing wrong;--nothing to which special +objection could be made in my position." + +"Then we are deceiving all the world in calling ourselves man and wife." + +"Certainly we are; but to that we had made up our mind! We are not +injuring all the world. No doubt it is a lie,--but there are +circumstances in which a lie can hardly be a sin. I would have been the +last to say so before all this had come upon me, but I feel it to be so +now. It is a lie to say that you are my wife." + +"Is it? Is it?" + +"Is it not? And yet I would rather cut my tongue out than say otherwise. +To give you my name is a lie,--but what should I think of myself were I to +allow you to use any other? What would you have thought if I had asked +you to go away and leave me when that bad hour came upon us?" + +"I would have borne it." + +"I could not have borne it. There are worse things than a lie. I have +found, since this came upon us, that it may be well to choose one sin in +order that another may be shunned. To cherish you, to comfort you, to +make the storm less sharp to you,--that has already been my duty as well +as my pleasure. To do the same to me is your duty." + +"And my pleasure; and my pleasure,--my only pleasure." + +"We must cling to each other, let the world call us what names it may. +But there may come a time in which one is called on to do a special act of +justice to others. It has come now to me. From the world at large I am +prepared, if possible, to keep my secret, even though I do it by +lying;--but to this one man I am driven to tell it, because I may not +return his friendship by doing him an evil." + +Morning school at this time of the year at Bowick began at half-past +seven. There was an hour of school before breakfast, at which the Doctor +did not himself put in an appearance. He was wont to tell the boys that +he had done all that when he was young, and that now in his old age it +suited him best to have his breakfast before he began the work of the day. +Mr. Peacocke, of course, attended the morning school. Indeed, as the +matutinal performances were altogether classical, it was impossible that +much should be done without him. On this Saturday morning, however, he +was not present; and a few minutes after the proper time, the mathematical +master took his place. "I saw him coming across out of his own door," +little Jack Talbot said to the younger of the two Clifford boys, "and +there was a man coming up from the gate who met him." + +"What sort of a man?" asked Clifford. + +"He was a rummy-looking fellow, with a great beard, and a queer kind of +coat. I never saw any one like him before." + +"And where did they go?" + +"They stood talking for a minute or two just before the front door, and +then Mr. Peacocke took him into the house. I heard him tell Carstairs to +go through and send word up to the Doctor that he wouldn't be in school +this morning." + +It had all happened just as young Talbot had said. A very "rummy-looking +fellow" had at that early hour been driven over from Broughton to Bowick, +and had caught Mr. Peacocke just as he was going into the school. He was +a man with a beard, loose, flowing on both sides, as though he were winged +like a bird,--a beard that had been black, but was now streaked through +and through with grey hairs. The man had a coat with frogged buttons that +must have been intended to have a military air when it was new, but which +was now much the worse for wear. The coat was so odd as to have caught +young Talbot's attention at once. And the man's hat was old and seedy. +But there was a look about him as though he were by no means ashamed +either of himself or of his present purpose. "He came in a gig," said +Talbot to his friend; "for I saw the horse standing at the gate, and the +man sitting in the gig." + +"You remember me, no doubt," the stranger said, when he encountered Mr. +Peacocke. + +"I do not remember you in the least," the schoolmaster answered. + +"Come, come; that won't do. You know me well enough. I'm Robert Lefroy." + +Then Mr. Peacocke, looking at him again, knew that the man was the brother +of his wife's husband. He had not seen him often, but he recognised him +as Robert Lefroy, and having recognised him he took him into the house. + + + +Part III. + +CHAPTER VII. + +ROBERT LEFROY. + +FERDINAND LEFROY, the man who had in truth been the woman's husband, had, +during that one interview which had taken place between him and the man +who had married his wife, on his return to St. Louis, declared that his +brother Robert was dead. But so had Robert, when Peacocke encountered him +down at Texas, declared that Ferdinand was dead. Peacocke knew that no +word of truth could be expected from the mouths of either of them. But +seeing is believing. He had seen Ferdinand alive at St. Louis after his +marriage, and by seeing him, had been driven away from his home back to +his old country. Now he also saw this other man, and was aware that his +secret was no longer in his own keeping. + +"Yes, I know you now. Why, when I saw you last, did you tell me that your +brother was dead? Why did you bring so great an injury on your +sister-in-law?" + +"I never told you anything of the kind." + +"As God is above us you told me so." + +"I don't know anything about that, my friend. Maybe I was cut. I used to +be drinking a good deal them days. Maybe I didn't say anything of the +kind,--only it suited you to go back and tell her so. Anyways I +disremember it altogether. Anyways he wasn't dead. And I ain't dead +now." + +"I can see that." + +"And I ain't drunk now. But I am not quite so well off as a fellow would +wish to be. Can you get me breakfast?" + +"Yes, I can get you breakfast," he said, after pausing for a while. Then +he rang the bell and told the girl to bring some breakfast for the +gentleman as soon as possible into the room in which they were sitting. +This was in a little library in which he was in the habit of studying and +going through lessons with the boys. He had brought the man here so that +his wife might not come across him. As soon as the order was given, he +ran up-stairs to her room, to save her from coming down. + +"A man;--what man?" she asked. + +"Robert Lefroy. I must go to him at once. Bear yourself well and boldly, +my darling. It is he, certainly. I know nothing yet of what he may have +to say, but it will be well that you should avoid him if possible. When I +have heard anything I will tell you all." Then he hurried down and found +the man examining the book-shelves. + +"You have got yourself up pretty tidy again, Peacocke," said Lefroy. + +"Pretty well." + +"The old game, I suppose. Teaching the young idea. Is this what you call +a college, now, in your country?" + +"It is a school." + +"And you're one of the masters." + +"I am the second master." + +"It ain't as good, I reckon, as the Missouri College." + +"It's not so large, certainly." + +"What's the screw?" he said. + +"The payment, you mean. It can hardly serve us now to go into matters +such as that. What is it that has brought you here, Lefroy?" + +"Well, a big ship, an uncommonly bad sort of railway car, and the +ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to. Them's +what's brought me here." + +"I suppose you have something to say, or you would not have come," said +Peacocke. + +"Yes, I've a good deal to say of one kind or another. But here's the +breakfast, and I'm well-nigh starved. What, cold meat! I'm darned if I +can eat cold meat. Haven't you got anything hot, my dear?" Then it was +explained to him that hot meat was not to be had, unless he would choose +to wait, to have some lengthened cooking accomplished. To this, however, +he objected, and then the girl left the room. + +"I've a good many things to say of one kind or another," he continued. +"It's difficult to say, Peacocke, how you and I stand with each other." + +"I do not know that we stand with each other at all, as you call it." + +"I mean as to relationship. Are you my brother-in-law, or are you not?" +This was a question which in very truth the schoolmaster found it hard to +answer. He did not answer it at all, but remained silent. "Are you my +brother-in-law, or are you not? You call her Mrs. Peacocke, eh?" + +"Yes, I call her Mrs. Peacocke." + +"And she is here living with you?" + +"Yes, she is here." + +"Had she not better come down and see me? She is my sister-in-law, +anyway." + +"No," said Mr. Peacocke; "I think, on the whole, that she had better not +come down and see you." + +"You don't mean to say she isn't my sister-in-law? She's that, whatever +else she is. She's that, whatever name she goes by. If Ferdinand had +been ever so much dead, and that marriage at St. Louis had been ever so +good, still she'd been my sister-in-law." + +"Not a doubt about it," said Mr. Peacocke. "But still, under all the +circumstances, she had better not see you." + +"Well, that's a queer beginning, anyway. But perhaps you'll come round +by-and-by. She goes by Mrs. Peacocke?" + +"She is regarded as my wife," said the husband, feeling himself to become +more and more indignant at every word, but knowing at the same time how +necessary it was that he should keep his indignation hidden. + +"Whether true or false?" asked the brother-in-law. + +"I will answer no such question as that." + +"You ain't very well disposed to answer any question, as far as I can see. +But I shall have to make you answer one or two before I've done with you. +There's a Doctor here, isn't there, as this school belongs to?" + +"Yes, there is. It belongs to Dr. Wortle." + +"It's him these boys are sent to?" + +"Yes, he is the master; I am only his assistant." + +"It's him they comes to for education, and morals, and religion?" + +"Quite so." + +"And he knows, no doubt, all about you and my sister-in-law;--how you came +and married her when she was another man's wife, and took her away when +you knew as that other man was alive and kicking?" Mr. Peacocke, when +these questions were put to him, remained silent, because literally he did +not know how to answer them. He was quite prepared to take his position +as he found it. He had told himself before this dreadful man had +appeared, that the truth must be made known at Bowick, and that he and his +wife must pack up and flit. It was not that the man could bring upon him +any greater evil than he had anticipated. But the questions which were +asked him were in themselves so bitter! The man, no doubt, was his wife's +brother-in-law. He could not turn him out of the house as he would a +stranger, had a stranger come there asking such questions without any +claim of family. Abominable as the man was to him, still he was there +with a certain amount of right upon his side. + +"I think," said he, "that questions such as those you've asked can be of +no service to you. To me they are intended only to be injurious." + +"They're as a preface to what is to come," said Robert Lefroy, with an +impudent leer upon his face. "The questions, no doubt, are disagreeable +enough. She ain't your wife no more than she's mine. You've no business +with her; and that you knew when you took her away from St. Louis. You +may, or you mayn't, have been fooled by some one down in Texas when you +went back and married her in all that hurry. But you knew what you were +doing well enough when you took her away. You won't dare to tell me that +you hadn't seen Ferdinand when you two mizzled off from the College?" +Then he paused, waiting again for a reply. + +"As I told you before," he said, "no further conversation on the subject +can be of avail. It does not suit me to be cross-examined as to what I +knew or what I did not know. If you have anything for me to hear, you can +say it. If you have anything to tell to others, go and tell it to them." + +"That's just it," said Lefroy. + +"Then go and tell it." + +"You're in a terrible hurry, Mister Peacocke. I don't want to drop in and +spoil your little game. You're making money of your little game. I can +help you as to carrying on your little game, better than you do at +present. I don't want to blow upon you. But as you're making money out +of it, I'd like to make a little too. I am precious hard up,--I am." + +"You will make no money of me," said the other. + +"A little will go a long way with me; and remember, I have got tidings now +which are worth paying for." + +"What tidings?" + +"If they're worth paying for, it's not likely that you are going to get +them for nothing." + +"Look here, Colonel Lefroy; whatever you may have to say about me will +certainly not be prevented by my paying you money. Though you might be +able to ruin me to-morrow I would not give you a dollar to save myself." + +"But her," said Lefroy, pointing as it were up-stairs, with his thumb over +his shoulder. + +"Nor her," said Peacocke. + +"You don't care very much about her, then?" + +"How much I may care I shall not trouble myself to explain to you. I +certainly shall not endeavour to serve her after that fashion. I begin to +understand why you have come, and can only beg you to believe that you +have come in vain." + +Lefroy turned to his food, which he had not yet finished, while his +companion sat silent at the window, trying to arrange in his mind the +circumstances of the moment as best he might. He declared to himself that +had the man come but one day later, his coming would have been matter of +no moment. The story, the entire story, would then have been told to the +Doctor, and the brother-in-law, with all his malice, could have added +nothing to the truth. But now it seemed as though there would be a race +which should tell the story first. Now the Doctor would, no doubt, be led +to feel that the narration was made because it could no longer be kept +back. Should this man be with the Doctor first, and should the story be +told as he would tell it, then it would be impossible for Mr. Peacocke, in +acknowledging the truth of it all, to bring his friend's mind back to the +condition in which it would have been had this intruder not been in the +way. And yet he could not make a race of it with the man. He could not +rush across, and, all but out of breath with his energy, begin his +narration while Lefroy was there knocking at the door. There would be an +absence of dignity in such a mode of proceeding which alone was sufficient +to deter him. He had fixed an hour already with the Doctor. He had said +that he would be there in the house at a certain time. Let the man do +what he would he would keep exactly to his purpose, unless the Doctor +should seek an earlier interview. He would, in no tittle, be turned from +his purpose by the unfortunate coming of this wretched man. "Well!" said +Lefroy, as soon as he had eaten his last mouthful. + +"I have nothing to say to you," said Peacocke. + +"Nothing to say?" + +"Not a word." + +"Well, that's queer. I should have thought there'd have been a many +words. I've got a lot to say to somebody, and mean to say it;--precious +soon too. Is there any hotel here, where I can put this horse up? I +suppose you haven't got stables of your own? I wonder if the Doctor would +give me accommodation?" + +"I haven't got a stable, and the Doctor certainly will not give you +accommodation. There is a public-house less than a quarter of a mile +further on, which no doubt your driver knows very well. You had better go +there yourself, because after what has taken place, I am bound to tell you +that you will not be admitted here." + +"Not admitted?" + +"No. You must leave this house, and will not be admitted into it again as +long as I live in it." + +"The Doctor will admit me." + +"Very likely. I, at any rate, shall do nothing to dissuade him. If you +go down to the road you'll see the gate leading up to his house. I think +you'll find that he is down-stairs by this time." + +"You take it very cool, Peacocke." + +"I only tell you the truth. With you I will have nothing more to do. You +have a story which you wish to tell to Dr. Wortle. Go and tell it to +him." + +"I can tell it to all the world," said Lefroy. + +"Go and tell it to all the world." + +"And I ain't to see my sister?" + +"No; you will not see your sister-in-law here. Why should she wish to see +one who has only injured her?" + +"I ain't injured her;--at any rate not as yet. I ain't done nothing;--not +as yet. I've been as dark as the grave;--as yet. Let her come down, and +you go away for a moment, and let us see if we can't settle it." + +"There is nothing for you to settle. Nothing that you can do, nothing +that you can say, will influence either her or me. If you have anything +to tell, go and tell it." + +"Why should you smash up everything in that way, Peacocke? You're +comfortable here; why not remain so? I don't want to hurt you. I want to +help you;--and I can. Three hundred dollars wouldn't be much to you. You +were always a fellow as had a little money by you." + +"If this box were full of gold," said the schoolmaster, laying his hand +upon a black desk which stood on the table, "I would not give you one cent +to induce you to hold your tongue for ever. I would not condescend even +to ask it of you as a favour. You think that you can disturb our +happiness by telling what you know of us to Dr. Wortle. Go and try." + +Mr. Peacocke's manner was so firm that the other man began to doubt +whether in truth he had a secret to tell. Could it be possible that Dr. +Wortle knew it all, and that the neighbours knew it all, and that, in +spite of what had happened, the position of the man and of the woman was +accepted among them? They certainly were not man and wife, and yet they +were living together as such. Could such a one as this Dr. Wortle know +that it was so? He, when he had spoken of the purposes for which the boys +were sent there, asking whether they were not sent for education, for +morals and religion, had understood much of the Doctor's position. He had +known the peculiar value of his secret. He had been aware that a +schoolmaster with a wife to whom he was not in truth married must be out +of place in an English seminary such as this. But yet he now began to +doubt. "I am to be turned out, then?" he asked. + +"Yes, indeed, Colonel Lefroy. The sooner you go the better." + +"That's a pretty sort of welcome to your wife's brother-in-law, who has +just come over all the way from Mexico to see her." + +"To get what he can out of her by his unwelcome presence," said Peacocke. +"Here you can get nothing. Go and do your worst. If you remain much +longer I shall send for the policeman to remove you." + +"You will?" + +"Yes, I shall. My time is not my own, and I cannot go over to my work +leaving you in my house. You have nothing to get by my friendship. Go +and see what you can do as my enemy." + +"I will," said the Colonel, getting up from his chair; "I will. If I'm to +be treated in this way it shall not be for nothing. I have offered you +the right hand of an affectionate brother-in-law." + +"Bosh," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"And you tell me that I am an enemy. Very well; I will be an enemy. I +could have put you altogether on your legs, but I'll leave you without an +inch of ground to stand upon. You see if I don't." Then he put his hat +on his head, and stalked out of the house, down the road towards the gate. + +Mr. Peacocke, when he was left alone, remained in the room collecting his +thoughts, and then went up-stairs to his wife. + +"Has he gone?" she asked. + +"Yes, he has gone." + +"And what has he said?" + +"He has asked for money,--to hold his tongue." + +"Have you given him any?" + +"Not a cent. I have given him nothing but hard words. I have bade him go +and do his worst. To be at the mercy of such a man as that would be worse +for you and for me than anything that fortune has sent us even yet." + +"Did he want to see me?" + +"Yes; but I refused. Was it not better?" + +"Yes; certainly, if you think so. What could I have said to him? +Certainly it was better. His presence would have half killed me. But +what will he do, Henry?" + +"He will tell it all to everybody that he sees." + +"Oh, my darling!" + +"What matter though he tells it at the town-cross? It would have been +told to-day by myself." + +"But only to one." + +"It would have been the same. For any purpose of concealment it would +have been the same. I have got to hate the concealment. What have we +done but clung together as a man and woman should who have loved each +other, and have had a right to love? What have we done of which we should +be ashamed? Let it be told. Let it all be known. Have you not been good +and pure? Have not I been true to you? Bear up your courage, and let the +man do his worst. Not to save even you would I cringe before such a man +as that. And were I to do so, I should save you from nothing." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE STORY IS TOLD. + +DURING the whole of that morning the Doctor did not come into the school. +The school hours lasted from half-past nine to twelve, during a portion of +which time it was his practice to be there. But sometimes, on a Saturday, +he would be absent, when it was understood generally that he was preparing +his sermon for the Sunday. Such, no doubt, might be the case now; but +there was a feeling among the boys that he was kept away by some other +reason. It was known that during the hour of morning school Mr. Peacocke +had been occupied with that uncouth stranger, and some of the boys might +have observed that the uncouth stranger had not taken himself altogether +away from the premises. There was at any rate a general feeling that the +uncouth stranger had something to do with the Doctor's absence. + +Mr. Peacocke did his best to go on with the work as though nothing had +occurred to disturb the usual tenor of his way, and as far as the boys +were aware he succeeded. He was just as clear about his Greek verbs, just +as incisive about that passage of Caesar, as he would have been had Colonel +Lefroy remained on the other side of the water. But during the whole time +he was exercising his mind in that painful process of thinking of two +things at once. He was determined that Caesar should be uppermost; but it +may be doubted whether he succeeded. At that very moment Colonel Lefroy +might be telling the Doctor that his Ella was in truth the wife of another +man. At that moment the Doctor might be deciding in his anger that the +sinful and deceitful man should no longer be "officer of his." The +hour was too important to him to leave his mind at his own disposal. +Nevertheless he did his best. "Clifford, junior," he said, "I shall never +make you understand what Caesar says here or elsewhere if you do not give +your entire mind to Caesar." + +"I do give my entire mind to Caesar," said Clifford, junior. + +"Very well; now go on and try again. But remember that Caesar wants all +your mind." As he said this he was revolving in his own mind how he would +face the Doctor when the Doctor should look at him in his wrath. If the +Doctor were in any degree harsh with him, he would hold his own against +the Doctor as far as the personal contest might go. At twelve the boys +went out for an hour before their dinner, and Lord Carstairs asked him to +play a game of rackets. + +"Not to-day, my Lord," he said. + +"Is anything wrong with you?" + +"Yes, something is very wrong." They had strolled out of the building, +and were walking up and down the gravel terrace in front when this was +said. + +"I knew something was wrong, because you called me my Lord." + +"Yes, something is so wrong as to alter for me all the ordinary ways of my +life. But I wasn't thinking of it. It came by accident,--just because I +am so troubled." + +"What is it?" + +"There has been a man here,--a man whom I knew in America." + +"An enemy?" + +"Yes,--an enemy. One who is anxious to do me all the injury he can." + +"Are you in his power, Mr. Peacocke?" + +"No, thank God; not that. I am in no man's power. He cannot do me any +material harm. Anything which may happen would have happened whether he +had come or not. But I am unhappy." + +"I wish I knew." + +"So do I,--with all my heart. I wish you knew; I wish you knew. I would +that all the world knew. But we shall live through it, no doubt. And if +we do not, what matter. 'Nil conscire sibi,--nulla pallescere culpa.' +That is all that is necessary to a man. I have done nothing of which I +repent;--nothing that I would not do again; nothing of which I am ashamed +to speak as far as the judgment of other men is concerned. Go, now. They +are making up sides for cricket. Perhaps I can tell you more before the +evening is over." + +Both Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were accustomed to dine with the boys at one, +when Carstairs, being a private pupil, only had his lunch. But on this +occasion she did not come into the dining-room. "I don't think I can +to-day," she said, when he bade her to take courage, and not be altered +more than she could help, in her outward carriage, by the misery of her +present circumstances. "I could not eat if I were there, and then they +would look at me." + +"If it be so, do not attempt it. There is no necessity. What I mean is, +that the less one shrinks the less will be the suffering. It is the man +who shivers on the brink that is cold, and not he who plunges into the +water. If it were over,--if the first brunt of it were over, I could find +means to comfort you." + +He went through the dinner, as he had done the Caesar, eating the roast +mutton and the baked potatoes, and the great plateful of currant-pie that +was brought to him. He was fed and nourished, no doubt, but it may be +doubtful whether he knew much of the flavour of what he ate. But before +the dinner was quite ended, before he had said the grace which it was +always his duty to pronounce, there came a message to him from the +rectory. "The Doctor would be glad to see him as soon as dinner was +done." He waited very calmly till the proper moment should come for the +grace, and then, very calmly, he took his way over to the house. He was +certain now that Lefroy had been with the Doctor, because he was sent for +considerably before the time fixed for the interview. + +It was his chief resolve to hold his own before the Doctor. The Doctor, +who could read a character well, had so read that of Mr. Peacocke's as to +have been aware from the first that no censure, no fault-finding, would be +possible if the connection were to be maintained. Other ushers, other +curates, he had occasionally scolded. He had been very careful never even +to seem to scold Mr. Peacocke. Mr. Peacocke had been aware of it +too,--aware that he could not endure it, and aware also that the Doctor +avoided any attempt at it. He had known that, as a consequence of this, +he was bound to be more than ordinarily prompt in the performance of all +his duties. The man who will not endure censure has to take care that he +does not deserve it. Such had been this man's struggle, and it had been +altogether successful. Each of the two understood the other, and each +respected the other. Now their position must be changed. It was hardly +possible, Mr. Peacocke thought, as he entered the house, that he should +not be rebuked with grave severity, and quite out of the question that he +should bear any rebuke at all. + +The library at the rectory was a spacious and handsome room, in the centre +of which stood a large writing-table, at which the Doctor was accustomed +to sit when he was at work,--facing the door, with a bow-window at his +right hand. But he rarely remained there when any one was summoned into +the room, unless some one were summoned with whom he meant to deal in a +spirit of severity. Mr. Peacocke would be there perhaps three or four +times a-week, and the Doctor would always get up from his chair and stand, +or seat himself elsewhere in the room, and would probably move about with +vivacity, being a fidgety man of quick motions, who sometimes seemed as +though he could not hold his own body still for a moment. But now when +Mr. Peacocke entered the room he did not leave his place at the table. +"Would you take a chair?" he said; "there is something that we must talk +about." + +"Colonel Lefroy has been with you, I take it." + +"A man calling himself by that name has been here. Will you not take a +chair?" + +"I do not know that it will be necessary. What he has told you,--what I +suppose he has told you,--is true." + +"You had better at any rate take a chair. I do not believe that what he +has told me is true." + +"But it is." + +"I do not believe that what he has told me is true. Some of it cannot, I +think, be true. Much of it is not so,--unless I am more deceived in you +than I ever was in any man. At any rate sit down." Then the schoolmaster +did sit down. "He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, cruel +bigamist." + +"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his chair. + +"One who has been willing to sacrifice a woman to his passion." + +"No; no." + +"Who deceived her by false witnesses." + +"Never." + +"And who has now refused to allow her to see her own husband's brother, +lest she should learn the truth." + +"She is there,--at any rate for you to see." + +"Therefore the man is a liar. A long story has to be told, as to which at +present I can only guess what may be the nature. I presume the story will +be the same as that you would have told had the man never come here." + +"Exactly the same, Dr. Wortle." + +"Therefore you will own that I am right in asking you to sit down. The +story may be very long,--that is, if you mean to tell it." + +"I do,--and did. I was wrong from the first in supposing that the nature +of my marriage need be of no concern to others, but to herself and to me." + +"Yes,--Mr. Peacocke; yes. We are, all of us, joined together too closely +to admit of isolation such as that." There was something in this which +grated against the schoolmaster's pride, though nothing had been said as +to which he did not know that much harder things must meet his ears before +the matter could be brought to an end between him and the Doctor. The +"Mister" had been prefixed to his name, which had been omitted for the +last three or four months in the friendly intercourse which had taken +place between them; and then, though it had been done in the form of +agreeing with what he himself had said, the Doctor had made his first +complaint by declaring that no man had a right to regard his own moral +life as isolated from the lives of others around him. It was as much as +to declare at once that he had been wrong in bringing this woman to +Bowick, and calling her Mrs. Peacocke. He had said as much himself, but +that did not make the censure lighter when it came to him from the mouth +of the Doctor. "But come," said the Doctor, getting up from his seat at +the table, and throwing himself into an easy-chair, so as to mitigate the +austerity of the position; "let us hear the true story. So big a liar as +that American gentleman probably never put his foot in this room before." + +Then Mr. Peacocke told the story, beginning with all those incidents of +the woman's life which had seemed to be so cruel both to him and to others +at St. Louis before he had been in any degree intimate with her. Then +came the departure of the two men, and the necessity for pecuniary +assistance, which Mr. Peacocke now passed over lightly, saying nothing +specially of the assistance which he himself had rendered. "And she was +left quite alone?" asked the Doctor. + +"Quite alone." + +"And for how long?" + +"Eighteen months had passed before we heard any tidings. Then there came +news that Colonel Lefroy was dead." + +"The husband?" + +"We did not know which. They were both Colonels." + +"And then?" + +"Did he tell you that I went down into Mexico?" + +"Never mind what he told me. All that he told me were lies. What you +tell me I shall believe. But tell me everything." + +There was a tone of complete authority in the Doctor's voice, but mixed +with this there was a kindliness which made the schoolmaster determined +that he would tell everything as far as he knew how. "When I heard that +one of them was dead, I went away down to the borders of Texas, in order +that I might learn the truth." + +"Did she know that you were going?" + +"Yes;--I told her the day I started." + +"And you told her why?" + +"That I might find out whether her husband were still alive." + +"But----" The Doctor hesitated as he asked the next question. He knew, +however, that it had to be asked, and went on with it. "Did she know that +you loved her?" To this the other made no immediate answer. The Doctor +was a man who, in such a matter, was intelligent enough, and he therefore +put his question in another shape. "Had you told her that you loved her?" + +"Never,--while I thought that other man was living." + +"She must have guessed it," said the Doctor. + +"She might guess what she pleased. I told her that I was going, and I +went." + +"And how was it, then?" + +"I went, and after a time I came across the very man who is here now, this +Robert Lefroy. I met him and questioned him, and he told me that his +brother had been killed while fighting. It was a lie." + +"Altogether a lie?" asked the Doctor. + +"How altogether?" + +"He might have been wounded and given over for dead. The brother might +have thought him to be dead." + +"I do not think so. I believe it to have been a plot in order that the +man might get rid of his wife. But I believed it. Then I went back to +St. Louis,--and we were married." + +"You thought there was no obstacle but what you might become man and wife +legally?" + +"I thought she was a widow." + +"There was no further delay?" + +"Very little. Why should there have been delay?" + +"I only ask." + +"She had suffered enough, and I had waited long enough." + +"She owed you a great deal," said the Doctor. + +"It was not a case of owing," said Mr. Peacocke. "At least I think not. +I think she had learnt to love me as I had learnt to love her." + +"And how did it go with you then?" + +"Very well,--for some months. There was nothing to mar our +happiness,--till one day he came and made his way into our presence." + +"The husband?" + +"Yes; the husband, Ferdinand Lefroy, the elder brother;--he of whom I had +been told that he was dead; he was there standing before us, talking to +us,--half drunk, but still well knowing what he was doing." + +"Why had he come?" + +"In want of money, I suppose,--as this other one has come here." + +"Did he ask for money?" + +"I do not think he did then, though he spoke of his poor condition. But +on the next day he went away. We heard that he had taken the steamer down +the river for New Orleans. We have never heard more of him from that day +to this." + +"Can you imagine what caused conduct such as that?" + +"I think money was given to him that night to go; but if so, I do not know +by whom. I gave him none. During the next day or two I found that many +in St. Louis knew that he had been there." + +"They knew then that you----" + +"They knew that my wife was not my wife. That is what you mean to ask?" +The Doctor nodded his head. "Yes, they knew that." + +"And what then?" + +"Word was brought to me that she and I must part if I chose to keep my +place at the College." + +"That you must disown her?" + +"The President told me that it would be better that she should go +elsewhere. How could I send her from me?" + +"No, indeed;--but as to the facts?" + +"You know them all pretty well now. I could not send her from me. Nor +could I go and leave her. Had we been separated then, because of the law +or because of religion, the burden, the misery, the desolation, would all +have been upon her." + +"I would have clung to her, let the law say what it might," said the +Doctor, rising from his chair. + +"You would?" + +"I would;--and I think that I could have reconciled it to my God. But I +might have been wrong," he added; "I might have been wrong. I only say +what I should have done." + +"It was what I did." + +"Exactly; exactly. We are both sinners. Both might have been wrong. +Then you brought her over here, and I suppose I know the rest?" + +"You know everything now," said Mr. Peacocke. + +"And believe every word I have heard. Let me say that, if that may be any +consolation to you. Of my friendship you may remain assured. Whether you +can remain here is another question." + +"We are prepared to go." + +"You cannot expect that I should have thought it all out during the +hearing of the story. There is much to be considered;--very much. I can +only say this, as between man and man, that no man ever sympathized with +another more warmly than I do with you. You had better let me have till +Monday to think about it." + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +MRS. WORTLE AND MR. PUDDICOMBE. + +IN this way nothing was said at the first telling of the story to decide +the fate of the schoolmaster and of the lady whom we shall still call his +wife. There certainly had been no horror displayed by the Doctor. +"Whether you can remain here is another question." The Doctor, during +the whole interview, had said nothing harder than that. Mr. Peacocke, +as he left the rectory, did feel that the Doctor had been very good to +him. There had not only been no horror, but an expression of the kindest +sympathy. And as to the going, that was left in doubt. He himself felt +that he ought to go;--but it would have been so very sad to have to go +without a friend left with whom he could consult as to his future +condition! + +"He has been very kind, then?" said Mrs. Peacocke to her husband when he +related to her the particulars of the interview. + +"Very kind." + +"And he did not reproach you." + +"Not a word." + +"Nor me?" + +"He declared that had it been he who was in question he would have clung +to you for ever and ever." + +"Did he? Then will he leave us here?" + +"That does not follow. I should think not. He will know that others must +know it. Your brother-in-law will not tell him only. Lefroy, when he +finds that he can get no money here, from sheer revenge will tell the +story everywhere. When he left the rectory, he was probably as angry with +the Doctor as he is with me. He will do all the harm that he can to all +of us." + +"We must go, then?" + +"I should think so. Your position here would be insupportable even if it +could be permitted. You may be sure of this;--everybody will know it." + +"What do I care for everybody?" she said. "It is not that I am ashamed of +myself." + +"No, dearest; nor am I,--ashamed of myself or of you. But there will be +bitter words, and bitter words will produce bitter looks and scant +respect. How would it be with you if the boys looked at you as though +they thought ill of you?" + +"They would not;--oh, they would not!" + +"Or the servants,--if they reviled you?" + +"Could it come to that?" + +"It must not come to that. But it is as the Doctor said himself just +now;--a man cannot isolate the morals, the manners, the ways of his life +from the morals of others. Men, if they live together, must live together +by certain laws." + +"Then there can be no hope for us." + +"None that I can see, as far as Bowick is concerned. We are too closely +joined in our work with other people. There is not a boy here with whose +father and mother and sisters we are not more or less connected. When I +was preaching in the church, there was not one in the parish with whom I +was not connected. Would it do, do you think, for a priest to preach +against drunkenness, whilst he himself was a noted drunkard?" + +"Are we like that?" + +"It is not what the drunken priest might think of himself, but what others +might think of him. It would not be with us the position which we know +that we hold together, but that which others would think it to be. If I +were in Dr. Wortle's case, and another were to me as I am to him, I should +bid him go." + +"You would turn him away from you; him and his--wife?" + +"I should. My first duty would be to my parish and to my school. If I +could befriend him otherwise I would do so;--and that is what I expect +from Dr. Wortle. We shall have to go, and I shall be forced to approve of +our dismissal." + +In this way Mr. Peacocke came definitely and clearly to a conclusion in +his own mind. But it was very different with Dr. Wortle. The story so +disturbed him, that during the whole of that afternoon he did not attempt +to turn his mind to any other subject. He even went so far as to send +over to Mr. Puddicombe and asked for some assistance for the afternoon +service on the following day. He was too unwell, he said, to preach +himself, and the one curate would have the two entire services unless Mr. +Puddicombe could help him. Could Mr. Puddicombe come himself and see him +on the Sunday afternoon? This note he sent away by a messenger, who came +back with a reply, saying that Mr. Puddicombe would himself preach in the +afternoon, and would afterwards call in at the rectory. + +For an hour or two before his dinner, the Doctor went out on horseback, +and roamed about among the lanes, endeavouring to make up his mind. He +was hitherto altogether at a loss as to what he should do in this present +uncomfortable emergency. He could not bring his conscience and his +inclination to come square together. And even when he counselled himself +to yield to his conscience, his very conscience,--a second conscience, as +it were,--revolted against the first. His first conscience told him that +he owed a primary duty to his parish, a second duty to his school, and a +third to his wife and daughter. In the performance of all these duties he +would be bound to rid himself of Mr. Peacocke. But then there came that +other conscience, telling him that the man had been more "sinned against +than sinning,"--that common humanity required him to stand by a man who +had suffered so much, and had suffered so unworthily. Then this second +conscience went on to remind him that the man was pre-eminently fit for +the duties which he had undertaken,--that the man was a God-fearing, +moral, and especially intellectual assistant in his school,--that were he +to lose him he could not hope to find any one that would be his equal, or +at all approaching to him in capacity. This second conscience went +further, and assured him that the man's excellence as a schoolmaster was +even increased by the peculiarity of his position. Do we not all know +that if a man be under a cloud the very cloud will make him more attentive +to his duties than another? If a man, for the wages which he receives, +can give to his employer high character as well as work, he will think +that he may lighten his work because of his character. And as to this +man, who was the very phoenix of school assistants, there would really be +nothing amiss with his character if only this piteous incident as to his +wife were unknown. In this way his second conscience almost got the +better of the first. + +But then it would be known. It would be impossible that it should not be +known. He had already made up his mind to tell Mr. Puddicombe, absolutely +not daring to decide in such an emergency without consulting some friend. +Mr. Puddicombe would hold his peace if he were to promise to do so. +Certainly he might be trusted to do that. But others would know it; the +Bishop would know it; Mrs. Stantiloup would know it. That man, of course, +would take care that all Broughton, with its close full of cathedral +clergymen, would know it. When Mrs. Stantiloup should know it there would +not be a boy's parent through all the school who would not know it. If he +kept the man he must keep him resolving that all the world should know +that he kept him, that all the world should know of what nature was the +married life of the assistant in whom he trusted. And he must be prepared +to face all the world, confiding in the uprightness and the humanity of +his purpose. + +In such case he must say something of this kind to all the world; "I know +that they are not married. I know that their condition of life is opposed +to the law of God and man. I know that she bears a name that is not, in +truth, her own; but I think that the circumstances in this case are so +strange, so peculiar, that they excuse a disregard even of the law of God +and man." Had he courage enough for this? And if the courage were there, +was he high enough and powerful enough to carry out such a purpose? Could +he beat down the Mrs. Stantiloups? And, indeed, could he beat down the +Bishop and the Bishop's phalanx;--for he knew that the Bishop and the +Bishop's phalanx would be against him? They could not touch him in his +living, because Mr. Peacocke would not be concerned in the services of the +church; but would not his school melt away to nothing in his hands, if he +were to attempt to carry it on after this fashion? And then would he not +have destroyed himself without advantage to the man whom he was anxious to +assist? + +To only one point did he make up his mind certainly during that ride. +Before he slept that night he would tell the whole story to his wife. He +had at first thought that he would conceal it from her. It was his rule +of life to act so entirely on his own will, that he rarely consulted her +on matters of any importance. As it was, he could not endure the +responsibility of acting by himself. People would say of him that he had +subjected his wife to contamination, and had done so without giving her +any choice in the matter. So he resolved that he would tell his wife. + +"Not married," said Mrs. Wortle, when she heard the story. + +"Married; yes. They were married. It was not their fault that the +marriage was nothing. What was he to do when he heard that they had been +deceived in this way?" + +"Not married properly! Poor woman!" + +"Yes, indeed. What should I have done if such had happened to me when we +had been six months married?" + +"It couldn't have been." + +"Why not to you as well as to another?" + +"I was only a young girl." + +"But if you had been a widow?" + +"Don't, my dear; don't! It wouldn't have been possible." + +"But you pity her?" + +"Oh yes." + +"And you see that a great misfortune has fallen upon her, which she could +not help?" + +"Not till she knew it," said the wife who had been married quite properly. + +"And what then? What should she have done then?" + +"Gone," said the wife, who had no doubt as to the comfort, the beauty, the +perfect security of her own position. + +"Gone?" + +"Gone away at once." + +"Whither should she go? Who would have taken her by the hand? Who would +have supported her? Would you have had her lay herself down in the first +gutter and die?" + +"Better that than what she did do," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Then, by all the faith I have in Christ, I think you are hard upon her. +Do you think what it is to have to go out and live alone;--to have to look +for your bread in desolation?" + +"I have never been tried, my dear," said she, clinging close to him. "I +have never had anything but what was good." + +"Ought we not to be kind to one to whom Fortune has been so unkind?" + +"If we can do so without sin." + +"Sin! I despise the fear of sin which makes us think that its contact +will soil us. Her sin, if it be sin, is so near akin to virtue, that I +doubt whether we should not learn of her rather than avoid her." + +"A woman should not live with a man unless she be his wife." Mrs. +Wortle said this with more of obstinacy than he had expected. + +"She was his wife, as far as she knew." + +"But when she knew that it was not so any longer,--then she should have +left him." + +"And have starved?" + +"I suppose she might have taken bread from him." + +"You think, then, that she should go away from here?" + +"Do not you think so? What will Mrs. Stantiloup say?" + +"And I am to turn them out into the cold because of a virago such as she +is? You would have no more charity than that?" + +"Oh, Jeffrey! what would the Bishop say?" + +"Cannot you get beyond Mrs. Stantiloup and beyond the Bishop, and think +what Justice demands?" + +"The boys would all be taken away. If you had a son, would you send him +where there was a schoolmaster living,--living----. Oh, you wouldn't." + +It is very clear to the Doctor that his wife's mind was made up on the +subject; and yet there was no softer-hearted woman than Mrs. Wortle +anywhere in the diocese, or one less likely to be severe upon a neighbour. +Not only was she a kindly, gentle woman, but she was one who always had +been willing to take her husband's opinion on all questions of right and +wrong. She, however, was decided that they must go. + +On the next morning, after service, which the schoolmaster did not attend, +the Doctor saw Mr. Peacocke, and declared his intention of telling the +story to Mr. Puddicombe. "If you bid me hold my tongue," he said, "I will +do so. But it will be better that I should consult another clergyman. He +is a man who can keep a secret." Then Mr. Peacocke gave him full authority +to tell everything to Mr. Puddicombe. He declared that the Doctor might +tell the story to whom he would. Everybody might know it now. He had, he +said, quite made up his mind about that. What was the good of affecting +secrecy when this man Lefroy was in the country? + +In the afternoon, after service, Mr. Puddicombe came up to the house, and +heard it all. He was a dry, thin, apparently unsympathetic man, but just +withal, and by no means given to harshness. He could pardon whenever he +could bring himself to believe that pardon would have good results; but he +would not be driven by impulses and softness of heart to save the faulty +one from the effect of his fault, merely because that effect would be +painful. He was a man of no great mental calibre,--not sharp, and quick, +and capable of repartee as was the Doctor, but rational in all things, and +always guided by his conscience. "He has behaved very badly to you," he +said, when he heard the story. + +"I do not think so; I have no such feeling myself." + +"He behaved very badly in bringing her here without telling you all the +facts. Considering the position that she was to occupy, he must have +known that he was deceiving you." + +"I can forgive all that," said the Doctor, vehemently. "As far as I +myself am concerned, I forgive everything." + +"You are not entitled to do so." + +"How--not entitled?" + +"You must pardon me if I seem to take a liberty in expressing myself too +boldly in this matter. Of course I should not do so unless you asked me." + +"I want you to speak freely,--all that you think." + +"In considering his conduct, we have to consider it all. First of all +there came a great and terrible misfortune which cannot but excite our +pity. According to his own story, he seems, up to that time, to have been +affectionate and generous." + +"I believe every word of it," said the Doctor. + +"Allowing for a man's natural bias on his own side, so do I. He had +allowed himself to become attached to another man's wife; but we need not, +perhaps, insist upon that." The Doctor moved himself uneasily in his +chair, but said nothing. "We will grant that he put himself right by his +marriage, though in that, no doubt, there should have been more of +caution. Then came his great misfortune. He knew that his marriage had +been no marriage. He saw the man and had no doubt." + +"Quite so; quite so," said the Doctor, impatiently. + +"He should, of course, have separated himself from her. There can be no +doubt about it. There is no room for any quibble." + +"Quibble!" said the Doctor. + +"I mean that no reference in our own minds to the pity of the thing, to +the softness of the moment,--should make us doubt about it. Feelings such +as these should induce us to pardon sinners, even to receive them back +into our friendship and respect,--when they have seen the error of their +ways and have repented." + +"You are very hard." + +"I hope not. At any rate I can only say as I think. But, in truth, in +the present emergency you have nothing to do with all that. If he asked +you for counsel you might give it to him, but that is not his present +position. He has told you his story, not in a spirit of repentance, but +because such telling had become necessary." + +"He would have told it all the same though this man had never come." + +"Let us grant that it is so, there still remains his relation to you. He +came here under false pretences, and has done you a serious injury." + +"I think not," said the Doctor. + +"Would you have taken him into your establishment had you known it all +before? Certainly not. Therefore I say that he has deceived you. I do +not advise you to speak to him with severity; but he should, I think, be +made to know that you appreciate what he has done." + +"And you would turn him off;--send him away at once, out about his +business?" + +"Certainly I would send him away." + +"You think him such a reprobate that he should not be allowed to earn his +bread anywhere?" + +"I have not said so. I know nothing of his means of earning his bread. +Men living in sin earn their bread constantly. But he certainly should +not be allowed to earn his here." + +"Not though that man who was her husband should now be dead, and he should +again marry,--legally marry,--this woman to whom he has been so true and +loyal?" + +"As regards you and your school," said Mr. Puddicombe, "I do not think it +would alter his position." + +With this the conference ended, and Mr. Puddicombe took his leave. As he +left the house the Doctor declared to himself that the man was a +strait-laced, fanatical, hard-hearted bigot. But though he said so to +himself, he hardly thought so; and was aware that the man's words had had +effect upon him. + + + +Part IV. + +CHAPTER X. + +MR. PEACOCKE GOES. + +THE Doctor had been all but savage with his wife, and, for the moment, had +hated Mr. Puddicombe, but still what they said had affected him. They +were both of them quite clear that Mr. Peacocke should be made to go at +once. And he, though he hated Mr. Puddicombe for his cold logic, could +not but acknowledge that all the man had said was true. According to the +strict law of right and wrong the two unfortunates should have parted when +they found that they were not in truth married. And, again, according to +the strict law of right and wrong, Mr. Peacocke should not have brought +the woman there, into his school, as his wife. There had been deceit. +But then would not he, Dr. Wortle himself, have been guilty of similar +deceit had it fallen upon him to have to defend a woman who had been true +and affectionate to him? Mr. Puddicombe would have left the woman to +break her heart and have gone away and done his duty like a Christian, +feeling no tugging at his heart-strings. It was so that our Doctor spoke +to himself of his counsellor, sitting there alone in his library. + +During his conference with Lefroy something had been said which had +impressed him suddenly with an idea. A word had fallen from the Colonel, +an unintended word, by which the Doctor was made to believe that the other +Colonel was dead, at any rate now. He had cunningly tried to lead up to +the subject, but Robert Lefroy had been on his guard as soon as he had +perceived the Doctor's object, and had drawn back, denying the truth of +the word he had before spoken. The Doctor at last asked him the question +direct. Lefroy then declared that his brother had been alive and well +when he left Texas, but he did this in such a manner as to strengthen in +the Doctor's mind the impression that he was dead. If it were so, then +might not all these crooked things be made straight? + +He had thought it better to raise no false hopes. He had said nothing of +this to Peacocke on discussing the story. He had not even hinted it to +his wife, from whom it might probably make its way to Mrs. Peacocke. He +had suggested it to Mr. Puddicombe,--asking whether there might not be a +way out of all their difficulties. Mr. Puddicombe had declared that there +could be no such way as far as the school was concerned. Let them marry, +and repent their sins, and go away from the spot they had contaminated, +and earn their bread in some place in which there need be no longer +additional sin in concealing the story of their past life. That seemed to +have been Mr. Puddicombe's final judgment. But it was altogether opposed +to Dr. Wortle's feelings. + +When Mr. Puddicombe came down from the church to the rectory, Lord +Carstairs was walking home after the afternoon service with Miss Wortle. +It was his custom to go to church with the family, whereas the school went +there under the charge of one of the ushers and sat apart in a portion of +the church appropriated to themselves. Mrs. Wortle, when she found that +the Doctor was not going to the afternoon service, declined to go herself. +She was thoroughly disturbed by all these bad tidings, and was, indeed, +very little able to say her prayers in a fit state of mind. She could +hardly keep herself still for a moment, and was as one who thinks that the +crack of doom is coming;--so terrible to her was her vicinity and +connection with this man, and with the woman who was not his wife. Then, +again, she became flurried when she found that Lord Carstairs and Mary +would have to walk alone together; and she made little abortive attempts +to keep first the one and then the other from going to church. Mary +probably saw no reason for staying away, while Lord Carstairs possibly +found an additional reason for going. Poor Mrs. Wortle had for some weeks +past wished that the charming young nobleman had been at home with his +father and mother, or anywhere but in her house. It had been arranged, +however, that he should go in July and not return after the summer +holidays. Under these circumstances, having full confidence in her girl, +she had refrained from again expressing her fears to the Doctor. But +there were fears. It was evident to her, though the Doctor seemed to see +nothing of it, that the young lord was falling in love. It might be that +his youth and natural bashfulness would come to her aid, and that nothing +should be said before that day in July which would separate them. But +when it suddenly occurred to her that they two would walk to and fro from +church together, there was cause for additional uneasiness. + +If she had heard their conversation as they came back she would have been +in no way disturbed by its tone on the score of the young man's tenderness +towards her daughter, but she might perhaps have been surprised by his +vehemence in another respect. She would have been surprised also at +finding how much had been said during the last twenty-four hours by others +besides herself and her husband about the affairs of Mr. and Mrs. +Peacocke. + +"Do you know what he came about?" asked Mary. The "he" had of course been +Robert Lefroy. + +"Not in the least; but he came up there looking so queer, as though he +certainly had come about something unpleasant." + +"And then he was with papa afterwards," said Mary. "I am sure papa and +mamma not coming to church has something to do with it. And Mr. Peacocke +hasn't been to church all day." + +"Something has happened to make him very unhappy," said the boy. "He told +me so even before this man came here. I don't know any one whom I like so +much as Mr. Peacocke." + +"I think it is about his wife," said Mary. + +"How about his wife?" + +"I don't know, but I think it is. She is so very quiet." + +"How quiet, Miss Wortle?" he asked. + +"She never will come in to see us. Mamma has asked her to dinner and to +drink tea ever so often, but she never comes. She calls perhaps once in +two or three months in a formal way, and that is all we see of her." + +"Do you like her?" he asked. + +"How can I say, when I so seldom see her." + +"I do. I like her very much. I go and see her often; and I'm sure of +this;--she is quite a lady. Mamma asked her to go to Carstairs for the +holidays because of what I said." + +"She is not going?" + +"No; neither of them will come. I wish they would; and oh, Miss Wortle, I +do so wish you were going to be there too." This is all that was said of +peculiar tenderness between them on that walk home. + +Late in the evening,--so late that the boys had already gone to bed,--the +Doctor sent again for Mr. Peacocke. "I should not have troubled you +to-night," he said, "only that I have heard something from Pritchett." +Pritchett was the rectory gardener who had charge also of the school +buildings, and was a person of great authority in the establishment. He, +as well the Doctor, held Mr. Peacocke in great respect, and would have +been almost as unwilling as the Doctor himself to tell stories to the +schoolmaster's discredit. "They are saying down at the Lamb"--the Lamb +was the Bowick public-house--"that Lefroy told them all yesterday----" the +Doctor hesitated before he could tell it. + +"That my wife is not my wife?" + +"Just so." + +"Of course I am prepared for it. I knew that it would be so; did not +you?" + +"I expected it." + +"I was sure of it. It may be taken for granted at once that there is no +longer a secret to keep. I would wish you to act just as though all the +facts were known to the entire diocese." After this there was a pause, +during which neither of them spoke for a few moments. The Doctor had not +intended to declare any purpose of his own on that occasion, but it seemed +to him now as though he were almost driven to do so. Then Mr. Peacocke +seeing the difficulty at once relieved him from it. "I am quite prepared +to leave Bowick," he said, "at once. I know that it must be so. I have +thought about it, and have perceived that there is no possible +alternative. I should like to consult with you as to whither I had better +go. Where shall I first take her?" + +"Leave her here," said the Doctor. + +"Here! Where?" + +"Where she is in the school-house. No one will come to fill your place +for a while." + +"I should have thought," said Mr. Peacocke very slowly, "that her +presence--would have been worse almost,--than my own." + +"To me,"--said the Doctor,--"to me she is as pure as the most unsullied +matron in the country." Upon this Mr. Peacocke, jumping from his chair, +seized the Doctor's hand, but could not speak for his tears; then he +seated himself again, turning his face away towards the wall. "To no one +could the presence of either of you be an evil. The evil is, if I may say +so, that the two of you should be here together. You should be +apart,--till some better day has come upon you." + +"What better day can ever come?" said the poor man through his tears. + +Then the Doctor declared his scheme. He told what he thought as to +Ferdinand Lefroy, and his reason for believing that the man was dead. "I +felt sure from his manner that his brother is now dead in truth. Go to +him and ask him boldly," he said. + +"But his word would not suffice for another marriage ceremony." + +To this the Doctor agreed. It was not his intention, he said, that they +should proceed on evidence as slight as that. No; a step must be taken +much more serious in its importance, and occupying a considerable time. +He, Peacocke, must go again to Missouri and find out all the truth. The +Doctor was of opinion that if this were resolved upon, and that if the +whole truth were at once proclaimed, then Mr. Peacocke need not hesitate +to pay Robert Lefroy for any information which might assist him in his +search. "While you are gone," continued the Doctor almost wildly, "let +bishops and Stantiloups and Puddicombes say what they may, she shall +remain here. To say that she will be happy is of course vain. There can +be no happiness for her till this has been put right. But she will be +safe; and here, at my hand, she will, I think, be free from insult. What +better is there to be done?" + +"There can be nothing better," said Peacocke drawing his breath,--as +though a gleam of light had shone in upon him. + +"I had not meant to have spoken to you of this till to-morrow. I should +not have done so, but that Pritchett had been with me. But the more I +thought of it, the more sure I became that you could not both +remain,--till something had been done; till something had been done." + +"I was sure of it, Dr. Wortle." + +"Mr. Puddicombe saw that it was so. Mr. Puddicombe is not all the world +to me by any means, but he is a man of common sense. I will be frank with +you. My wife said that it could not be so." + +"She shall not stay. Mrs. Wortle shall not be annoyed." + +"You don't see it yet," said the Doctor. "But you do. I know you do. +And she shall stay. The house shall be hers, as her residence, for the +next six months. As for money----" + +"I have got what will do for that, I think." + +"If she wants money she shall have what she wants. There is nothing I +will not do for you in your trouble,--except that you may not both be here +together till I shall have shaken hands with her as Mrs. Peacocke in very +truth." + +It was settled that Mr. Peacocke should not go again into the school, or +Mrs. Peacocke among the boys, till he should have gone to America and have +come back. It was explained in the school by the Doctor early,--for the +Doctor must now take the morning school himself,--that circumstances of +very grave import made it necessary that Mr. Peacocke should start at once +for America. That the tidings which had been published at the Lamb would +reach the boys, was more than probable. Nay; was it not certain? It +would of course reach all the boys' parents. There was no use, no +service, in any secrecy. But in speaking to the school not a word was +said of Mrs. Peacocke. The Doctor explained that he himself would take +the morning school, and that Mr. Rose, the mathematical master, would take +charge of the school meals. Mrs. Cane, the house-keeper, would look to +the linen and the bed-rooms. It was made plain that Mrs. Peacocke's +services were not to be required; but her name was not mentioned,--except +that the Doctor, in order to let it be understood that she was not to be +banished from the house, begged the boys as a favour that they would not +interrupt Mrs. Peacocke's tranquillity during Mr. Peacocke's absence. + +On the Tuesday morning Mr. Peacocke started, remaining, however, a couple +of days at Broughton, during which the Doctor saw him. Lefroy declared +that he knew nothing about his brother,--whether he were alive or dead. +He might be dead, because he was always in trouble, and generally drunk. +Robert, on the whole, thought it probable that he was dead, but could not +be got to say so. For a thousand dollars he would go over to Missouri, +and, if necessary to Texas, so as to find the truth. He would then come +back and give undeniable evidence. While making this benevolent offer, he +declared, with tears in his eyes, that he had come over intending to be a +true brother to his sister-in-law, and had simply been deterred from +prosecuting his good intentions by Peacocke's austerity. Then he swore a +most solemn oath that if he knew anything about his brother Ferdinand he +would reveal it. The Doctor and Peacocke agreed together that the man's +word was worth nothing; but that the man's services might be useful in +enabling them to track out the truth. They were both convinced, by words +which fell from him, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead; but this would be of +no avail unless they could obtain absolute evidence. + +During these two days there were various conversations at Broughton +between the Doctor, Mr. Peacocke, and Lefroy, in which a plan of action +was at length arranged. Lefroy and the schoolmaster were to proceed to +America together, and there obtain what evidence they could as to the life +or death of the elder brother. When absolute evidence had been obtained +of either, a thousand dollars was to be handed to Robert Lefroy. But when +this agreement was made the man was given to understand that his own +uncorroborated word would go for nothing. + +"Who is to say what is evidence, and what not?" asked the man, not +unnaturally. + +"Mr. Peacocke must be the judge," said the Doctor. + +"I ain't going to agree to that," said the other. "Though he were to see +him dead, he might swear he hadn't, and not give me a red cent. Why ain't +I to be judge as well as he?" + +"Because you can trust him, and he cannot in the least trust you," said +the Doctor. "You know well enough that if he were to see your brother +alive, or to see him dead, you would get the money. At any rate, you +have no other way of getting it but what we propose." To all this Robert +Lefroy at last assented. + +The prospect before Mr. Peacocke for the next three months was certainly +very sad. He was to travel from Broughton to St. Louis, and possibly from +thence down into the wilds of Texas, in company with this man, whom he +thoroughly despised. Nothing could be more abominable to him than such an +association; but there was no other way in which the proposed plan could +be carried out. He was to pay Lefroy's expenses back to his own country, +and could only hope to keep the man true to his purpose by doing so from +day to day. Were he to give the man money, the man would at once +disappear. Here in England, and in their passage across the ocean, the +man might, in some degree, be amenable and obedient. But there was no +knowing to what he might have recourse when he should find himself nearer +to his country, and should feel that his companion was distant from his +own. + +"You'll have to keep a close watch upon him," whispered the Doctor to his +friend. "I should not advise all this if I did not think you were a man +of strong nerve." + +"I am not afraid," said the other; "but I doubt whether he may not be too +many for me. At any rate, I will try it. You will hear from me as I go +on." + +And so they parted as dear friends part. The Doctor had, in truth, taken +the man altogether to his heart since all the circumstances of the story +had come home to him. And it need hardly be said that the other was aware +how deep a debt of gratitude he owed to the protector of his wife. Indeed +the very money that was to be paid to Robert Lefroy, if he earned it, was +advanced out of the Doctor's pocket. Mr. Peacocke's means were sufficient +for the expenses of the journey, but fell short when these thousand +dollars had to be provided. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE BISHOP. + +MR. PEACOCKE had been quite right in saying that the secret would at once +be known through the whole diocese. It certainly was so before he had +been gone a week, and it certainly was the case also that the diocese +generally did not approve of the Doctor's conduct. The woman ought not to +have been left there. So said the diocese. It was of course the case, +that though the diocese knew much, it did not know all. It is impossible +to keep such a story concealed, but it is quite as impossible to make +known all its details. In the eyes of the diocese the woman was of course +the chief sinner, and the chief sinner was allowed to remain at the +school! When this assertion was made to him the Doctor became very angry, +saying that Mrs. Peacocke did not remain at the school; that, according to +the arrangement as at present made, Mrs. Peacocke had nothing to do with +the school; that the house was his own, and that he might lend it to whom +he pleased. Was he to turn the woman out houseless, when her husband had +gone, on such an errand, on his advice? Of course the house was his own, +but as clergyman of the parish he had not a right to do what he liked with +it. He had no right to encourage evil. And the man was not the woman's +husband. That was just the point made by the diocese. And she was at the +school,--living under the same roof with the boys! The diocese was +clearly of opinion that all the boys would be taken away. + +The diocese spoke by the voice of its bishop, as a diocese should do. +Shortly after Mr. Peacocke's departure, the Doctor had an interview with +his lordship, and told the whole story. The doing this went much against +the grain with him, but he hardly dared not to do it. He felt that he was +bound to do it on the part of Mrs. Peacocke if not on his own. And then +the man, who had now gone, though he had never been absolutely a curate, +had preached frequently in the diocese. He felt that it would not be wise +to abstain from telling the bishop. + +The bishop was a goodly man, comely in his person, and possessed of +manners which had made him popular in the world. He was one of those who +had done the best he could with his talent, not wrapping it up in a +napkin, but getting from it the best interest which the world's market +could afford. But not on that account was he other than a good man. To +do the best he could for himself and his family,--and also to do his +duty,--was the line of conduct which he pursued. There are some who +reverse this order, but he was not one of them. He had become a scholar +in his youth, not from love of scholarship, but as a means to success. +The Church had become his profession, and he had worked hard at his +calling. He had taught himself to be courteous and urbane, because he had +been clever enough to see that courtesy and urbanity are agreeable to men +in high places. As a bishop he never spared himself the work which a +bishop ought to do. He answered letters, he studied the characters of the +clergymen under him, he was just with his patronage, he endeavoured to be +efficacious with his charges, he confirmed children in cold weather as +well as in warm, he occasionally preached sermons, and he was beautiful +and decorous in his gait of manner, as it behoves a clergyman of the +Church of England to be. He liked to be master; but even to be master he +would not encounter the abominable nuisance of a quarrel. When first +coming to the diocese he had had some little difficulty with our Doctor; +but the Bishop had abstained from violent assertion, and they had, on the +whole, been friends. There was, however, on the Bishop's part, something +of a feeling that the Doctor was the bigger man; and it was probable that, +without active malignity, he would take advantage of any chance which +might lower the Doctor a little, and bring him more within episcopal +power. In some degree he begrudged the Doctor his manliness. + +He listened with many smiles and with perfect courtesy to the story as it +was told to him, and was much less severe on the unfortunates than Mr. +Puddicombe had been. It was not the wickedness of the two people in +living together, or their wickedness in keeping their secret, which +offended him so much, as the evil which they were likely to do,--and to +have done. "No doubt," he said, "an ill-living man may preach a good +sermon, perhaps a better one than a pious God-fearing clergyman, whose +intellect may be inferior though his morals are much better;--but coming +from tainted lips, the better sermon will not carry a blessing with it." +At this the Doctor shook his head. "Bringing a blessing" was a phrase +which the Doctor hated. He shook his head not too civilly, saying that he +had not intended to trouble his lordship on so difficult a point in +ecclesiastical morals. "But we cannot but remember," said the Bishop, +"that he has been preaching in your parish church, and the people will +know that he has acted among them as a clergyman." + +"I hope the people, my lord, may never have the Gospel preached to them by +a worse man." + +"I will not judge him; but I do think that it has been a misfortune. You, +of course, were in ignorance." + +"Had I known all about it, I should have been very much inclined to do the +same." + +This was, in fact, not true, and was said simply in a spirit of +contradiction. The Bishop shook his head and smiled. "My school is a +matter of more importance," said the Doctor. + +"Hardly, hardly, Dr. Wortle." + +"Of more importance in this way, that my school may probably be injured, +whereas neither the morals nor the faith of the parishioners will have +been hurt." + +"But he has gone." + +"He has gone;--but she remains." + +"What!" exclaimed the Bishop. + +"He has gone, but she remains." He repeated the words very distinctly, +with a frown on his brow, as though to show that on that branch of the +subject he intended to put up with no opposition,--hardly even with an +adverse opinion. + +"She had a certain charge, as I understand,--as to the school." + +"She had, my lord; and very well she did her work. I shall have a great +loss in her,--for the present." + +"But you said she remained." + +"I have lent her the use of the house till her husband shall come back." + +"Mr. Peacocke, you mean," said the Bishop, who was unable not to put in a +contradiction against the untruth of the word which had been used. + +"I shall always regard them as married." + +"But they are not." + +"I have lent her the house, at any rate, during his absence. I could not +turn her into the street." + +"Would not a lodging here in the city have suited her better?" + +"I thought not. People here would have refused to take her,--because of +her story. The wife of some religious grocer, who sands his sugar +regularly, would have thought her house contaminated by such an inmate." + +"So it would have been, Doctor, to some extent." At hearing this the +Doctor made very evident signs of discontent. "You cannot alter the ways +of the world suddenly, though by example and precept you may help to +improve them slowly. In our present imperfect condition of moral culture, +it is perhaps well that the company of the guilty should be shunned." + +"Guilty!" + +"I am afraid that I must say so. The knowledge that such a feeling exists +no doubt deters others from guilt. The fact that wrong-doing in women is +scorned helps to maintain the innocence of women. Is it not so?" + +"I must hesitate before I trouble your lordship by arguing such difficult +questions. I thought it right to tell you the facts after what had +occurred. He has gone, she is there,--and there she will remain for the +present. I could not turn her out. Thinking her, as I do, worthy of my +friendship, I could not do other than befriend her." + +"Of course you must be the judge yourself." + +"I had to be the judge, my lord." + +"I am afraid that the parents of the boys will not understand it." + +"I also am afraid. It will be very hard to make them understand it. +There will be some who will work hard to make them misunderstand it." + +"I hope not that." + +"There will. I must stand the brunt of it. I have had battles before +this, and had hoped that now, when I am getting old, they might have been +at an end. But there is something left of me, and I can fight still. At +any rate, I have made up my mind about this. There she shall remain till +he comes back to fetch her." And so the interview was over, the Bishop +feeling that he had in some slight degree had the best of it,--and the +Doctor feeling that he, in some slight degree, had had the worst. If +possible, he would not talk to the Bishop on the subject again. + +He told Mr. Puddicombe also. "With your generosity and kindness of heart +I quite sympathise," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be pleasant in +his manner. + +"But not with my prudence." + +"Not with your prudence," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be true at +the same time. + +But the Doctor's greatest difficulty was with his wife, whose conduct it +was necessary that he should guide, and whose feelings and conscience he +was most anxious to influence. When she first heard his decision she +almost wrung her hands in despair. If the woman could have gone to +America, and the man have remained, she would have been satisfied. +Anything wrong about a man was but of little moment,--comparatively so, +even though he were a clergyman; but anything wrong about a woman,--and +she so near to herself! O dear! And the poor dear boys,--under the same +roof with her! And the boys' mammas! How would she be able to endure the +sight of that horrid Mrs. Stantiloup;--or Mrs. Stantiloup's words, which +would certainly be conveyed to her? But there was something much worse +for her even than all this. The Doctor insisted that she should go and +call upon the woman! "And take Mary?" asked Mrs. Wortle. + +"What would be the good of taking Mary? Who is talking of a child like +that? It is for the sake of charity,--for the dear love of Christ, that I +ask you to do it. Do you ever think of Mary Magdalene?" + +"Oh yes." + +"This is no Magdalene. This is a woman led into no faults by vicious +propensities. Here is one who has been altogether unfortunate,--who has +been treated more cruelly than any of whom you have ever read." + +"Why did she not leave him?" + +"Because she was a woman, with a heart in her bosom." + +"I am to go to her?" + +"I do not order it. I only ask it." Such asking from her husband was, +she knew, very near alike to ordering. + +"What shall I say to her?" + +"Bid her keep up her courage till he shall return. If you were all alone, +as she is, would not you wish that some other woman should come to comfort +you? Think of her desolation." + +Mrs. Wortle did think of it, and after a day or two made up her mind to +obey her husband's--request. She made her call, but very little came of +it, except that she promised to come again. "Mrs. Wortle," said the poor +woman, "pray do not let me be a trouble to you. If you stay away I shall +quite understand that there is sufficient reason. I know how good your +husband has been to us." Mrs. Wortle said, however, as she took her +leave, that she would come again in a day or two. + +But there were other troubles in store for Mrs. Wortle. Before she had +repeated her visit to Mrs. Peacocke, a lady, who lived about ten miles +off, the wife of the Rector of Buttercup, called upon her. This was the +Lady Margaret Momson, a daughter of the Earl of Brigstock, who had, thirty +years ago, married a young clergyman. Nevertheless, up to the present +day, she was quite as much the Earl's daughter as the parson's wife. She +was first cousin to that Mrs. Stantiloup between whom and the Doctor +internecine war was always being waged; and she was also aunt to a boy at +the school, who, however, was in no way related to Mrs. Stantiloup, young +Momson being the son of the parson's eldest brother. Lady Margaret had +never absolutely and openly taken the part of Mrs. Stantiloup. Had she +done so, a visit even of ceremony would have been impossible. But she was +supposed to have Stantiloup proclivities, and was not, therefore, much +liked at Bowick. There had been a question indeed whether young Momson +should be received at the school,--because of the _quasi_ connection with +the arch-enemy; but Squire Momson of Buttercup, the boy's father, had set +that at rest by bursting out, in the Doctor's hearing, into violent abuse +against "the close-fisted, vulgar old faggot." The son of a man imbued +with such proper feelings was, of course, accepted. + +But Lady Margaret was proud,--especially at the present time. "What a +romance this is, Mrs. Wortle," she said, "that has gone all through the +diocese!" The reader will remember that Lady Margaret was also the wife +of a clergyman. + +"You mean--the Peacockes?" + +"Of course I do." + +"He has gone away." + +"We all know that, of course;--to look for his wife's husband. Good +gracious me! What a story!" + +"They think that he is--dead now." + +"I suppose they thought so before," said Lady Margaret. + +"Of course they did." + +"Though it does seem that no inquiry was made at all. Perhaps they don't +care about those things over there as we do here. He couldn't have cared +very much,--nor she." + +"The Doctor thinks that they are very much to be pitied." + +"The Doctor always was a little Quixotic--eh?" + +"I don't think that at all, Lady Margaret." + +"I mean in the way of being so very good-natured and kind. Her brother +came;--didn't he?" + +"Her first husband's brother," said Mrs. Wortle, blushing. + +"Her first husband!" + +"Well;--you know what I mean, Lady Margaret." + +"Yes; I know what you mean. It is so very shocking; isn't it? And so the +two men have gone off together to look for the third. Goodness me;--what +a party they will be if they meet! Do you think they'll quarrel?" + +"I don't know, Lady Margaret." + +"And that he should be a clergyman of the Church of England! Isn't it +dreadful? What does the Bishop say? Has he heard all about it?" + +"The Bishop has nothing to do with it. Mr. Peacocke never held a curacy +in the diocese." + +"But he has preached here very often,--and has taken her to church with +him! I suppose the Bishop has been told?" + +"You may be sure that he knows it as well as you." + +"We are so anxious, you know, about dear little Gus." Dear little Gus +was Augustus Momson, the lady's nephew, who was supposed to be the +worst-behaved, and certainly the stupidest boy in the school. + +"Augustus will not be hurt, I should say." + +"Perhaps not directly. But my sister has, I know, very strong opinions on +such subjects. Now, I want to ask you one thing. Is it true +that--she--remains here?" + +"She is still living in the school-house." + +"Is that prudent, Mrs. Wortle?" + +"If you want to have an opinion on that subject, Lady Margaret, I would +recommend you to ask the Doctor." By which she meant to assert that Lady +Margaret would not, for the life of her, dare to ask the Doctor such a +question. "He has done what he has thought best." + +"Most good-natured, you mean, Mrs. Wortle." + +"I mean what I say, Lady Margaret. He has done what he has thought best, +looking at all the circumstances. He thinks that they are very worthy +people, and that they have been most cruelly ill-used. He has taken that +into consideration. You call it good-nature. Others perhaps may call +it--charity." The wife, though she at her heart deplored her husband's +action in the matter, was not going to own to another lady that he had +been imprudent. + +"I am sure I hope they will," said Lady Margaret. Then as she was taking +her leave, she made a suggestion. "Some of the boys will be taken away, I +suppose. The Doctor probably expects that." + +"I don't know what he expects," said Mrs. Wortle. "Some are always going, +and when they go, others come in their places. As for me, I wish he would +give the school up altogether." + +"Perhaps he means it," said Lady Margaret; "otherwise, perhaps he wouldn't +have been so good-natured." Then she took her departure. + +When her visitor was gone Mrs. Wortle was very unhappy. She had been +betrayed by her wrath into expressing that wish as to the giving up of the +school. She knew well that the Doctor had no such intention. She herself +had more than once suggested it in her timid way, but the Doctor had +treated her suggestions as being worth nothing. He had his ideas about +Mary, who was undoubtedly a very pretty girl. Mary might marry well, and +L20,000 would probably assist her in doing so. + +When he was told of Lady Margaret's hints, he said in his wrath that he +would send young Momson away instantly if a word was said to him by the +boy's mamma. "Of course," said he, "if the lad turns out a scapegrace, as +is like enough, it will be because Mrs. Peacocke had two husbands. It is +often a question to me whether the religion of the world is not more +odious than its want of religion." To this terrible suggestion poor Mrs. +Wortle did not dare to make any answer whatever. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE STANTILOUP CORRESPONDENCE. + +WE will now pass for a moment out of Bowick parish, and go over to +Buttercup. There, at Buttercup Hall, the squire's house, in the +drawing-room, were assembled Mrs. Momson, the squire's wife; Lady Margaret +Momson, the Rector's wife; Mrs. Rolland, the wife of the Bishop; and the +Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup. A party was staying in the house, collected for the +purpose of entertaining the Bishop; and it would perhaps not have been +possible to have got together in the diocese, four ladies more likely to +be hard upon our Doctor. For though Squire Momson was not very fond of +Mrs. Stantiloup, and had used strong language respecting her when he was +anxious to send his boy to the Doctor's school, Mrs. Momson had always +been of the other party, and had in fact adhered to Mrs. Stantiloup from +the beginning of the quarrel. "I do trust," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "that +there will be an end to all this kind of thing now." + +"Do you mean an end to the school?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"I do indeed. I always thought it matter of great regret that Augustus +should have been sent there, after the scandalous treatment that Bob +received." Bob was the little boy who had drank the champagne and +required the carriage exercise. + +"But I always heard that the school was quite popular," said Mrs. Rolland. + +"I think you'll find," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, "that there won't be +much left of its popularity now. Keeping that abominable woman under the +same roof with the boys! No master of a school that wasn't absolutely +blown up with pride, would have taken such people as those Peacockes +without making proper inquiry. And then to let him preach in the church! +I suppose Mr. Momson will allow you to send for Augustus at once?" This +she said turning to Mrs. Momson. + +"Mr. Momson thinks so much of the Doctor's scholarship," said the mother, +apologetically. "And we are so anxious that Gus should do well when he +goes to Eton." + +"What is Latin and Greek as compared to his soul?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"No, indeed," said Mrs. Rolland. She had found herself compelled, as wife +of the Bishop, to assent to the self-evident proposition which had been +made. She was a quiet, silent little woman, whom the Bishop had married +in the days of his earliest preferment, and who, though she was delighted +to find herself promoted to the society of the big people in the diocese, +had never quite lifted herself up into their sphere. Though she had her +ideas as to what it was to be a Bishop's wife, she had never yet been +quite able to act up to them. + +"I know that young Talbot is to leave," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "I wrote to +Mrs. Talbot immediately when all this occurred, and I've heard from her +cousin Lady Grogram that the boy is not to go back after the holidays." +This happened to be altogether untrue. What she probably meant was, that +the boy should not go back if she could prevent his doing so. + +"I feel quite sure," said Lady Margaret, "that Lady Anne will not allow +her boys to remain when she finds out what sort of inmates the Doctor +chooses to entertain." The Lady Anne spoken of was Lady Anne Clifford, +the widowed mother of two boys who were intrusted to the Doctor's care. + +"I do hope you'll be firm about Gus," said Mrs. Stantiloup to Mrs. Momson. +"If we're not to put down this kind of thing, what is the good of having +any morals in the country at all? We might just as well live like pagans, +and do without any marriage services, as they do in so many parts of the +United States." + +"I wonder what the Bishop does think about it?" asked Mrs. Momson of the +Bishop's wife. + +"It makes him very unhappy; I know that," said Mrs. Rolland. "Of course +he cannot interfere about the school. As for licensing the gentleman as a +curate, that was of course quite out of the question." + +At this moment Mr. Momson, the clergyman, and the Bishop came into the +room, and were offered, as is usual on such occasions, cold tea and the +remains of the buttered toast. The squire was not there. Had he been +with the other gentlemen, Mrs. Stantiloup, violent as she was, would +probably have held her tongue; but as he was absent, the opportunity was +not bad for attacking the Bishop on the subject under discussion. "We +were talking, my lord, about the Bowick school." + +Now the Bishop was a man who could be very confidential with one lady, but +was apt to be guarded when men are concerned. To any one of those present +he might have said what he thought, had no one else been there to hear. +That would have been the expression of a private opinion; but to speak +before the four would have been tantamount to a public declaration. + +"About the Bowick school?" said he; "I hope there is nothing going wrong +with the Bowick school." + +"You must have heard about Mr. Peacocke," said Lady Margaret. + +"Yes; I have certainly heard of Mr. Peacocke. He, I believe, has left Dr. +Wortle's seminary." + +"But she remains!" said Mrs. Stantiloup, with tragic energy. + +"So I understand;--in the house; but not as part of the establishment." + +"Does that make so much difference?" asked Lady Margaret. + +"It does make a very great difference," said Lady Margaret's husband, the +parson, wishing to help the Bishop in his difficulty. + +"I don't see it at all," said Mrs. Stantiloup. "The main spirit in the +matter is just as manifest whether the lady is or is not allowed to look +after the boys' linen. In fact, I despise him for making the pretence. +Her doing menial work about the house would injure no one. It is her +presence there,--the presence of a woman who has falsely pretended to be +married, when she knew very well that she had no husband." + +"When she knew that she had two," said Lady Margaret. + +"And fancy, Lady Margaret,--Lady Bracy absolutely asked her to go to +Carstairs! That woman was always infatuated about Dr. Wortle. What would +she have done if they had gone, and this other man had followed his +sister-in-law there. But Lord and Lady Bracy would ask any one to +Carstairs,--just any one that they could get hold of!" + +Mr. Momson was one whose obstinacy was wont to give way when sufficiently +attacked. Even he, after having been for two days subjected to the +eloquence of Mrs. Stantiloup, acknowledged that the Doctor took a great +deal too much upon himself. "He does it," said Mrs. Stantiloup, "just to +show that there is nothing that he can't bring parents to assent to. +Fancy,--a woman living there as house-keeper with a man as usher, +pretending to be husband and wife, when they knew all along that they were +not married!" + +Mr. Momson, who didn't care a straw about the morals of the man whose duty +it was to teach his little boy his Latin grammar, or the morals of the +woman who looked after his little boy's waistcoats and trousers, gave a +half-assenting grunt. "And you are to pay," continued Mrs. Stantiloup, +with considerable emphasis,--"you are to pay two hundred and fifty pounds +a-year for such conduct as that!" + +"Two hundred," suggested the squire, who cared as little for the money as +he did for the morals. + +"Two hundred and fifty,--every shilling of it, when you consider the +extras." + +"There are no extras, as far as I can see. But then my boy is strong and +healthy, thank God," said the squire, taking his opportunity of having one +fling at the lady. But while all this was going on, he did give a +half-assent that Gus should be taken away at midsummer, being partly moved +thereto by a letter from the Doctor, in which he was told that his boy was +not doing any good at the school. + +It was a week after that that Mrs. Stantiloup wrote the following letter +to her friend Lady Grogram, after she had returned home from Buttercup +Hall. Lady Grogram was a great friend of hers, and was first cousin to +that Mrs. Talbot who had a son at the school. Lady Grogram was an old +woman of strong mind but small means, who was supposed to be potential +over those connected with her. Mrs. Stantiloup feared that she could not +be efficacious herself, either with Mr. or Mrs. Talbot; but she hoped that +she might carry her purpose through Lady Grogram. It may be remembered +that she had declared at Buttercup Hall that young Talbot was not to go +back to Bowick. But this had been a figure of speech, as has been already +explained:-- + + +"MY DEAR LADY GROGRAM,--Since I got your last letter I have been staying +with the Momsons at Buttercup. It was awfully dull. He and she are, I +think, the stupidest people that ever I met. None of those Momsons have +an idea among them. They are just as heavy and inharmonious as their +name. Lady Margaret was one of the party. She would have been better, +only that our excellent Bishop was there too, and Lady Margaret thought it +well to show off all her graces before the Bishop and the Bishop's wife. +I never saw such a dowdy in all my life as Mrs. Rolland. He is all very +well, and looks at any rate like a gentleman. It was, I take it, that +which got him his diocese. They say the Queen saw him once, and was taken +by his manners. + +"But I did one good thing at Buttercup. I got Mr. Momson to promise that +that boy of his should not go back to Bowick. Dr. Wortle has become quite +intolerable. I think he is determined to show that whatever he does, +people shall put up with it. It is not only the most expensive +establishment of the kind in all England, but also the worst conducted. +You know, of course, how all this matter about that woman stands now. She +is remaining there at Bowick, absolutely living in the house, calling +herself Mrs. Peacocke, while the man she was living with has gone off with +her brother-in-law to look for her husband! Did you ever hear of such a +mess as that? + +"And the Doctor expects that fathers and mothers will still send their +boys to such a place as that? I am very much mistaken if he will not find +it altogether deserted before Christmas. Lord Carstairs is already gone." +[This was at any rate disingenuous, as she had been very severe when at +Buttercup on all the Carstairs family because of their declared and +perverse friendship for the Doctor.] "Mr. Momson, though he is quite +incapable of seeing the meaning of anything, has determined to take his +boy away. She may thank me at any rate for that. I have heard that Lady +Anne Clifford's two boys will both leave." [In one sense she had heard it, +because the suggestion had been made by herself at Buttercup.] "I do hope +that Mr. Talbot's dear little boy will not be allowed to return to such +contamination as that! Fancy,--the man and the woman living there in that +way together; and the Doctor keeping the woman on after he knew it all! +It is really so horrible that one doesn't know how to talk about it. When +the Bishop was at Buttercup I really felt almost obliged to be silent. + +"I know very well that Mrs. Talbot is always ready to take your advice. +As for him, men very often do not think so much about these things as they +ought. But he will not like his boy to be nearly the only one left at the +school. I have not heard of one who is to remain for certain. How can it +be possible that any boy who has a mother should be allowed to remain +there? + +"Do think of this, and do your best. I need not tell you that nothing +ought to be so dear to us as a high tone of morals.--Most sincerely yours, + +"JULIANA STANTILOUP." + + +We need not pursue this letter further than to say that when it reached +Mr. Talbot's hands, which it did through his wife, he spoke of Mrs. +Stantiloup in language which shocked his wife considerably, though she was +not altogether unaccustomed to strong language on his part. Mr. Talbot +and the Doctor had been at school together, and at Oxford, and were +friends. + +I will give now a letter that was written by the Doctor to Mr. Momson in +answer to one in which that gentleman signified his intention of taking +little Gus away from the school. + + +"MY DEAR MR. MOMSON,--After what you have said, of course I shall not +expect your boy back after the holidays. Tell his mamma, with my +compliments, that he shall take all his things home with him. As a rule I +do charge for a quarter in advance when a boy is taken away suddenly, +without notice, and apparently without cause. But I shall not do so at +the present moment either to you or to any parent who may withdraw his +son. A circumstance has happened which, though it cannot impair the +utility of my school, and ought not to injure its character, may still be +held as giving offence to certain persons. I will not be driven to alter +my conduct by what I believe to be foolish misconception on their part. +But they have a right to their own opinions, and I will not mulct them +because of their conscientious convictions.--Yours faithfully, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + +"If you come across any friend who has a boy here, you are perfectly at +liberty to show him or her this letter." + + +The defection of the Momsons wounded the Doctor, no doubt. He was aware +that Mrs. Stantiloup had been at Buttercup, and that the Bishop also had +been there--and he could put two and two together; but it hurt him to +think that one so "staunch" though so "stupid" as Mrs. Momson, should be +turned from her purpose by such a woman as Mrs. Stantiloup. And he got +other letters on the subject. Here is one from Lady Anne Clifford. + + +"DEAR DOCTOR,--You know how safe I think my dear boys are with you, and +how much obliged I am both to you and your wife for all your kindness. +But people are saying things to me about one of the masters at your school +and his wife. Is there any reason why I should be afraid? You will see +how thoroughly I trust you when I ask you the question.--Yours very +sincerely, + +"ANNE CLIFFORD." + + +Now Lady Anne Clifford was a sweet, confiding, affectionate, but not very +wise woman. In a letter, written not many days before to Mary Wortle, who +had on one occasion been staying with her, she said that she was at that +time in the same house with the Bishop and Mrs. Rolland. Of course the +Doctor knew again how to put two and two together. + +Then there came a letter from Mr. Talbot-- + + +"DEAR WORTLE,--So you are boiling for yourself another pot of hot water. +I never saw such a fellow as you are for troubles! Old Mother Shipton has +been writing such a letter to our old woman, and explaining that no boy's +soul would any longer be worth looking after if he be left in your hands. +Don't you go and get me into a scrape more than you can help; but you may +be quite sure of this that if I had as many sons as Priam I should send +them all to you;--only I think that the cheques would be very long in +coming.--Yours always, + +"JOHN TALBOT." + + +The Doctor answered this at greater length than he had done in writing to +Mr. Momson, who was not specially his friend. + + +"MY DEAR TALBOT,--You may be quite sure that I shall not repeat to any one +what you have told me of Mother Shipton. I knew, however, pretty well +what she was doing and what I had to expect from her. It is astonishing +to me that such a woman should still have the power of persuading any +one,--astonishing also that any human being should continue to hate as she +hates me. She has often tried to do me an injury, but she has never +succeeded yet. At any rate she will not bend me. Though my school should +be broken up to-morrow, which I do not think probable, I should still have +enough to live upon,--which is more, by all accounts, than her unfortunate +husband can say for himself. + +"The facts are these. More than twelve months ago I got an assistant +named Peacocke, a clergyman, an Oxford man, and formerly a Fellow of +Trinity;--a man quite superior to anything I have a right to expect in my +school. He had gone as a Classical Professor to a college in the United +States;--a rash thing to do, no doubt;--and had there married a widow, +which was rasher still. The lady came here with him and undertook the +charge of the school-house,--with a separate salary; and an admirable +person in the place she was. Then it turned out, as no doubt you have +heard, that her former husband was alive when they were married. They +ought probably to have separated, but they didn't. They came here +instead, and here they were followed by the brother of the husband,--who I +take it is now dead, though of that we know nothing certain. + +"That he should have told me his position is more than any man has a right +to expect from another. Fortune had been most unkind to him, and for her +sake he was bound to do the best that he could with himself. I cannot +bring myself to be angry with him, though I cannot defend him by strict +laws of right and wrong. I have advised him to go back to America and +find out if the man be in truth dead. If so, let him come back and marry +the woman again before all the world. I shall be ready to marry them and +to ask him and her to my house afterwards. + +"In the mean time what was to become of her? 'Let her go into lodgings,' +said the Bishop. Go to lodgings at Broughton! You know what sort of +lodgings she would get there among psalm-singing greengrocers who would +tell her of her misfortune every day of her life! I would not subject her +to the misery of going and seeking for a home. I told him, when I +persuaded him to go, that she should have the rooms they were then +occupying while he was away. In settling this, of course I had to make +arrangements for doing in our own establishment the work which had lately +fallen to her share. I mention this for the sake of explaining that she +has got nothing to do with the school. No doubt the boys are under the +same roof with her. Will your boy's morals be the worse? It seems that +Gustavus Momson's will. You know the father; do you not? I wonder +whether anything will ever affect his morals? + +"Now, I have told you everything. Not that I have doubted you; but, as +you have been told so much, I have thought it well that you should have +the whole story from myself. What effect it may have upon the school I do +not know. The only boy of whose secession I have yet heard is young +Momson. But probably there will be others. Four new boys were to have +come, but I have already heard from the father of one that he has changed +his mind. I think I can trace an acquaintance between him and Mother +Shipton. If the body of the school should leave me I will let you know at +once as you might not like to leave your boy under such circumstances. + +"You may be sure of this, that here the lady remains until her husband +returns. I am not going to be turned from my purpose at this time of day +by anything that Mother Shipton may say or do.--Yours always, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +END OF VOL. I. + + + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +A Novel. + +BY + +ANTHONY TROLLOPE. + +IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II. + + + + + + + +London: +Chapman and Hall, Limited, 193, Piccadilly. +1881. + +London: +R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers, +Bread Street Hill. + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. II. + + PART V. + + CHAPTER I. MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT + + CHAPTER II. 'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS' + + CHAPTER III. "'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING" + + CHAPTER IV. "IT IS IMPOSSIBLE" + + CHAPTER V. CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE + + CHAPTER VI. THE JOURNEY + + CHAPTER VII. "NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE" + + CHAPTER VIII. LORD BRACY'S LETTER + + CHAPTER IX. AT CHICAGO + + CONCLUSION. + + CHAPTER X. THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER + + CHAPTER XI. MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN + + CHAPTER XII. MARY'S SUCCESS + + + +DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. + +PART V. + +CHAPTER I. + +MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT. + +IT was not to be expected that the matter should be kept out of the county +newspaper, or even from those in the metropolis. There was too much of +romance in the story, too good a tale to be told, for any such hope. The +man's former life and the woman's, the disappearance of her husband and +his reappearance after his reported death, the departure of the couple +from St. Louis and the coming of Lefroy to Bowick, formed together a most +attractive subject. But it could not be told without reference to Dr. +Wortle's school, to Dr. Wortle's position as clergyman of the parish,--and +also to the fact which was considered by his enemies to be of all the +facts the most damning, that Mr. Peacocke had for a time been allowed to +preach in the parish church. The 'Broughton Gazette,' a newspaper which +was supposed to be altogether devoted to the interest of the diocese, was +very eloquent on this subject. "We do not desire," said the 'Broughton +Gazette,' "to make any remarks as to the management of Dr. Wortle's +school. We leave all that between him and the parents of the boys who are +educated there. We are perfectly aware that Dr. Wortle himself is a +scholar, and that his school has been deservedly successful. It is +advisable, no doubt, that in such an establishment none should be employed +whose lives are openly immoral;--but as we have said before, it is not our +purpose to insist upon this. Parents, if they feel themselves to be +aggrieved, can remedy the evil by withdrawing their sons. But when we +consider the great power which is placed in the hands of an incumbent of a +parish, that he is endowed as it were with the freehold of his pulpit, +that he may put up whom he will to preach the Gospel to his parishioners, +even in a certain degree in opposition to his bishop, we think that we do +no more than our duty in calling attention to such a case as this." Then +the whole story was told at great length, so as to give the "we" of the +'Broughton Gazette' a happy opportunity of making its leading article not +only much longer, but much more amusing, than usual. "We must say," +continued the writer, as he concluded his narrative, "that this man should +not have been allowed to preach in the Bowick pulpit. He is no doubt a +clergyman of the Church of England, and Dr. Wortle was within his rights +in asking for his assistance; but the incumbent of a parish is responsible +for those he employs, and that responsibility now rests on Dr. Wortle." + +There was a great deal in this that made the Doctor very angry,--so angry +that he did not know how to restrain himself. The matter had been argued +as though he had employed the clergyman in his church after he had known +the history. "For aught I know," he said to Mrs. Wortle, "any curate +coming to me might have three wives, all alive." + +"That would be most improbable," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"So was all this improbable,--just as improbable. Nothing could be more +improbable. Do we not all feel overcome with pity for the poor woman +because she encountered trouble that was so improbable? How much more +improbable was it that I should come across a clergyman who had +encountered such improbabilities." In answer to this Mrs. Wortle could +only shake her head, not at all understanding the purport of her husband's +argument. + +But what was said about his school hurt him more than what was said about +his church. In regard to his church he was impregnable. Not even the +Bishop could touch him,--or even annoy him much. But this +"penny-a-liner," as the Doctor indignantly called him, had attacked him in +his tenderest point. After declaring that he did not intend to meddle +with the school, he had gone on to point out that an immoral person had +been employed there, and had then invited all parents to take away their +sons. "He doesn't know what moral and immoral means," said the Doctor, +again pleading his own case to his own wife. "As far as I know, it would +be hard to find a man of a higher moral feeling than Mr. Peacocke, or a +woman than his wife." + +"I suppose they ought to have separated when it was found out," said Mrs. +Wortle. + +"No, no," he shouted; "I hold that they were right. He was right to cling +to her, and she was bound to obey him. Such a fellow as that,"--and he +crushed the paper up in his hand in his wrath, as though he were crushing +the editor himself,--"such a fellow as that knows nothing of morality, +nothing of honour, nothing of tenderness. What he did I would have done, +and I'll stick to him through it all in spite of the Bishop, in spite of +the newspapers, and in spite of all the rancour of all my enemies." Then +he got up and walked about the room in such a fury that his wife did not +dare to speak to him. Should he or should he not answer the newspaper? +That was a question which for the first two days after he had read the +article greatly perplexed him. He would have been very ready to advise +any other man what to do in such a case. "Never notice what may be +written about you in a newspaper," he would have said. Such is the advice +which a man always gives to his friend. But when the case comes to +himself he finds it sometimes almost impossible to follow it. "What's the +use? Who cares what the 'Broughton Gazette' says? let it pass, and it +will be forgotten in three days. If you stir the mud yourself, it will +hang about you for months. It is just what they want you to do. They +cannot go on by themselves, and so the subject dies away from them; but if +you write rejoinders they have a contributor working for them for nothing, +and one whose writing will be much more acceptable to their readers than +any that comes from their own anonymous scribes. It is very disagreeable +to be worried like a rat by a dog; but why should you go into the kennel +and unnecessarily put yourself in the way of it?" The Doctor had said +this more than once to clerical friends who were burning with indignation +at something that had been written about them. But now he was burning +himself, and could hardly keep his fingers from pen and ink. + +In this emergency he went to Mr. Puddicombe, not, as he said to himself, +for advice, but in order that he might hear what Mr. Puddicombe would have +to say about it. He did not like Mr. Puddicombe, but he believed in +him,--which was more than he quite did with the Bishop. Mr. Puddicombe +would tell him his true thoughts. Mr. Puddicombe would be unpleasant very +likely; but he would be sincere and friendly. So he went to Mr. +Puddicombe. "It seems to me," he said, "almost necessary that I should +answer such allegations as these for the sake of truth." + +"You are not responsible for the truth of the 'Broughton Gazette,"' said +Mr. Puddicombe. + +"But I am responsible to a certain degree that false reports shall not be +spread abroad as to what is done in my church." + +"You can contradict nothing that the newspaper has said." + +"It is implied," said the Doctor, "that I allowed Mr. Peacocke to preach +in my church after I knew his marriage was informal." + +"There is no such statement in the paragraph," said Mr. Puddicombe, after +attentive reperusal of the article. "The writer has written in a hurry, +as such writers generally do, but has made no statement such as you +presume. Were you to answer him, you could only do so by an elaborate +statement of the exact facts of the case. It can hardly be worth your +while, in defending yourself against the 'Broughton Gazette,' to tell the +whole story in public of Mr. Peacocke's life and fortunes." + +"You would pass it over altogether?" + +"Certainly I would." + +"And so acknowledge the truth of all that the newspaper says." + +"I do not know that the paper says anything untrue," said Mr. Puddicombe, +not looking the Doctor in the face, with his eyes turned to the ground, +but evidently with the determination to say what he thought, however +unpleasant it might be. "The fact is that you have fallen into +a--misfortune." + +"I don't acknowledge it at all," said the Doctor. + +"All your friends at any rate will think so, let the story be told as it +may. It was a misfortune that this lady whom you had taken into your +establishment should have proved not to be the gentleman's wife. When I +am taking a walk through the fields and get one of my feet deeper than +usual into the mud, I always endeavour to bear it as well as I may before +the eyes of those who meet me rather than make futile efforts to get rid +of the dirt and look as though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is +rubbed and smudged and scraped is more palpably dirt than the honest mud." + +"I will not admit that I am dirty at all," said the Doctor. + +"Nor do I, in the case which I describe. I admit nothing; but I let those +who see me form their own opinion. If any one asks me about my boot I +tell him that it is a matter of no consequence. I advise you to do the +same. You will only make the smudges more palpable if you write to the +'Broughton Gazette."' + +"Would you say nothing to the boys' parents?" asked the Doctor. + +"There, perhaps, I am not a judge, as I never kept a school;--but I think +not. If any father writes to you, then tell him the truth." + +If the matter had gone no farther than this, the Doctor might probably +have left Mr. Puddicombe's house with a sense of thankfulness for the +kindness rendered to him; but he did go farther, and endeavoured to +extract from his friend some sense of the injustice shown by the Bishop, +the Stantiloups, the newspaper, and his enemies in general through the +diocese. But here he failed signally. "I really think, Dr. Wortle, that +you could not have expected it otherwise." + +"Expect that people should lie?" + +"I don't know about lies. If people have told lies I have not seen them +or heard them. I don't think the Bishop has lied." + +"I don't mean the Bishop; though I do think that he has shown a great want +of what I may call liberality towards a clergyman in his diocese." + +"No doubt he thinks you have been wrong. By liberality you mean sympathy. +Why should you expect him to sympathise with your wrong-doing?" + +"What have I done wrong?" + +"You have countenanced immorality and deceit in a brother clergyman." + +"I deny it," said the Doctor, rising up impetuously from his chair. + +"Then I do not understand the position, Dr. Wortle. That is all I can +say." + +"To my thinking, Mr. Puddicombe, I never came across a better man than Mr. +Peacocke in my life." + +"I cannot make comparisons. As to the best man I ever met in my life I +might have to acknowledge that even he had done wrong in certain +circumstances. As the matter is forced upon me, I have to express my +opinion that a great sin was committed both by the man and by the woman. +You not only condone the sin, but declare both by your words and deeds +that you sympathise with the sin as well as with the sinners. You have no +right to expect that the Bishop will sympathise with you in that;--nor can +it be but that in such a country as this the voices of many will be loud +against you." + +"And yours as loud as any," said the Doctor, angrily. + +"That is unkind and unjust," said Mr. Puddicombe. "What I have said, I +have said to yourself, and not to others; and what I have said, I have +said in answer to questions asked by yourself." Then the Doctor apologised +with what grace he could. But when he left the house his heart was still +bitter against Mr. Puddicombe. + +He was almost ashamed of himself as he rode back to Bowick,--first, +because he had condescended to ask advice, and then because, after having +asked it, he had been so thoroughly scolded. There was no one whom Mr. +Puddicombe would admit to have been wrong in the matter except the Doctor +himself. And yet though he had been so counselled and so scolded, he had +found himself obliged to apologize before he left the house! And, too, he +had been made to understand that he had better not rush into print. +Though the 'Broughton Gazette' should come to the attack again and again, +he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicombe's dirty boot had +convinced him. He could see the thoroughly squalid look of the boot that +had been scraped in vain, and appreciate the wholesomeness of the +unadulterated mud. There was more in the man than he had ever +acknowledged before. There was a consistency in him, and a courage, and +an honesty of purpose. But there was no softness of heart. Had there +been a grain of tenderness there, he could not have spoken so often as he +had done of Mrs. Peacocke without expressing some grief at the unmerited +sorrows to which that poor lady had been subjected. + +His own heart melted with ruth as he thought, while riding home, of the +cruelty to which she had been and was subjected. She was all alone there, +waiting, waiting, waiting, till the dreary days should have gone by. And +if no good news should come, if Mr. Peacocke should return with tidings +that her husband was alive and well, what should she do then? What would +the world then have in store for her? "If it were me," said the Doctor to +himself, "I'd take her to some other home and treat her as my wife in +spite of all the Puddicombes in creation;--in spite of all the bishops." + +The Doctor, though he was a self-asserting and somewhat violent man, was +thoroughly soft-hearted. It is to be hoped that the reader has already +learned as much as that;--a man with a kind, tender, affectionate nature. +It would perhaps be unfair to raise a question whether he would have done +as much, been so willing to sacrifice himself, for a plain woman. Had Mr. +Stantiloup, or Sir Samuel Griffin if he had suddenly come again to life, +been found to have prior wives also living, would the Doctor have found +shelter for them in their ignominy and trouble? Mrs. Wortle, who knew her +husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done so. Mrs. +Peacocke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was a man who +thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was jealous would be +quite untrue. She liked to see her husband talking to a pretty woman, +because he would be sure to be in a good humour and sure to make the best +of himself. She loved to see him shine. But she almost wished that Mrs. +Peacocke had been ugly, because there would not then have been so much +danger about the school. + +"I'm just going up to see her," said the Doctor, as soon as he got +home,--"just to ask her what she wants." + +"I don't think she wants anything," said Mrs. Wortle, weakly. + +"Does she not? She must be a very odd woman if she can live there all day +alone, and not want to see a human creature." + +"I was with her yesterday." + +"And therefore I will call to-day," said the Doctor, leaving the room with +his hat on. + +When he was shown up into the sitting-room he found Mrs. Peacocke with a +newspaper in her hand. He could see at a glance that it was a copy of the +'Broughton Gazette,' and could see also the length and outward show of the +very article which he had been discussing with Mr. Puddicombe. "Dr. +Wortle," she said, "if you don't mind, I will go away from this." + +"But I do mind. Why should you go away?" + +"They have been writing about me in the newspapers." + +"That was to be expected." + +"But they have been writing about you." + +"That was to have been expected also. You don't suppose they can hurt +me?" This was a false boast, but in such conversations he was almost +bound to boast. + +"It is I, then, am hurting you?" + +"You;--oh dear, no; not in the least." + +"But I do. They talk of boys going away from the school." + +"Boys will go and boys will come, but we run on for ever," said the +Doctor, playfully. + +"I can well understand that it should be so," said Mrs. Peacocke, passing +over the Doctor's parody as though unnoticed; "and I perceive that I ought +not to be here." + +"Where ought you to be, then?" said he, intending simply to carry on his +joke. + +"Where indeed! There is no where. But wherever I may do least injury to +innocent people,--to people who have not been driven by storms out of the +common path of life. For this place I am peculiarly unfit." + +"Will you find any place where you will be made more welcome?" + +"I think not." + +"Then let me manage the rest. You have been reading that dastardly +article in the paper. It will have no effect upon me. Look here, Mrs. +Peacocke;"--then he got up and held her hand as though he were going, but +he remained some moments while he was still speaking to her,--still +holding her hand;--"it was settled between your husband and me, when he +went away, that you should remain here under my charge till his return. I +am bound to him to find a home for you. I think you are as much bound to +obey him,--which you can only do by remaining here." + +"I would wish to obey him, certainly." + +"You ought to do so,--from the peculiar circumstances more especially. +Don't trouble your mind about the school, but do as he desired. There is +no question but that you must do so. Good-bye. Mrs. Wortle or I will +come and see you to-morrow." Then, and not till then, he dropped her +hand. + +On the next day Mrs. Wortle did call, though these visits were to her an +intolerable nuisance. But it was certainly better that she should +alternate the visits with the Doctor than that he should go every day. +The Doctor had declared that charity required that one of them should see +the poor woman daily. He was quite willing that they should perform the +task day and day about,--but should his wife omit the duty he must go in +his wife's place. What would all the world of Bowick say if the Doctor +were to visit a lady, a young and a beautiful lady, every day, whereas his +wife visited the lady not at all? Therefore they took it turn about, +except that sometimes the Doctor accompanied his wife. The Doctor had +once suggested that his wife should take the poor lady out in her +carriage. But against this even Mrs. Wortle had rebelled. "Under such +circumstances as hers she ought not to be seen driving about," said Mrs. +Wortle. The Doctor had submitted to this, but still thought that the +world of Bowick was very cruel. + +Mrs. Wortle, though she made no complaint, thought that she was used +cruelly in the matter. There had been an intention of going into Brittany +during these summer holidays. The little tour had been almost promised. +But the affairs of Mrs. Peacocke were of such a nature as not to allow the +Doctor to be absent. "You and Mary can go, and Henry will go with you." +Henry was a bachelor brother of Mrs. Wortle, who was always very much at +the Doctor's disposal, and at hers. But certainly she was not going to +quit England, not going to quit home at all, while her husband remained +there, and while Mrs. Peacocke was an inmate of the school. It was not +that she was jealous. The idea was absurd. But she knew very well what +Mrs. Stantiloup would say. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +'EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS.' + +BUT there arose a trouble greater than that occasioned by the 'Broughton +Gazette.' There came out an article in a London weekly newspaper, called +'Everybody's Business,' which nearly drove the Doctor mad. This was on +the last Saturday of the holidays. The holidays had been commenced in the +middle of July, and went on till the end of August. Things had not gone +well at Bowick during these weeks. The parents of all the four +newly-expected boys had--changed their minds. One father had discovered +that he could not afford it. Another declared that the mother could not +be got to part with her darling quite so soon as he had expected. A third +had found that a private tutor at home would best suit his purposes. +While the fourth boldly said that he did not like to send his boy because +of the "fuss" which had been made about Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. Had this +last come alone, the Doctor would probably have resented such a +communication; but following the others as it did, he preferred the fourth +man to any of the other three. "Miserable cowards," he said to himself, +as he docketed the letters and put them away. But the greatest blow of +all,--of all blows of this sort,--came to him from poor Lady Anne +Clifford. She wrote a piteous letter to him, in which she implored him to +allow her to take her two boys away. + +"My dear Doctor Wortle," she said, "so many people have been telling so +many dreadful things about this horrible affair, that I do not dare to +send my darling boys back to Bowick again. Uncle Clifford and Lord Robert +both say that I should be very wrong. The Marchioness has said so much +about it that I dare not go against her. You know what my own feelings +are about you and dear Mrs. Wortle; but I am not my own mistress. They +all tell me that it is my first duty to think about the dear boys' +welfare; and of course that is true. I hope you won't be very angry with +me, and will write one line to say that you forgive me.--Yours most +sincerely, + +"ANNE CLIFFORD." + + +In answer to this the Doctor did write as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR LADY ANNE,--Of course your duty is very plain,--to do what you +think best for the boys; and it is natural enough that you should follow +the advice of your relatives and theirs.--Faithfully yours, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +He could not bring himself to write in a more friendly tone, or to tell +her that he forgave her. His sympathies were not with her. His +sympathies at the present moment were only with Mrs. Peacocke. But then +Lady Anne Clifford was not a beautiful woman, as was Mrs. Peacocke. + +This was a great blow. Two other boys had also been summoned away, making +five in all, whose premature departure was owing altogether to the +virulent tongue of that wretched old Mother Shipton. And there had been +four who were to come in the place of four others, who, in the course of +nature, were going to carry on their more advanced studies elsewhere. +Vacancies such as these had always been pre-occupied long beforehand by +ambitious parents. These very four places had been pre-occupied, but now +they were all vacant. There would be nine empty beds in the school when +it met again after the holidays; and the Doctor well understood that nine +beds remaining empty would soon cause others to be emptied. It is success +that creates success, and decay that produces decay. Gradual decay he +knew that he could not endure. He must shut up his school,--give up his +employment,--and retire altogether from the activity of life. He felt +that if it came to this with him he must in very truth turn his face to +the wall and die. Would it,--would it really come to that, that Mrs. +Stantiloup should have altogether conquered him in the combat that had +sprung up between them? + +But yet he would not give up Mrs. Peacocke. Indeed, circumstanced as he +was, he could not give her up. He had promised not only her, but her +absent husband, that until his return there should be a home for her in +the school-house. There would be a cowardice in going back from his word +which was altogether foreign to his nature. He could not bring himself to +retire from the fight, even though by doing so he might save himself from +the actual final slaughter which seemed to be imminent. He thought only +of making fresh attacks upon his enemy, instead of meditating flight from +those which were made upon him. As a dog, when another dog has got him +well by the ear, thinks not at all of his own wound, but only how he may +catch his enemy by the lip, so was the Doctor in regard to Mrs. +Stantiloup. When the two Clifford boys were taken away, he took some joy +to himself in remembering that Mr. Stantiloup could not pay his butcher's +bill. + +Then, just at the end of the holidays, some good-natured friend sent to +him a copy of 'Everybody's Business.' There is no duty which a man owes to +himself more clearly than that of throwing into the waste-paper basket, +unsearched and even unopened, all newspapers sent to him without a +previously-declared purpose. The sender has either written something +himself which he wishes to force you to read, or else he has been desirous +of wounding you by some ill-natured criticism upon yourself. 'Everybody's +Business' was a paper which, in the natural course of things, did not find +its way into the Bowick Rectory; and the Doctor, though he was no doubt +acquainted with the title, had never even looked at its columns. It was +the purpose of the periodical to amuse its readers, as its name declared, +with the private affairs of their neighbours. It went boldly about its +work, excusing itself by the assertion that Jones was just as well +inclined to be talked about as Smith was to hear whatever could be said +about Jones. As both parties were served, what could be the objection? +It was in the main good-natured, and probably did most frequently gratify +the Joneses, while it afforded considerable amusement to the listless and +numerous Smiths of the world. If you can't read and understand Jones's +speech in Parliament, you may at any rate have mind enough to interest +yourself with the fact that he never composed a word of it in his own room +without a ring on his finger and a flower in his button-hole. It may also +be agreeable to know that Walker the poet always takes a mutton-chop and +two glasses of sherry at half-past one. 'Everybody's Business' did this +for everybody to whom such excitement was agreeable. But in managing +everybody's business in that fashion, let a writer be as good-natured as +he may and let the principle be ever so well-founded that nobody is to be +hurt, still there are dangers. It is not always easy to know what will +hurt and what will not. And then sometimes there will come a temptation +to be, not spiteful, but specially amusing. There must be danger, and a +writer will sometimes be indiscreet. Personalities will lead to libels +even when the libeller has been most innocent. It may be that after all +the poor poet never drank a glass of sherry before dinner in his life,--it +may be that a little toast-and-water, even with his dinner, gives him all +the refreshment that he wants, and that two glasses of alcoholic mixture +in the middle of the day shall seem, when imputed to him, to convey a +charge of downright inebriety. But the writer has perhaps learned to +regard two glasses of meridian wine as but a moderate amount of +sustentation. This man is much flattered if it be given to be understood +of him that he falls in love with every pretty woman that he +sees;--whereas another will think that he has been made subject to a foul +calumny by such insinuation. + +'Everybody's Business' fell into some such mistake as this, in that very +amusing article which was written for the delectation of its readers in +reference to Dr. Wortle and Mrs. Peacocke. The 'Broughton Gazette' no +doubt confined itself to the clerical and highly moral views of the case, +and, having dealt with the subject chiefly on behalf of the Close and the +admirers of the Close, had made no allusion to the fact that Mrs. Peacocke +was a very pretty woman. One or two other local papers had been more +scurrilous, and had, with ambiguous and timid words, alluded to the +Doctor's personal admiration for the lady. These, or the rumours created +by them, had reached one of the funniest and lightest-handed of the +contributors to 'Everybody's Business,' and he had concocted an amusing +article,--which he had not intended to be at all libellous, which he had +thought to be only funny. He had not appreciated, probably, the tragedy +of the lady's position, or the sanctity of that of the gentleman. There +was comedy in the idea of the Doctor having sent one husband away to +America to look after the other while he consoled the wife in England. +"It must be admitted," said the writer, "that the Doctor has the best of +it. While one gentleman is gouging the other,--as cannot but be +expected,--the Doctor will be at any rate in security, enjoying the smiles +of beauty under his own fig-tree at Bowick. After a hot morning with +'_tupto_' in the school, there will be 'amo' in the cool of the evening." +And this was absolutely sent to him by some good-natured friend! + +The funny writer obtained a popularity wider probably than he had +expected. His words reached Mrs. Stantiloup, as well as the Doctor, and +were read even in the Bishop's palace. They were quoted even in the +'Broughton Gazette,' not with approbation, but in a high tone of moral +severity. "See the nature of the language to which Dr. Wortle's conduct +has subjected the whole of the diocese!" That was the tone of the +criticism made by the 'Broughton Gazette' on the article in 'Everybody's +Business.' "What else has he a right to expect?" said Mrs. Stantiloup to +Mrs. Rolland, having made quite a journey into Broughton for the sake of +discussing it at the palace. There she explained it all to Mrs. Rolland, +having herself studied the passage so as fully to appreciate the virus +contained in it. "He passes all the morning in the school whipping the +boys himself because he has sent Mr. Peacocke away, and then amuses +himself in the evening by making love to Mr. Peacocke's wife, as he calls +her." Dr. Wortle, when he read and re-read the article, and when the jokes +which were made upon it reached his ears, as they were sure to do, was +nearly maddened by what he called the heartless iniquity of the world; but +his state became still worse when he received an affectionate but solemn +letter from the Bishop warning him of his danger. An affectionate letter +from a bishop must surely be the most disagreeable missive which a parish +clergyman can receive. Affection from one man to another is not natural +in letters. A bishop never writes affectionately unless he means to +reprove severely. When he calls a clergyman his "dear brother in Christ," +he is sure to go on to show that the man so called is altogether unworthy +of the name. So it was with a letter now received at Bowick, in which the +Bishop expressed his opinion that Dr. Wortle ought not to pay any further +visits to Mrs. Peacocke till she should have settled herself down with one +legitimate husband, let that legitimate husband be who it might. The +Bishop did not indeed, at first, make reference by name to 'Everybody's +Business,' but he stated that the "metropolitan press" had taken up the +matter, and that scandal would take place in the diocese if further cause +were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said the Bishop, "but men +must know that we are so." + +Then there came a sharp and pressing correspondence between the Bishop and +the Doctor, which lasted four or five days. The Doctor, without referring +to any other portion of the Bishop's letter, demanded to know to what +"metropolitan newspaper" the Bishop had alluded, as, if any such paper had +spread scandalous imputations as to him, the Doctor, respecting the lady +in question, it would be his, the Doctor's, duty to proceed against that +newspaper for libel. In answer to this the Bishop, in a note much shorter +and much less affectionate than his former letter, said that he did not +wish to name any metropolitan newspaper. But the Doctor would not, of +course, put up with such an answer as this. He wrote very solemnly now, +if not affectionately. "His lordship had spoken of 'scandal in the +diocese.' The words," said the Doctor, "contained a most grave charge. He +did not mean to say that any such accusation had been made by the Bishop +himself; but such accusation must have been made by some one at least of +the London newspapers or the Bishop would not have been justified in what +he has written. Under such circumstances he, Dr. Wortle, thought himself +entitled to demand from the Bishop the name of the newspaper in question, +and the date on which the article had appeared." + +In answer to this there came no written reply, but a copy of the +'Everybody's Business' which the Doctor had already seen. He had, no +doubt, known from the first that it was the funny paragraph about +'_tupto_' and "amo" to which the Bishop had referred. But in the serious +steps which he now intended to take, he was determined to have positive +proof from the hands of the Bishop himself. The Bishop had not directed +the pernicious newspaper with his own hands, but if called upon, could not +deny that it had been sent from the palace by his orders. Having received +it, the Doctor wrote back at once as follows;-- + + +"RIGHT REVEREND AND DEAR LORD,--Any word coming from your lordship to me +is of grave importance, as should, I think, be all words coming from a +bishop to his clergy; and they are of special importance when containing a +reproof, whether deserved or undeserved. The scurrilous and vulgar attack +made upon me in the newspaper which your lordship has sent to me would not +have been worthy of my serious notice had it not been made worthy by your +lordship as being the ground on which such a letter was written to me as +that of your lordship's of the 12th instant. Now it has been invested +with so much solemnity by your lordship's notice of it that I feel myself +obliged to defend myself against it by public action. + +"If I have given just cause of scandal to the diocese I will retire both +from my living and from my school. But before doing so I will endeavour +to prove that I have done neither. This I can only do by publishing in a +court of law all the circumstances in reference to my connection with Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke. As regards myself, this, though necessary, will be +very painful. As regards them, I am inclined to think that the more the +truth is known, the more general and the more generous will be the +sympathy felt for their position. + +"As the newspaper sent to me, no doubt by your lordship's orders, from the +palace, has been accompanied by no letter, it may be necessary that your +lordship should be troubled by a subpoena, so as to prove that the +newspaper alluded to by your lordship is the one against which my +proceedings will be taken. It will be necessary, of course, that I should +show that the libel in question has been deemed important enough to bring +down upon me ecclesiastical rebuke of such a nature as to make my +remaining in the diocese unbearable,--unless it is shown that that rebuke +was undeserved." + + +There was consternation in the palace when this was received. So +stiffnecked a man, so obstinate, so unclerical,--so determined to make +much of little! The Bishop had felt himself bound to warn a clergyman +that, for the sake of the Church, he could not do altogether as other men +might. No doubt certain ladies had got around him,--especially Lady +Margaret Momson,--filling his ears with the horrors of the Doctor's +proceedings. The gentleman who had written the article about the Greek +and the Latin words had seen the truth of the thing at once,--so said Lady +Margaret. The Doctor had condoned the offence committed by the Peacockes +because the woman had been beautiful, and was repaying himself for his +mercy by basking in her loveliness. There was no saying that there was +not some truth in this? Mrs. Wortle herself entertained a feeling of the +same kind. It was palpable, on the face of it, to all except Dr. Wortle +himself,--and to Mrs. Peacocke. Mrs. Stantiloup, who had made her way +into the palace, was quite convincing on this point. Everybody knew, she +said, that the Doctor went across, and saw the lady all alone, every day. +Everybody did not know that. If everybody had been accurate, everybody +would have asserted that he did this thing every other day. But the +matter, as it was represented to the Bishop by the ladies, with the +assistance of one or two clergymen in the Close, certainly seemed to +justify his lordship's interference. + +But this that was threatened was very terrible. There was a determination +about the Doctor which made it clear to the Bishop that he would be as bad +as he said. When he, the Bishop, had spoken of scandal, of course he had +not intended to say that the Doctor's conduct was scandalous; nor had he +said anything of the kind. He had used the word in its proper sense,--and +had declared that offence would be created in the minds of people unless +an injurious report were stopped. "It is not enough to be innocent," he +had said, "but men must know that we are so." He had declared in that his +belief in Dr. Wortle's innocence. But yet there might, no doubt, be an +action for libel against the newspaper. And when damages came to be +considered, much weight would be placed naturally on the attention which +the Bishop had paid to the article. The result of this was that the +Bishop invited the Doctor to come and spend a night with him in the +palace. + +The Doctor went, reaching the palace only just before dinner. During +dinner and in the drawing-room Dr. Wortle made himself very pleasant. He +was a man who could always be soft and gentle in a drawing-room. To see +him talking with Mrs. Rolland and the Bishop's daughters, you would not +have thought that there was anything wrong with him. The discussion with +the Bishop came after that, and lasted till midnight. "It will be for the +disadvantage of the diocese that this matter should be dragged into +Court,--and for the disadvantage of the Church in general that a clergyman +should seem to seek such redress against his bishop." So said the Bishop. + +But the Doctor was obdurate. "I seek no redress," he said, "against my +bishop. I seek redress against a newspaper which has calumniated me. It +is your good opinion, my lord,--your good opinion or your ill opinion +which is the breath of my nostrils. I have to refer to you in order that +I may show that this paper, which I should otherwise have despised, has +been strong enough to influence that opinion." + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"'AMO' IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING." + +THE Doctor went up to London, and was told by his lawyers that an action +for damages probably would lie. "'Amo' in the cool of the evening," +certainly meant making love. There could be no doubt that allusion was +made to Mrs. Peacocke. To accuse a clergyman of a parish, and a +schoolmaster, of making love to a lady so circumstanced as Mrs. Peacocke, +no doubt was libellous. Presuming that the libel could not be justified, +he would probably succeed. "Justified!" said the Doctor, almost +shrieking, to his lawyers; "I never said a word to the lady in my life +except in pure kindness and charity. Every word might have been heard by +all the world." Nevertheless, had all the world been present, he would +not have held her hand so tenderly or so long as he had done on a certain +occasion which has been mentioned. + +"They will probably apologise," said the lawyer. + +"Shall I be bound to accept their apology?" + +"No; not bound; but you would have to show, if you went on with the +action, that the damage complained of was of so grievous a nature that the +apology would not salve it." + +"The damage has been already done," said the Doctor, eagerly. "I have +received the Bishop's rebuke,--a rebuke in which he has said that I have +brought scandal upon the diocese." + +"Rebukes break no bones," said the lawyer. "Can you show that it will +serve to prevent boys from coming to your school?" + +"It may not improbably force me to give up the living. I certainly will +not remain there subject to the censure of the Bishop. I do not in truth +want any damages. I would not accept money. I only want to set myself +right before the world." It was then agreed that the necessary +communication should be made by the lawyer to the newspaper proprietors, +so as to put the matter in a proper train for the action. + +After this the Doctor returned home, just in time to open his school with +his diminished forces. At the last moment there was another defaulter, so +that there were now no more than twenty pupils. The school had not been +so low as this for the last fifteen years. There had never been less than +eight-and-twenty before, since Mrs. Stantiloup had first begun her +campaign. It was heartbreaking to him. He felt as though he were almost +ashamed to go into his own school. In directing his housekeeper to send +the diminished orders to the tradesmen he was thoroughly ashamed of +himself; in giving his directions to the usher as to the re-divided +classes he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He wished that there was no +school, and would have been contented now to give it all up, and to +confine Mary's fortune to L10,000 instead of L20,000, had it not been that +he could not bear to confess that he was beaten. The boys themselves +seemed almost to carry their tails between their legs, as though even they +were ashamed of their own school. If, as was too probable, another +half-dozen should go at Christmas, then the thing must be abandoned. And +how could he go on as rector of the parish with the abominable empty +building staring him in the face every moment of his life. + +"I hope you are not really going to law," said his wife to him. + +"I must, my dear. I have no other way of defending my honour." + +"Go to law with the Bishop?" + +"No, not with the Bishop." + +"But the Bishop would be brought into it?" + +"Yes; he will certainly be brought into it." + +"And as an enemy. What I mean is, that he will be brought in very much +against his own will." + +"Not a doubt about it," said the Doctor. "But he will have brought it +altogether upon himself. How he can have condescended to send that +scurrilous newspaper is more than I can understand. That one gentleman +should have so treated another is to me incomprehensible. But that a +bishop should have done so to a clergyman of his own diocese shakes all my +old convictions. There is a vulgarity about it, a meanness of thinking, +an aptitude to suspect all manner of evil, which I cannot fathom. What! +did he really think that I was making love to the woman; did he doubt that +I was treating her and her husband with kindness, as one human being is +bound to treat another in affliction; did he believe, in his heart, that I +sent the man away in order that I might have an opportunity for a wicked +purpose of my own? It is impossible. When I think of myself and of him, +I cannot believe it. That woman who has succeeded at last in stirring up +all this evil against me,--even she could not believe it. Her malice is +sufficient to make her conduct intelligible;--but there is no malice in +the Bishop's mind against me. He would infinitely sooner live with me on +pleasant terms if he could justify his doing so to his conscience. He has +been stirred to do this in the execution of some presumed duty. I do not +accuse him of malice. But I do accuse him of a meanness of intellect +lower than what I could have presumed to have been possible in a man so +placed. I never thought him clever; I never thought him great; I never +thought him even to be a gentleman, in the fullest sense of the word; but +I did think he was a man. This is the performance of a creature not +worthy to be called so." + +"Oh, Jeffrey, he did not believe all that." + +"What did he believe? When he read that article, did he see in it a true +rebuke against a hypocrite, or did he see in it a scurrilous attack upon a +brother clergyman, a neighbour, and a friend? If the latter, he certainly +would not have been instigated by it to write to me such a letter as he +did. He certainly would not have sent the paper to me had he felt it to +contain a foul-mouthed calumny." + +"He wanted you to know what people of that sort were saying." + +"Yes; he wanted me to know that, and he wanted me to know also that the +knowledge had come to me from my bishop. I should have thought evil of +any one who had sent me the vile ribaldry. But coming from him, it fills +me with despair." + +"Despair!" she said, repeating his word. + +"Yes; despair as to the condition of the Church when I see a man capable +of such meanness holding so high place. '"Amo" in the cool of the +evening!' That words such as those should have been sent to me by the +Bishop, as showing what the 'metropolitan press' of the day was saying +about my conduct! Of course, my action will be against him,--against the +Bishop. I shall be bound to expose his conduct. What else can I do? +There are things which a man cannot bear and live. Were I to put up with +this I must leave the school, leave the parish;--nay, leave the country. +There is a stain upon me which I must wash out, or I cannot remain here." + +"No, no, no," said his wife, embracing him. + +"'"Amo" in the cool of the evening!' And that when, as God is my judge +above me, I have done my best to relieve what has seemed to me the +unmerited sorrows of two poor sufferers! Had it come from Mrs. +Stantiloup, it would, of course, have been nothing. I could have +understood that her malice should have condescended to anything, however +low. But from the Bishop!" + +"How will you be the worse? Who will know?" + +"I know it," said he, striking his breast. "I know it. The wound is +here. Do you think that when a coarse libel is welcomed in the Bishop's +palace, and treated there as true, that it will not be spread abroad among +other houses? When the Bishop has thought it necessary to send it me, +what will other people do,--others who are not bound to be just and +righteous in their dealings with me as he is? '"Amo" in the cool of the +evening!'" Then he seized his hat and rushed out into the garden. + +The gentleman who had written the paragraph certainly had had no idea that +his words would have been thus effectual. The little joke had seemed to +him to be good enough to fill a paragraph, and it had gone from him +without further thought. Of the Doctor or of the lady he had conceived no +idea whatsoever. Somebody else had said somewhere that a clergyman had +sent a lady's reputed husband away to look for another husband, while he +and the lady remained together. The joke had not been much of a joke, but +it had been enough. It had gone forth, and had now brought the whole +palace of Broughton into grief, and had nearly driven our excellent Doctor +mad! "'Amo' in the cool of the evening!" The words stuck to him like the +shirt of Nessus, lacerating his very spirit. That words such as those +should have been sent to him in a solemn sober spirit by the bishop of his +diocese! It never occurred to him that he had, in truth, been imprudent +when paying his visits alone to Mrs. Peacocke. + +It was late in the evening, and he wandered away up through the green +rides of a wood the borders of which came down to the glebe fields. He +had been boiling over with indignation while talking to his wife. But as +soon as he was alone he endeavoured,--purposely endeavoured to rid himself +for a while of his wrath. This matter was so important to him that he +knew well that it behoved him to look at it all round in a spirit other +than that of anger. He had talked of giving up his school, and giving up +his parish, and had really for a time almost persuaded himself that he +must do so unless he could induce the Bishop publicly to withdraw the +censure which he felt to have been expressed against him. + +And then what would his life be afterwards? His parish and his school had +not been only sources of income to him. The duty also had been dear, and +had been performed on the whole with conscientious energy. Was everything +to be thrown up, and his whole life hereafter be made a blank to him, +because the Bishop had been unjust and injudicious? He could see that it +well might be so, if he were to carry this contest on. He knew his own +temper well enough to be sure that, as he fought, he would grow hotter in +the fight, and that when he was once in the midst of it nothing would be +possible to him but absolute triumph or absolute annihilation. If once he +should succeed in getting the Bishop into court as a witness, either the +Bishop must be crushed or he himself. The Bishop must be got to say why +he had sent that low ribaldry to a clergyman in his parish. He must be +asked whether he had himself believed it, or whether he had not believed +it. He must be made to say that there existed no slightest reason for +believing the insinuation contained; and then, having confessed so much, +he must be asked why he had sent that letter to Bowick parsonage. If it +were false as well as ribald, slanderous as well as vulgar, malicious as +well as mean, was the sending of it a mode of communication between a +bishop and a clergyman of which he as a bishop could approve? Questions +such as these must be asked him; and the Doctor, as he walked alone, +arranging these questions within his own bosom, putting them into the +strongest language which he could find, almost assured himself that the +Bishop would be crushed in answering them. The Bishop had made a great +mistake. So the Doctor assured himself. He had been entrapped by bad +advisers, and had fallen into a pit. He had gone wrong, and had lost +himself. When cross-questioned, as the Doctor suggested to himself that +he should be cross-questioned, the Bishop would have to own all this;--and +then he would be crushed. + +But did he really want to crush the Bishop? Had this man been so bitter +an enemy to him that, having him on the hip, he wanted to strike him down +altogether? In describing the man's character to his wife, as he had done +in the fury of his indignation, he had acquitted the man of malice. He +was sure now, in his calmer moments, that the man had not intended to do +him harm. If it were left in the Bishop's bosom, his parish, his school, +and his character would all be made safe to him. He was sure of that. +There was none of the spirit of Mrs. Stantiloup in the feeling that had +prevailed at the palace. The Bishop, who had never yet been able to be +masterful over him, had desired in a mild way to become masterful. He had +liked the opportunity of writing that affectionate letter. That reference +to the "metropolitan press" had slipt from him unawares; and then, when +badgered for his authority, when driven to give an instance from the +London newspapers, he had sent the objectionable periodical. He had, in +point of fact, made a mistake;--a stupid, foolish mistake, into which a +really well-bred man would hardly have fallen. "Ought I to take advantage +of it?" said the Doctor to himself when he had wandered for an hour or +more alone through the wood. He certainly did not wish to be crushed +himself. Ought he to be anxious to crush the Bishop because of this +error? + +"As for the paper," he said to himself, walking quicker as his mind turned +to this side of the subject,--"as for the paper itself, it is beneath my +notice. What is it to me what such a publication, or even the readers of +it, may think of me? As for damages, I would rather starve than soil my +hands with their money. Though it should succeed in ruining me, I could +not accept redress in that shape." And thus having thought the matter +fully over, he returned home, still wrathful, but with mitigated wrath. + +A Saturday was fixed on which he should again go up to London to see the +lawyer. He was obliged now to be particular about his days, as, in the +absence of Mr. Peacocke, the school required his time. Saturday was a +half-holiday, and on that day he could be absent on condition of remitting +the classical lessons in the morning. As he thought of it all he began to +be almost tired of Mr. Peacocke. Nevertheless, on the Saturday morning, +before he started, he called on Mrs. Peacocke,--in company with his +wife,--and treated her with all his usual cordial kindness. "Mrs. +Wortle," he said, "is going up to town with me; but we shall be home +to-night, and we will see you on Monday if not to-morrow." Mrs. Wortle was +going with him, not with the view of being present at his interview with +the lawyer, which she knew would not be allowed, but on the pretext of +shopping. Her real reason for making the request to be taken up to town +was, that she might use the last moment possible in mitigating her +husband's wrath against the Bishop. + +"I have seen one of the proprietors and the editor," said the lawyer, "and +they are quite willing to apologise. I really do believe they are very +sorry. The words had been allowed to pass without being weighed. Nothing +beyond an innocent joke was intended." + +"I dare say. It seems innocent enough to them. If soot be thrown at a +chimney-sweeper the joke is innocent, but very offensive when it is thrown +at you." + +"They are quite aware that you have ground to complain. Of course you can +go on if you like. The fact that they have offered to apologise will no +doubt be a point in their favour. Nevertheless you would probably get a +verdict." + +"We could bring the Bishop into court?" + +"I think so. You have got his letter speaking of the 'metropolitan +press'?" + +"Oh yes." + +"It is for you to think, Dr. Wortle, whether there would not be a feeling +against you among clergymen." + +"Of course there will. Men in authority always have public sympathy with +them in this country. No man more rejoices that it should be so than I +do. But not the less is it necessary that now and again a man shall make +a stand in his own defence. He should never have sent me that paper." + +"Here," said the lawyer, "is the apology they propose to insert if you +approve of it. They will also pay my bill,--which, however, will not, I +am sorry to say, be very heavy." Then the lawyer handed to the Doctor a +slip of paper, on which the following words were written;-- + +"Our attention has been called to a notice which was made in our +impression of the -- ultimo on the conduct of a clergyman in the diocese +of Broughton. A joke was perpetrated which, we are sorry to find, has +given offence where certainly no offence was intended. We have since +heard all the details of the case to which reference was made, and are +able to say that the conduct of the clergyman in question has deserved +neither censure nor ridicule. Actuated by the purest charity he has +proved himself a sincere friend to persons in great trouble." + +"They'll put in your name if you wish it," said the lawyer, "or alter it +in any way you like, so that they be not made to eat too much dirt." + +"I do not want them to alter it," said the Doctor, sitting thoughtfully. +"Their eating dirt will do no good to me. They are nothing to me. It is +the Bishop." Then, as though he were not thinking of what he did, he tore +the paper and threw the fragments down on the floor. "They are nothing to +me." + +"You will not accept their apology?" said the lawyer. + +"Oh yes;--or rather, it is unnecessary. You may tell them that I have +changed my mind, and that I will ask for no apology. As far as the paper +is concerned, it will be better to let the thing die a natural death. I +should never have troubled myself about the newspaper if the Bishop had +not sent it to me. Indeed I had seen it before the Bishop sent it, and +thought little or nothing of it. Animals will after their kind. The wasp +stings, and the polecat stinks, and the lion tears its prey asunder. Such +a paper as that of course follows its own bent. One would have thought +that a bishop would have done the same." + +"I may tell them that the action is withdrawn." + +"Certainly; certainly. Tell them also that they will oblige me by putting +in no apology. And as for your bill, I would prefer to pay it myself. I +will exercise no anger against them. It is not they who in truth have +injured me." As he returned home he was not altogether happy, feeling that +the Bishop would escape him; but he made his wife happy by telling her the +decision to which he had come. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +"IT IS IMPOSSIBLE." + +THE absence of Dr. and Mrs. Wortle was peculiarly unfortunate on that +afternoon, as a visitor rode over from a distance to make a call,--a +visitor whom they both would have been very glad to welcome, but of whose +coming Mrs. Wortle was not so delighted to hear when she was told by Mary +that he had spent two or three hours at the Rectory. Mrs. Wortle began to +think whether the visitor could have known of her intended absence and the +Doctor's. That Mary had not known that the visitor was coming she was +quite certain. Indeed she did not really suspect the visitor, who was one +too ingenuous in his nature to preconcert so subtle and so wicked a +scheme. The visitor, of course, had been Lord Carstairs. + +"Was he here long?" asked Mrs. Wortle anxiously. + +"Two or three hours, mamma. He rode over from Buttercup where he is +staying, for a cricket match, and of course I got him some lunch." + +"I should hope so," said the Doctor. "But I didn't think that Carstairs +was so fond of the Momson lot as all that." + +Mrs. Wortle at once doubted the declared purpose of this visit to +Buttercup. Buttercup was more than half-way between Carstairs and Bowick. + +"And then we had a game of lawn-tennis. Talbot and Monk came through to +make up sides." So much Mary told at once, but she did not tell more +till she was alone with her mother. + +Young Carstairs had certainly not come over on the sly, as we may call it, +but nevertheless there had been a project in his mind, and fortune had +favoured him. He was now about nineteen, and had been treated for the +last twelve months almost as though he had been a man. It had seemed to +him that there was no possible reason why he should not fall in love as +well as another. Nothing more sweet, nothing more lovely, nothing more +lovable than Mary Wortle had he ever seen. He had almost made up his mind +to speak on two or three occasions before he left Bowick; but either his +courage or the occasion had failed him. Once, as he was walking home with +her from church, he had said one word;--but it had amounted to nothing. +She had escaped from him before she was bound to understand what he meant. +He did not for a moment suppose that she had understood anything. He was +only too much afraid that she regarded him as a mere boy. But when he had +been away from Bowick two months he resolved that he would not be regarded +as a mere boy any longer. Therefore he took an opportunity of going to +Buttercup, which he certainly would not have done for the sake of the +Momsons or for the sake of the cricket. + +He ate his lunch before he said a word, and then, with but poor grace, +submitted to the lawn-tennis with Talbot and Monk. Even to his youthful +mind it seemed that Talbot and Monk were brought in on purpose. They were +both of them boys he had liked, but he hated them now. However, he played +his game, and when that was over, managed to get rid of them, sending them +back through the gate to the school-ground. + +"I think I must say good-bye now," said Mary, "because there are ever so +many things in the house which I have got to do." + +"I am going almost immediately," said the young lord. + +"Papa will be so sorry not to have seen you." This had been said once or +twice before. + +"I came over," he said, "on purpose to see you." + +They were now standing on the middle of the lawn, and Mary had assumed a +look which intended to signify that she expected him to go. He knew the +place well enough to get his own horse, or to order the groom to get it +for him. But instead of that, he stood his ground, and now declared his +purpose. + +"To see me, Lord Carstairs!" + +"Yes, Miss Wortle. And if the Doctor had been here, or your mother, I +should have told them." + +"Have told them what?" she asked. She knew; she felt sure that she knew; +and yet she could not refrain from the question. + +"I have come here to ask if you can love me." + +It was a most decided way of declaring his purpose, and one which made +Mary feel that a great difficulty was at once thrown upon her. She really +did not know whether she could love him or not. Why shouldn't she have +been able to love him? Was it not natural enough that she should be able? +But she knew that she ought not to love him, whether able or not. There +were various reasons which were apparent enough to her though it might be +very difficult to make him see them. He was little more than a boy, and +had not yet finished his education. His father and mother would not +expect him to fall in love, at any rate till he had taken his degree. And +they certainly would not expect him to fall in love with the daughter of +his tutor. She had an idea that, circumstanced as she was, she was bound +by loyalty both to her own father and to the lad's father not to be able +to love him. She thought that she would find it easy enough to say that +she did not love him; but that was not the question. As for being able to +love him,--she could not answer that at all. + +"Lord Carstairs," she said, severely, "you ought not to have come here +when papa and mamma are away." + +"I didn't know they were away. I expected to find them here." + +"But they ain't. And you ought to go away." + +"Is that all you can say to me?" + +"I think it is. You know you oughtn't to talk to me like that. Your own +papa and mamma would be angry if they knew it." + +"Why should they be angry? Do you think that I shall not tell them?" + +"I am sure they would disapprove it altogether," said Mary. "In fact it +is all nonsense, and you really must go away." + +Then she made a decided attempt to enter the house by the drawing-room +window, which opened out on a gravel terrace. + +But he stopped her, standing boldly by the window. "I think you ought to +give me an answer, Mary," he said. + +"I have; and I cannot say anything more. You must let me go in." + +"If they say that it's all right at Carstairs, then will you love me?" + +"They won't say that it's all right; and papa won't think that it's right. +It's very wrong. You haven't been to Oxford yet, and you'll have to +remain there for three years. I think it's very ill-natured of you to +come and talk to me like this. Of course it means nothing. You are only +a boy, but yet you ought to know better." + +"It does mean something. It means a great deal. As for being a boy, I am +older than you are, and have quite as much right to know my own mind." + +Hereupon she took advantage of some little movement in his position, and, +tripping by him hastily, made good her escape into the house. Young +Carstairs, perceiving that his occasion for the present was over, went +into the yard and got upon his horse. He was by no means contented with +what he had done, but still he thought that he must have made her +understand his purpose. + +Mary, when she found herself safe within her own room, could not refrain +from asking herself the question which her lover had asked her. "Could +she love him?" She didn't see any reason why she couldn't love him. It +would be very nice, she thought, to love him. He was sweet-tempered, +handsome, bright, and thoroughly good-humoured; and then his position in +the world was very high. Not for a moment did she tell herself that she +would love him. She did not understand all the differences in the world's +ranks quite as well as did her father, but still she felt that because of +his rank,--because of his rank and his youth combined,--she ought not to +allow herself to love him. There was no reason why the son of a peer +should not marry the daughter of a clergyman. The peer and the clergyman +might be equally gentlemen. But young Carstairs had been there in trust. +Lord Bracy had sent him there to be taught Latin and Greek, and had a +right to expect that he should not be encouraged to fall in love with his +tutor's daughter. It was not that she did not think herself good enough +to be loved by any young lord, but that she was too good to bring trouble +on the people who had trusted her father. Her father would despise her +were he to hear that she had encouraged the lad, or as some might say, had +entangled him. She did not know whether she should not have spoken to +Lord Carstairs more decidedly. But she could, at any rate, comfort +herself with the assurance that she had given him no encouragement. Of +course she must tell it all to her mother, but in doing so could declare +positively that she had given the young man no encouragement. + +"It was very unfortunate that Lord Carstairs should have come just when I +was away," said Mrs. Wortle to her daughter as soon as they were alone +together. + +"Yes, mamma; it was." + +"And so odd. I haven't been away from home any day all the summer +before." + +"He expected to find you." + +"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to say!" + +"Yes, mamma." + +"He had? What was it, my dear?" + +"I was very much surprised, mamma, but I couldn't help it. He asked +me----" + +"Asked you what, Mary?" + +"Oh, mamma!" Here she knelt down and hid her face in her mother's lap. + +"Oh, my dear, this is very bad;--very bad indeed." + +"It needn't be bad for you, mamma; or for papa." + +"Is it bad for you, my child?" + +"No, mamma; except of course that I am sorry that it should be so." + +"What did you say to him?" + +"Of course I told him that it was impossible. He is only a boy, and I +told him so." + +"You made him no promise." + +"No, mamma; no! A promise! Oh dear no! Of course it is impossible. I +knew that. I never dreamed of anything of the kind; but he said it all +there out on the lawn." + +"Had he come on purpose?" + +"Yes;--so he said. I think he had. But he will go to Oxford, and will of +course forget it." + +"He is such a nice boy," said Mrs. Wortle, who, in all her anxiety, could +not but like the lad the better for having fallen in love with her +daughter. + +"Yes, mamma; he is. I always liked him. But this is quite out of the +question. What would his papa and mamma say?" + +"It would be very dreadful to have a quarrel, wouldn't it,--and just at +present, when there are so many things to trouble your papa." Though Mrs. +Wortle was quite honest and true in the feeling she had expressed as to +the young lord's visit, yet she was alive to the glory of having a young +lord for her son-in-law. + +"Of course it is out of the question, mamma. It has never occurred to me +for a moment as otherwise. He has got to go to Oxford and take his degree +before he thinks of such a thing. I shall be quite an old woman by that +time, and he will have forgotten me. You may be sure, mamma, that +whatever I did say to him was quite plain. I wish you could have been +here and heard it all, and seen it all." + +"My darling," said the mother, embracing her, "I could not believe you +more thoroughly even though I saw it all, and heard it all." + +That night Mrs. Wortle felt herself constrained to tell the whole story to +her husband. It was indeed impossible for her to keep any secret from her +husband. When Mary, in her younger years, had torn her frock or cut her +finger, that was always told to the Doctor. If a gardener was seen idling +his time, or a housemaid flirting with the groom, that certainly would be +told to the Doctor. What comfort does a woman get out of her husband +unless she may be allowed to talk to him about everything? When it had +been first proposed that Lord Carstairs should come into the house as a +private pupil she had expressed her fear to the Doctor,--because of Mary. +The Doctor had ridiculed her fears, and this had been the result. Of +course she must tell the Doctor. "Oh, dear," she said, "what do you think +has happened while we were up in London?" + +"Carstairs was here." + +"Oh, yes; he was here. He came on purpose to make a regular declaration +of love to Mary." + +"Nonsense." + +"But he did, Jeffrey." + +"How do you know he came on purpose." + +"He told her so." + +"I did not think the boy had so much spirit in him," said the Doctor. +This was a way of looking at it which Mrs. Wortle had not expected. Her +husband seemed rather to approve than otherwise of what had been done. At +any rate, he had expressed none of that loud horror which she had +expected. "Nevertheless," continued the Doctor, "he's a stupid fool for +his pains." + +"I don't know that he is a fool," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Yes; he is. He is not yet twenty, and he has all Oxford before him. How +did Mary behave?" + +"Like an angel," said Mary's mother. + +"That's of course. You and I are bound to believe so. But what did she +do, and what did she say?" + +"She told him that it was simply impossible." + +"So it is,--I'm afraid. She at any rate was bound to give him no +encouragement." + +"She gave him none. She feels quite strongly that it is altogether +impossible. What would Lord Bracy say?" + +"If Carstairs were but three or four years older," said the Doctor, +proudly, "Lord Bracy would have much to be thankful for in the attachment +on the part of his son, if it were met by a return of affection on the +part of my daughter. What better could he want?" + +"But he is only a boy," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; that's where it is. And Mary was quite right to tell him that it is +impossible. It is impossible. And I trust, for her sake, that his words +have not touched her young heart." + +"Oh, no," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Had it been otherwise how could we have been angry with the child?" + +Now this did seem to the mother to be very much in contradiction to that +which the Doctor had himself said when she had whispered to him that Lord +Carstairs's coming might be dangerous. "I was afraid of it, as you know," +said she. + +"His character has altered during the last twelve months." + +"I suppose when boys grow into men it is so with them." + +"Not so quickly," said the Doctor. "A boy when he leaves Eton is not +generally thinking of these things." + +"A boy at Eton is not thrown into such society," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"I suppose his being here and seeing Mary every day has done it. Poor +Mary!" + +"I don't think she is poor at all," said Mary's mother. + +"I am afraid she must not dream of her young lover." + +"Of course she will not dream of him. She has never entertained any idea +of the kind. There never was a girl with less nonsense of that kind than +Mary. When Lord Carstairs spoke to her to-day I do not suppose she had +thought about him more than any other boy that has been here." + +"But she will think now." + +"No;--not in the least. She knows it is impossible." + +"Nevertheless she will think about it. And so will you." + +"I!" + +"Yes,--why not? Why should you be different from other mothers? Why +should I not think about it as other fathers might do? It is impossible. +I wish it were not. For Mary's sake, I wish he were three or four years +older. But he is as he is, and we know that it is impossible. +Nevertheless, it is natural that she should think about him. I only hope +that she will not think about him too much." So saying he closed the +conversation for that night. + +Mary did not think very much about "it" in such a way as to create +disappointment. She at once realised the impossibilities, so far as to +perceive that the young lord was the top brick of the chimney as far as +she was concerned. The top brick of the chimney may be very desirable, +but one doesn't cry for it, because it is unattainable. Therefore Mary +did not in truth think of loving her young lover. He had been to her a +very nice boy; and so he was still; that;--that, and nothing more. Then +had come this little episode in her life which seemed to lend it a gentle +tinge of romance. But had she inquired of her bosom she would have +declared that she had not been in love. With her mother there was perhaps +something of regret. But it was exactly the regret which may be felt in +reference to the top brick. It would have been so sweet had it been +possible; but then it was so evidently impossible. + +With the Doctor the feeling was somewhat different. It was not quite so +manifest to him that this special brick was altogether unattainable, nor +even that it was quite at the top of the chimney. There was no reason why +his daughter should not marry an earl's son and heir. No doubt the lad +had been confided to him in trust. No doubt it would have been his duty +to have prevented anything of the kind, had anything of the kind seemed to +him to be probable. Had there been any moment in which the duty had +seemed to him to be a duty, he would have done it, even though it had been +necessary to caution the Earl to take his son away from Bowick. But there +had been nothing of the kind. He had acted in the simplicity of his +heart, and this had been the result. Of course it was impossible. He +acknowledged to himself that it was so, because of the necessity of those +Oxford studies and those long years which would be required for the taking +of the degree. But to his thinking there was no other ground for saying +that it was impossible. The thing must stand as it was. If this youth +should show himself to be more constant than other youths,--which was not +probable,--and if, at the end of three or four years, Mary should not have +given her heart to any other lover,--which was also improbable,--why, +then, it might come to pass that he should some day find himself +father-in-law to the future Earl Bracy. Though Mary did not think of it, +nor Mrs. Wortle, he thought of it,--so as to give an additional interest +to these disturbed days. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE PALACE. + +THE possible glory of Mary's future career did not deter the Doctor from +thinking of his troubles,--and especially that trouble with the Bishop +which was at present heavy on his hand. He had determined not to go on +with his action, and had so resolved because he had felt, in his more +sober moments, that in bringing the Bishop to disgrace, he would be as a +bird soiling its own nest. It was that conviction, and not any idea as to +the sufficiency or insufficiency, as to the truth or falsehood, of the +editor's apology, which had actuated him. As he had said to his lawyer, +he did not in the least care for the newspaper people. He could not +condescend to be angry with them. The abominable joke as to the two verbs +was altogether in their line. As coming from them, they were no more to +him than the ribald words of boys which he might hear in the street. The +offence to him had come from the Bishop,--and he resolved to spare the +Bishop because of the Church. But yet something must be done. He could +not leave the man to triumph over him. If nothing further were done in +the matter, the Bishop would have triumphed over him. As he could not +bring himself to expose the Bishop, he must see whether he could not reach +the man by means of his own power of words;--so he wrote as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR LORD,--I have to own that this letter is written with feelings +which have been very much lacerated by what your lordship has done. I +must tell you, in the first place, that I have abandoned my intention of +bringing an action against the proprietors of the scurrilous newspaper +which your lordship sent me, because I am unwilling to bring to public +notice the fact of a quarrel between a clergyman of the Church of England +and his Bishop. I think that, whatever may be the difficulty between us, +it should be arranged without bringing down upon either of us adverse +criticism from the public press. I trust your lordship will appreciate my +feeling in this matter. Nothing less strong could have induced me to +abandon what seems to be the most certain means by which I could obtain +redress. + +"I had seen the paper which your lordship sent to me before it came to me +from the palace. The scurrilous, unsavoury, and vulgar words which it +contained did not matter to me much. I have lived long enough to know +that, let a man's own garments be as clean as they may be, he cannot hope +to walk through the world without rubbing against those who are dirty. It +was only when those words came to me from your lordship,--when I found +that the expressions which I found in that paper were those to which your +lordship had before alluded as being criticisms on my conduct in the +metropolitan press,--criticisms so grave as to make your lordship think it +necessary to admonish me respecting them,--it was only then, I say, that I +considered them to be worthy of my notice. When your lordship, in +admonishing me, found it necessary to refer me to the metropolitan press, +and to caution me to look to my conduct because the metropolitan press had +expressed its dissatisfaction, it was, I submit to you, natural for me to +ask you where I should find that criticism which had so strongly affected +your lordship's judgment. There are perhaps half a score of newspapers +published in London whose animadversions I, as a clergyman, might have +reason to respect,--even if I did not fear them. Was I not justified in +thinking that at least some two or three of these had dealt with my +conduct, when your lordship held the metropolitan press _in terrorem_ over +my head? I applied to your lordship for the names of these newspapers, +and your lordship, when pressed for a reply, sent to me--that copy of +'Everybody's Business.' + +"I ask your lordship to ask yourself whether, so far, I have overstated +anything. Did not that paper come to me as the only sample you were able +to send me of criticism made on my conduct in the metropolitan press? No +doubt my conduct was handled there in very severe terms. No doubt the +insinuations, if true,--or if of such kind as to be worthy of credit with +your lordship, whether true or false,--were severe, plain-spoken, and +damning. The language was so abominable, so vulgar, so nauseous, that I +will not trust myself to repeat it. Your lordship, probably, when sending +me one copy, kept another. Now, I must ask your lordship,--and I must beg +of your lordship for a reply,--whether the periodical itself has such a +character as to justify your lordship in founding a complaint against a +clergyman on its unproved statements, and also whether the facts of the +case, as they were known to you, were not such as to make your lordship +well aware that the insinuations were false. Before these ribald words +were printed, your lordship had heard all the facts of the case from my +own lips. Your lordship had known me and my character for, I think, a +dozen years. You know the character that I bear among others as a +clergyman, a schoolmaster, and a gentleman. You have been aware how great +is the friendship I have felt for the unfortunate gentleman whose career +is in question, and for the lady who bears his name. When you read those +abominable words did they induce your lordship to believe that I had been +guilty of the inexpressible treachery of making love to the poor lady +whose misfortunes I was endeavouring to relieve, and of doing so almost in +my wife's presence? + +"I defy you to have believed them. Men are various, and their minds work +in different ways,--but the same causes will produce the same effects. +You have known too much of me to have thought it possible that I should +have done as I was accused. I should hold a man to be no less than mad +who could so have believed, knowing as much as your lordship knew. Then +how am I to reconcile to my idea of your lordship's character the fact +that you should have sent me that paper? What am I to think of the +process going on in your lordship's mind when your lordship could have +brought yourself to use a narrative which you must have known to be false, +made in a newspaper which you knew to be scurrilous, as the ground for a +solemn admonition to a clergyman of my age and standing? You wrote to me, +as is evident from the tone and context of your lordship's letter, because +you found that the metropolitan press had denounced my conduct. And this +was the proof you sent to me that such had been the case! + +"It occurred to me at once that, as the paper in question had vilely +slandered me, I could redress myself by an action of law, and that I could +prove the magnitude of the evil done me by showing the grave importance +which your lordship had attached to the words. In this way I could have +forced an answer from your lordship to the questions which I now put to +you. Your lordship would have been required to state on oath whether you +believed those insinuations or not; and, if so, why you believed them. On +grounds which I have already explained I have thought it improper to do +so. Having abandoned that course, I am unable to force any answer from +your lordship. But I appeal to your sense of honour and justice whether +you should not answer my questions;--and I also ask from your lordship an +ample apology, if, on consideration, you shall feel that you have done me +an undeserved injury.--I have the honour to be, my lord, your lordship's +most obedient, very humble servant, + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +He was rather proud of this letter as he read it to himself, and yet a +little afraid of it, feeling that he had addressed his Bishop in very +strong language. It might be that the Bishop should send him no answer at +all, or some curt note from his chaplain in which it would be explained +that the tone of the letter precluded the Bishop from answering it. What +should he do then? It was not, he thought, improbable, that the curt note +from the chaplain would be all that he might receive. He let the letter +lie by him for four-and-twenty hours after he had composed it, and then +determined that not to send it would be cowardly. He sent it, and then +occupied himself for an hour or two in meditating the sort of letter he +would write to the Bishop when that curt reply had come from the chaplain. + +That further letter must be one which must make all amicable intercourse +between him and the Bishop impossible. And it must be so written as to be +fit to meet the public eye if he should be ever driven by the Bishop's +conduct to put it in print. A great wrong had been done him;--a great +wrong! The Bishop had been induced by influences which should have had no +power over him to use his episcopal rod and to smite him,--him Dr. Wortle! +He would certainly show the Bishop that he should have considered +beforehand whom he was about to smite. "'Amo' in the cool of the +evening!" And that given as an expression of opinion from the metropolitan +press in general! He had spared the Bishop as far as that action was +concerned, but he would not spare him should he be driven to further +measures by further injustice. In this way he lashed himself again into a +rage. Whenever those odious words occurred to him he was almost mad with +anger against the Bishop. + +When the letter had been two days sent, so that he might have had a reply +had a reply come to him by return of post, he put a copy of it into his +pocket and rode off to call on Mr. Puddicombe. He had thought of showing +it to Mr. Puddicombe before he sent it, but his mind had revolted from +such submission to the judgment of another. Mr. Puddicombe would no doubt +have advised him not to send it, and then he would have been almost +compelled to submit to such advice. But the letter was gone now. The +Bishop had read it, and no doubt re-read it two or three times. But he +was anxious that some other clergyman should see it,--that some other +clergyman should tell him that, even if inexpedient, it had still been +justified. Mr. Puddicombe had been made acquainted with the former +circumstances of the affair; and now, with his mind full of his own +injuries, he went again to Mr. Puddicombe. + +"It is just the sort of letter that you would write, as a matter of +course," said Mr. Puddicombe. + +"Then I hope that you think it is a good letter?" + +"Good as being expressive, and good also as being true, I do think it." + +"But not good as being wise?" + +"Had I been in your case I should have thought it unnecessary. But you +are self-demonstrative, and cannot control your feelings." + +"I do not quite understand you." + +"What did it all matter? The Bishop did a foolish thing in talking of the +metropolitan press. But he had only meant to put you on your guard." + +"I do not choose to be put on my guard in that way," said the Doctor. + +"No; exactly. And he should have known you better than to suppose you +would bear it. Then you pressed him, and he found himself compelled to +send you that stupid newspaper. Of course he had made a mistake. But +don't you think that the world goes easier when mistakes are forgiven?" + +"I did forgive it, as far as foregoing the action." + +"That, I think, was a matter of course. If you had succeeded in putting +the poor Bishop into a witness-box you would have had every sensible +clergyman in England against you. You felt that yourself." + +"Not quite that," said the Doctor. + +"Something very near it; and therefore you withdrew. But you cannot get +the sense of the injury out of your mind, and, therefore, you have +persecuted the Bishop with that letter." + +"Persecuted?" + +"He will think so. And so should I, had it been addressed to me. As I +said before, all your arguments are true,--only I think you have made so +much more of the matter than was necessary! He ought not to have sent you +that newspaper, nor ought he to have talked about the metropolitan press. +But he did you no harm; nor had he wished to do you harm;--and perhaps it +might have been as well to pass it over." + +"Could you have done so?" + +"I cannot imagine myself in such a position. I could not, at any rate, +have written such a letter as that, even if I would; and should have been +afraid to write it if I could. I value peace and quiet too greatly to +quarrel with my bishop,--unless, indeed, he should attempt to impose upon +my conscience. There was nothing of that kind here. I think I should +have seen that he had made a mistake, and have passed it over." + +The Doctor, as he rode home, was, on the whole, better pleased with his +visit than he had expected to be. He had been told that his letter was +argumentative and true, and that in itself had been much. + +At the end of the week he received a reply from the Bishop, and found that +it was not, at any rate, written by the chaplain. + + +"MY DEAR DR. WORTLE," said the reply; "your letter has pained me +exceedingly, because I find that I have caused you a degree of annoyance +which I am certainly very sorry I have inflicted. When I wrote to you in +my letter,--which I certainly did not intend as an admonition,--about the +metropolitan press, I only meant to tell you, for your own information, +that the newspapers were making reference to your affair with Mr. +Peacocke. I doubt whether I knew anything of the nature of 'Everybody's +Business.' I am not sure even whether I had ever actually read the words +to which you object so strongly. At any rate, they had had no weight with +me. If I had read them,--which I probably did very cursorily,--they did +not rest on my mind at all when I wrote to you. My object was to caution +you, not at all as to your own conduct, but as to others who were speaking +evil of you. + +"As to the action of which you spoke so strongly when I had the pleasure +of seeing you here, I am very glad that you abandoned it, for your own +sake and for mine, and the sake of all us generally to whom the peace of +the Church is dear. + +"As to the nature of the language in which you have found yourself +compelled to write to me, I must remind you that it is unusual as coming +from a clergyman to a bishop. I am, however, ready to admit that the +circumstances of the case were unusual, and I can understand that you +should have felt the matter severely. Under these circumstances, I trust +that the affair may now be allowed to rest without any breach of those +kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours very +faithfully, + +"C. BROUGHTON." + + +"It is a beastly letter," the Doctor said to himself, when he had read it, +"a beastly letter;" and then he put it away without saying any more about +it to himself or to any one else. It had appeared to him to be a "beastly +letter," because it had exactly the effect which the Bishop had intended. +It did not eat "humble pie;" it did not give him the full satisfaction of +a complete apology; and yet it left no room for a further rejoinder. It +had declared that no censure had been intended, and expressed sorrow that +annoyance had been caused. But yet to the Doctor's thinking it was an +unmanly letter. "Not intended as an admonition!" Then why had the Bishop +written in that severely affectionate and episcopal style? He had +intended it as an admonition, and the excuse was false. So thought the +Doctor, and comprised all his criticism in the one epithet given above. +After that he put the letter away, and determined to think no more about +it. + +"Will you come in and see Mrs. Peacocke after lunch?" the Doctor said to +his wife the next morning. They paid their visit together; and after +that, when the Doctor called on the lady, he was generally accompanied by +Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by 'Everybody's Business,' and its +abominations. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE JOURNEY. + +WE will now follow Mr. Peacocke for a while upon his journey. He began +his close connection with Robert Lefroy by paying the man's bill at the +inn before he left Broughton, and after that found himself called upon to +defray every trifle of expense incurred as they went along. Lefroy was +very anxious to stay for a week in town. It would, no doubt, have been +two weeks or a month had his companion given way;--but on this matter a +line of conduct had been fixed by Mr. Peacocke in conjunction with the +Doctor from which he never departed. "If you will not be guided by me, I +will go without you," Mr. Peacocke had said, "and leave you to follow your +own devices on your own resources." + +"And what can you do by yourself?" + +"Most probably I shall be able to learn all that I want to learn. It may +be that I shall fail to learn anything either with you or without you. I +am willing to make the attempt with you if you will come along at +once;--but I will not be delayed for a single day. I shall go whether you +go or stay." Then Lefroy had yielded, and had agreed to be put on board a +German steamer starting from Southampton to New York. + +But an hour or two before the steamer started he made a revelation. "This +is all gammon, Peacocke," he said, when on board. + +"What is all gammon?" + +"My taking you across to the States." + +"Why is it gammon?" + +"Because Ferdinand died more than a year since;--almost immediately after +you took her off." + +"Why did you not tell me that at Bowick?" + +"Because you were so uncommon uncivil. Was it likely I should have told +you that when you cut up so uncommon rough?" + +"An honest man would have told me the very moment that he saw me." + +"When one's poor brother has died, one does not blurt it like that all at +once." + +"Your poor brother!" + +"Why not my poor brother as well as anybody else's? And her husband too! +How was I to let it out in that sort of way? At any rate he is dead as +Julius Caesar. I saw him buried,--right away at 'Frisco." + +"Did he go to San Francisco?" + +"Yes,--we both went there right away from St. Louis. When we got up to +St. Louis we were on our way with them other fellows. Nobody meant to +disturb you; but Ferdy got drunk, and would go and have a spree, as he +called it." + +"A spree, indeed!" + +"But we were off by train to Kansas at five o'clock the next morning. The +devil wouldn't keep him sober, and he died of D.T. the day after we got +him to 'Frisco. So there's the truth of it, and you needn't go to New +York at all. Hand me the dollars. I'll be off to the States; and you can +go back and marry the widow,--or leave her alone, just as you please." + +They were down below when this story was told, sitting on their +portmanteaus in the little cabin in which they were to sleep. The +prospect of the journey certainly had no attraction for Mr. Peacocke. His +companion was most distasteful to him; the ship was abominable; the +expense was most severe. How glad would he avoid it all if it were +possible! "You know it all as well as if you were there," said Robert, +"and were standing on his grave." He did believe it. The man in all +probability had at the last moment told the true story. Why not go back +and be married again? The Doctor could be got to believe it. + +But then if it were not true? It was only for a moment that he doubted. +"I must go to 'Frisco all the same," he said. + +"Why so?" + +"Because I must in truth stand upon his grave. I must have proof that he +has been buried there." + +"Then you may go by yourself," said Robert Lefroy. He had said this more +than once or twice already, and had been made to change his tone. He +could go or stay as he pleased, but no money would be paid to him until +Peacocke had in his possession positive proof of Ferdinand Lefroy's death. +So the two made their unpleasant journey to New York together. There was +complaining on the way, even as to the amount of liquor that should be +allowed. Peacocke would pay for nothing that he did not himself order. +Lefroy had some small funds of his own, and was frequently drunk while on +board. There were many troubles; but still they did at last reach New +York. + +Then there was a great question whether they would go on direct from +thence to San Francisco, or delay themselves three or four days by going +round by St. Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and on that +account Peacocke was almost resolved to take tickets direct through for +San Francisco. Why should Lefroy wish to go to St. Louis? But then, if +the story were altogether false, some truth might be learned at St. Louis; +and it was at last decided that thither they would go. As they went on +from town to town, changing carriages first at one place and then at +another, Lefroy's manner became worse and worse, and his language more and +more threatening. Peacocke was asked whether he thought a man was to be +brought all that distance without being paid for his time. "You will be +paid when you have performed your part of the bargain," said Peacocke. + +"I'll see some part of the money at St. Louis," said Lefroy, "or I'll know +the reason why. A thousand dollars! What are a thousand dollars? Hand +out the money." This was said as they were sitting together in a corner or +separated portion of the smoking-room of a little hotel at which they were +waiting for a steamer which was to take them down the Mississippi to St. +Louis. Peacocke looked round and saw that they were alone. + +"I shall hand out nothing till I see your brother's grave," said Peacocke. + +"You won't?" + +"Not a dollar! What is the good of your going on like that? You ought to +know me well enough by this time." + +"But you do not know me well enough. You must have taken me for a very +tame sort o' critter." + +"Perhaps I have." + +"Maybe you'll change your mind." + +"Perhaps I shall. It is quite possible that you should murder me. But +you will not get any money by that." + +"Murder you. You ain't worth murdering." Then they sat in silence, +waiting another hour and a half till the steamboat came. The reader will +understand that it must have been a bad time for Mr. Peacocke. + +They were on the steamer together for about twenty-four hours, during +which Lefroy hardly spoke a word. As far as his companion could +understand he was out of funds, because he remained sober during the +greater part of the day, taking only what amount of liquor was provided +for him. Before, however, they reached St. Louis, which they did late at +night, he had made acquaintance with certain fellow-travellers, and was +drunk and noisy when they got out upon the quay. Mr. Peacocke bore his +position as well as he could, and accompanied him up to the hotel. It was +arranged that they should remain two days at St. Louis, and then start for +San Francisco by the railway which runs across the State of Kansas. +Before he went to bed Lefroy insisted on going into the large hall in +which, as is usual in American hotels, men sit and loafe and smoke and +read the newspapers. Here, though it was twelve o'clock, there was still +a crowd; and Lefroy, after he had seated himself and lit his cigar, got up +from his seat and addressed all the men around him. + +"Here's a fellow," said he, "has come out from England to find out what's +become of Ferdinand Lefroy." + +"I knew Ferdinand Lefroy," said one man, "and I know you too, Master +Robert." + +"What has become of Ferdinand Lefroy?" asked Mr. Peacocke. + +"He's gone where all the good fellows go," said another. + +"You mean that he is dead?" asked Peacocke. + +"Of course he's dead," said Robert. "I've been telling him so ever since +we left England; but he is such a d---- unbelieving infidel that he +wouldn't credit the man's own brother. He won't learn much here about +him." + +"Ferdinand Lefroy," said the first man, "died on the way as he was going +out West. I was over the road the day after." + +"You know nothing about it," said Robert. "He died at 'Frisco two days +after we'd got him there." + +"He died at Ogden Junction, where you turn down to Utah City." + +"You didn't see him dead," said the other. + +"If I remember right," continued the first man, "they'd taken him away to +bury him somewhere just there in the neighbourhood. I didn't care much +about him, and I didn't ask any particular questions. He was a drunken +beast,--better dead than alive." + +"You've been drunk as often as him, I guess," said Robert. + +"I never gave nobody the trouble to bury me at any rate," said the other. + +"Do you mean to say positively of your own knowledge," asked Peacocke, +"that Ferdinand Lefroy died at that station?" + +"Ask him; he's his brother, and he ought to know best." + +"I tell you," said Robert, earnestly, "that we carried him on to 'Frisco, +and there he died. If you think you know best, you can go to Utah City +and wait there till you hear all about it. I guess they'll make you one +of their elders if you wait long enough." Then they all went to bed. + +It was now clear to Mr. Peacocke that the man as to whose life or death he +was so anxious had really died. The combined evidence of these men, which +had come out without any preconcerted arrangement, was proof to his mind. +But there was no evidence which he could take back with him to England and +use there as proof in a court of law, or even before the Bishop and Dr. +Wortle. On the next morning, before Robert Lefroy was up, he got hold of +the man who had been so positive that death had overtaken the poor wretch +at the railway station which is distant from San Francisco two days' +journey. Had the man died there, and been buried there, nothing would be +known of him in San Francisco. The journey to San Francisco would be +entirely thrown away, and he would be as badly off as ever. + +"I wouldn't like to say for certain," said the man when he was +interrogated. "I only tell you what they told me. As I was passing along +somebody said as Ferdy Lefroy had been taken dead out of the cars on to +the platform. Now you know as much about it as I do." + +He was thus assured that at any rate the journey to San Francisco had not +been altogether a fiction. The man had gone "West," as had been said, and +nothing more would be known of him at St. Louis. He must still go on upon +his journey and make such inquiry as might be possible at the Ogden +Junction. + +On the day but one following they started again, taking their tickets as +far as Leavenworth. They were told by the officials that they would find +a train at Leavenworth waiting to take them on across country into the +regular San Francisco line. But, as is not unusual with railway officials +in that part of the world, they were deceived. At Leavenworth they were +forced to remain for four-and-twenty hours, and there they put themselves +up at a miserable hotel in which they were obliged to occupy the same +room. It was a rough, uncouth place, in which, as it seemed to Mr. +Peacocke, the men were more uncourteous to him, and the things around more +unlike to what he had met elsewhere, than in any other town of the Union. +Robert Lefroy, since the first night at St. Louis, had become sullen +rather than disobedient. He had not refused to go on when the moment came +for starting, but had left it in doubt till the last moment whether he did +or did not intend to prosecute his journey. When the ticket was taken for +him he pretended to be altogether indifferent about it, and would himself +give no help whatever in any of the usual troubles of travelling. But as +far as this little town of Leavenworth he had been carried, and Peacocke +now began to think it probable that he might succeed in taking him to San +Francisco. + +On that night he endeavoured to induce him to go first to bed, but in this +he failed. Lefroy insisted on remaining down at the bar, where he had +ordered for himself some liquor for which Mr. Peacocke, in spite of all +his efforts to the contrary, would have to pay. If the man would get +drunk and lie there, he could not help himself. On this he was +determined, that whether with or without the man, he would go on by the +first train;--and so he took himself to his bed. + +He had been there perhaps half-an-hour when his companion came into the +room,--certainly not drunk. He seated himself on his bed, and then, +pulling to him a large travelling-bag which he used, he unpacked it +altogether, laying all the things which it contained out upon the bed. +"What are you doing that for?" said Mr. Peacocke; "we have to start from +here to-morrow morning at five." + +"I'm not going to start to-morrow at five, nor yet to-morrow at all, nor +yet next day." + +"You are not?" + +"Not if I know it. I have had enough of this game. I am not going +further West for any one. Hand out the money. You have been told +everything about my brother, true and honest, as far as I know it. Hand +out the money." + +"Not a dollar," said Peacocke. "All that I have heard as yet will be of +no service to me. As far as I can see, you will earn it; but you will +have to come on a little further yet." + +"Not a foot; I ain't a-going out of this room to-morrow." + +"Then I must go without you;--that's all." + +"You may go and be ----. But you'll have to shell out the money first, old +fellow." + +"Not a dollar." + +"You won't?" + +"Certainly I will not. How often have I told you so." + +"Then I shall take it." + +"That you will find very difficult. In the first place, if you were to +cut my throat----" + +"Which is just what I intend to do." + +"If you were to cut my throat,--which in itself will be difficult,--you +would only find the trifle of gold which I have got for our journey as far +as 'Frisco. That won't do you much good. The rest is in circular notes, +which to you would be of no service whatever." + +"My God," said the man suddenly, "I am not going to be done in this way." +And with that he drew out a bowie-knife which he had concealed among the +things which he had extracted from the bag. "You don't know the sort of +country you're in now. They don't think much here of the life of such a +skunk as you. If you mean to live till to-morrow morning you must come to +terms." + +The room was a narrow chamber in which two beds ran along the wall, each +with its foot to the other, having a narrow space between them and the +other wall. Peacocke occupied the one nearest to the door. Lefroy now +got up from the bed in the further corner, and with the bowie-knife in his +hand rushed against the door as though to prevent his companion's escape. +Peacocke, who was in bed undressed, sat up at once; but as he did so he +brought a revolver out from under his pillow. "So you have been and armed +yourself, have you?" said Robert Lefroy. + +"Yes," said Peacocke;--"if you come nearer me with that knife I shall +shoot you. Put it down." + +"Likely I shall put it down at your bidding." + +With the pistol still held at the other man's head, Peacocke slowly +extracted himself from his bed. "Now," said he, "if you don't come away +from the door I shall fire one barrel just to let them know in the house +what sort of affair is going on. Put the knife down. You know that I +shall not hurt you then." + +After hesitating for a moment or two, Lefroy did put the knife down. "I +didn't mean anything, old fellow," said he. "I only wanted to frighten +you." + +"Well; you have frightened me. Now, what's to come next?" + +"No, I ain't;--not frightened you a bit. A pistol's always better than a +knife any day. Well now, I'll tell ye how it all is." Saying this, he +seated himself on his own bed, and began a long narration. He would not +go further West than Leavenworth. Whether he got his money or whether he +lost it, he would not travel a foot further. There were reasons which +would make it disagreeable for him to go into California. But he made a +proposition. If Peacocke would only give him money enough to support +himself for the necessary time, he would remain at Leavenworth till his +companion should return there, or would make his way to Chicago, and stay +there till Peacocke should come to him. Then he proceeded to explain how +absolute evidence might be obtained at San Francisco as to his brother's +death. "That fellow was lying altogether," he said, "about my brother +dying at the Ogden station. He was very bad there, no doubt, and we +thought it was going to be all up with him. He had the horrors there, +worse than I ever saw before, and I hope never to see the like again. But +we did get him on to San Francisco; and when he was able to walk into the +city on his own legs, I thought that, might be, he would rally and come +round. However, in two days he died;--and we buried him in the big +cemetery just out of the town." + +"Did you put a stone over him?" + +"Yes; there is a stone as large as life. You'll find the name on +it,--Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana. Kilbrack was the name of +our plantation, where we should be living now as gentlemen ought, with +three hundred niggers of our own, but for these accursed Northern +hypocrites." + +"How can I find the stone?" + +"There's a chap there who knows, I guess, where all them graves are to be +found. But it's on the right hand, a long way down, near the far wall at +the bottom, just where the ground takes a little dip to the north. It +ain't so long ago but what the letters on the stone will be as fresh as if +they were cut yesterday." + +"Does no one in San Francisco know of his death?" + +"There's a chap named Burke at Johnson's, the cigar-shop in Montgomery +Street. He was brother to one of our party, and he went out to the +funeral. Maybe you'll find him, or, any way, some traces of him." + +The two men sat up discussing the matter nearly the whole of the night, +and Peacocke, before he started, had brought himself to accede to Lefroy's +last proposition. He did give the man money enough to support him for two +or three weeks and also to take him to Chicago, promising at the same time +that he would hand to him the thousand dollars at Chicago should he find +him there at the appointed time, and should he also have found Ferdinand +Lefroy's grave at San Francisco in the manner described. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"NOBODY HAS CONDEMNED YOU HERE." + +MRS. WORTLE, when she perceived that her husband no longer called on Mrs. +Peacocke alone, became herself more assiduous in her visits, till at last +she too entertained a great liking for the woman. When Mr. Peacocke had +been gone for nearly a month she had fallen into a habit of going across +every day after the performance of her own domestic morning duties, and +remaining in the school-house for an hour. On one morning she found that +Mrs. Peacocke had just received a letter from New York, in which her +husband had narrated his adventures so far. He had written from +Southampton, but not after the revelation which had been made to him there +as to the death of Ferdinand. He might have so done, but the information +given to him had, at the spur of the moment, seemed to be so doubtful that +he had refrained. Then he had been able to think of it all during the +voyage, and from New York he had written at great length, detailing +everything. Mrs. Peacocke did not actually read out loud the letter, +which was full of such terms of affection as are common between man and +wife, knowing that her title to be called a wife was not admitted by Mrs. +Wortle; but she read much of it, and told all the circumstances as they +were related. + +"Then," said Mrs. Wortle, "he certainly is--no more." There came a +certain accession of sadness to her voice, as she reflected that, +after all, she was talking to this woman of the death of her undoubted +husband. + +"Yes; he is dead--at last." Mrs. Wortle uttered a deep sigh. It was +dreadful to her to think that a woman should speak in that way of the +death of her husband. "I know all that is going on in your mind," said +Mrs. Peacocke, looking up into her face. + +"Do you?" + +"Every thought. You are telling yourself how terrible it is that a woman +should speak of the death of her husband without a tear in her eye, +without a sob,--without one word of sorrow." + +"It is very sad." + +"Of course it is sad. Has it not all been sad? But what would you have +me do? It is not because he was always bad to me,--because he marred all +my early life, making it so foul a blotch that I hardly dare to look back +upon it from the quietness and comparative purity of these latter days. +It is not because he has so treated me as to make me feel that it has been +a misfortune to me to be born, that I now receive these tidings with joy. +It is because of him who has always been good to me as the other was bad, +who has made me wonder at the noble instincts of a man, as the other has +made me shudder at his possible meanness." + +"It has been very hard upon you," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"And hard upon him, who is dearer to me than my own soul. Think of his +conduct to me! How he went away to ascertain the truth when he first +heard tidings which made him believe that I was free to become his! How +he must have loved me then, when, after all my troubles, he took me to +himself at the first moment that was possible! Think, too, what he has +done for me since,----and I for him! How I have marred his life, while he +has striven to repair mine! Do I not owe him everything?" + +"Everything," said Mrs. Wortle,--"except to do what is wrong." + +"I did do what was wrong. Would not you have done so under such +circumstances? Would not you have obeyed the man who had been to you so +true a husband while he believed himself entitled to the name? Wrong! I +doubt whether it was wrong. It is hard to know sometimes what is right +and what is wrong. What he told me to do, that to me was right. Had he +told me to go away and leave him, I should have gone,--and have died. I +suppose that would have been right." She paused as though she expected an +answer. But the subject was so difficult that Mrs. Wortle was unable to +make one. "I have sometimes wished that he had done so. But as I think +of it when I am alone, I feel how impossible that would have been to him. +He could not have sent me away. That which you call right would have been +impossible to him whom I regard as the most perfect of human beings. As +far as I know him, he is faultless;--and yet, according to your judgment, +he has committed a sin so deep that he must stand disgraced before the +eyes of all men." + +"I have not said so." + +"It comes to that. I know how good you are; how much I owe to you. I +know that Dr. Wortle and yourself have been so kind to us, that were I not +grateful beyond expression I should be the meanest human creature. Do not +suppose that I am angry or vexed with you because you condemn me. It is +necessary that you should do so. But how can I condemn myself;--or how +can I condemn him?" + +"If you are both free now, it may be made right." + +"But how about repentance? Will it be all right though I shall not have +repented? I will never repent. There are laws in accordance with which I +will admit that I have done wrong; but had I not broken those laws when he +bade me, I should have hated myself through all my life afterwards." + +"It was very different." + +"If you could know, Mrs. Wortle, how difficult it would have been to go +away and leave him! It was not till he came to me and told me that he was +going down to Texas, to see how it had been with my husband, that I ever +knew what it was to love a man. He had never said a word. He tried not +to look it. But I knew that I had his heart and that he had mine. From +that moment I have thought of him day and night. When I gave him my hand +then as he parted from me, I gave it him as his own. It has been his to +do what he liked with it ever since, let who might live or who might die. +Ought I not to rejoice that he is dead?" Mrs. Wortle could not answer the +question. She could only shudder. "It was not by any will of my own," +continued the eager woman, "that I married Ferdinand Lefroy. Everything +in our country was then destroyed. All that we loved and all that we +valued had been taken away from us. War had destroyed everything. When I +was just springing out of childhood, we were ruined. We had to go, all of +us; women as well as men, girls as well as boys;--and be something else +than we had been. I was told to marry him." + +"That was wrong." + +"When everything is in ruin about you, what room is there for ordinary +well-doing? It seemed then that he would have some remnant of property. +Our fathers had known each other long. The wretched man whom drink +afterwards made so vile might have been as good a gentleman as another, if +things had gone well with him. He could not have been a hero like him +whom I will always call my husband; but it is not given to every man to be +a hero." + +"Was he bad always from the first?" + +"He always drank,--from his wedding-day; and then Robert was with him, who +was worse than he. Between them they were very bad. My life was a burden +to me. It was terrible. It was a comfort to me even to be deserted and +to be left. Then came this Englishman in my way; and it seemed to me, on +a sudden, that the very nature of mankind was altered. He did not lie +when he spoke. He was never debased by drink. He had other care than for +himself. For himself, I think, he never cared. Since he has been here, +in the school, have you found any cause of fault in him?" + +"No, indeed." + +"No, indeed! nor ever will;--unless it be a fault to love a woman as he +loves me. See what he is doing now,--where he has gone,--what he has to +suffer, coupled as he is with that wretch! And all for my sake!" + +"For both your sakes." + +"He would have been none the worse had he chosen to part with me. He was +in no trouble. I was not his wife; and he need only--bid me go. There +would have been no sin with him then,--no wrong. Had he followed out your +right and your wrong, and told me that, as we could not be man and wife, +we must just part, he would have been in no trouble;--would he?" + +"I don't know how it would have been then," said Mrs. Wortle, who was by +this time sobbing aloud in tears. + +"No; nor I, nor I. I should have been dead;--but he? He is a sinner now, +so that he may not preach in your churches, or teach in your schools; so +that your dear husband has to be ruined almost because he has been kind to +him. He then might have preached in any church,--have taught in any +school. What am I to think that God will think of it? Will God condemn +him?" + +"We must leave that to Him," sobbed Mrs. Wortle. + +"Yes; but in thinking of our souls we must reflect a little as to what we +believe to be probable. He, you say, has sinned,--is sinning still in +calling me his wife. Am I not to believe that if he were called to his +long account he would stand there pure and bright, in glorious +garments,--one fit for heaven, because he has loved others better than he +has loved himself, because he has done to others as he might have wished +that they should do to him? I do believe it! Believe! I know it. And +if so, what am I to think of his sin, or of my own? Not to obey him, not +to love him, not to do in everything as he counsels me,--that, to me, +would be sin. To the best of my conscience he is my husband and my +master. I will not go into the rooms of such as you, Mrs. Wortle, good +and kind as you are; but it is not because I do not think myself fit. It +is because I will not injure you in the estimation of those who do not +know what is fit and what is unfit. I am not ashamed of myself. I owe it +to him to blush for nothing that he has caused me to do. I have but two +judges,--the Lord in heaven, and he, my husband, upon earth." + +"Nobody has condemned you here." + +"Yes;--they have condemned me. But I am not angry at that. You do not +think, Mrs. Wortle, that I can be angry with you,--so kind as you have +been, so generous, so forgiving;--the more kind because you think that we +are determined, headstrong sinners? Oh no! It is natural that you should +think so,--but I think differently. Circumstances have so placed me that +they have made me unfit for your society. If I had no decent gown to +wear, or shoes to my feet, I should be unfit also;--but not on that +account disgraced in my own estimation. I comfort myself by thinking that +I cannot be altogether bad when a man such as he has loved me and does +love me." + +The two women, when they parted on that morning, kissed each other, which +they had not done before; and Mrs. Wortle had been made to doubt whether, +after all, the sin had been so very sinful. She did endeavour to ask +herself whether she would not have done the same in the same +circumstances. The woman, she thought, must have been right to have +married the man whom she loved, when she heard that that first horrid +husband was dead. There could, at any rate, have been no sin in that. +And then, what ought she to have done when the dead man,--dead as he was +supposed to have been,--burst into her room? Mrs. Wortle,--who found it +indeed extremely difficult to imagine herself to be in such a +position,--did at last acknowledge that, in such circumstances, she +certainly would have done whatever Dr. Wortle had told her. She could not +bring it nearer to herself than that. She could not suggest to herself +two men as her own husbands. She could not imagine that the Doctor had +been either the bad husband, who had unexpectedly come to life,--or the +good husband, who would not, in truth, be her husband at all; but she did +determine, in her own mind, that, however all that might have been, she +would clearly have done whatever the Doctor told her. She would have +sworn to obey him, even though, when swearing, she should not have really +married him. It was terrible to think of,--so terrible that she could not +quite think of it; but in struggling to think of it her heart was softened +towards this other woman. After that day she never spoke further of the +woman's sin. + +Of course she told it all to the Doctor,--not indeed explaining the +working of her own mind as to that suggestion that he should have been, in +his first condition, a very bad man, and have been reported dead, and have +come again, in a second shape, as a good man. She kept that to herself. +But she did endeavour to describe the effect upon herself of the +description the woman had given her of her own conduct. + +"I don't quite know how she could have done otherwise," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"Nor I either; I have always said so." + +"It would have been so very hard to go away, when he told her not." + +"It would have been very hard to go away," said the Doctor, "if he had +told her to do so. Where was she to go? What was she to do? They had +been brought together by circumstances, in such a manner that it was, so +to say, impossible that they should part. It is not often that one comes +across events like these, so altogether out of the ordinary course that +the common rules of life seem to be insufficient for guidance. To most of +us it never happens; and it is better for us that it should not happen. +But when it does, one is forced to go beyond the common rules. It is that +feeling which has made me give them my protection. It has been a great +misfortune; but, placed as I was, I could not help myself. I could not +turn them out. It was clearly his duty to go, and almost as clearly mine +to give her shelter till he should come back." + +"A great misfortune, Jeffrey?" + +"I am afraid so. Look at this." Then he handed to her a letter from a +nobleman living at a great distance,--at a distance so great that Mrs. +Stantiloup would hardly have reached him there,--expressing his intention +to withdraw his two boys from the school at Christmas. + +"He doesn't give this as a reason." + +"No; we are not acquainted with each other personally, and he could hardly +have alluded to my conduct in this matter. It was easier for him to give +a mere notice such as this. But not the less do I understand it. The +intention was that the elder Mowbray should remain for another year, and +the younger for two years. Of course he is at liberty to change his mind; +nor do I feel myself entitled to complain. A school such as mine must +depend on the credit of the establishment. He has heard, no doubt, +something of the story which has injured our credit, and it is natural +that he should take the boys away." + +"Do you think that the school will be put an end to?" + +"It looks very like it." + +"Altogether?" + +"I shall not care to drag it on as a failure. I am too old now to begin +again with a new attempt if this collapses. I have no offers to fill up +the vacancies. The parents of those who remain, of course, will know how +it is going with the school. I shall not be disposed to let it die of +itself. My idea at present is to carry it on without saying anything till +the Christmas holidays, and then to give notice to the parents that the +establishment will be closed at Midsummer." + +"Will it make you very unhappy?" + +"No doubt it will. A man does not like to fail. I am not sure but what I +am less able to bear such failure than most men." + +"But you have sometimes thought of giving it up." + +"Have I? I have not known it. Why should I give it up? Why should any +man give up a profession while he has health and strength to carry it on?" + +"You have another." + +"Yes; but it is not the one to which my energies have been chiefly +applied. The work of a parish such as this can be done by one person. I +have always had a curate. It is, moreover, nonsense to say that a man +does not care most for that by which he makes his money. I am to give up +over L2000 a-year, which I have had not a trouble but a delight in making! +It is like coming to the end of one's life." + +"Oh, Jeffrey!" + +"It has to be looked in the face, you know." + +"I wish,--I wish they had never come." + +"What is the good of wishing? They came, and according to my way of +thinking I did my duty by them. Much as I am grieved by this, I protest +that I would do the same again were it again to be done. Do you think +that I would be deterred from what I thought to be right by the +machinations of a she-dragon such as that?" + +"Has she done it?" + +"Well, I think so," said the Doctor, after some little hesitation. "I +think it has been, in truth, her doing. There has been a grand +opportunity for slander, and she has used it with uncommon skill. It was +a wonderful chance in her favour. She has been enabled without actual +lies,--lies which could be proved to be lies,--to spread abroad reports +which have been absolutely damning. And she has succeeded in getting hold +of the very people through whom she could injure me. Of course all this +correspondence with the Bishop has helped. The Bishop hasn't kept it as a +secret. Why should he?" + +"The Bishop has had nothing to do with the school," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; but the things have been mixed up together. Do you think it would +have no effect with such a woman as Lady Anne Clifford, to be told that +the Bishop had censured my conduct severely? If it had not been for Mrs. +Stantiloup, the Bishop would have heard nothing about it. It is her +doing. And it pains me to feel that I have to give her credit for her +skill and her energy." + +"Her wickedness, you mean." + +"What does it signify whether she has been wicked or not in this matter?" + +"Oh, Jeffrey!" + +"Her wickedness is a matter of course. We all knew that beforehand. If a +person has to be wicked, it is a great thing for him to be successful in +his wickedness. He would have to pay the final penalty even if he failed. +To be wicked and to do nothing is to be mean all round. I am afraid that +Mrs. Stantiloup will have succeeded in her wickedness." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +LORD BRACY'S LETTER. + +THE school and the parish went on through August and September, and up to +the middle of October, very quietly. The quarrel between the Bishop and +the Doctor had altogether subsided. People in the diocese had ceased to +talk continually of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. There was still alive a +certain interest as to what might be the ultimate fate of the poor lady; +but other matters had come up, and she no longer formed the one topic of +conversation at all meetings. The twenty boys at the school felt that, as +their numbers had been diminished, so also had their reputation. They +were less loud, and, as other boys would have said of them, less "cocky" +than of yore. But they ate and drank and played, and, let us hope, learnt +their lessons as usual. Mrs. Peacocke had from time to time received +letters from her husband, the last up to the time of which we speak having +been written at the Ogden Junction, at which Mr. Peacocke had stopped for +four-and-twenty hours with the object of making inquiry as to the +statement made to him at St. Louis. Here he learned enough to convince +him that Robert Lefroy had told him the truth in regard to what had there +occurred. The people about the station still remembered the condition of +the man who had been taken out of the car when suffering from delirium +tremens; and remembered also that the man had not died there, but had been +carried on by the next train to San Francisco. One of the porters also +declared that he had heard a few days afterwards that the sufferer had +died almost immediately on his arrival at San Francisco. Information as +far as this Mr. Peacocke had sent home to his wife, and had added his firm +belief that he should find the man's grave in the cemetery, and be able to +bring home with him testimony to which no authority in England, whether +social, episcopal, or judicial, would refuse to give credit. + +"Of course he will be married again," said Mrs. Wortle to her husband. + +"They shall be married here, and I will perform the ceremony. I don't +think the Bishop himself would object to that; and I shouldn't care a +straw if he did." + +"Will he go on with the school?" whispered Mrs. Wortle. + +"Will the school go on? If the school goes on, he will go on, I suppose. +About that you had better ask Mrs. Stantiloup." + +"I will ask nobody but you," said the wife, putting up her face to kiss +him. As this was going on, everything was said to comfort Mrs. Peacocke, +and to give her hopes of new life. Mrs. Wortle told her how the Doctor +had promised that he himself would marry them as soon as the forms of the +Church and the legal requisitions would allow. Mrs. Peacocke accepted all +that was said to her quietly and thankfully, but did not again allow +herself to be roused to such excitement as she had shown on the one +occasion recorded. + +It was at this time that the Doctor received a letter which greatly +affected his mode of thought at the time. He had certainly become hipped +and low-spirited, if not despondent, and clearly showed to his wife, even +though he was silent, that his mind was still intent on the injury which +that wretched woman had done him by her virulence. But the letter of +which we speak for a time removed this feeling, and gave him, as it were, +a new life. The letter, which was from Lord Bracy, was as follows;-- + + +"MY DEAR DOCTOR WORTLE.--Carstairs left us for Oxford yesterday, and +before he went, startled his mother and me considerably by a piece of +information. He tells us that he is over head and ears in love with your +daughter. The communication was indeed made three days ago, but I told +him that I should take a day or two to think of it before I wrote to you. +He was very anxious, when he told me, to go off at once to Bowick, and to +see you and your wife, and of course the young lady;--but this I stopped +by the exercise of somewhat peremptory parental authority. Then he +informed me that he had been to Bowick, and had found his lady-love at +home, you and Mrs. Wortle having by chance been absent at the time. It +seems that he declared himself to the young lady, who, in the exercise of +a wise discretion, ran away from him and left him planted on the terrace. +That is his account of what passed, and I do not in the least doubt its +absolute truth. It is at any rate quite clear, from his own showing, that +the young lady gave him no encouragement. + +"Such having been the case, I do not think that I should have found it +necessary to write to you at all had not Carstairs persevered with me till +I promised to do so. He was willing, he said, not to go to Bowick on +condition that I would write to you on the subject. The meaning of this +is, that had he not been very much in earnest, I should have considered it +best to let the matter pass on as such matters do, and be forgotten. But +he is very much in earnest. However foolish it is,--or perhaps I had +better say unusual,--that a lad should be in love before he is twenty, it +is, I suppose, possible. At any rate it seems to be the case with him, +and he has convinced his mother that it would be cruel to ignore the fact. + +"I may at once say that, as far as you and your girl are concerned, I +should be quite satisfied that he should choose for himself such a +marriage. I value rank, at any rate, as much as it is worth; but that he +will have of his own, and does not need to strengthen it by intermarriage +with another house of peculiarly old lineage. As far as that is +concerned, I should be contented. As for money, I should not wish him to +think of it in marrying. If it comes, _tant mieux_. If not, he will have +enough of his own. I write to you, therefore, exactly as I should do if +you had happened to be a brother peer instead of a clergyman. + +"But I think that long engagements are very dangerous; and you probably +will agree with me that they are likely to be more prejudicial to the girl +than to the man. It may be that, as difficulties arise in the course of +years, he can forget the affair, and that she cannot. He has many things +of which to think; whereas she, perhaps, has only that one. She may have +made that thing so vital to her that it cannot be got under and conquered; +whereas, without any fault or heartlessness on his part, occupation has +conquered it for him. In this case I fear that the engagement, if made, +could not but be long. I should be sorry that he should not take his +degree. And I do not think it wise to send a lad up to the University +hampered with the serious feeling that he has already betrothed himself. + +"I tell you all just as it is, and I leave it to your wisdom to suggest +what had better be done. He wished me to promise that I would undertake +to induce you to tell Miss Wortle of his conversation with me. He said +that he had a right to demand so much as that, and that, though he would +not for the present go to Bowick, he should write to you. The young +gentleman seems to have a will of his own,--which I cannot say that I +regret. What you will do as to the young lady,--whether you will or will +not tell her what I have written,--I must leave to yourself. If you do, I +am to send word to her from Lady Bracy to say that she shall be delighted +to see her here. She had better, however, come when that inflammatory +young gentleman shall be at Oxford. Yours very faithfully, + +"BRACY." + + +This letter certainly did a great deal to invigorate the Doctor, and to +console him in his troubles. Even though the debated marriage might prove +to be impossible, as it had been declared by the voices of all the Wortles +one after another, still there was something in the tone in which it was +discussed by the young man's father which was in itself a relief. There +was, at any rate, no contempt in the letter. "I may at once say that, as +far as you and your girl are concerned, I shall be very well pleased." +That, at any rate, was satisfactory. And the more he looked at it the +less he thought that it need be altogether impossible. If Lord Bracy +liked it, and Lady Bracy liked it,--and young Carstairs, as to whose +liking there seemed to be no reason for any doubt,--he did not see why it +should be impossible. As to Mary,--he could not conceive that she should +make objection if all the others were agreed. How could she possibly fail +to love the young man if encouraged to do so? Suitors who are +good-looking, rich, of high rank, sweet-tempered, and at the same time +thoroughly devoted, are not wont to be discarded. All the difficulty lay +in the lad's youth. After all, how many noblemen have done well in the +world without taking a degree? Degrees, too, have been taken by married +men. And, again, young men have been persistent before now, even to the +extent of waiting three years. Long engagements are bad,--no doubt. +Everybody has always said so. But a long engagement may be better than +none at all. + +He at last made up his mind that he would speak to Mary; but he determined +that he would consult his wife first. Consulting Mrs. Wortle, on his +part, generally amounted to no more than instructing her. He found it +sometimes necessary to talk her over, as he had done in that matter of +visiting Mrs. Peacocke; but when he set himself to work he rarely failed. +She had nowhere else to go for a certain foundation and support. +Therefore he hardly doubted much when he began his operation about this +suggested engagement. + +"I have got that letter this morning from Lord Bracy," he said, handing +her the document. + +"Oh dear! Has he heard about Carstairs?" + +"You had better read it." + +"He has told it all," she exclaimed, when she had finished the first +sentence. + +"He has told it all, certainly. But you had better read the letter +through." + +Then she seated herself and read it, almost trembling, however, as she +went on with it. "Oh dear;--that is very nice what he says about you and +Mary." + +"It is all very nice as far as that goes. There is no reason why it +should not be nice." + +"It might have made him so angry!" + +"Then he would have been very unreasonable." + +"He acknowledges that Mary did not encourage him." + +"Of course she did not encourage him. He would have been very unlike a +gentleman had he thought so. But in truth, my dear, it is a very good +letter. Of course there are difficulties." + +"Oh;--it is impossible!" + +"I do not see that at all. It must rest very much with him, no +doubt;--with Carstairs; and I do not like to think that our girl's +happiness should depend on any young man's constancy. But such dangers +have to be encountered. You and I were engaged for three years before we +were married, and we did not find it so very bad." + +"It was very good. Oh, I was so happy at the time." + +"Happier than you've been since?" + +"Well; I don't know. It was very nice to know that you were my lover." + +"Why shouldn't Mary think it very nice to have a lover?" + +"But I knew that you would be true." + +"Why shouldn't Carstairs be true?" + +"Remember he is so young. You were in orders." + +"I don't know that I was at all more likely to be true on that account. A +clergyman can jilt a girl just as well as another. It depends on the +nature of the man." + +"And you were so good." + +"I never came across a better youth than Carstairs. You see what his +father says about his having a will of his own. When a young man shows a +purpose of that kind he generally sticks to it." + +The upshot of it all was, that Mary was to be told, and that her father +was to tell her. + +"Yes, papa, he did come," she said. "I told mamma all about me." + +"And she told me, of course. You did what was quite right, and I should +not have thought it necessary to speak to you had not Lord Bracy written +to me." + +"Lord Bracy has written!" said Mary. It seemed to her, as it had done to +her mother, that Lord Bracy must have written angrily; but though she +thought so, she plucked up her spirit gallantly, telling herself that +though Lord Bracy might be angry with his own son, he could have no cause +to be displeased with her. + +"Yes; I have a letter, which you shall read. The young man seems to have +been very much in earnest." + +"I don't know," said Mary, with some little exultation at her heart. + +"It seems but the other day that he was a boy, and now he has become +suddenly a man." To this Mary said nothing; but she also had come to the +conclusion that, in this respect, Lord Carstairs had lately changed,--very +much for the better. "Do you like him, Mary?" + +"Like him, papa?" + +"Well, my darling; how am I to put it? He is so much in earnest that he +has got his father to write to me. He was coming over himself again +before he went to Oxford; but he told his father what he was going to do, +and the Earl stopped him. There's the letter, and you may read it." + +Mary read the letter, taking herself apart to a corner of the room, and +seemed to her father to take a long time in reading it. But there was +very much on which she was called upon to make up her mind during those +few minutes. Up to the present time,--up to the moment in which her +father had now summoned her into his study, she had resolved that it was +"impossible." She had become so clear on the subject that she would not +ask herself the question whether she could love the young man. Would it +not be wrong to love the young man? Would it not be a longing for the top +brick of the chimney, which she ought to know was out of her reach? So +she had decided it, and had therefore already taught herself to regard the +declaration made to her as the ebullition of a young man's folly. But not +the less had she known how great had been the thing suggested to her,--how +excellent was this top brick of the chimney; and as to the young man +himself, she could not but feel that, had matters been different, she +might have loved him. Now there had come a sudden change; but she did not +at all know how far she might go to meet the change, nor what the change +altogether meant. She had been made sure by her father's question that he +had taught himself to hope. He would not have asked her whether she liked +him,--would not, at any rate, have asked that question in that voice,--had +he not been prepared to be good to her had she answered in the +affirmative. But then this matter did not depend upon her father's +wishes,--or even on her father's judgment. It was necessary that, before +she said another word, she should find out what Lord Bracy said about it. +There she had Lord Bracy's letter in her hand, but her mind was so +disturbed that she hardly knew how to read it aright at the spur of the +moment. + +"You understand what he says, Mary?" + +"I think so, papa." + +"It is a very kind letter." + +"Very kind indeed. I should have thought that he would not have liked it +at all." + +"He makes no objection of that kind. To tell the truth, Mary, I should +have thought it unreasonable had he done so. A gentleman can do no better +than marry a lady. And though it is much to be a nobleman, it is more to +be a gentleman." + +"Some people think so much of it. And then his having been here as a +pupil! I was very sorry when he spoke to me." + +"All that is past and gone. The danger is that such an engagement would +be long." + +"Very long." + +"You would be afraid of that, Mary?" Mary felt that this was hard upon +her, and unfair. Were she to say that the danger of a long engagement did +not seem to her to be very terrible, she would at once be giving up +everything. She would have declared then that she did love the young man; +or, at any rate, that she intended to do so. She would have succumbed at +the first hint that such succumbing was possible to her. And yet she had +not known that she was very much afraid of a long engagement. She would, +she thought, have been much more afraid had a speedy marriage been +proposed to her. Upon the whole, she did not know whether it would not be +nice to go on knowing that the young man loved her, and to rest secure on +her faith in him. She was sure of this,--that the reading of Lord Bracy's +letter had in some way made her happy, though she was unwilling at once to +express her happiness to her father. She was quite sure that she could +make no immediate reply to that question, whether she was afraid of a long +engagement. "I must answer Lord Bracy's letter, you know," said the +Doctor. + +"Yes, papa." + +"And what shall I say to him?" + +"I don't know, papa." + +"And yet you must tell me what to say, my darling." + +"Must I, papa?" + +"Certainly! Who else can tell me? But I will not answer it to-day. I +will put it off till Monday." It was Saturday morning on which the letter +was being discussed,--a day of which a considerable portion was generally +appropriated to the preparation of a sermon. "In the mean time you had +better talk to mamma; and on Monday we will settle what is to be said to +Lord Bracy." + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +AT CHICAGO. + +MR. PEACOCKE went on alone to San Francisco from the Ogden Junction, and +there obtained full information on the matter which had brought him upon +this long and disagreeable journey. He had no difficulty in obtaining the +evidence which he required. He had not been twenty-four hours in the +place before he was, in truth, standing on the stone which had been placed +over the body of Ferdinand Lefroy, as he had declared to Robert Lefroy +that he would stand before he would be satisfied. On the stone was cut +simply the names, Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana; and to these +were added the dates of the days on which the man had been born and on +which he died. Of this stone he had a photograph made, of which he took +copies with him; and he obtained also from the minister who had buried the +body and from the custodian who had charge of the cemetery certificates of +the interment. Armed with these he could no longer doubt himself, or +suppose that others would doubt, that Ferdinand Lefroy was dead. + +Having thus perfected his object, and feeling but little interest in a +town to which he had been brought by such painful circumstances, he turned +round, and on the second day after his arrival, again started for Chicago. +Had it been possible, he would fain have avoided any further meeting with +Robert Lefroy. Short as had been his stay at San Francisco he had learnt +that Robert, after his brother's death, had been concerned in buying +mining shares and paying for them with forged notes. It was not supposed +that he himself had been engaged in the forgery, but that he had come into +the city with men who had been employed for years on this operation, and +had bought shares and endeavoured to sell them on the following day. He +had, however, managed to leave the place before the police had got hold of +him, and had escaped, so that no one had been able to say at what station +he had got upon the railway. Nor did any one in San Francisco know where +Robert Lefroy was now to be found. His companions had been taken, tried, +and convicted, and were now in the State prison,--where also would Robert +Lefroy soon be if any of the officers of the State could get hold of him. +Luckily Mr. Peacocke had said little or nothing of the man in making his +own inquiries. Much as he had hated and dreaded the man; much as he had +suffered from his companionship,--good reason as he had to dislike the +whole family,--he felt himself bound by their late companionship not to +betray him. The man had assisted Mr. Peacocke simply for money; but still +he had assisted him. Mr. Peacocke therefore held his peace and said +nothing. But he would have been thankful to have been able to send the +money that was now due to him without having again to see him. That, +however, was impossible. + +On reaching Chicago he went to an hotel far removed from that which Lefroy +had designated. Lefroy had explained to him something of the geography of +the town, and had explained that for himself he preferred a "modest, quiet +hotel." The modest, quiet hotel was called Mrs. Jones's boarding-house, +and was in one of the suburbs far from the main street. "You needn't say +as you're coming to me," Lefroy had said to him; "nor need you let on as +you know anything of Mrs. Jones at all. People are so curious; and it may +be that a gentleman sometimes likes to lie _perdu_." Mr. Peacocke, +although he had but small sympathy for the taste of a gentleman who likes +to lie _perdu_, nevertheless did as he was bid, and found his way to Mrs. +Jones's boarding-house without telling any one whither he was going. + +Before he started he prepared himself with a thousand dollars in +bank-notes, feeling that this wretched man had earned them in accordance +with their compact. His only desire now was to hand over the money as +quickly as possible, and to hurry away out of Chicago. He felt as though +he himself were almost guilty of some crime in having to deal with this +man, in having to give him money secretly, and in carrying out to the end +an arrangement of which no one else was to know the details. How would it +be with him if the police of Chicago should come upon him as a friend, and +probably an accomplice, of one who was "wanted" on account of forgery at +San Francisco? But he had no help for himself, and at Mrs. Jones's he +found his wife's brother-in-law seated in the bar of the +public-house,--that everlasting resort for American loungers,--with a +cigar as usual stuck in his mouth, loafing away his time as only American +frequenters of such establishments know how to do. In England such a man +would probably be found in such a place with a glass of some alcoholic +mixture beside him, but such is never the case with an American. If he +wants a drink he goes to the bar and takes it standing,--will perhaps take +two or three, one after another; but when he has settled himself down to +loafe, he satisfies himself with chewing a cigar, and covering a circle +around him with the results. With this amusement he will remain contented +hour after hour;--nay, throughout the entire day if no harder work be +demanded of him. So was Robert Lefroy found now. When Peacocke entered +the hall or room the man did not rise from his chair, but accosted him as +though they had parted only an hour since. "So, old fellow, you've got +back all alive." + +"I have reached this place at any rate." + +"Well; that's getting back, ain't it?" + +"I have come back from San Francisco." + +"H'sh!" exclaimed Lefroy, looking round the room, in which, however, there +was no one but themselves. "You needn't tell everybody where you've +been." + +"I have nothing to conceal." + +"That is more than anybody knows of himself. It's a good maxim to keep +your own affairs quiet till they're wanted. In this country everybody is +spry enough to learn all about everything. I never see any good in +letting them know without a reason. Well;--what did you do when you got +there?" + +"It was all as you told me." + +"Didn't I say so? What was the good of bringing me all this way, when, if +you'd only believed me, you might have saved me the trouble. Ain't I to +be paid for that?" + +"You are to be paid. I have come here to pay you." + +"That's what you owe for the knowledge. But for coming? Ain't I to be +paid extra for the journey?" + +"You are to have a thousand dollars." + +"H'sh!--you speak of money as though every one has a business to know that +you have got your pockets full. What's a thousand dollars, seeing all +that I have done for you!" + +"It's all that you're going to get. It's all, indeed, that I have got to +give you." + +"Gammon." + +"It's all, at any rate, that you're going to get. Will you have it now?" + +"You found the tomb, did you?" + +"Yes; I found the tomb. Here is a photograph of it. You can keep a copy +if you like it." + +"What do I want of a copy," said the man, taking the photograph in his +hand. "He was always more trouble than he was worth,--was Ferdy. It's a +pity she didn't marry me. I'd 've made a woman of her." Peacocke +shuddered as he heard this, but he said nothing. "You may as well give us +the picter;--it'll do to hang up somewhere if ever I have a room of my +own. How plain it is. Ferdinand Lefroy,--of Kilbrack! Kilbrack indeed! +It's little either of us was the better for Kilbrack. Some of them +psalm-singing rogues from New England has it now;--or perhaps a right-down +nigger. I shouldn't wonder. One of our own lot, maybe! Oh; that's the +money, is it?--A thousand dollars; all that I'm to have for coming to +England and telling you, and bringing you back, and showing you where you +could get this pretty picter made." Then he took the money, a thick roll +of notes, and crammed them into his pocket. + +"You'd better count them." + +"It ain't worth the while with such a trifle as that." + +"Let me count them then." + +"You'll never have that plunder in your fists again, my fine fellow." + +"I do not want it." + +"And now about my expenses out to England, on purpose to tell you all +this. You can go and make her your wife now,--or can leave her, just as +you please. You couldn't have done neither if I hadn't gone out to you." + +"You have got what was promised." + +"But my expenses,--going out?" + +"I have promised you nothing for your expenses going out,--and will pay +you nothing." + +"You won't?" + +"Not a dollar more." + +"You won't?" + +"Certainly not. I do not suppose that you expect it for a moment, +although you are so persistent in asking for it." + +"And you think you've got the better of me, do you? You think you've +carried me along with you, just to do your bidding and take whatever you +please to give me? That's your idea of me?" + +"There was a clear bargain between us. I have not got the better of you +at all." + +"I rather think not, Peacocke. I rather think not. You'll have to get up +earlier before you get the better of Robert Lefroy. You don't expect to +get this money back again,--do you?" + +"Certainly not,--any more than I should expect a pound of meat out of a +dog's jaw." Mr. Peacocke, as he said this, was waxing angry. + +"I don't suppose you do;--but you expected that I was to earn it by doing +your bidding;--didn't you?" + +"And you have." + +"Yes, I have; but how? You never heard of my cousin, did you;--Ferdinand +Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana?" + +"Heard of whom?" + +"My cousin; Ferdinand Lefroy. He was very well known in his own State, +and in California too, till he died. He was a good fellow, but given to +drink. We used to tell him that if he would marry it would be better for +him;--but he never would;--he never did." Robert Lefroy as he said this +put his left hand into his trousers-pocket over the notes which he had +placed there, and drew a small revolver out of his pocket with the other +hand. "I am better prepared now," he said, "than when you had your +six-shooter under your pillow at Leavenworth." + +"I do not believe a word of it. It's a lie," said Peacocke. + +"Very well. You're a chap that's fond of travelling, and have got plenty +of money. You'd better go down to Louisiana and make your way straight +from New Orleans to Kilbrack. It ain't above forty miles to the +south-west, and there's a rail goes within fifteen miles of it. You'll +learn there all about Ferdinand Lefroy as was our cousin,--him as never +got married up to the day he died of drink and was buried at San +Francisco. They'll be very glad, I shouldn't wonder, to see that pretty +little picter of yours, because they was always uncommon fond of cousin +Ferdy at Kilbrack. And I'll tell you what; you'll be sure to come across +my brother Ferdy in them parts, and can tell him how you've seen me. You +can give him all the latest news, too, about his own wife. He'll be glad +to hear about her, poor woman." Mr. Peacocke listened to this without +saying a word since that last exclamation of his. It might be true. Why +should it not be true? If in truth there had been these two cousins of +the same name, what could be more likely than that his money should be +lured out of him by such a fraud as this? But yet,--yet, as he came to +think of it all, it could not be true. The chance of carrying such a +scheme to a successful issue would have been too small to induce the man +to act upon it from the day of his first appearance at Bowick. Nor was it +probable that there should have been another Ferdinand Lefroy unknown to +his wife; and the existence of such a one, if known to his wife, would +certainly have been made known to him. + +"It's a lie," said he, "from beginning to end." + +"Very well; very well. I'll take care to make the truth known by letter +to Dr. Wortle and the Bishop and all them pious swells over there. To +think that such a chap as you, a minister of the gospel, living with +another man's wife and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in your +mouth! I tell you what; I've got a little money in my pocket now, and I +don't mind going over to England again and explaining the whole truth to +the Bishop myself. I could make him understand how that photograph ain't +worth nothing, and how I explained to you myself as the lady's righteous +husband is all alive, keeping house on his own property down in Louisiana. +Do you think we Lefroys hadn't any place beside Kilbrack among us?" + +"Certainly you are a liar," said Peacocke. + +"Very well. Prove it." + +"Did you not tell me that your brother was buried at San Francisco?" + +"Oh, as for that, that don't matter. It don't count for much whether I +told a crammer or not. That picter counts for nothing. It ain't my word +you were going on as evidence. You is able to prove that Ferdy Lefroy was +buried at 'Frisco. True enough. I buried him. I can prove that. And I +would never have treated you this way, and not have said a word as to how +the dead man was only a cousin, if you'd treated me civil over there in +England. But you didn't." + +"I am going to treat you worse now," said Peacocke, looking him in the +face. + +"What are you going to do now? It's I that have the revolver this time." +As he said this he turned the weapon round in his hand. + +"I don't want to shoot you,--nor yet to frighten you, as I did in the +bed-room at Leavenworth. Not but what I have a pistol too." And he slowly +drew his out of his pocket. At this moment two men sauntered in and took +their places in the further corner of the room. "I don't think there is +to be any shooting between us." + +"There may," said Lefroy. + +"The police would have you." + +"So they would--for a time. What does that matter to me? Isn't a fellow +to protect himself when a fellow like you comes to him armed?" + +"But they would soon know that you are the swindler who escaped from San +Francisco eighteen months ago. Do you think it wouldn't be found out that +it was you who paid for the shares in forged notes?" + +"I never did. That's one of your lies." + +"Very well. Now you know what I know; and you had better tell me over +again who it is that lies buried under the stone that's been photographed +there." + +"What are you men doing with them pistols?" said one of the strangers, +walking across the room, and standing over the backs of their chairs. + +"We are alooking at 'em," said Lefroy. + +"If you're agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better go and do it +elsewhere," said the stranger. + +"Just so," said Lefroy. "That's what I was thinking myself." + +"But we are not going to do anything," said Mr. Peacocke. "I have not the +slightest idea of shooting the gentleman; and he has just as little of +shooting me." + +"Then what do you sit with 'em out in your hands in that fashion for?" +said the stranger. "It's a decent widow woman as keeps this house, and I +won't see her set upon. Put 'em up." Whereupon Lefroy did return his +pistol to his pocket,--upon which Mr. Peacocke did the same. Then the +stranger slowly walked back to his seat at the other side of the room. + +"So they told you that lie; did they,--at 'Frisco?" asked Lefroy. + +"That was what I heard over there when I was inquiring about your +brother's death." + +"You'd believe anything if you'd believe that." + +"I'd believe anything if I'd believe in your cousin." Upon this Lefroy +laughed, but made no further allusion to the romance which he had craftily +invented on the spur of the moment. After that the two men sat without a +word between them for a quarter of an hour, when the Englishman got up to +take his leave. "Our business is over now," he said, "and I will bid you +good-bye." + +"I'll tell you what I'm athinking," said Lefroy. Mr. Peacocke stood with +his hand ready for a final adieu, but he said nothing. "I've half a mind +to go back with you to England. There ain't nothing to keep me here." + +"What could you do there?" + +"I'd be evidence for you, as to Ferdy's death, you know." + +"I have evidence. I do not want you." + +"I'll go, nevertheless." + +"And spend all your money on the journey." + +"You'd help;--wouldn't you now?" + +"Not a dollar," said Peacocke, turning away and leaving the room. As he +did so he heard the wretch laughing loud at the excellence of his own +joke. + +Before he made his journey back again to England he only once more saw +Robert Lefroy. As he was seating himself in the railway car that was to +take him to Buffalo the man came up to him with an affected look of +solicitude. "Peacocke," he said, "there was only nine hundred dollars in +that roll." + +"There were a thousand. I counted them half-an-hour before I handed them +to you." + +"There was only nine hundred when I got 'em." + +"There were all that you will get. What kind of notes were they you had +when you paid for the shares at 'Frisco?" This question he asked out loud, +before all the passengers. Then Robert Lefroy left the car, and Mr. +Peacocke never saw him or heard from him again. + + + +Conclusion. + +CHAPTER X. + +THE DOCTOR'S ANSWER. + +WHEN the Monday came there was much to be done and to be thought of at +Bowick. Mrs. Peacocke on that day received a letter from San Francisco, +giving her all the details of the evidence that her husband had obtained, +and enclosing a copy of the photograph. There was now no reason why she +should not become the true and honest wife of the man whom she had all +along regarded as her husband in the sight of God. The writer declared +that he would so quickly follow his letter that he might be expected home +within a week, or, at the longest, ten days, from the date at which she +would receive it. Immediately on his arrival at Liverpool, he would, of +course, give her notice by telegraph. + +When this letter reached her, she at once sent a message across to Mrs. +Wortle. Would Mrs. Wortle kindly come and see her? Mrs. Wortle was, of +course, bound to do as she was asked, and started at once. But she was, +in truth, but little able to give counsel on any subject outside the one +which was at the moment nearest to her heart. At one o'clock, when the +boys went to their dinner, Mary was to instruct her father as to the +purport of the letter which was to be sent to Lord Bracy,--and Mary had +not as yet come to any decision. She could not go to her father for +aid;--she could not, at any rate, go to him until the appointed hour +should come; and she was, therefore, entirely thrown upon her mother. Had +she been old enough to understand the effect and the power of character, +she would have known that, at the last moment, her father would certainly +decide for her,--and had her experience of the world been greater, she +might have been quite sure that her father would decide in her favour. +But as it was, she was quivering and shaking in the dark, leaning on her +mother's very inefficient aid, nearly overcome with the feeling that by +one o'clock she must be ready to say something quite decided. + +And in the midst of this her mother was taken away from her, just at ten +o'clock. There was not, in truth, much that the two ladies could say to +each other. Mrs. Peacocke felt it to be necessary to let the Doctor know +that Mr. Peacocke would be back almost at once, and took this means of +doing so. "In a week!" said Mrs. Wortle, as though painfully surprised by +the suddenness of the coming arrival. + +"In a week or ten days. He was to follow his letter as quickly as +possible from San Francisco." + +"And he has found it all out?" + +"Yes; he has learned everything, I think. Look at this!" And Mrs. +Peacocke handed to her friend the photograph of the tombstone. + +"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wortle. "Ferdinand Lefroy! And this was his grave?" + +"That is his grave," said Mrs. Peacocke, turning her face away. + +"It is very sad; very sad indeed;--but you had to learn it, you know." + +"It will not be sad for him, I hope," said Mrs. Peacocke. "In all this, I +endeavour to think of him rather than of myself. When I am forced to +think of myself, it seems to me that my life has been so blighted and +destroyed that it must be indifferent what happens to me now. What has +happened to me has been so bad that I can hardly be injured further. But +if there can be a good time coming for him,--something at least of relief, +something perhaps of comfort,--then I shall be satisfied." + +"Why should there not be comfort for you both?" + +"I am almost as dead to hope as I am to shame. Some year or two ago I +should have thought it impossible to bear the eyes of people looking at +me, as though my life had been sinful and impure. I seem now to care +nothing for all that. I can look them back again with bold eyes and a +brazen face, and tell them that their hardness is at any rate as bad as my +impurity." + +"We have not looked at you like that," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"No; and therefore I send to you in my trouble, and tell you all this. +The strangest thing of all to me is that I should have come across one man +so generous as your husband, and one woman so soft-hearted as yourself." +There was nothing further to be said then. Mrs. Wortle was instructed to +tell her husband that Mr. Peacocke was to be expected in a week or ten +days, and then hurried back to give what assistance she could in the much +more important difficulties of her own daughter. + +Of course they were much more important to her. Was her girl to become +the wife of a young lord,--to be a future countess? Was she destined to +be the mother-in-law of an earl? Of course this was much more important +to her. And then through it all,--being as she was a dear, good, +Christian, motherly woman,--she was well aware that there was something, +in truth, much more important even than that. Though she thought much of +the earl-ship, and the countess-ship, and the great revenue, and the big +house at Carstairs, and the fine park with its magnificent avenues, and +the carriage in which her daughter would be rolled about to London +parties, and the diamonds which she would wear when she should be +presented to the Queen as the bride of the young Lord Carstairs, yet she +knew very well that she ought not in such an emergency as the present to +think of these things as being of primary importance. What would tend +most to her girl's happiness,--and welfare in this world and the next? It +was of that she ought to think,--of that only. If some answer were now +returned to Lord Bracy, giving his lordship to understand that they, the +Wortles, were anxious to encourage the idea, then in fact her girl would +be tied to an engagement whether the young lord should hold himself to be +so tied or no! And how would it be with her girl if the engagement should +be allowed to run on in a doubtful way for years, and then be dropped by +reason of the young man's indifference? How would it be with her if, +after perhaps three or four years, a letter should come saying that the +young lord had changed his mind, and had engaged himself to some nobler +bride? Was it not her duty, as a mother, to save her child from the too +probable occurrence of some crushing grief such as this? All of it was +clear to her mind;--but then it was clear also that, if this opportunity +of greatness were thrown away, no such chance in all probability would +ever come again. Thus she was so tossed to and fro between a prospect of +glorious prosperity for her child on one side, and the fear of terrible +misfortune for her child on the other, that she was altogether unable to +give any salutary advice. She, at any rate, ought to have known that her +advice would at last be of no importance. Her experience ought to have +told her that the Doctor would certainly settle the matter himself. Had +it been her own happiness that was in question, her own conduct, her own +greatness, she would not have dreamed of having an opinion of her own. +She would have consulted the Doctor, and simply have done as he directed. +But all this was for her child, and in a vague, vacillating way she felt +that for her child she ought to be ready with counsel of her own. + +"Mamma," said Mary, when her mother came back from Mrs. Peacocke, "what am +I to say when he sends for me?" + +"If you think that you can love him, my dear----" + +"Oh, mamma, you shouldn't ask me!" + +"My dear!" + +"I do like him,--very much." + +"If so----" + +"But I never thought of it before;--and then, if he,--if he----" + +"If he what, my dear?" + +"If he were to change his mind?" + +"Ah, yes;--there it is. It isn't as though you could be married in three +months' time." + +"Oh, mamma! I shouldn't like that at all." + +"Or even in six." + +"Oh, no." + +"Of course he is very young." + +"Yes, mamma." + +"And when a young man is so very young, I suppose he doesn't quite know +his own mind." + +"No, mamma. But----" + +"Well, my dear." + +"His father says that he has got--such a strong will of his own," said +poor Mary, who was anxious, unconsciously anxious, to put in a good word +on her own side of the question, without making her own desire too +visible. + +"He always had that. When there was any game to be played, he always +liked to have his own way. But then men like that are just as likely to +change as others." + +"Are they, mamma?" + +"But I do think that he is a lad of very high principle." + +"Papa has always said that of him." + +"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a weather-cock." + +"If you think he would change at all, I would +rather,--rather,--rather----. Oh, mamma, why did you tell me?" + +"My darling, my child, my angel! What am I to tell you? I do think of +all the young men I ever knew he is the nicest, and the sweetest, and the +most thoroughly good and affectionate." + +"Oh, mamma, do you?" said Mary, rushing at her mother and kissing her and +embracing her. + +"But if there were to be no regular engagement, and you were to let him +have your heart,--and then things were to go wrong!" + +Mary left the embracings, gave up the kissings, and seated herself on the +sofa alone. In this way the morning was passed;--and when Mary was +summoned to her father's study, the mother and daughter had not arrived +between them at any decision. + +"Well, my dear," said the Doctor, smiling, "what am I to say to the Earl?" + +"Must you write to-day, papa?" + +"I think so. His letter is one that should not be left longer unanswered. +Were we to do so, he would only think that we didn't know what to say for +ourselves." + +"Would he, papa?" + +"He would fancy that we are half-ashamed to accept what has been offered +to us, and yet anxious to take it." + +"I am not ashamed of anything." + +"No, my dear; you have no reason." + +"Nor have you, papa." + +"Nor have I. That is quite true. I have never been wont to be ashamed of +myself;--nor do I think that you ever will have cause to be ashamed of +yourself. Therefore, why should we hesitate? Shall I help you, my +darling, in coming to a decision on the matter?" + +"Yes, papa." + +"If I can understand your heart on this matter, it has never as yet been +given to this young man." + +"No, papa." This Mary said not altogether with that complete power of +asseveration which the negative is sometimes made to bear. + +"But there must be a beginning to such things. A man throws himself into +it headlong,--as my Lord Carstairs seems to have done. At least all the +best young men do." Mary at this point felt a great longing to get up and +kiss her father; but she restrained herself. "A young woman, on the other +hand, if she is such as I think you are, waits till she is asked. Then it +has to begin." The Doctor, as he said this, smiled his sweetest smile. + +"Yes, papa." + +"And when it has begun, she does not like to blurt it out at once, even to +her loving old father." + +"Papa!" + +"That's about it, isn't it? Haven't I hit it off?" He paused, as though +for a reply, but she was not as yet able to make him any. "Come here, my +dear." She came and stood by him, so that he could put his arm round her +waist. "If it be as I suppose, you are better disposed to this young man +than you are likely to be to any other, just at present." + +"Oh yes, papa." + +"To all others you are quite indifferent?" + +"Yes,--indeed, papa." + +"I am sure you are. But not quite indifferent to this one? Give me a +kiss, my darling, and I will take that for your speech." Then she kissed +him,--giving him her very best kiss. "And now, my child, what shall I say +to the Earl?" + +"I don't know, papa." + +"Nor do I, quite. I never do know what to say till I've got the pen in my +hand. But you'll commission me to write as I may think best?" + +"Oh yes, papa." + +"And I may presume that I know your mind?" + +"Yes, papa." + +"Very well. Then you had better leave me, so that I can go to work with +the paper straight before me, and my pen fixed in my fingers. I can never +begin to think till I find myself in that position." Then she left him, +and went back to her mother. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"He is going to write to Lord Bracy." + +"But what does he mean to say?" + +"I don't know at all, mamma." + +"Not know!" + +"I think he means to tell Lord Bracy that he has got no objection." + +Then Mrs. Wortle was sure that the Doctor meant to face all the dangers, +and that therefore it would behove her to face them also. + +The Doctor, when he was left alone, sat a while thinking of the matter +before he put himself into the position fitted for composition which he +had described to his daughter. He acknowledged to himself that there was +a difficulty in making a fit reply to the letter which he had to answer. +When his mind was set on sending an indignant epistle to the Bishop, the +words flew from him like lightning out of the thunder-clouds. But now he +had to think much of it before he could make any light to come which +should not bear a different colour from that which he intended. "Of +course such a marriage would suit my child, and would suit me," he wished +to say;--"not only, or not chiefly, because your son is a nobleman, and +will be an earl and a man of great property. That goes a long way with +us. We are too true to deny it. We hate humbug, and want you to know +simply the truth about us. The title and the money go far,--but not half +so far as the opinion which we entertain of the young man's own good +gifts. I would not give my girl to the greatest and richest nobleman +under the British Crown, if I did not think that he would love her and be +good to her, and treat her as a husband should treat his wife. But +believing this young man to have good gifts such as these, and a fine +disposition, I am willing, on my girl's behalf,--and she also is +willing,--to encounter the acknowledged danger of a long engagement in the +hope of realising all the good things which would, if things went +fortunately, thus come within her reach." This was what he wanted to say +to the Earl, but he found it very difficult to say it in language that +should be natural. + + +"MY DEAR LORD BRACY,--When I learned, through Mary's mother, that +Carstairs had been here in our absence and made a declaration of love to +our girl, I was, I must confess, annoyed. I felt, in the first place, +that he was too young to have taken in hand such a business as that; and, +in the next, that you might not unnaturally have been angry that your son, +who had come here simply for tuition, should have fallen into a matter of +love. I imagine that you will understand exactly what were my feelings. +There was, however, nothing to be said about it. The evil, so far as it +was an evil, had been done, and Carstairs was going away to Oxford, where, +possibly, he might forget the whole affair. I did not, at any rate, think +it necessary to make a complaint to you of his coming. + +"To all this your letter has given altogether a different aspect. I think +that I am as little likely as another to spend my time or thoughts in +looking for external advantages, but I am as much alive as another to the +great honour to myself and advantage to my child of the marriage which is +suggested to her. I do not know how any more secure prospect of happiness +could be opened to her than that which such a marriage offers. I have +thought myself bound to give her your letter to read because her heart and +her imagination have naturally been affected by what your son said to her. +I think I may say of my girl that none sweeter, none more innocent, none +less likely to be over-anxious for such a prospect could exist. But her +heart has been touched; and though she had not dreamt of him but as an +acquaintance till he came here and told his own tale, and though she then +altogether declined to entertain his proposal when it was made, now that +she has learnt so much more through you, she is no longer indifferent. +This, I think, you will find to be natural. + +"I and her mother also are of course alive to the dangers of a long +engagement, and the more so because your son has still before him a +considerable portion of his education. Had he asked advice either of you +or of me he would of course have been counselled not to think of marriage +as yet. But the very passion which has prompted him to take this action +upon himself shows,--as you yourself say of him,--that he has a stronger +will than is usual to be found at his years. As it is so, it is probable +that he may remain constant to this as to a fixed idea. + +"I think you will now understand my mind and Mary's and her mother's." +Lord Bracy as he read this declared to himself that though the Doctor's +mind was very clear, Mrs. Wortle, as far as he knew, had no mind in the +matter at all. "I would suggest that the affair should remain as it is, +and that each of the young people should be made to understand that any +future engagement must depend, not simply on the persistency of one of +them, but on the joint persistency of the two. + +"If, after this, Lady Bracy should be pleased to receive Mary at +Carstairs, I need not say that Mary will be delighted to make the +visit.--Believe me, my dear Lord Bracy, yours most faithfully. + +"JEFFREY WORTLE." + + +The Earl, when he read this, though there was not a word in it to which he +could take exception, was not altogether pleased. "Of course it will be +an engagement," he said to his wife. + +"Of course it will," said the Countess. "But then Carstairs is so very +much in earnest. He would have done it for himself if you hadn't done it +for him." + +"At any rate the Doctor is a gentleman," the Earl said, comforting +himself. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MR. PEACOCKE'S RETURN. + +THE Earl's rejoinder to the Doctor was very short: "So let it be." There +was not another word in the body of the letter; but there was appended to +it a postscript almost equally short; "Lady Bracy will write to Mary and +settle with her some period for her visit." And so it came to be +understood by the Doctor, by Mrs. Wortle, and by Mary herself, that Mary +was engaged to Lord Carstairs. + +The Doctor, having so far arranged the matter, said little or nothing more +on the subject, but turned his mind at once to that other affair of Mr. +and Mrs. Peacocke. It was evident to his wife, who probably alone +understood the buoyancy of his spirit and its corresponding susceptibility +to depression, that he at once went about Mr. Peacocke's affairs with +renewed courage. Mr. Peacocke should resume his duties as soon as he was +remarried, and let them see what Mrs. Stantiloup or the Bishop would dare +to say then! It was impossible, he thought, that parents would be such +asses as to suppose that their boys' morals could be affected to evil by +connection with a man so true, so gallant, and so manly as this. He did +not at this time say anything further as to abandoning the school, but +seemed to imagine that the vacancies would get themselves filled up as in +the course of nature. He ate his dinner again as though he liked it, and +abused the Liberals, and was anxious about the grapes and peaches, as was +always the case with him when things were going well. All this, as Mrs. +Wortle understood, had come to him from the brilliancy of Mary's +prospects. + +But though he held his tongue on the subject, Mrs. Wortle did not. She +found it absolutely impossible not to talk of it when she was alone with +Mary, or alone with the Doctor. As he counselled her not to make Mary +think too much about it, she was obliged to hold her peace when both were +with her; but with either of them alone she was always full of it. To the +Doctor she communicated all her fears and all her doubts, showing only too +plainly that she would be altogether broken-hearted if anything should +interfere with the grandeur and prosperity which seemed to be partly +within reach, but not altogether within reach of her darling child. If +he, Carstairs, should prove to be a recreant young lord! If Aristotle and +Socrates should put love out of his heart! If those other wicked young +lords at Christ-Church were to teach him that it was a foolish thing for a +young lord to become engaged to his tutor's daughter before he had taken +his degree! If some better born young lady were to come in his way and +drive Mary out of his heart! No more lovely or better girl could be found +to do so;--of that she was sure. To the latter assertion the Doctor +agreed, telling her that, as it was so, she ought to have a stronger trust +in her daughter's charms,--telling her also, with somewhat sterner voice, +that she should not allow herself to be so disturbed by the glories of the +Bracy coronet. In this there was, I think, some hypocrisy. Had the +Doctor been as simple as his wife in showing her own heart, it would +probably have been found that he was as much set upon the coronet as she. + +Then Mrs. Wortle would carry the Doctor's wisdom to her daughter. "Papa +says, my dear, that you shouldn't think of it too much." + +"I do think of him, mamma. I do love him now, and of course I think of +him." + +"Of course you do, my dear;--of course you do. How should you not think +of him when he is all in all to you? But papa means that it can hardly be +called an engagement yet." + +"I don't know what it should be called; but of course I love him. He can +change it if he likes." + +"But you shouldn't think of it, knowing his rank and wealth." + +"I never did, mamma; but he is what he is, and I must think of him." + +Poor Mrs. Wortle did not know what special advice to give when this +declaration was made. To have held her tongue would have been the wisest, +but that was impossible to her. Out of the full heart the mouth speaks, +and her heart was very full of Lord Carstairs and of Carstairs House, and +of the diamonds which her daughter would certainly be called upon to wear +before the Queen,--if only that young man would do his duty. + +Poor Mary herself probably had the worst of it. No provision was made +either for her to see her lover or to write to him. The only interview +which had ever taken place between them as lovers was that on which she +had run by him into the house, leaving him, as the Earl had said, planted +on the terrace. She had never been able to whisper one single soft word +into his ear, to give him even one touch of her fingers in token of her +affection. She did not in the least know when she might be allowed to see +him,--whether it had not been settled among the elders that they were not +to see each other as real lovers till he should have taken his +degree,--which would be almost in a future world, so distant seemed the +time. It had been already settled that she was to go to Carstairs in the +middle of November and stay till the middle of December; but it was +altogether settled that her lover was not to be at Carstairs during the +time. He was to be at Oxford then, and would be thinking only of his +Greek and Latin,--or perhaps amusing himself, in utter forgetfulness that +he had a heart belonging to him at Bowick Parsonage. In this way Mary, +though no doubt she thought the most of it all, had less opportunity of +talking of it than either her father or her mother. + +In the mean time Mr. Peacocke was coming home. The Doctor, as soon as he +heard that the day was fixed, or nearly fixed, being then, as has been +explained, in full good humour with all the world except Mrs. Stantiloup +and the Bishop, bethought himself as to what steps might best be taken in +the very delicate matter in which he was called upon to give advice. He +had declared at first that they should be married at his own parish +church; but he felt that there would be difficulties in this. "She must +go up to London and meet him there," he said to Mrs. Wortle. "And he must +not show himself here till he brings her down as his actual wife." Then +there was very much to be done in arranging all this. And something to be +done also in making those who had been his friends, and perhaps more in +making those who had been his enemies, understand exactly how the matter +stood. Had no injury been inflicted upon him, as though he had done evil +to the world in general in befriending Mr. Peacocke, he would have been +quite willing to pass the matter over in silence among his friends; but as +it was he could not afford to hide his own light under a bushel. He was +being punished almost to the extent of ruin by the cruel injustice which +had been done him by the evil tongue of Mrs. Stantiloup, and, as he +thought, by the folly of the Bishop. He must now let those who had +concerned themselves know as accurately as he could what he had done in +the matter, and what had been the effect of his doing. He wrote a letter, +therefore, which was not, however, to be posted till after the Peacocke +marriage had been celebrated, copies of which he prepared with his own +hand in order that he might send them to the Bishop and to Lady Anne +Clifford, and to Mr. Talbot and,--not, indeed, to Mrs. Stantiloup, but to +Mrs. Stantiloup's husband. There was a copy also made for Mr. Momson, +though in his heart he despised Mr. Momson thoroughly. In this letter he +declared the great respect which he had entertained, since he had first +known them, both for Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, and the distress which he had +felt when Mr. Peacocke had found himself obliged to explain to him the +facts,--the facts which need not be repeated, because the reader is so +well acquainted with them. "Mr. Peacocke," he went on to say, "has since +been to America, and has found that the man whom he believed to be dead +when he married his wife, has died since his calamitous reappearance. Mr. +Peacocke has seen the man's grave, with the stone on it bearing his name, +and has brought back with him certificates and evidence as to his burial. + +"Under these circumstances, I have no hesitation in re-employing both him +and his wife; and I think that you will agree that I could not do less. I +think you will agree, also, that in the whole transaction I have done +nothing of which the parent of any boy intrusted to me has a right to +complain." + +Having done this, he went up to London, and made arrangements for having +the marriage celebrated there as soon as possible after the arrival of Mr. +Peacocke. And on his return to Bowick, he went off to Mr. Puddicombe with +a copy of his letter in his pocket. He had not addressed a copy to his +friend, nor had he intended that one should be sent to him. Mr. +Puddicombe had not interfered in regard to the boys, and had, on the +whole, shown himself to be a true friend. There was no need for him to +advocate his cause to Mr. Puddicombe. But it was right, he thought, that +that gentleman should know what he did; and it might be that he hoped that +he would at length obtain some praise from Mr. Puddicombe. But Mr. +Puddicombe did not like the letter. "It does not tell the truth," he +said. + +"Not the truth!" + +"Not the whole truth." + +"As how! Where have I concealed anything?" + +"If I understand the question rightly, they who have thought proper to +take their children away from your school because of Mr. Peacocke, have +done so because that gentleman continued to live with that lady when they +both knew that they were not man and wife." + +"That wasn't my doing." + +"You condoned it. I am not condemning you. You condoned it, and now you +defend yourself in this letter. But in your defence you do not really +touch the offence as to which you are, according to your own showing, +accused. In telling the whole story, you should say; 'They did live +together though they were not married;--and, under all the circumstances, +I did not think that they were on that account unfit to be left in charge +of my boys."' + +"But I sent him away immediately,--to America." + +"You allowed the lady to remain." + +"Then what would you have me say?" demanded the Doctor. + +"Nothing," said Mr. Puddicombe;--"not a word. Live it down in silence. +There will be those, like myself, who, though they could not dare to say +that in morals you were strictly correct, will love you the better for +what you did." The Doctor turned his face towards the dry, hard-looking +man and showed that there was a tear in each of his eyes. "There are few +of us not so infirm as sometimes to love best that which is not best. But +when a man is asked a downright question, he is bound to answer the +truth." + +"You would say nothing in your own defence." + +"Not a word. You know the French proverb: 'Who excuses himself is his own +accuser.' The truth generally makes its way. As far as I can see, a +slander never lives long." + +"Ten of my boys are gone!" said the Doctor, who had not hitherto spoken a +word of this to any one out of his own family;--"ten out of twenty." + +"That will only be a temporary loss." + +"That is nothing,--nothing. It is the idea that the school should be +failing." + +"They will come again. I do not believe that that letter would bring a +boy. I am almost inclined to say, Dr. Wortle, that a man should never +defend himself." + +"He should never have to defend himself." + +"It is much the same thing. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Dr. +Wortle,--if it will suit your plans. I will go up with you and will +assist at the marriage. I do not for a moment think that you will require +any countenance, or that if you did, that I could give it you." + +"No man that I know so efficiently." + +"But it may be that Mr. Peacocke will like to find that the clergymen from +his neighbourhood are standing with him." And so it was settled, that when +the day should come on which the Doctor would take Mrs. Peacocke up with +him to London, Mr. Puddicombe was to accompany them. + +The Doctor when he left Mr. Puddicombe's parsonage had by no means pledged +himself not to send the letters. When a man has written a letter, and has +taken some trouble with it, and more specially when he has copied it +several times himself so as to have made many letters of it,--when he has +argued his point successfully to himself, and has triumphed in his own +mind, as was likely to be the case with Dr. Wortle in all that he did, he +does not like to make waste paper of his letters. As he rode home he +tried to persuade himself that he might yet use them. He could not quite +admit his friend's point. Mr. Peacocke, no doubt, had known his own +condition, and him a strict moralist might condemn. But he,--he,--Dr. +Wortle,--had known nothing. All that he had done was not to condemn the +other man when he did know! + +Nevertheless as he rode into his own yard, he made up his mind that he +would burn the letters. He had shown them to no one else. He had not +even mentioned them to his wife. He could burn them without condemning +himself in the opinion of any one. And he burned them. When Mr. +Puddicombe found him at the station at Broughton as they were about to +proceed to London with Mrs. Peacocke, he simply whispered the fate of the +letters. "After what you said I destroyed what I had written." + +"Perhaps it was as well," said Mr. Puddicombe. + +When the telegram came to say that Mr. Peacocke was at Liverpool, Mrs. +Peacocke was anxious immediately to rush up to London. But she was +restrained by the Doctor,--or rather by Mrs. Wortle under the Doctor's +orders. "No, my dear; no. You must not go till all will be ready for you +to meet him in the church. The Doctor says so." + +"Am I not to see him till he comes up to the altar?" + +On this there was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle and the Doctor, +at which she explained how impossible it would be for the woman to go +through the ceremony with due serenity and propriety of manner unless she +should be first allowed to throw herself into his arms, and to welcome him +back to her. "Yes," she said, "he can come and see you at the hotel on +the evening before, and again in the morning,--so that if there be a word +to say you can say it. Then when it is over he will bring you down here. +The Doctor and Mr. Puddicombe will come down by a later train. Of course +it is painful," said Mrs. Wortle, "but you must bear up." To her it seemed +to be so painful that she was quite sure that she could not have borne it. +To be married for the third time, and for the second time to the same +husband! To Mrs. Peacocke, as she thought of it, the pain did not so much +rest in that, as in the condition of life which these things had forced +upon her. + +"I must go up to town to-morrow, and must be away for two days," said the +Doctor out loud in the school, speaking immediately to one of the ushers, +but so that all the boys present might hear him. "I trust that we shall +have Mr. Peacocke with us the day after to-morrow." + +"We shall be very glad of that," said the usher. + +"And Mrs. Peacocke will come and eat her dinner again like before?" asked +a little boy. + +"I hope so, Charley." + +"We shall like that, because she has to eat it all by herself now." + +All the school, down even to Charley, the smallest boy in it, knew all +about it. Mr. Peacocke had gone to America, and Mrs. Peacocke was going +up to London to be married once more to her own husband,--and the Doctor +and Mr. Puddicombe were both going to marry them. The usher of course +knew the details more clearly than that,--as did probably the bigger boys. +There had even been a rumour of the photograph which had been seen by one +of the maid-servants,--who had, it is to be feared, given the information +to the French teacher. So much, however, the Doctor had felt it wise to +explain, not thinking it well that Mr. Peacocke should make his +reappearance among them without notice. + +On the afternoon of the next day but one, Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were +driven up to the school in one of the Broughton flys. She went quickly up +into her own house, when Mr. Peacocke walked into the school. The boys +clustered round him, and the three assistants, and every word said to him +was kind and friendly;--but in the whole course of his troubles there had +never been a moment to him more difficult than this,--in which he found it +so nearly impossible to say anything or to say nothing. "Yes, I have been +over very many miles since I saw you last." This was an answer to young +Talbot, who asked him whether he had not been a great traveller whilst he +was away. + +"In America," suggested the French usher, who had heard of the photograph, +and knew very well where it had been taken. + +"Yes, in America." + +"All the way to San Francisco," suggested Charley. + +"All the way to San Francisco, Charley,--and back again." + +"Yes; I know you're come back again," said Charley, "because I see you +here." + +"There are only twenty boys this half," said one of the twenty. + +"Then I shall have more time to attend to you now." + +"I suppose so," said the lad, not seeming to find any special consolation +in that view of the matter. + +Painful as this first re-introduction had been, there was not much more in +it than that. No questions were asked, and no explanations expected. It +may be that Mrs. Stantiloup was affected with fresh moral horrors when she +heard of the return, and that the Bishop said that the Doctor was foolish +and headstrong as ever. It may be that there was a good deal of talk +about it in the Close at Broughton. But at the school there was very +little more said about it than what has been stated above. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MARY'S SUCCESS. + +IN this last chapter of our short story I will venture to run rapidly over +a few months so as to explain how the affairs of Bowick arranged +themselves up to the end of the current year. I cannot pretend that the +reader shall know, as he ought to be made to know, the future fate and +fortunes of our personages. They must be left still struggling. But then +is not such always in truth the case, even when the happy marriage has +been celebrated?--even when, in the course of two rapid years, two normal +children make their appearance to gladden the hearts of their parents? + +Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke fell into their accustomed duties in the diminished +school, apparently without difficulty. As the Doctor had not sent those +ill-judged letters he of course received no replies, and was neither +troubled by further criticism nor consoled by praise as to his conduct. +Indeed, it almost seemed to him as though the thing, now that it was done, +excited less observation than it deserved. He heard no more of the +metropolitan press, and was surprised to find that the 'Broughton Gazette' +inserted only a very short paragraph, in which it stated that "they had +been given to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke had resumed their +usual duties at the Bowick School, after the performance of an interesting +ceremony in London, at which Dr. Wortle and Mr. Puddicombe had assisted." +The press, as far as the Doctor was aware, said nothing more on the +subject. And if remarks injurious to his conduct were made by the +Stantiloups and the Momsons, they did not reach his ears. Very soon after +the return of the Peacockes there was a grand dinner-party at the palace, +to which the Doctor and his wife were invited. It was not a clerical +dinner-party, and so the honour was the greater. The aristocracy of the +neighbourhood were there, including Lady Anne Clifford, who was devoted, +with almost repentant affection, to her old friend. And Lady Margaret +Momson was there, the only clergyman's wife besides his own, who declared +to him with unblushing audacity that she had never regretted anything so +much in her life as that Augustus should have been taken away from the +school. It was evident that there had been an intention at the palace to +make what amends the palace could for the injuries it had done. + +"Did Lady Anne say anything about the boys?" asked Mrs. Wortle, as they +were going home. + +"She was going to, but I would not let her. I managed to show her that I +did not wish it, and she was clever enough to stop." + +"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle. + +"She won't do that. Indeed, I doubt whether I should take them. But if +it should come to pass that she should wish to send them back, you may be +sure that others will come. In such a matter she is very good as a +weathercock, showing how the wind blows." In this way the dinner-party at +the palace was in a degree comforting and consolatory. + +But an incident which of all was most comforting and most consolatory to +one of the inhabitants of the parsonage took place two or three days after +the dinner-party. On going out of his own hall-door one Saturday +afternoon, immediately after lunch, whom should the Doctor see driving +himself into the yard in a hired gig from Broughton--but young Lord +Carstairs. There had been no promise, or absolute compact made, but it +certainly had seemed to be understood by all of them that Carstairs was +not to show himself at Bowick till at some long distant period, when he +should have finished all the trouble of his education. It was understood +even that he was not to be at Carstairs during Mary's visit,--so +imperative was it that the young people should not meet. And now here he +was getting out of a gig in the Rectory yard! "Halloa! Carstairs, is +that you?" + +"Yes, Dr. Wortle,--here I am." + +"We hardly expected to see you, my boy." + +"No,--I suppose not. But when I heard that Mr. Peacocke had come back, +and all about his marriage, you know, I could not but come over to see +him. He and I have always been such great friends." + +"Oh,--to see Mr. Peacocke?" + +"I thought he'd think it unkind if I didn't look him up. He has made it +all right; hasn't he?" + +"Yes;--he has made it all right, I think. A finer fellow never lived. +But he'll tell you all about it. He travelled with a pistol in his +pocket, and seemed to want it too. I suppose you must come in and see the +ladies after we have been to Peacocke?" + +"I suppose I can just see them," said the young lord, as though moved by +equal anxiety as to the mother and as to the daughter. + +"I'll leave word that you are here, and then we'll go into the school." +So the Doctor found a servant, and sent what message he thought fit +into the house. + +"Lord Carstairs here?" + +"Yes, indeed, Miss! He's with your papa, going across to the school. He +told me to take word in to Missus that he supposes his lordship will stay +to dinner." The maid who carried the tidings, and who had received no +commission to convey them to Miss Mary, was, no doubt, too much interested +in an affair of love, not to take them first to the one that would be most +concerned with them. + +That very morning Mary had been bemoaning herself as to her hard +condition. Of what use was it to her to have a lover, if she was never to +see him, never to hear from him,--only to be told about him,--that she was +not to think of him more than she could help? She was already beginning +to think that a long engagement carried on after this fashion would have +more of suffering in it than she had anticipated. It seemed to her that +while she was, and always would be, thinking of him, he never, never would +continue to think of her. If it could be only a word once a month it +would be something,--just one or two written words under an +envelope,--even that would have sufficed to keep her hope alive! But +never to see him;--never to hear from him! Her mother had told her that +very morning that there was to be no meeting,--probably for three years, +till he should have done with Oxford. And here he was in the house,--and +her papa had sent in word to say that he was to eat his dinner there! It +so astonished her that she felt that she would be afraid to meet him. +Before she had had a minute to think of it all, her mother was with her. +"Carstairs, love, is here!" + +"Oh mamma, what has brought him?" + +"He has gone into the school with your papa to see Mr. Peacocke. He +always was very fond of Mr. Peacocke." For a moment something of a feeling +of jealousy crossed her heart,--but only for a moment. He would not +surely have come to Bowick if he had begun to be indifferent to her +already! "Papa says that he will probably stay to dinner." + +"Then I am to see him?" + +"Yes;--of course you must see him." + +"I didn't know, mamma." + +"Don't you wish to see him?" + +"Oh yes, mamma. If he were to come and go, and we were not to meet at +all, I should think it was all over then. Only,--I don't know what to say +to him." + +"You must take that as it comes, my dear." + +Two hours afterwards they were walking, the two of them alone together, +out in the Bowick woods. When once the law,--which had been rather +understood than spoken,--had been infringed and set at naught, there was +no longer any use in endeavouring to maintain a semblance of its +restriction. The two young people had met in the presence both of the +father and mother, and the lover had had her in his arms before either of +them could interfere. There had been a little scream from Mary, but it +may probably be said of her that she was at the moment the happiest young +lady in the diocese. + +"Does your father know you are here?" said the Doctor, as he led the young +lord back from the school into the house. + +"He knows I'm coming, for I wrote and told my mother. I always tell +everything; but it's sometimes best to make up your mind before you get an +answer." Then the Doctor made up his mind that Lord Carstairs would have +his own way in anything that he wished to accomplish. + +"Won't the Earl be angry?" Mrs. Wortle asked. + +"No;--not angry. He knows the world too well not to be quite sure that +something of the kind would happen. And he is too fond of his son not to +think well of anything that he does. It wasn't to be supposed that they +should never meet. After all that has passed I am bound to make him +welcome if he chooses to come here, and as Mary's lover to give him the +best welcome that I can. He won't stay, I suppose, because he has got no +clothes." + +"But he has;--John brought in a portmanteau and a dressing-bag out of the +gig." So that was settled. + +In the mean time Lord Carstairs had taken Mary out for a walk into the +wood, and she, as she walked beside him, hardly knew whether she was going +on her head or her heels. This, indeed, it was to have a lover. In the +morning she was thinking that when three years were past he would hardly +care to see her ever again. And now they were together among the falling +leaves, and sitting about under the branches as though there was nothing +in the world to separate them. Up to that day there had never been a word +between them but such as is common to mere acquaintances, and now he was +calling her every instant by her Christian name, and telling her all his +secrets. + +"We have such jolly woods at Carstairs," he said; "but we shan't be able +to sit down when we're there, because it will be winter. We shall be +hunting, and you must come out and see us." + +"But you won't be there when I am," she said, timidly. + +"Won't I? That's all you know about it. I can manage better than that." + +"You'll be at Oxford." + +"You must stay over Christmas, Mary; that's what you must do. You musn't +think of going till January." + +"But Lady Bracy won't want me." + +"Yes, she will. We must make her want you. At any rate they'll +understand this; if you don't stay for me, I shall come home even if it's +in the middle of term. I'll arrange that. You don't suppose I'm not +going to be there when you make your first visit to the old place." + +All this was being in Paradise. She felt when she walked home with him, +and when she was alone afterwards in her own room, that, in truth, she had +only liked him before. Now she loved him. Now she was beginning to know +him, and to feel that she would really,--really die of a broken heart if +anything were to rob her of him. But she could let him go now, without a +feeling of discomfort, if she thought that she was to see him again when +she was at Carstairs. + +But this was not the last walk in the woods, even on this occasion. He +remained two days at Bowick, so necessary was it for him to renew his +intimacy with Mr. Peacocke. He explained that he had got two days' leave +from the tutor of his College, and that two days, in College parlance, +always meant three. He would be back on the third day, in time for +"gates"; and that was all which the strictest college discipline would +require of him. It need hardly be said of him that the most of his time +he spent with Mary; but he did manage to devote an hour or two to his old +friend, the school-assistant. + +Mr. Peacocke told his whole story, and Carstairs, whose morals were +perhaps not quite so strict as those of Mr. Puddicombe, gave him all his +sympathy. "To think that a man can be such a brute as that," he said, +when he heard that Ferdinand Lefroy had shown himself to his wife at St. +Louis,--"only on a spree." + +"There is no knowing to what depth utter ruin may reduce a man who has +been born to better things. He falls into idleness, and then comforts +himself with drink. So it seems to have been with him." + +"And that other fellow;--do you think he meant to shoot you?" + +"Never. But he meant to frighten me. And when he brought out his knife +in the bedroom at Leavenworth he did. My pistol was not loaded." + +"Why not?" + +"Because little as I wish to be murdered, I should prefer that to +murdering any one else. But he didn't mean it. His only object was to +get as much out of me as he could. As for me, I couldn't give him more +because I hadn't got it." After that they made a league of friendship, and +Mr. Peacocke promised that he would, on some distant occasion, take his +wife with him on a visit to Carstairs. + +It was about a month after this that Mary was packed up and sent on her +journey to Carstairs. When that took place, the Doctor was in supreme +good-humour. There had come a letter from the father of the two Mowbrays, +saying that he had again changed his mind. He had, he said, heard a story +told two ways. He trusted Dr. Wortle would understand him and forgive +him, when he declared that he had believed both the stories. If after +this the Doctor chose to refuse to take his boys back again, he would +have, he acknowledged, no ground for offence. But if the Doctor would +take them, he would intrust them to the Doctor's care with the greatest +satisfaction in the world,--as he had done before. + +For a while the Doctor had hesitated; but here, perhaps for the first time +in her life, his wife was allowed to persuade him. "They are such leading +people," she said. + +"Who cares for that? I have never gone in for that." This, however, was +hardly true. "When I have been sure that a man is a gentleman, I have +taken his son without inquiring much farther. It was mean of him to +withdraw after I had acceded to his request." + +"But he withdraws his withdrawal in such a flattering way!" Then the +Doctor assented, and the two boys were allowed to come. Lady Anne +Clifford hearing this, learning that the Doctor was so far willing to +relent, became very piteous and implored forgiveness. The noble relatives +were all willing now. It had not been her fault. As far as she was +concerned herself she had always been anxious that her boys should remain +at Bowick. And so the two Cliffords came back to their old beds in the +old room. + +Mary, when she first arrived at Carstairs, hardly knew how to carry +herself. Lady Bracy was very cordial and the Earl friendly, but for the +first two days nothing was said about Carstairs. There was no open +acknowledgment of her position. But then she had expected none; and +though her tongue was burning to talk, of course she did not say a word. +But before a week was over Lady Bracy had begun, and by the end of the +fortnight Lord Bracy had given her a beautiful brooch. "That means," said +Lady Bracy in the confidence of her own little sitting-room up-stairs, +"that he looks upon you as his daughter." + +"Does it?" + +"Yes, my dear, yes." Then they fell to kissing each other, and did nothing +but talk about Carstairs and all his perfections, and his unalterable +love, and how these three years could be made to wear themselves away, +till the conversation,--simmering over as such conversation is wont to +do,--gave the whole household to understand that Miss Wortle was staying +there as Lord Carstairs's future bride. + +Of course she stayed over the Christmas, or went back to Bowick for a +week, and then returned to Carstairs, so that she might tell her mother +everything, and hear of the six new boys who were to come after the +holidays. "Papa couldn't take both the Buncombes," said Mrs. Wortle in +her triumph, "and one must remain till midsummer. Sir George did say that +it must be two or none, but he had to give way. I wanted papa to have +another bed in the east room, but he wouldn't hear of it." + +Mary went back for the Christmas and Carstairs came; and the house was +full, and everybody knew of the engagement. She walked with him, and rode +with him, and danced with him, and talked secrets with him,--as though +there were no Oxford, no degree before him. No doubt it was very +imprudent, but the Earl and the Countess knew all about it. What might +be, or would be, or was the end of such folly, it is not my purpose here +to tell. I fear that there was trouble before them. It may, however, be +possible that the degree should be given up on the score of love, and Lord +Carstairs should marry his bride,--at any rate when he came of age. + +As to the school, it certainly suffered nothing by the Doctor's +generosity, and when last I heard of Mr. Peacocke, the Bishop had offered +to grant him a licence for the curacy. Whether he accepted it I have not +yet heard, but I am inclined to think that in this matter he will adhere +to his old determination. + + + + * * * * * + + + +Textual emendations and noteworthy items + +1 Alterations + +1 1 Word changes + +1 1 1 Additions + +1 1 1 1 Added "l" to "crue" +Vol. I--Page 146, line 8 +did sit down. "He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, +cruel* bigamist." + +1 1 1 2 Added "b" to "Puddicome's" +Vol. II--Page 15, line 1 +he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicomb*e's +dirty boot had + +1 1 1 3 Added "e" to "Ann" +Vol. II--Page 215, line 6 +hand in order that he might send them to the Bishop and to +Lady Anne* + +1 1 2 Deletions + +1 1 2 1 Deleted repeated word "not" +Vol. II--Page 15, line 10 +been a grain of tenderness there, he could not* have spoken +so often as he + +1 1 2 2 Deleted repeated "i" in "hiim" +Vol. II--Page 87, line 9 +not leave the man to triumph over hi*m. If nothing further +were done in + +1 1 3 Substitutions + +1 1 3 1 Changed lowercase "de" to uppercase "De" to conform +to majority usage (11 out of 14 times with uppercase) +Vol. I--Page 34, line 7 +Lawle, who had in early years been a dear friend to Mrs. +Wortle. Lady *De Lawle was the widow + +Vol. I--Page 48, line 9 +Bishop,--before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon. Mrs. Stantiloup, or +Lady *De Lawle. + +Vol. I--Page 82, line 17 +to you; different in not accepting Lady *De Lawle's +hospitality; different + +1 1 3 2 Changed "out" to "our" +Vol. I--Page 88, line 22 +and me, can have no effect but to increase our* troubles. +You are a woman, + +1 1 3 3 Changed lowercase "junction" to uppercase "Junction" +to conform to majority usage (3 out of 4 times with uppercase) +Vol. II--Page 147, line 6 +been written at the Ogden *Junction, at which Mr. Peacocke had +stopped for + +1 2 Punctuation changes + +1 2 1 Additions + +1 2 1 1 Added quotation marks + +1 2 1 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 146, line 7 +did sit down. *"He has made you out to be a perjured, wilful, +cruel + +Vol. II--Page 102, line 3 +kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours +very faithfully, + +*"C. BROUGHTON." + +1 2 1 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 35, line 16 +were given. "It is not enough to be innocent," said the Bishop, +"but men must know that we are so."* + +1 2 1 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 103, line 11 +Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by *'Everybody's +Business,' and its + +1 2 1 1 4 ...closing single quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 48, line 21 +'Black Dwarf'* be if every one knew from the beginning that he +was a rich + +1 2 1 1 5 ...single quotation marks +Vol. II--Page 95, line 15 +beforehand whom he was about to smite. "*'Amo' in the cool of +the + +1 2 1 2 Added apostrophe +Vol. I--Page 120, line 19 +ricketiest little buggy that ever a man trusted his life to. +Them'*s + +1 2 1 3 Added full stop + +1 2 1 3 1 ...after "more" +Vol. II--Page 83, line 11 +very nice boy; and so he was still; that;--that, and nothing +more.* Then + +1 2 1 3 2 ...after "St" +Vol. II--Page 109, line 7 +round by St.* Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and +on that + +1 2 1 3 3 ...after "engagement" +Vol. II--Page 163, line 21 +not known that she was very much afraid of a long engagement.* +She would, + +1 2 1 3 4 ...after "Wortle" +Vol. II--Page 231, line 2 +"I shouldn't wonder if she sent them back," said Mrs. Wortle.* + +1 2 2 Deletions + +1 2 2 1 Deleted quotation marks + +1 2 2 1 1 ...opening double quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 222, line 18 +*On this there was another consultation between Mrs. Wortle +and the Doctor, + +1 2 2 1 2 ...closing double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 146, line 11 +"I have not been such," said Peacocke, rising from his chair.* + +Vol. II--Page 221, line 14 +Wortle,--had known nothing. All that he had done was not to +condemn the other man when he did know!* + +1 2 2 1 3 ...opening single quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 238, line 12 +between them but such as is common *to mere acquaintances, and +now he was + +1 2 2 2 Deleted extra space after opening double quotation mark +Vol. I--Page 81, line 14 +at his feet, buried her face in his lap. "*Ella," he said, "the +only + +1 2 3 Substitutions + +1 2 3 1 Changed single closing quotation mark to double closing +quotation mark +Vol. II--Page 105, line 18 +"My taking you across to the States."* + +1 2 3 2 Changed full stop to comma +Vol. I--Page 185, line 18 +facts were known to the entire diocese." After this there was a +pause,* + +2 Items of note + +2 1 Spelling + +2 1 1 Verbs in "-ize" normally in "-ise" + +2 1 1 1 sympathize +Vol. I--Page 156, line 4 +only say this, as between man and man, that no man ever +sympathized* with + +2 1 1 2 apologize +Vol. II--Page 14, line 17 +found himself obliged to apologize* before he left the house! +And, too, he + +2 1 2 Variation in hyphenation + +2 1 2 1 weather(-)cock +Vol. II--Page 196, line 2 +"And of fine generous feeling. He would not change like a +weather-*cock." + +Vol. II--Page 231, line 8 +weathercock*, showing how the wind blows." In this way the +dinner-party at + +2 1 2 2 a(-)verb-ing +Vol. II--Page 119, line 1 +"Not a foot; I ain't a-*going out of this room to-morrow." + +Vol. II--Page 182, lines 5 & 6 +"We are *alooking at 'em," said Lefroy. + +"If you're *agoing to do anything of that kind you'd better +go and do it + +2 2 Punctuation + +2 2 1 Full stop changed to question mark +Vol. I--Page 134, line 3 +longer I shall send for the policeman to remove you." + +"You will?*" + +2 2 2 Full stop used instead of question mark +Vol. II--Page 47, line 16 +building staring him in the face every moment of his life.* + +Vol. II--Page 63, line 17 +"I may tell them that the action is withdrawn.*" + +2 2 3 Exclamation point used instead of question mark +Vol. II--Page 75, line 8 +"Of course he did. Had he anything particular to say!*" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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