_Chapter XLVII_
As the election approached, it became gradually the one absorbing objectof interest in Carlingford. The contest was so equal that everybody tooka certain share in it, and became excited as the decisive moment drewnigh. Most of the people in Grange Lane were for Mr Ashburton, but thenthe Rector, who was a host in himself, was for Mr Cavendish; and thecoquetting of the Dissenting interest, which was sometimes drawn towardsthe liberal sentiments of the former candidate, but sometimes could nothelp reflecting that Mr Ashburton "dealt" in George Street; and thefluctuations of the bargemen, who were, many of them, freemen, and avery difficult part of the population, excited the most vivid interest.Young Mr Wentworth, who had but lately come to Carlingford, had alreadybegun to acquire a great influence at Wharfside, where most of thebargees lived, and the steady ones would no doubt have been largelyswayed by him had his inclinations been the same as the Rector's; but MrWentworth, perversely enough, had conceived that intuitive repugnancefor Mr Cavendish which a high-principled and not very tolerant young manoften feels for the middle-aged individual who still conceives himselfto have some right to be called young, and whose antecedents are notentirely beyond suspicion. Mr Wentworth's disinclination (and he was aman rather apt to take his own way) lay like a great boulder across thestream of the Rector's enthusiasm, and unquestionably interrupted it alittle. Both the candidates and both the committees had accordingly workenough to do up to the last moment. Mr Cavendish all at once became aconnoisseur in hams, and gave a magnificent order in the mostcomplimentary way to Tozer, who received it with a broad smile, and"booked" it, as he said. "It ain't ham he's a wanting," the buttermansaid, not without amusement; for Tozer was well-to-do, and, except thathe felt the honour of a mark of confidence, was not to be moved one wayor another by one order. "If he dealt regular, it might be different.Them's the sort of folks as a man feels drawn to," said the truephilosopher. Mr Ashburton, on the other side, did not make theimpression which his friends thought he ought to have made in Prickett'sLane; but at least nobody could say that he did not stick very close tohis work. He went at it like a man night and day, and neglected no meansof carrying it to a successful issue; whereas, as Mr Centum and MrWoodburn mourned in secret to each other, Cavendish required perpetualegging on. He did not like to get up in the morning, and get early tohis work. It went against all his habits--as if his habits mattered inthe face of so great an emergency; and in the afternoon it was hard toprevent him from lounging into some of his haunts, which were utterlyout of the way of business. He would stay in Masters's for an hour at atime, though he knew Mr Wentworth, who was Masters's great patron, didnot care for him, and that his favour for such a Tractarian sort ofplace was bitter to the Rector. Anything for a little idleness and wasteof time, poor Mr Centum said, who was two stone lighter on the eve ofthe election than when the canvass began. Such a contrast would make anyman angry. Mr Cavendish was goaded into more activity as the decisivemoment approached, and performed what seemed to himself unparalleledfeats. But it was only two days before the moment of fate when theaccident happened to him which brought such dismay to all hissupporters. Our own opinion is, that it did not materially affect theissue of the contest one way or other; but that was the reverse of thefeeling which prevailed in Grange Lane.
It was just two days before the election, and all seemed going onsufficiently well. Mr Cavendish had been meeting a Dissenting committee,and it was on leaving them that he found himself at the corner of GroveStreet, where, under ordinary circumstances, he had no occasion to be.At a later period he was rather fond of saying that it was not of hisown motion that he was there at all, but only in obedience to thecommittee, which ordered him about like a nigger. The spring afternoonwas darkening, and the Dissenters (almost wholly unimpressed by hisarguments, and remarking more strongly than ever where Mr Ashburton"dealt," and how thoroughly everybody knew all about him) had alldispersed. It was but natural, when Mr Cavendish came to the corner ofGrove Street, where, in other days, he had played a very different part,that certain softening influences should take possession of his soul."What a voice she had, by Jove!" he said to himself; "very differentfrom that shrill pipe of Lucilla's." To tell the truth, if there was oneperson in Carlingford whom he felt a resentment against, it was Lucilla.She had never done him any harm to speak of, and once she hadunquestionably done him a great deal of good. But, on the other hand, itwas she who first showed herself candidly conscious that he had grownstout, and who all along had supported and encouraged his rival. It waspossible, no doubt, that this might be pique; and, mixed with his angerfor her sins against him, Mr Cavendish had, at the same time, acounterbalancing sense that there still remained to him in his life onesupereminently wise thing that he still could do--and that was, to godown Grange Lane instantly to the Doctor's silenced house, and go downon his knees, or do any other absurdity that might be necessary to makeLucilla marry him; after which act he would henceforward be, pecuniarilyand otherwise (notwithstanding that she was poor), a saved man. It didnot occur to him that Lucilla would never have married him, even had hegone down on his knees; but perhaps that would be too much to ask anyman to believe of any woman; and his feeling that this was the rightthing to do, rather strengthened than otherwise the revolt of his heartagainst Lucilla. It was twilight, as we have said, and he had done ahard day's work, and there was still an hour before dinner which heseemed to have a right to dispose of in his own way; and he didhesitate at the corner of Grove Street, laying himself open, as it were,to any temptation that might offer itself. Temptations come, as ageneral rule, when they are sought; and thus, on the very eve of theelection, a grievous accident happened to Mr Cavendish. It might havehappened at any time, to be sure, but this was the most inopportunemoment possible, and it came accordingly now.
For, as he made that pause, some one passed him whom he could not butlook after with a certain interest. She went past him with a whisk, asif she too was not without reminiscences. It was not such a figure as aromantic young man would be attracted by on such a sudden meeting, andit was not attraction but recollection that moved Mr Cavendish. It wasthe figure of a large woman in a large shawl, not very gracefully puton, and making her look very square about the shoulders and bunchy atthe neck; and the robe that was whisked past him was that peculiar kindof faded silk gown which looks and rustles like tin, or some other thinmetallic substance. He made that momentary pause at the street corner,and then he went on, slowly, not following her, to be sure, but merely,as he said to himself, pursuing his own course; for it was just as easyto get into Grange Lane by the farther end as by this end. He went alongvery slowly, and the lady before him walked quickly, even with somethinglike a bounce of excitement, and went in at Mr Lake's door long beforeMr Cavendish reached it. When he came up on a level with the parlourwindow, which was partially open though the evening was so cold, MrCavendish positively started, notwithstanding the old associations whichhad been rising in his mind; for there was pouring forth from thehalf-open window such a volume of melody as had not been heard for yearsin Grove Street. Perhaps the voice had lost some of its freshness, butin the surprise of the moment the hearer was not critical; and itsvolume and force seemed even greater than before.
It has been already mentioned in this history that a contralto had aspecial charm for Mr Cavendish. He was so struck that he stoodstock-still for the moment, not knowing what to make of it; and then hewavered for another moment, with a sudden sense that the old allegoricalcrisis had occurred to him, and that Pleasure, in a magnificent gush ofsong, wooed him on one side, while Duty, with still small voice, calledhim at the other. He stood still, he wavered--for fifty seconds perhapsthe issue was uncertain, and the victim was still within reach ofsalvation; but the result in such a case depends very much upon whethera man really likes doing his duty, which is by no means an invariablenecessity. Mr Cavendish had in the abstract no sort of desire to do hisunless when he could not help it, and consequently his resistance totemptation was very feeble. He was stan
ding knocking at Mr Lake's doorbefore half the thoughts appropriate to the occasion had got through hismind, and found himself sitting on the little sofa in Mr Lake's parlouras he used to do ten years ago, before he could explain to himself howhe came there. It was all, surely, a kind of enchantment altogether. Hewas there--he who had been so long away from Carlingford--he who hadbeen so deeply offended by hearing his name seriously coupled with thatof Barbara Lake--he who ought to have been anywhere in the world ratherthan here upon the eve of his election, when all the world was keepingwatch over his conduct. And it was Barbara who sat at the pianosinging--singing one of the same songs, as if she had spent the entireinterval in that occupation, and never had done anything else all theseyears. The sensation was so strange that Mr Cavendish may be excused forfeeling a little uncertainty as to whether or not he was dreaming, whichmade him unable to answer himself the graver question whether or not hewas doing what he ought to do. He did not seem to be able to make outwhether it was now or ten years ago--whether he was a young man free toamuse himself, or a man who was getting stout, and upon whom the eyes ofan anxious constituency were fixed. And then, after being so virtuousfor a length of time, a forbidden pleasure was sweet.
Mr Cavendish's ideas, however, gradually arranged themselves as he satin the corner of the little haircloth sofa, and began to take in thedifferences as well as the bewildering resemblances of the present andpast. Barbara, like himself, had changed. She did not insult him, asLucilla had done, by fresh looks and mischievous candour about "goingoff." Barbara _had_ gone off, like himself, and, like himself, did notmean to acknowledge it. She had expanded all over, as was natural to acontralto. Her eyes were blacker and more brilliant in a way, but theywere eyes which owned an indescribable amount of usage; and her cheeks,too, wore the deep roses of old, deepened and fixed by wear and tear.Instead of feeling ashamed of himself in her presence, as he had done inLucilla's, Mr Cavendish felt somehow consoled and justified andsympathetic. "Poor soul!" he said to himself, as he sat by while she wassinging. She, too, had been in the wars, and had not come outscatheless. She did not reproach him, nor commiserate him, nor look athim with that mixture of wonder and tolerance and pity which otherpeople had manifested. She did not even remark that he had grown stout.He was not a man fallen, fallen, fallen from his high estate, toBarbara. She herself had fallen from the pinnacles of youth, and MrCavendish was still a great man in her eyes. She sang for him as she hadsung ten years ago, and received him with a flutter of suppresseddelight, and in her satisfaction was full of excitement. The hardworkedcandidate sank deeper and deeper into the corner of the sofa andlistened to the music, and felt it very soothing and pleasant, foreverybody had united in goading him on rather than petting him for thelast month or two of his life.
"Now tell me something about yourself," he said, when the song was over,and Barbara had turned round, as she used to do in old times, on hermusic-stool; "I hear you have been away, like me."
"Not like you," said Barbara, "for you went because you pleased, and Iwent----"
"Why did you go?" asked Mr Cavendish.
"Because I could not stay here any longer," said Barbara, with herold vehemence; "because I was talked about, and looked down upon,and----Well, never mind, that's all over now; and I am sure I am veryglad to see you, Mr Cavendish, as a _friend_."
And with that something like a tear came into her eye. She had beenknocked about a good deal in the world, and though she had not learnedmuch, still she had learned that she was young no longer, and could notindulge in the caprices of that past condition of existence. MrCavendish, for his part, could not but smile at this intimation that hewas to be received as a friend, and consequently need not have any fearof Barbara's fascinations,--as if a woman of her age, worn and gone offas she was, could be supposed dangerous; but still he was touched by hertone.
"We were once very good friends, Barbara," said the inconsistent man;"we have lost sight of each other for a long time, as people do in thisworld; but we were once very good friends."
"Yes," she said, with a slight touch of annoyance in her voice; "butsince we have lost sight of each other for so long, I don't see why youshould call me Barbara. It would be much more becoming to say MissLake."
Mr Cavendish was amused, and he was touched and flattered. Most peoplehad been rather forbearing to him since he came back, putting up withhim for old friendship's sake, or supporting his cause as that of areformed man, and giving him, on the whole, a sort of patronisinghumiliating countenance; and to find somebody in whose eyes he was stillthe paladin of old times, _the_ Mr Cavendish whom people in Grange Lanewere proud of, was balm to his wounded soul.
"I don't know how I am to learn to say Miss Lake--when you are just asgood to me as ever, and sing as you have just been doing," he said. "Isuppose you say so because you find me so changed?"
Upon which Barbara lifted her black eyes and looked at him as she hadscarcely done before. The eyes were as bright as ever, and they weresoftened a little for the moment out of the stare that seemed to havegrown habitual to them; and her crimson cheeks glowed as of old; andthough she was untidy, and looked worn, and like a creature muchbuffeted about by wind and waves, she was still what connoisseurs inthat article call a fine woman. She looked full at Mr Cavendish, andthen she cast down her eyes, as if the sight was too much for her. "Idon't see any difference," she said, with a certain tremor in her voice;for he was a man of whom, in the days of her youth, she had been fond inher way.
And naturally Mr Cavendish was more touched than ever. He took her hand,and called her Barbara again without any reproof; and he saw that shetrembled, and that his presence here made to the full as great animpression as he had ever done in his palmiest days. Perhaps a greaterimpression; for their old commerce had been stormy, and interrupted bymany a hurricane; and Barbara then had, or thought she might have, manystrings to her bow, and did not believe that there was only one MrCavendish in the world. Now all that was changed: and if this old hopeshould revive again, it would not be allowed to die away for anygratification of temper. Mr Cavendish did not remember ever to have seenher tremble before, and he too was fond of her in his way.
This curious revival did not come to anything of deeper importance, forof course just then Rose came in from her household affairs, and Mr Laketo tea; and the candidate recollected that it was time for dinner. Butfather and sister also gave him, in their different ways, a ratherflattering reception. Mr Lake had already pledged him his vote, and wasfull of interest as to how things were going on, and enthusiastic forhis success; and Rose scowled upon him as of old, as on a dangerouscharacter, whose comings and goings could not be seen withoutapprehension; which was an unexpected pleasure to a man who had beenstartled to find how very little commotion his presence made in GrangeLane. He pressed Barbara's hand as he went away, and went to his dinnerwith a heart which certainly beat lighter, and a more pleasant sense ofreturning self-confidence, than he had felt for a long time. When he wascoming out of the house, as a matter of course, he met with the chief ofhis Dissenting supporters, accompanied (for Mr Bury, as has been said,was very Low-Church, and loved, wherever he could do it, to work inunison with his Dissenting brethren) by the Rector's churchwarden, bothof whom stopped with a curiously critical air to speak to the Candidate,who had to be every man's friend for the time being. The look in theireyes sent an icy chill through him, but still the forbidden pleasure hadbeen sweet. As he walked home, he could not help thinking it over, andgoing back ten years, and feeling a little doubtful about it, whether itwas then or now. And as he mused Miss Marjoribanks, whom he could nothelp continually connecting and contrasting with the other, appeared tohim as a kind of jealous Queen Eleanor, who had a right to him, andcould take possession at any time, should she choose to make the effort;while Barbara was a Rosamond, dilapidated indeed, but always ready toreceive and console him in her bower. This was the kind of unconscioussentiment he had in his mind, feeling sure, as he mused, that Lucillawould be very glad to marry him,
and that it would be very wise on hispart to ask her, and was a thing which might still probably come topass. Of course he could not see into Miss Marjoribanks's mind, whichhad travelled such a long way beyond him. He gave a glance up at thewindows as he passed her door, and felt a kind of disagreeablesatisfaction in seeing how diminished the lights were in the onceradiant house. And Lucilla was so fond of a great deal of light! butshe could not afford now to spend as much money upon wax as aContinental church might do. Mr Cavendish had so odd a sense ofLucilla's power over him, that it gave him a certain pleasure to thinkof the coming down of her pride and diminution of her lights.
But the fact was, that not more than ten minutes after he had passed herdoor with this reflection, Lucilla, sitting with her good book on thetable and her work in her hand, in the room which was not so welllighted as it used to be, heard that Mr Cavendish had been met withcoming out of Mr Lake's, and that Barbara had been singing to him, andthat there was no telling what might have happened. "A man ain't the manfor Carlingford as takes up with that sort," Thomas said indignantly,who had come to pay his former mistress a visit, and to assure her ofhis brother-in-law's vote. He was a little more free-spoken than of old,being now set up, and an independent householder, and calling no manmaster; and he was naturally indignant at an occurrence which, regardedin the light of past events, was an insult not only to Carlingford, butto Lucilla. Miss Marjoribanks was evidently startled by the news. Shelooked up quickly as if she had been about to speak, and then stoppedherself and turned her back upon Thomas, and poked the fire in a mostenergetic way. She had even taken the hearth-brush in her hand to makeall tidy after this onslaught, but that was a thing that went toThomas's heart.
"I couldn't stand by and see it, Miss Lucilla," said Thomas; "it don'tfeel natural;" and there was actually a kind of moisture in his eye ashe took that domestic implement out of her hand. Mr Cavendish pitiedLucilla for having less light than of old, and Thomas for being reducedso low as to sweep her own hearth. But Lucilla was very far from pityingher own case. She had been making an effort over herself, and she hadcome out of it triumphant; after reading so many good books, it is notto be wondered at if she felt herself a changed and softened andelevated character. She had the means in her hands of doing hercandidate's rival a deadly mischief, and yet, for old friendship's sake,Lucilla made up her mind to forbear.
"I will give it you, Thomas," she said, with dignity, holding thehearth-brush, which was in such circumstances elevated into somethingsublime, "if you will promise, never, until after the election--neverto say a word about Mr Cavendish and Miss Lake. It was quite right totell me, and you are very kind about the hearth; but you must promisenever to say a syllable about it, not even to Nancy, until the electionis over; or I will never give it you, nor ask you to do a single thingfor me again."
Thomas was so much struck with this address that he said "Good Lord!" insheer amazement; and then he made the necessary vow, and took thehearth-brush out of Lucilla's hand.
"No doubt he was asking for Mr Lake's vote," said Miss Marjoribanks."They say everybody is making great exertions, and you know they areboth my friends. I ought to be pleased whoever wins. But it is impressedon my mind that Mr Ashburton will be the man," Lucilla added, with alittle solemnity, "and, Thomas, we must give them fair-play."
It would be vain to assert that Thomas understood this romanticgenerosity, but he was taken by surprise, and had relinquished his ownliberty in the matter, and had nothing further to say. Indeed he had solittle to say downstairs, that Nancy, who was longing for a littlegossip, insulted and reviled him, and declared that since he took upwith _that_ Betsy there never was a sensible word to be got out of him.And all the time the poor man was burning with this bit of news. Many aman has bartered his free-will before under the influence of femalewiles, or so at least history would have us believe; but few have doneit for so poor a compensation as that hearth-brush. Thomas withdrew soreat heart, longing for the election to be over, and kept his word like anhonest man; but notwithstanding, before the evening was over, the fatalnews was spreading like fire to every house in Grange Lane.
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