CHAPTER LXXXII.
THE LAST SCENE AT HOGGLESTOCK.
The fortnight following Mr. Harding's death was passed very quietlyat Hogglestock, for during that time no visitor made an appearance inthe parish except Mr. Snapper on the Sundays. Mr. Snapper, when hehad completed the service on the first of these Sundays, intimated toMr. Crawley his opinion that probably that gentleman might himselfwish to resume the duties on the following Sabbath. Mr. Crawley,however, courteously declined to do anything of the kind. He saidthat it was quite out of the question that he should do so without adirect communication made to him from the bishop, or by the bishop'sorder. The assizes had, of course, gone by, and all question of thetrial was over. Nevertheless,--as Mr. Snapper said,--the bishop hadnot, as yet, given any order. Mr. Snapper was of opinion that thebishop in these days was not quite himself. He had spoken to thebishop about it and the bishop had told him peevishly--"I must sayquite peevishly," Mr. Snapper had said,--that nothing was to be doneat present. Mr. Snapper was not the less clearly of opinion that Mr.Crawley might resume his duties. To this, however, Mr. Crawley wouldnot assent.
But even during the fortnight Mr. Crawley had not remained altogetherneglected. Two days after Mr. Harding's death he had received a notefrom the dean in which he was advised not to resume the duties atHogglestock for the present. "Of course you can understand that wehave a sad house here at present," the dean had said. "But as soon asever we are able to move in the matter we will arrange things for youas comfortably as we can. I will see the bishop myself." Mr. Crawleyhad no ambitious idea of any comfort which might accrue to him beyondthat of an honourable return to his humble preferment at Hogglestock;but, nevertheless, he was in this case minded to do as the deancounselled him. He had submitted himself to the bishop, and he wouldwait till the bishop absolved him from his submission.
On the day after the funeral, the bishop had sent his compliments tothe dean with the expression of a wish that the dean would call uponhim on any early day that might be convenient with reference to theposition of Mr. Crawley of Hogglestock. The note was in the bishop'sown handwriting and was as mild and civil as a bishop's note couldbe. Of course the dean named an early day for the interview; but itwas necessary before he went to the bishop that he should discussthe matter with the archdeacon. If St. Ewolds might be given to Mr.Crawley, the Hogglestock difficulties would all be brought to anend. The archdeacon, after the funeral, had returned to Plumstead,and thither the dean went to him before he saw the bishop. He didsucceed,--he and Mrs. Grantly between them,--but with very greatdifficulty, in obtaining a conditional promise. They had both thoughtthat when the archdeacon became fully aware that Grace was to be hisdaughter-in-law, he would at once have been delighted to have anopportunity of extricating from his poverty a clergyman with whom itwas his fate to be so closely connected. But he fought the matteron twenty different points. He declared at first that as it was hisprimary duty to give to the people of St. Ewolds the best clergymanhe could select for them he could not give the preferment to Mr.Crawley, because Mr. Crawley, in spite of all his zeal and piety, wasa man so quaint in his manners and so eccentric in his mode of speechas not to be the best clergyman whom he could select. "What is myold friend Thorne to do with a man in his parish who won't drinka glass of wine with him?" For Ullathorne, the seat of that Mr.Wilfred Thorne who had been so guilty in the matter of the foxes,was situated in the parish of St. Ewolds. When Mrs. Grantly proposedthat Mr. Thorne's consent should be asked, the archdeacon became veryangry. He had never heard so unecclesiastical a proposition in hislife. It was his special duty to do the best he could for Mr. Thorne,but it was specially his duty to do so without consulting Mr. Thorneabout it. As the archdeacon's objection had been argued simply on thepoint of the glass of wine, both the dean and Mrs. Grantly thoughtthat he was unreasonable. But they had their point to gain, andtherefore they only flattered him. They were sure that Mr. Thornewould like to have a clergyman in the parish who would himself beclosely connected with the archdeacon. Then Dr. Grantly alleged thathe might find himself in a trap. What if he conferred the living ofSt. Ewolds on Mr. Crawley and after all there should be no marriagebetween his son and Grace? "Of course they'll be married," said Mrs.Grantly. "It's all very well for you to say that, my dear; but thewhole family are so queer that there is no knowing what the girl maydo. She may take up some other fad now, and refuse him point blank.""She has never taken up any fad," said Mrs. Grantly, who now mountedalmost to wrath in defence of her future daughter-in-law, "and youare wrong to say that she has. She has behaved beautifully;--asnobody knows better than you do." Then the archdeacon gave way so faras to promise that St. Ewolds should be offered to Mr. Crawley assoon as Grace Crawley was in truth engaged to Harry Grantly.
After that, the dean went to the palace. There had never been anyquarrelling between the bishop and the dean, either direct orindirect;--nor, indeed, had the dean ever quarrelled even with Mrs.Proudie. But he had belonged to the anti-Proudie faction. He hadbeen brought into the diocese by the Grantly interest; and therefore,during Mrs. Proudie's life-time, he had always been accounted amongthe enemies. There had never been any real intimacy between thehouses. Each house had been always asked to dine with the otherhouse once a year; but it had been understood that such dinings wereecclesiastico-official, and not friendly. There had been the sameoutside diocesan civility between even the palace and Plumstead. Butnow, when the great chieftain of the palace was no more, and thestrength of the palace faction was gone, peace, or perhaps somethingmore than peace,--amity, perhaps, might be more easily arrangedwith the dean than with the archdeacon. In preparation for sucharrangements the bishop had gone to Mr. Harding's funeral.
And now the dean went to the palace at the bishop's behest. Hefound his lordship alone, and was received with almost reverentialcourtesy. He thought that the bishop was looking wonderfully agedsince he last saw him, but did not perhaps take into account theabsence of clerical sleekness which was incidental to the bishop'sprivate life in his private room, and perhaps in a certain measureto his recent great affliction. The dean had been in the habit ofregarding Dr. Proudie as a man almost young for his age,--havingbeen in the habit of seeing him at his best, clothed in authority,redolent of the throne, conspicuous as regarded his apron and outwardsigns of episcopality. Much of all this was now absent. The bishop,as he rose to greet the dean, shuffled with his old slippers, and hishair was not brushed so becomingly as used to be the case when Mrs.Proudie was always near him.
It was necessary that a word should be said by each as to the losswhich the other had suffered. "Mr. Dean," said his lordship, "allowme to offer you my condolements in regard to the death of that veryexcellent clergyman and most worthy gentleman, your father-in-law."
"Thank you, my lord. He was excellent and worthy. I do not supposethat I shall live to see any man who was more so. You also have agreat,--a terrible loss."
"O, Mr. Dean, yes; yes, indeed, Mr. Dean. That was a loss."
"And hardly past the prime of life!"
"Ah, yes;--just fifty-six,--and so strong! Was she not? At leasteverybody thought so. And yet she was gone in a minute;--gone in aminute. I haven't held up my head since, Mr. Dean."
"It was a great loss, my lord; but you must struggle to bear it."
"I do struggle. I am struggling. But it makes one feel so lonely inthis great house. Ah, me! I often wish, Mr. Dean, that it had pleasedProvidence to have left me in some humble parsonage, where duty wouldhave been easier than it is here. But I will not trouble you with allthat. What are we to do, Mr. Dean, about this poor Mr. Crawley?"
"Mr. Crawley is a very old friend of mine, and a very dear friend."
"Is he? Ah! A very worthy man, I am sure, and one who has been muchtried by undeserved adversities."
"Most severely tried, my lord."
"Sitting among the potsherds, like Job; has he not, Mr. Dean? Well;let us hope that all that is over. When this accusation about therobbery was brought against him, I found myself
bound to interfere."
"He has no complaint to make on that score."
"I hope not. I have not wished to be harsh, but what could I do, Mr.Dean? They told me that the civil authorities found the evidence sostrong against him that it could not be withstood."
"It was very strong."
"And we thought that he should at least be relieved, and we sent forDr. Tempest, who is his rural dean." Then the bishop, remembering allthe circumstances of that interview with Dr. Tempest,--as to which hehad ever felt assured that one of the results of it was the death ofhis wife, whereby there was no longer any "we" left in the palace ofBarchester,--sighed piteously, looking up at the dean with hopelessface.
"Nobody doubts, my lord, that you acted for the best."
"I hope we did. I think we did. And now what shall we do? He hasresigned his living, both to you and to me, as I hear,--you beingthe patron. It will simply be necessary, I think, that he should askto have the letters cancelled. Then, as I take it, there need be noreinstitution. You cannot think, Mr. Dean, how much I have thoughtabout it all."
Then the dean unfolded his budget, and explained to the bishophow he hoped that the living of St. Ewolds, which was, after someecclesiastical fashion, attached to the rectory of Plumstead, andwhich was now vacant by the demise of Mr. Harding, might be conferredby the archdeacon upon Mr. Crawley. It was necessary to explain alsothat this could not be done quite immediately, and in doing this thedean encountered some little difficulty. The archdeacon, he said,wished to be allowed another week to think about it; and thereforeperhaps provision for the duties at Hogglestock might yet be made fora few Sundays. The bishop, the dean said, might easily understandthat, after what had occurred, Mr. Crawley would hardly wish to goagain into that pulpit, unless he did so as resuming duties whichwould necessarily be permanent with him. To all this the bishopassented, but he was apparently struck with much wonder at the choicemade by the archdeacon. "I should have thought, Mr. Dean," he said,"that Mr. Crawley was the last man to have suited the archdeacon'schoice."
"The archdeacon and I married sisters, my lord."
"Oh, ah! yes. And he puts the nomination of St. Ewolds at yourdisposition. I am sure I shall be delighted to institute so worthya gentleman as Mr. Crawley." Then the dean took his leave of thebishop,--as will we also. Poor dear bishop! I am inclined to thinkthat he was right in his regrets as to the little parsonage. Not thathis failure at Barchester, and his present consciousness of lonelyincompetence, were mainly due to any positive inefficiency on hisown part. He might have been a sufficiently good bishop, had it notbeen that Mrs. Proudie was so much more than a sufficiently goodbishop's wife. We will now say farewell to him, with a hope that thelopped tree may yet become green again, and to some extent fruitful,although all its beautiful head and richness of waving foliage havebeen taken from it.
About a week after this Henry Grantly rode over from Cosby Lodge toHogglestock. It has been just said that though the assizes had passedby and though all question of Mr. Crawley's guilt was now set aside,no visitor had of late made his way over to Hogglestock. I fancythat Grace Crawley forgot, in the fulness of her memory as to otherthings, that Mr. Harding, of whose death she heard, had been herlover's grandfather,--and that therefore there might possibly be somedelay. Had there been much said between the mother and the daughterabout the lover, no doubt all this would have been explained;but Grace was very reticent, and there were other matters in theHogglestock household which in those days occupied Mrs. Crawley'smind. How were they again to begin life? for, in very truth, lifeas it had existed with them before, had been brought to an end. ButGrace remembered well the sort of compact which existed betweenher and her lover;--the compact which had been made in very wordsbetween herself and her lover's father. Complete in her estimationas had been the heaven opened to her by Henry Grantly's offer, shehad refused it all,--lest she should bring disgrace upon him. But thedisgrace was not certain; and if her father should be made free fromit, then,--then,--then Henry Grantly ought to come to her and beat her feet with all the expedition possible to him. That was herreading of the compact. She had once declared, when speaking of thepossible disgrace which might attach itself to her family and to hername, that her poverty did not "signify a bit." She was not ashamedof her father,--only of the accusation against her father. Thereforeshe had hurried home when that accusation was withdrawn, desirousthat her lover should tell her of his love,--if he chose to repeatsuch telling,--amidst all the poor things of Hogglestock, and notamong the chairs and tables and good dinners of luxurious Framley.Mrs. Robarts had given a true interpretation to Lady Lufton of thehaste which Grace had displayed. But she need not have been in sogreat a hurry. She had been at home already above a fortnight, andas yet he had made no sign. At last she said a word to her mother."Might I not ask to go back to Miss Prettyman's now, mamma?" "Ithink, dear, you had better wait till things are a little settled.Papa is to hear again from the dean very soon. You see they are allin a great sorrow at Barchester about poor Mr. Harding's death.""Grace!" said Jane, rushing into the house almost speechless, at thatmoment, "here he is!--on horseback." I do not know why Jane shouldhave talked about Major Grantly as simply "he." There had been noconversation among the sisters to justify her in such a mode ofspeech. Grace had not a moment to put two and two together, so thatshe might realize the meaning of what her mother had said; butnevertheless, she felt at the moment that the man, coming as he haddone now, had come with all commendable speed. How foolish had shebeen with her wretched impatience!
There he was certainly, tying his horse up to the railing. "Mamma,what am I to say to him?"
"Nay, dear; he is your own friend,--of your own making. You must saywhat you think fit."
"You are not going?"
"I think we had better, dear." Then she went, and Jane with her, andJane opened the door for Major Grantly. Mr. Crawley himself was away,at Hoggle End, and did not return till after Major Grantly had leftthe parsonage. Jane, as she greeted the grand gentleman, whom shehad seen and no more than seen, hardly knew what to say to him.When, after a minute's hesitation, she told him that Grace was inthere,--pointing to the sitting-room door, she felt that she had beenvery awkward. Henry Grantly, however, did not, I think, feel herawkwardness, being conscious of some small difficulties of his own.When, however, he found that Grace was alone, the task before him atonce lost half its difficulties. "Grace," he said, "am I right tocome to you now?"
"I do not know," she said. "I cannot tell."
"Dearest Grace, there is no reason on earth now why you should not bemy wife."
"Is there not?"
"I know of none,--if you can love me. You saw my father?"
"Yes, I saw him."
"And you heard what he said?"
"I hardly remember what he said;--but he kissed me, and I thought hewas very kind."
What little attempt Henry Grantly then made, thinking that he couldnot do better than follow closely the example of so excellent afather, need not be explained with minuteness. But I think that hisfirst effort was not successful. Grace was embarrassed and retreated,and it was not till she had been compelled to give a direct answerto a direct question that she submitted to allow his arm round herwaist. But when she had answered that question she was almost morehumble than becomes a maiden who has just been wooed and won. Amaiden who has been wooed and won, generally thinks that it is shewho has conquered, and chooses to be triumphant accordingly. ButGrace was even mean enough to thank her lover. "I do not know why youshould be so good to me," she said.
"Because I love you," said he, "better than all the world."
"But why should you be so good to me as that? Why should you love me?I am such a poor thing for a man like you to love."
"I have had the wit to see that you are not a poor thing, Grace;and it is thus that I have earned my treasure. Some girls are poorthings, and some are rich treasures."
"If love can make me a treasure, I will be your treasure. And if lovecan make me rich, I will be ri
ch for you." After that I think he hadno difficulty in following in his father's footsteps.
After a while Mrs. Crawley came in, and there was much pleasanttalking among them, while Henry Grantly sat happily with his love,as though waiting for Mr. Crawley's return. But though he was therenearly all the morning Mr. Crawley did not return. "I think helikes the brickmakers better than anybody in all the world, exceptourselves," said Grace. "I don't know how he will manage to get onwithout his friends." Before Grace had said this, Major Grantlyhad told all his story, and had produced a letter from his father,addressed to Mr. Crawley, of which the reader shall have a copy,although at this time the letter had not been opened. The letter wasas follows:--
Plumstead Rectory, -- May, 186--.
MY DEAR SIR,
You will no doubt have heard that Mr. Harding, the vicar of St. Ewolds, who was the father of my wife and of Mrs. Arabin, has been taken from us. The loss to us of so excellent and so dear a man has been very great. I have conferred with my friend the Dean of Barchester as to a new nomination, and I venture to request your acceptance of the preferment, if it should suit you to move from Hogglestock to St. Ewolds. It may be as well that I should state plainly my reasons for making this offer to a gentleman with whom I am not personally acquainted. Mr. Harding, on his deathbed, himself suggested it, moved thereto by what he had heard of the cruel and undeserved persecution to which you have lately been subjected; as also,--on which point he was very urgent in what he said,--by the character which you bear in the diocese for zeal and piety. I may also add, that the close connection which, as I understand, is likely to take place between your family and mine has been an additional reason for my taking this step, and the long friendship which has existed between you and my wife's brother-in-law, the Dean of Barchester, is a third.
St. Ewolds is worth L350 per annum, besides the house, which is sufficiently commodious for a moderate family. The population is about twelve hundred, of which more than a half consists of persons dwelling in an outskirt of the city,--for the parish runs almost into Barchester.
I shall be glad to have your reply with as little delay as may suit your convenience, and in the event of your accepting the offer,--which I sincerely trust you may be enabled to do,--I shall hope to have an early opportunity of seeing you, with reference to your institution to the parish.
Allow me also to say to you and to Mrs. Crawley that, if we have been correctly informed as to that other event to which I have alluded, we both hope that we may have an early opportunity of making ourselves personally acquainted with the parents of a young lady who is to be so dear to us. As I have met your daughter, I may perhaps be allowed to send her my kindest love. If, as my daughter-in-law, she comes up to the impression which she gave me at our first meeting, I, at any rate, shall be satisfied.
I have the honour to be, my dear sir, Your most faithful servant,
THEOPHILUS GRANTLY.
This letter the archdeacon had shown to his wife, by whom it had notbeen very warmly approved. Nothing, Mrs. Grantly had said, could beprettier than what the archdeacon had said about Grace. Mrs. Crawley,no doubt, would be satisfied with that. But Mr. Crawley was such astrange man! "He will be stranger than I take him to be if he doesnot accept St. Ewolds," said the archdeacon. "But in offering it,"said Mrs. Grantly, "you have not said a word of your own high opinionof his merits." "I have not a very high opinion of them," said thearchdeacon. "Your father had, and I have said so. And as I have themost profound respect for your father's opinion in such a matter, Ihave permitted that to overcome my own hesitation." This was prettyfrom the husband to the wife as it regarded her father, who had nowgone from them; and, therefore, Mrs. Grantly accepted it withoutfurther argument. The reader may probably feel assured that thearchdeacon had never, during their joint lives, acted in any churchmatter upon the advice given to him by Mr. Harding; and it wasprobably the case also that the living would have been offered toMr. Crawley, if nothing had been said by Mr. Harding on the subject;but it did not become Mrs. Grantly even to think of all this. Thearchdeacon, having made his gracious speech about her father, was notagain asked to alter his letter. "I suppose he will accept it," saidMrs. Grantly. "I should think that he probably may," said thearchdeacon.
So Grace, knowing what was the purport of the letter, sat with itbetween her fingers, while her lover sat beside her, full of variousplans for the future. This was his first lover's present to her;--andwhat a present it was! Comfort, and happiness, and a pleasant homefor all her family. "St. Ewolds isn't the best house in the world,"said the major, "because it is old, and what I call piecemeal; butit is very pretty, and certainly nice." "That is just the sort ofparsonage that I dream about," said Jane. "And the garden is pleasantwith old trees," said the major. "I always dream about old trees,"said Jane, "only I'm afraid I'm too old myself to be let to climb upthem now." Mrs. Crawley said very little, but sat by with her eyesfull of tears. Was it possible that, at last, before the world hadclosed upon her, she was to enjoy something again of the comfortswhich she had known in her early years, and to be again surrounded bythose decencies of life which of late had been almost banished fromher home by poverty!
Their various plans for the future,--for the immediate future,--werevery startling. Grace was to go over at once to Plumstead, whitherEdith had been already transferred from Cosby Lodge. That was allvery well; there was nothing very startling or impracticable inthat. The Framley ladies, having none of those doubts as to whatwas coming which had for a while perplexed Grace herself, had takenlittle liberties with her wardrobe, which enabled such a visit to bemade without overwhelming difficulties. But the major was equallyeager,--or at any rate equally imperious,--in his requisition fora visit from Mr. and Mrs. Crawley themselves to Plumstead rectory.Mrs. Crawley did not dare to put forward the plain unadorned reasonsagainst it, as Mr. Crawley had done when discussing the subject ofa visit to the deanery. Nor could she quite venture to explain thatshe feared that the archdeacon and her husband would hardly mix welltogether in society. With whom, indeed, was it possible that herhusband should mix well, after his long and hardly-tried seclusion?She could only plead that both her husband and herself were so littleused to going out that she feared,--she feared,--she feared sheknew not what. "We'll get over all that," said the major, almostcontemptuously. "It is only the first plunge that is disagreeable."Perhaps the major did not know how very disagreeable a first plungemay be!
At two o'clock Henry Grantly got up to go. "I should very much liketo have seen him, but I fear I cannot wait longer. As it is, thepatience of my horse has been surprising." Then Grace walked out withhim to the gate, and put her hand upon his bridle as he mounted, andthought how wonderful was the power of Fortune, that the goddessshould have sent so gallant a gentleman to be her lord and her lover."I declare I don't quite believe it even yet," she said, in theletter which she wrote to Lily Dale that night.
It was four before Mr. Crawley returned to his house, and then he wasvery weary. There were many sick in these days at Hoggle End, and hehad gone from cottage to cottage through the day. Giles Hoggett wasalmost unable to work from rheumatism, but still was of opinion thatdoggedness might carry him on. "It's been a deal o' service to you,Muster Crawley," he said. "We hears about it all. If you hadn't abeen dogged, where'd you a been now?" With Giles Hoggett and othershe had remained all the day, and now he came home weary and beaten."You'll tell him first," Grace had said, "and then I'll give him theletter." The wife was the first to tell him of the good fortune thatwas coming.
He flung himself into the old chair as soon as he entered, and askedfor some bread and tea. "Jane has already gone for it, dear," saidhis wife. "We have had a visitor here, Josiah."
"A visitor,--what visitor?"
"Grace's own friend,--Henry Grantly."
"Grace, come here, that I may kiss you and bless you," he said, verysolemnly. "It would seem that the world is
going to be very good toyou."
"Papa, you must read this letter first."
"Before I kiss my own darling?" Then she knelt at his feet. "Isee," he said, taking the letter; "it is from your lover's father.Peradventure he signifies his consent, which would be surely needfulbefore such a marriage would be seemly."
"Peradventure he signifies his Consent."]
"It isn't about me, papa, at all."
"Not about you? If so, that would be most unpromising. But, in anycase, you are my best darling." Then he kissed her and blessed her,and slowly opened the letter. His wife had now come close to him, andwas standing over him, touching him, so that she also could read thearchdeacon's letter. Grace, who was still in front of him, could seethe working of his face as he read it; but even she could not tellwhether he was gratified, or offended, or dismayed. When he had gotas far as the first offer of the presentation, he ceased reading fora while, and looked round about the room as though lost in thought."Let me see what further he writes to me," he then said; and afterthat he continued the letter slowly to the end. "Nay, my child, youwere in error in saying that he wrote not about you. 'Tis in writingof you he has put some real heart into his words. He writes as thoughhis home would be welcome to you."
"And does he not make St. Ewolds welcome to you, papa?"
"He makes me welcome to accept it,--if I may use the word after theordinary and somewhat faulty parlance of mankind."
"And you will accept it,--of course?"
"I know not that, my dear. The acceptance of a cure of souls isa thing not to be decided on in a moment,--as is the colour of agarment or the shape of a toy. Nor would I condescend to take thisthing from the archdeacon's hands, if I thought that he bestowed itsimply that the father of his daughter-in-law might no longer beaccounted poor."
"Does he say that, papa?"
"He gives it as a collateral reason, basing his offer first on thekindly expressed judgment of one who is now no more. Then he refersto the friendship of the dean. If he believed that the judgment ofhis late father-in-law in so weighty a matter were the best to berelied upon of all that were at his command, then he would havedone well to trust to it. But in such case he should have bolsteredup a good ground for action with no collateral supports whichare weak,--and worse than weak. However, it shall have my bestconsideration, whereunto I hope that wisdom will be given me whereonly such wisdom can be had."
"Josiah," said his wife to him, when they were alone, "you will notrefuse it?"
"Not willingly,--not if it may be accepted. Alas! you need not urgeme, when the temptation is so strong!"
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