The Last Chronicle of Barset

  CHAPTER XXX.

  SHOWING WHAT MAJOR GRANTLY DID AFTER HIS WALK.

  In going down from the church to the Small House Lily Dale had allthe conversation to herself. During some portion of the way the pathwas only broad enough for two persons, and here Major Grantly walkedby Lily's side, while Grace followed them. Then they found their wayinto the house, and Lily made her little speech to her mother aboutcatching the major. "Yes, my dear, I have seen Major Grantly before,"said Mrs. Dale. "I suppose he has met you on the road. But I did notexpect that any of you would have returned so soon." Some littleexplanation followed as to the squire, and as to Major Grantly'swalk, and after that the great thing was to leave the two loversalone. "You will dine here, of course, Major Grantly," Mrs. Dalesaid. But this he declined. He had learned, he said, that there was anight-train up to London, and he thought that he would return to townby that. He had intended, when he left London, to get back as soon aspossible. Then Mrs. Dale, having hesitated for two or three seconds,got up and left the room, and Lily followed. "It seems very odd andabrupt," said Mrs. Dale to her daughter, "but I suppose it is best.""Of course it is best, mamma. Do as one would be done by,--that's theonly rule. It will be much better for her that she should have itover."

  Grace was seated on a sofa, and Major Grantly got up from his chair,and came and stood opposite to her. "Grace," he said, "I hope you arenot angry with me for coming down to see you here."

  "No, I am not angry," she said.

  "I have thought a great deal about it, and your friend, MissPrettyman, knew that I was coming. She quite approves of my coming."

  "She has written to me, but did not tell me of it," said Grace, notknowing what other answer to make.

  "No,--she could not have done that. She had no authority. I onlymention her name because it will have weight with you, and becauseI have not done that which, under other circumstances, perhaps, Ishould have been bound to do. I have not seen your father."

  "Poor papa," said Grace.

  "I have felt that at the present moment I could not do so with anysuccess. It has not come of any want of respect either for him orfor you. Of course, Grace, you know why I am here?" He paused, andthen remembering that he had no right to expect an answer to such aquestion, he continued, "I have come here, dearest Grace, to ask youto be my wife, and to be a mother to Edith. I know that you loveEdith."

  "I do indeed."

  "And I have hoped sometimes,--though I suppose I ought not to sayso,--but I have hoped and almost thought sometimes, that you havebeen willing to--to love me, too. It is better to tell the truthsimply, is it not?"

  "I suppose so," said Grace.

  "And therefore, and because I love you dearly myself, I have come toask you to be my wife." Saying which he opened out his hand, and heldit to her. But she did not take it. "There is my hand, Grace. If yourheart is as I would have it you can give me yours, and I shall wantnothing else to make me happy." But still she made no motion towardsgranting him his request. "If I have been too sudden," he said, "youmust forgive me for that. I have been sudden and abrupt, but asthings are, no other way has been open to me. Can you not bringyourself to give me some answer, Grace?" His hand had now fallenagain to his side, but he was still standing before her.

  She had said no word to him as yet, except that one in which she hadacknowledged her love for his child, and had expressed no surprise,even in her countenance, at his proposal. And yet the idea that heshould do such a thing, since the idea that he certainly would do ithad become clear to her, had filled her with a world of surprise. Nogirl ever lived with any beauty belonging to her who had a smallerknowledge of her own possession than Grace Crawley. Nor had she theslightest pride in her own acquirements. That she had been taught inmany things more than had been taught to other girls, had come of herpoverty and of the desolation of her home. She had learned to readGreek and Italian because there had been nothing else for her to doin that sad house. And, subsequently, accuracy of knowledge had beennecessary for the earning of her bread. I think that Grace had attimes been weak enough to envy the idleness and almost to envy theignorance of other girls. Her figure was light, perfect in symmetry,full of grace at all points; but she had thought nothing of herfigure, remembering only the poverty of her dress, but rememberingalso with a brave resolution that she would never be ashamed of it.And as her acquaintance with Major Grantly had begun and had grown,and as she had learned to feel unconsciously that his company waspleasanter to her than that of any other person she knew, she hadstill told herself that anything like love must be out of thequestion. But then words had been spoken, and there had been glancesin his eye, and a tone in his voice, and a touch upon his fingers,of which she could not altogether refuse to accept the meaning. Andothers had spoken to her of it, the two Miss Prettymans and herfriend Lily. Yet she would not admit to herself that it could be so,and she would not allow herself to confess to herself that she lovedhim. Then had come the last killing misery to which her father hadbeen subjected. He had been accused of stealing money, and had beencommitted to be tried for the theft. From that moment, at any rate,any hope, if there had been a hope, must be crushed. But she sworeto herself bravely that there had been no such hope. And she assuredherself also that nothing had passed which had entitled her toexpect anything beyond ordinary friendship from the man of whom shecertainly had thought much. Even if those touches and those tonesand those glances had meant anything, all such meaning must beannihilated by this disgrace which had come upon her. She might knowthat her father was innocent; she might be sure, at any rate, thathe had been innocent in intention but the world thought differently,and she, her brother and sister, and her mother and her poor father,must bend to the world's opinion. If those dangerous joys had meantanything, they must be taken as meaning nothing more.

  Thus she had argued with herself, and, fortified by suchself-teachings, she had come down to Allington. Since she had beenwith her friends there had come upon her from day to day a clearconviction that her arguments had been undoubtedly true,--a clearconviction which had been very cold to her heart in spite of all hercourage. She had expected nothing, hoped for nothing, and yet whennothing came she was sad. She thought of one special half-hour inwhich he had said almost all that he might have said,--more than heought to have said;--of a moment during which her hand had remainedin his; of a certain pressure with which he had put her shawl uponher shoulders. If he had only written to her one word to tell herthat he believed her father was innocent! But no; she had no right toexpect anything from him. And then Lily had ceased to talk of him,and she did expect nothing. Now he was there before her, asking herto come to him and be his wife. Yes; she would kiss his shoebuckles,only that the kissing of his shoebuckles would bring upon him thatinjury which he should never suffer from her hands! He had beengenerous, and her self-pride was satisfied. But her other pride wastouched, and she also would be generous. "Can you not bring yourselfto give me some answer?" he had said to her. Of course she must givehim an answer, but how should she give it?

  "You are very kind," she said.

  "I would be more than kind."

  "So you are. Kind is a cold word when used to such a friend at such atime."

  "I would be everything on earth to you that a man can be to a woman."

  "I know I ought to thank you if I knew how. My heart is full ofthanks; it is, indeed."

  "And is there no room for love there?"

  "There is no room for love in our house, Major Grantly. You have notseen papa."

  "No; but, if you wish it, I will do so at once."

  "It would do no good,--none. I only asked you because you can hardlyknow how sad is our state at home."

  "But I cannot see that that need deter you, if you can love me."

  "Can you not? If you saw him, and the house, and my mother, you wouldnot say so. In the Bible it is said of some season that it is not atime for marrying, or for giving in marriage. And so it is with us."

  "I am not pressing you as to a day. I on
ly ask you to say that youwill be engaged to me,--so that I may tell my own people, and let itbe known."

  "I understand all that. I know how good you are. But, Major Grantly,you must understand me also when I assure you that it cannot be so."

  "Do you mean that you refuse me altogether?"

  "Yes; altogether."

  "And why?"

  "Must I answer that question? Ought I to be made to answer it? But Iwill tell you fairly, without touching on anything else, that I feelthat we are all disgraced, and that I will not take disgrace intoanother family."

  "Grace, do you love me?"

  "I love no one now,--that is, as you mean. I can love no one. I haveno room for any feeling except for my father and mother, and for usall. I should not be here now but that I save my mother the breadthat I should eat at home."

  "Is it as bad as that?"

  "Yes, it is as bad as that. It is much worse than that, if you knewit all. You cannot conceive how low we have fallen. And now they tellme that my father will be found guilty, and will be sent to prison.Putting ourselves out of the question, what would you think of a girlwho could engage herself to any man under such circumstances? Whatwould you think of a girl who would allow herself to be in love insuch a position? Had I been ten times engaged to you I would havebroken it off." Then she got up to leave him.

  But he stopped her, holding her by the arm. "What you have said willmake me say what I certainly should never have said without it. Ideclare that we are engaged."

  "No, we are not," said Grace.

  "You have told me that you loved me."

  "I never told you so."

  "There are other ways of speaking than the voice; and I will boast toyou, though to no one else, that you have told me so. I believe youlove me. I shall hold myself as engaged to you, and I shall thinkyou false if I hear that you listen to another man. Now, good-by,Grace;--my own Grace."

  "No, I am not your own," she said, through her tears.

  "You are my own, my very own. God bless you, dear, dear, dearestGrace. You shall hear from me in a day or two, and shall see me assoon as this horrid trial is over." Then he took her in his armsbefore she could escape from him, and kissed her forehead and herlips, while she struggled in his arms. After that he left the roomand the house as quickly as he could, and was seen no more of theDales upon that occasion.