Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [278]
To so much Frank consented after some further parley; namely, that he would proceed to London on the following Monday morning without again seeing Mary. And in the meantime, she was waiting with sore heart for his answer to that letter which was lying, and was still to lie for so many hours, in the safe protection of the Silverbridge postmistress.
It may seem strange; but, in truth, his mother’s eloquence had more effect on Frank than that of his father: and yet, with his father he had always sympathised. But his mother had been energetic; whereas, his father, if not lukewarm, had, at any rate, been timid. ‘I will ask no one,’ Frank had said in the strong determination of his heart; and yet the words were hardly out of his mouth before he bethought himself that he would talk the thing over with Harry Baker. ‘Not,’ said he to himself, ‘that I have any doubt: I have no doubt; but I hate to have all the world against me. My mother wishes me to ask Harry Baker. Harry is a good fellow, and I will ask him.’ And with this resolve he betook himself to bed.
The following day was Sunday. After breakfast Frank went with the family to church, as was usual; and there, as usual, he saw Mary in Dr Thorne’s pew. She, as she looked at him, could not but wonder why he had not answered the letter which was still at Silverbridge; and he endeavoured to read in her face whether it was true, as his mother had told him, that she was quite ready to give him up. The prayers of both of them were disturbed, as is so often the case with the prayers of other anxious people.
There was a separate door opening from the Greshamsbury pew out into the Greshamsbury grounds, so that the family were not forced into unseemly community with the village multitude in going to and from their prayers; for the front door of the church led out into a road which had no connexion with the private path. It was not unusual with Frank and his father to go round, after the service, to the chief entrance, so that they might speak to their neighbours, and get rid of some of the exclusiveness which was intended for them. On this morning the squire did so; but Frank walked home with his mother and sisters, so that Mary saw no more of him.
I have said that he walked home with his mother and his sisters; but he rather followed in their path. He was not inclined to talk much, at least, not to them; and he continued asking himself the question – whether it could be possible that he was wrong in remaining true to his promise? Could it be that he owed more to his father and his mother, and what they chose to call his position, than he did to Mary?
After church, Mr Gazebee tried to get hold of him, for there was much still to be said, and many hints to be given, as to how Frank should speak, and, more especially, as to how he should hold his tongue among the learned pundits in and about Chancery Lane. ‘You must be very wide awake with Messrs Slow & Bide-awhile,’ said Mr Gazebee. But Frank would not hearken to him just at that moment. He was going to ride over to Harry Baker, so he put Mr Gazebee off till the half-hour before dinner – or else the half-hour after tea.
On the previous day he had received a letter from Miss Dunstable, which he had hitherto read but once. His mother had interrupted him as he was about to refer to it; and now, as his father’s nag was being saddled – he was still prudent in saving the black horse – he again took it out.
Miss Dunstable had written in an excellent humour. She was in great distress about the oil of Lebanon, she said. ‘I have been trying to get a purchaser for the last two years; but my lawyer won’t let me sell it, because the would-be purchasers offer a thousand pounds or so less than the value. I would give ten to be rid of the bore; but I am as little able to act myself as Sancho was in his government.1 The oil of Lebanon! Did you hear anything