The Last Chronicle of Barset [116]
still. If it was so, was she not bound to show her this letter? Lily was old enough to judge for herself--old enough, and wise enough too. Mrs Dale told herself half-a-score of times that morning that she could not be justified in keeping the letter from her daughter.
But yet much she wished that the letter had never been written, and would have given very much to be able to put it out of the way without injustice to Lily. To her thinking it would be impossible that Lily should be happy marrying such a man. Such a marriage now would be, as Mrs Dale thought, a degradation to her daughter. A terrible injury had been done to her; but such reparation as this would, in Mrs Dale's eyes, only make the injury deeper. And yet Lily loved the man; and, loving him, how could she resist the temptation of his offer? 'Mamma, from whom was that letter which you got this morning? Lily asked. For a few moments Mrs Dale remained silent. 'Mamma,' continued Lily, 'I think I know whom it was from. If you tell me to ask nothing further, of course I will not.'
'No, Lily; I cannot tell you that.'
'Then, mamma, out with it at once. What is the use of shivering on the brink?'
'It was from Mr Crosbie.'
'I knew it. I cannot tell you why, but I knew it. And now, mamma;--am I to read it?'
'You shall do as you please, Lily.'
'Then I please to read it.'
'Listen to me a moment first. For myself, I wish that the letter had never been written. It tells badly for the man, as I think of it. I cannot understand how any man could have brought himself to address either you or me, after having acted as he acted.'
'But, mamma, we differ about all that, you know.'
'Now he has written, and there is the letter--if you choose to read it.'
Lily had it in her hand, but she still sat motionless, holding it. 'You think, mamma, I ought not to read it?'
'You must judge for yourself, dearest.'
'And if I do not read it, what shall you do, mamma?'
'I shall do nothing;--or, perhaps, I should in such a case acknowledge it, and tell him that we have nothing more to say to him.'
'That should be very stern.'
'He has done that which makes some sternness necessary.'
Then Lily was again silent, and still she sat motionless, with the letter in her hand. 'Mamma,' she said at last, 'if you tell me not to read it, I will give it back to you unread. If you bid me exercise my own judgment, I shall take it upstairs and read it.'
'You must exercise your own judgment,' said Mrs Dale. Then Lily got up from her chair and walked slowly out of the room, and went to her mother's chamber. The thoughts which passed through Mrs Dale's mind while her daughter was reading the letter were very sad. She could find no comfort anywhere. Lily, she had told herself, would surely give way to this man's renewed expressions of affection, and she, Mrs Dale herself, would be called upon to give her child to a man whom she could neither love nor respect; --who, for aught she knew, she could never cease to hate. And she could not bring herself to believe that Lily could be happy with such a man. As for her own life, desolate as it would be--she cared little for that. Mothers know that their daughters will leave them. Even widowed mothers, mothers with but one child left--such a one as was this mother---are aware that they will be left alone, and they can bring themselves to welcome the sacrifice of themselves with something of satisfaction. Mrs Dale and Lily had, indeed, of late become bound together especially, so that the mother had been justified in regarding the link which joined them as being firmer than that by which most daughters are bound to their mothers;--but in all that she would have found no regret. Even now, in these very days, she was hoping that Lily might yet be brought to give herself to John Eames. But she could not, after all that was come and gone, be happy in thinking that Lily should be given to Adolphus Crosbie.
When Mrs Dale went upstairs to her own room before dinner Lily was not there; nor were they alone together again that evening
But yet much she wished that the letter had never been written, and would have given very much to be able to put it out of the way without injustice to Lily. To her thinking it would be impossible that Lily should be happy marrying such a man. Such a marriage now would be, as Mrs Dale thought, a degradation to her daughter. A terrible injury had been done to her; but such reparation as this would, in Mrs Dale's eyes, only make the injury deeper. And yet Lily loved the man; and, loving him, how could she resist the temptation of his offer? 'Mamma, from whom was that letter which you got this morning? Lily asked. For a few moments Mrs Dale remained silent. 'Mamma,' continued Lily, 'I think I know whom it was from. If you tell me to ask nothing further, of course I will not.'
'No, Lily; I cannot tell you that.'
'Then, mamma, out with it at once. What is the use of shivering on the brink?'
'It was from Mr Crosbie.'
'I knew it. I cannot tell you why, but I knew it. And now, mamma;--am I to read it?'
'You shall do as you please, Lily.'
'Then I please to read it.'
'Listen to me a moment first. For myself, I wish that the letter had never been written. It tells badly for the man, as I think of it. I cannot understand how any man could have brought himself to address either you or me, after having acted as he acted.'
'But, mamma, we differ about all that, you know.'
'Now he has written, and there is the letter--if you choose to read it.'
Lily had it in her hand, but she still sat motionless, holding it. 'You think, mamma, I ought not to read it?'
'You must judge for yourself, dearest.'
'And if I do not read it, what shall you do, mamma?'
'I shall do nothing;--or, perhaps, I should in such a case acknowledge it, and tell him that we have nothing more to say to him.'
'That should be very stern.'
'He has done that which makes some sternness necessary.'
Then Lily was again silent, and still she sat motionless, with the letter in her hand. 'Mamma,' she said at last, 'if you tell me not to read it, I will give it back to you unread. If you bid me exercise my own judgment, I shall take it upstairs and read it.'
'You must exercise your own judgment,' said Mrs Dale. Then Lily got up from her chair and walked slowly out of the room, and went to her mother's chamber. The thoughts which passed through Mrs Dale's mind while her daughter was reading the letter were very sad. She could find no comfort anywhere. Lily, she had told herself, would surely give way to this man's renewed expressions of affection, and she, Mrs Dale herself, would be called upon to give her child to a man whom she could neither love nor respect; --who, for aught she knew, she could never cease to hate. And she could not bring herself to believe that Lily could be happy with such a man. As for her own life, desolate as it would be--she cared little for that. Mothers know that their daughters will leave them. Even widowed mothers, mothers with but one child left--such a one as was this mother---are aware that they will be left alone, and they can bring themselves to welcome the sacrifice of themselves with something of satisfaction. Mrs Dale and Lily had, indeed, of late become bound together especially, so that the mother had been justified in regarding the link which joined them as being firmer than that by which most daughters are bound to their mothers;--but in all that she would have found no regret. Even now, in these very days, she was hoping that Lily might yet be brought to give herself to John Eames. But she could not, after all that was come and gone, be happy in thinking that Lily should be given to Adolphus Crosbie.
When Mrs Dale went upstairs to her own room before dinner Lily was not there; nor were they alone together again that evening