The Last Chronicle of Barset [261]
often felt before, that it was not altogether laden with welcome. But all this had nothing to do with the duty on which she had come; nor did it, in the slightest degree, militate against her own affection. 'Papa,' she said, kissing him, 'you are surprised to see me so early?'
'Well, my dear, yes;--but very glad all the same. I hope everybody is well at Plumstead?'
'Everybody, thank you, papa.'
'That is well. Posy and I are getting ready for church. Are we not, Posy?'
'Grandpapa is getting ready. Mrs Baxter won't let me go.'
'No, my dear, no--not yet, Posy. When Posy is a great girl she can go to the cathedral every day. Only then, perhaps, Posy won't want to go.'
'I thought that, perhaps, papa, you would sit with me a little while this morning, instead of going to morning prayers.'
'Certainly, my dear--certainly. Only I do not like not going;--for who can say how often I may be able to go again? There is so little time left, Susan--so very little left.'
After that she did not have the heart to ask him to stay, and therefore she went with him. As they passed down the stairs and out of the doors she was astonished to find how weak were his footsteps--how powerless he was against the slightest misadventure. On this very day he would have tripped at the upward step at the cathedral door had she not been with him. 'Oh, papa,' she said 'indeed, indeed, you should not come here alone.' Then he apologised for his little stumble with many words and much shame, assuring her that anybody might trip on an occasion. It was purely an accident; and though it was a comfort to have had her arm, he was sure that he would have recovered himself even had he been alone. He always, he said, kept quite close to the wall, so that there might be no mistake--no possibility of an accident. All this he said volubly, but with confused words, in the covered stone passage leading into the transept. And, as he thus spoke, Mrs Grantly made up her mind that her father should never again go to the cathedral alone. He never did go again to the cathedral--alone.
When they returned to the deanery, Mr Harding was fluttered, weary, and unwell. When his daughter left him for a few minutes he told Mrs Baxter in confidence of the story of his accident, and his great grief that his daughter should have seen it. 'Laws amercy, sir, it was a blessing she was with you,' said Mrs Baxter; 'it was, indeed, Mr Harding.' Then Mr Harding had been angry, and spoke almost crossly to Mrs Baxter; but, before she left the room, he found an opportunity of begging her pardon--not in a set speech to that effect, but by a little word of gentle kindness, which she had understood perfectly. 'Papa,' said Mrs Grantly to him as soon as she ha succeeded in getting both Posy and Mrs Baxter out of the room--against the doing of which, Mr Harding had manoeuvred with all his little impotent skill--'Papa, you must promise that you will not go to the cathedral again alone, till Eleanor comes home.' When he heard the sentence he looked at her with blank misery in his eyes. He made not attempt at remonstrance. He begged for no respite. The word had gone forth, and he knew that it must be obeyed. Though he would have hidden the signs of his weakness had he been able, he would not condescend to plead that he was strong. 'If you think it wrong, my dear, I will not go alone,' he said. 'Papa, I do; indeed I do. Dear papa, I would not hurt you by saying it if I did not know that I am right.' He was sitting with his hand upon the table, and, as she spoke to him, she put her hand upon his, caressing it. 'My dear,' he said, 'you are always right.'
She left him again for a while, having some business out in the city, and he was alone in his room for an hour. What was there left to him now in the world? Old as he was, and in some things almost childish, nevertheless, he thought of this keenly, and some half-realised remembrance of the 'lean and slippered pantaloon' flitted across his mind, causing him a pang. What was there left to him now in the world? Posy and cat's-cradle!
'Well, my dear, yes;--but very glad all the same. I hope everybody is well at Plumstead?'
'Everybody, thank you, papa.'
'That is well. Posy and I are getting ready for church. Are we not, Posy?'
'Grandpapa is getting ready. Mrs Baxter won't let me go.'
'No, my dear, no--not yet, Posy. When Posy is a great girl she can go to the cathedral every day. Only then, perhaps, Posy won't want to go.'
'I thought that, perhaps, papa, you would sit with me a little while this morning, instead of going to morning prayers.'
'Certainly, my dear--certainly. Only I do not like not going;--for who can say how often I may be able to go again? There is so little time left, Susan--so very little left.'
After that she did not have the heart to ask him to stay, and therefore she went with him. As they passed down the stairs and out of the doors she was astonished to find how weak were his footsteps--how powerless he was against the slightest misadventure. On this very day he would have tripped at the upward step at the cathedral door had she not been with him. 'Oh, papa,' she said 'indeed, indeed, you should not come here alone.' Then he apologised for his little stumble with many words and much shame, assuring her that anybody might trip on an occasion. It was purely an accident; and though it was a comfort to have had her arm, he was sure that he would have recovered himself even had he been alone. He always, he said, kept quite close to the wall, so that there might be no mistake--no possibility of an accident. All this he said volubly, but with confused words, in the covered stone passage leading into the transept. And, as he thus spoke, Mrs Grantly made up her mind that her father should never again go to the cathedral alone. He never did go again to the cathedral--alone.
When they returned to the deanery, Mr Harding was fluttered, weary, and unwell. When his daughter left him for a few minutes he told Mrs Baxter in confidence of the story of his accident, and his great grief that his daughter should have seen it. 'Laws amercy, sir, it was a blessing she was with you,' said Mrs Baxter; 'it was, indeed, Mr Harding.' Then Mr Harding had been angry, and spoke almost crossly to Mrs Baxter; but, before she left the room, he found an opportunity of begging her pardon--not in a set speech to that effect, but by a little word of gentle kindness, which she had understood perfectly. 'Papa,' said Mrs Grantly to him as soon as she ha succeeded in getting both Posy and Mrs Baxter out of the room--against the doing of which, Mr Harding had manoeuvred with all his little impotent skill--'Papa, you must promise that you will not go to the cathedral again alone, till Eleanor comes home.' When he heard the sentence he looked at her with blank misery in his eyes. He made not attempt at remonstrance. He begged for no respite. The word had gone forth, and he knew that it must be obeyed. Though he would have hidden the signs of his weakness had he been able, he would not condescend to plead that he was strong. 'If you think it wrong, my dear, I will not go alone,' he said. 'Papa, I do; indeed I do. Dear papa, I would not hurt you by saying it if I did not know that I am right.' He was sitting with his hand upon the table, and, as she spoke to him, she put her hand upon his, caressing it. 'My dear,' he said, 'you are always right.'
She left him again for a while, having some business out in the city, and he was alone in his room for an hour. What was there left to him now in the world? Old as he was, and in some things almost childish, nevertheless, he thought of this keenly, and some half-realised remembrance of the 'lean and slippered pantaloon' flitted across his mind, causing him a pang. What was there left to him now in the world? Posy and cat's-cradle!