The Last Chronicle of Barset [368]
what wife was fit for him? Then he thought of a story which he had read--and had well marked as he was reading--of some man who had been terribly afflicted by his wife, whose wife had starved him and beaten him and reviled him; and yet this man had been able to thank God for having mortified him in the flesh. Might it not be that the mortification which he himself had doubtless suffered in his flesh had been intended for his welfare, and had been very good for him? But if this were so, it might be that the mortification was now removed because the Lord knew that his servant had been sufficiently mortified. He had not been starved or beaten, but the mortification had been certainly severe. Then there came these words--into his mind, not into his mouth--'The Lord sent the thorn, and the Lord has taken it away. Blessed be the Lord.' After that he was very angry with himself, and tried to pray that he might be forgiven. While he was so striving there came a low knock at the door, and Mrs Draper again entered the room.
'Dr Filgrave, my lord, was not at home,' said Mrs Draper; 'but he will be sent the moment when he arrives.'
'Very well, Mrs Draper.'
'But, my lord, will you not come out to dinner? A little soup, or a morsel of something to eat, and a glass of wine, will enable your lordship to bear it better.' He allowed Mrs Draper to persuade him, and followed her into the dining-room. 'Do not go, Mrs Draper,' he said; 'I would rather that you should stay with me.' So Mrs Draper stayed with him, and administered to his wants. He was desirous of being seen by as few eyes as possible in these first moments of his freedom.
He saw Dr Filgrave twice, both before and after the doctor had been upstairs. There was no doubt, Dr Filgrave said, that it was as Mrs Draper had surmised. The poor lady was suffering, and had for years been suffering, from heart-complaint. To her husband she had never said a word on the subject. To Mrs Draper a word had been said now and again--a word when some moment of fear would come, when some sharp stroke of agony would tell of danger. But Mrs Draper had kept the secret of her mistress, and none of the family had known that there was aught to be feared. Dr Filgrave, indeed, did tell the bishop that he had dreaded all along exactly that which had happened. He had said the same to Mr Rerechild, the surgeon, when they two had had a consultation at the palace on the occasion of a somewhat alarming birth of a grandchild. But he mixed up this information with so much medical Latin, and was so pompous over it, and the bishop was so anxious to be rid of him, that his words did not have much effect. What did it all matter? The thorn was gone, and the wife was dead, and the widower must balance his gain and the loss as best he might.
He slept well but when he woke in the morning the dreariness of his loneliness was very strong on him. He must do something, and must see somebody, but he felt that he did not know how to bear himself in his new position. He must send of course for his chaplain, and tell his chaplain to open all letters and to answer them for a week. Then he remembered how many of his letters in days of yore had been opened and answered by the helpmate, who had just gone from him. Since Dr Tempest's visit he had insisted that the palace letter-bag should always be brought in the first instance to him--and this had been done, greatly to the annoyance of his wife. In order that it might be done the bishop had been up every morning an hour before the usual time; and everybody in the household had known why it was so. He thought of this now as the bag was brought to him on the first morning of his freedom. He could have it where he pleased now--either in his bedroom or left for him untouched on the breakfast-table till he should go to it. 'Blessed be the name of the Lord,' he said as he thought of all this; but he did not stop to analyse what he was saying. On this morning he would not enjoy his liberty, but desired that the letter-bag might be taken to Mr Snapper, the chaplain.
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'Dr Filgrave, my lord, was not at home,' said Mrs Draper; 'but he will be sent the moment when he arrives.'
'Very well, Mrs Draper.'
'But, my lord, will you not come out to dinner? A little soup, or a morsel of something to eat, and a glass of wine, will enable your lordship to bear it better.' He allowed Mrs Draper to persuade him, and followed her into the dining-room. 'Do not go, Mrs Draper,' he said; 'I would rather that you should stay with me.' So Mrs Draper stayed with him, and administered to his wants. He was desirous of being seen by as few eyes as possible in these first moments of his freedom.
He saw Dr Filgrave twice, both before and after the doctor had been upstairs. There was no doubt, Dr Filgrave said, that it was as Mrs Draper had surmised. The poor lady was suffering, and had for years been suffering, from heart-complaint. To her husband she had never said a word on the subject. To Mrs Draper a word had been said now and again--a word when some moment of fear would come, when some sharp stroke of agony would tell of danger. But Mrs Draper had kept the secret of her mistress, and none of the family had known that there was aught to be feared. Dr Filgrave, indeed, did tell the bishop that he had dreaded all along exactly that which had happened. He had said the same to Mr Rerechild, the surgeon, when they two had had a consultation at the palace on the occasion of a somewhat alarming birth of a grandchild. But he mixed up this information with so much medical Latin, and was so pompous over it, and the bishop was so anxious to be rid of him, that his words did not have much effect. What did it all matter? The thorn was gone, and the wife was dead, and the widower must balance his gain and the loss as best he might.
He slept well but when he woke in the morning the dreariness of his loneliness was very strong on him. He must do something, and must see somebody, but he felt that he did not know how to bear himself in his new position. He must send of course for his chaplain, and tell his chaplain to open all letters and to answer them for a week. Then he remembered how many of his letters in days of yore had been opened and answered by the helpmate, who had just gone from him. Since Dr Tempest's visit he had insisted that the palace letter-bag should always be brought in the first instance to him--and this had been done, greatly to the annoyance of his wife. In order that it might be done the bishop had been up every morning an hour before the usual time; and everybody in the household had known why it was so. He thought of this now as the bag was brought to him on the first morning of his freedom. He could have it where he pleased now--either in his bedroom or left for him untouched on the breakfast-table till he should go to it. 'Blessed be the name of the Lord,' he said as he thought of all this; but he did not stop to analyse what he was saying. On this morning he would not enjoy his liberty, but desired that the letter-bag might be taken to Mr Snapper, the chaplain.
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