The Last Chronicle of Barset [400]
said Toogood. 'But stop a moment before you go to him, and give me your hand. I must have the first shake of it.' Hereupon Crawley extended his hand. 'That's right. And now let me tell you we know all about the cheque--Soames's cheque. We know where you got it. We know who stole it. We know how it came to the person who gave it to you. It's all very well talking, but when you're in trouble always go to a lawyer.'
By this time Mr Crawley was looking full into Mr Toogood's face, and seeing that his cousin's eyes were streaming with tears began to get some insight into the man's character, and also some very dim insight into the facts which the man intended to communicate to himself. 'I do not as yet fully understand you, sir,' he said, 'being perhaps in such matters somewhat dull of intellect, but it seemeth to me that you are the messenger of glad tidings, whose feet are beautiful upon the mountains.'
'Beautiful!' said Toogood. 'By George, I should think they are beautiful! Don't you hear me tell you that we have found out all about the cheque, and that you're as right as a trivet?' They were still on the little causeway leading from the school up the road, and Henry Grantly was waiting for them at the small wicket-gate. 'Mr Crawley,' said the major, 'I congratulate you with all my heart. I could not but accompany my friend, Mr Toogood, when he brought you this good news.'
'I do not even yet altogether comprehend what has been told to me,' said Crawley, now standing out on the road between the other two men. 'I am doubtless dull--very dull. May I beg some clearer word of explanation before I ask you to go with me to my wife?'
'The cheque was given to you by my aunt Eleanor.'
'Your aunt Eleanor!' said Crawley, now altogether in the clouds. Who was the major's aunt Eleanor? Though he had, no doubt, at different times heard all the circumstances of the connection, he had never realised the fact that his daughter's lover was the nephew of his old friend Arabin.
'Yes; by my aunt, Mrs Arabin.'
'She put it into the envelope with the notes,' said Toogood--'slipped it in without saying a word to anyone. I never heard of a woman doing such a thing in my life before. If she had died, or if we hadn't caught her, where should we all have been? Not but what I think I should have run Dan Stringer to ground too, and worked it out of him.'
'Then, after all, it was given to me by the dean?' said Crawley.
'It was in the envelope, but the dean did not know it,' said the major.
'Gentlemen,' said Mr Crawley. 'I was sure of it. I knew it. Weak as my mind may be--and at times it is very weak--I was certain that I could not have erred in such a matter. The more I struggled with my memory the more fixed with me became the fact--which I had forgotten but for a moment--that the document had formed a part of that small packet handed to me by the dean. But look you, sirs--bear with me yet for a moment. I said that it was so, and the dean denied it.'
'The dean did not know it, man,' said Toogood, almost in a passion.
'Bear with me yet awhile. So far have I been misdoubting the dean--whom I have long known to be in all things a true and honest gentleman--that I postponed the elaborated result of my own memory to his word. And I felt myself the more constrained to do this, because in a moment of forgetfulness, I had allowed myself to make a false statement--unwittingly false, indeed, nonetheless very false, unpardonably false. I had declared without thinking, that the money had come to me from the hands of Mr Soames, thereby seeming to cast a reflection upon that gentleman. When I had been guilty of so great a blunder, of so gross a violation of that ordinary care which should govern all words between man and man, especially when any question of money may be in doubt--how could I expect that anyone should accept my statement when contravened by that made by the dean? Gentlemen, I did not believe my own memory. Though all the little circumstances of that envelope, with its rich but perilous freightage, came back upon
By this time Mr Crawley was looking full into Mr Toogood's face, and seeing that his cousin's eyes were streaming with tears began to get some insight into the man's character, and also some very dim insight into the facts which the man intended to communicate to himself. 'I do not as yet fully understand you, sir,' he said, 'being perhaps in such matters somewhat dull of intellect, but it seemeth to me that you are the messenger of glad tidings, whose feet are beautiful upon the mountains.'
'Beautiful!' said Toogood. 'By George, I should think they are beautiful! Don't you hear me tell you that we have found out all about the cheque, and that you're as right as a trivet?' They were still on the little causeway leading from the school up the road, and Henry Grantly was waiting for them at the small wicket-gate. 'Mr Crawley,' said the major, 'I congratulate you with all my heart. I could not but accompany my friend, Mr Toogood, when he brought you this good news.'
'I do not even yet altogether comprehend what has been told to me,' said Crawley, now standing out on the road between the other two men. 'I am doubtless dull--very dull. May I beg some clearer word of explanation before I ask you to go with me to my wife?'
'The cheque was given to you by my aunt Eleanor.'
'Your aunt Eleanor!' said Crawley, now altogether in the clouds. Who was the major's aunt Eleanor? Though he had, no doubt, at different times heard all the circumstances of the connection, he had never realised the fact that his daughter's lover was the nephew of his old friend Arabin.
'Yes; by my aunt, Mrs Arabin.'
'She put it into the envelope with the notes,' said Toogood--'slipped it in without saying a word to anyone. I never heard of a woman doing such a thing in my life before. If she had died, or if we hadn't caught her, where should we all have been? Not but what I think I should have run Dan Stringer to ground too, and worked it out of him.'
'Then, after all, it was given to me by the dean?' said Crawley.
'It was in the envelope, but the dean did not know it,' said the major.
'Gentlemen,' said Mr Crawley. 'I was sure of it. I knew it. Weak as my mind may be--and at times it is very weak--I was certain that I could not have erred in such a matter. The more I struggled with my memory the more fixed with me became the fact--which I had forgotten but for a moment--that the document had formed a part of that small packet handed to me by the dean. But look you, sirs--bear with me yet for a moment. I said that it was so, and the dean denied it.'
'The dean did not know it, man,' said Toogood, almost in a passion.
'Bear with me yet awhile. So far have I been misdoubting the dean--whom I have long known to be in all things a true and honest gentleman--that I postponed the elaborated result of my own memory to his word. And I felt myself the more constrained to do this, because in a moment of forgetfulness, I had allowed myself to make a false statement--unwittingly false, indeed, nonetheless very false, unpardonably false. I had declared without thinking, that the money had come to me from the hands of Mr Soames, thereby seeming to cast a reflection upon that gentleman. When I had been guilty of so great a blunder, of so gross a violation of that ordinary care which should govern all words between man and man, especially when any question of money may be in doubt--how could I expect that anyone should accept my statement when contravened by that made by the dean? Gentlemen, I did not believe my own memory. Though all the little circumstances of that envelope, with its rich but perilous freightage, came back upon