The Last Chronicle of Barset [423]
there, I don't think she will make much difficulty.' Lady Lufton demurred at this, not however with anger, and expressed a certain amount of mild displeasure. She did not quite see why Major Grantly should not be allowed to come and do his love-making comfortably, where there was a decent dinner for him to eat, and chairs and tables and sofas and carpets. She said that she thought that something was due to Major Grantly. She was in truth a little disappointed that she was not allowed to have her own way, and to arrange the marriage at Framley under her own eye. But, through it all, she appreciated Grace; and they who knew her well and heard what she said upon the occasion, understood that her favour was not to be withdrawn. All young women were divided by the old Lady Lufton into sheep and goats--very white sheep and very black goats--and Grace was to be a sheep. Thus it came to pass that Grace Crawley was at home when the dean visited Hogglestock. 'Mamma,' she said, looking out of the window, 'there is the dean with papa at the gate.'
'It was a narrow squeak--a very narrow squeak,' Mr Crawley had said when his friend had congratulated him on his escape. The dean felt at the moment that not for many years had he heard the incumbent of Hogglestock speak either of himself or of anything else with so manifest an attempt at jocularity. Arabin had expected to find the man broken down by the weight of his sorrows, and lo! at the first moment of their first interview he himself began to ridicule them! Crawley having thus alluded to the narrow squeak had asked his visitor to enter the house and see his wife.
'Of course I will,' said Arabin, 'but I will speak just a word to you first.' Jane who had accompanied the dean from the school, now left them, and went into the house to her mother. 'My wife cannot forgive herself about the cheque,' continued he.
'There is nothing to be forgiven,' said Mr Crawley; 'nothing.'
'She feels that what she did was awkward and foolish. She ought never to have paid the cheque away in such a manner. She knows that now.'
'It was given--not paid,' said Crawley; and as he spoke something of the black cloud came back on his face. 'And I am well aware hard Mrs Arabin strove to take away from the alms she bestowed the bitterness of the sting of eleemosynary aid. If you please, Arabin, we will not talk any more of that. I can never forget that I have been a beggar, but I need not make my beggary the matter of conversation. I hope the Holy Land has fulfilled your expectation?'
'It has more than done so,' said the dean, bewildered by the sudden change.
'For myself, it is, of course, impossible that I should ever visit any scenes except those to which my immediate work may call me--never in this world. The new Jerusalem is still within my reach--if it be not forfeited by pride and obstinacy; but the old Jerusalem I can never behold. Methinks, because it is so, I would sooner stand with my foot on Mount Olivet, or drink a cup of water in the village of Bethany, than visit any other spot within the traveller's compass. The sources of the Nile, of which men talk so much--I see it in the papers and reviews which the ladies at Framley are so good as to send to my wife--do not interest me much. I have no ambition to climb Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn; Rome makes my mouth water but little, nor even Athens much. I can realise without seeing all that Athens could show me, and can fancy that the existing truth would destroy more than it would build up. But to have stood on Calvary!'
'We don't know where Calvary was,' said the dean.
'I fancy that I should know--should know enough,' said the illogical and unreasonable Mr Crawley. 'Is it true that you can look over from the spot on which He stood as He came across the brow of the hill, and see the huge stones of the temple placed there by Solomon's men--as He saw them--right across the brook Cedron, is it not?'
'It's all there, Crawley--just as your knowledge of it tells you.'
'In the privilege of seeing those places I can almost envy a man
'It was a narrow squeak--a very narrow squeak,' Mr Crawley had said when his friend had congratulated him on his escape. The dean felt at the moment that not for many years had he heard the incumbent of Hogglestock speak either of himself or of anything else with so manifest an attempt at jocularity. Arabin had expected to find the man broken down by the weight of his sorrows, and lo! at the first moment of their first interview he himself began to ridicule them! Crawley having thus alluded to the narrow squeak had asked his visitor to enter the house and see his wife.
'Of course I will,' said Arabin, 'but I will speak just a word to you first.' Jane who had accompanied the dean from the school, now left them, and went into the house to her mother. 'My wife cannot forgive herself about the cheque,' continued he.
'There is nothing to be forgiven,' said Mr Crawley; 'nothing.'
'She feels that what she did was awkward and foolish. She ought never to have paid the cheque away in such a manner. She knows that now.'
'It was given--not paid,' said Crawley; and as he spoke something of the black cloud came back on his face. 'And I am well aware hard Mrs Arabin strove to take away from the alms she bestowed the bitterness of the sting of eleemosynary aid. If you please, Arabin, we will not talk any more of that. I can never forget that I have been a beggar, but I need not make my beggary the matter of conversation. I hope the Holy Land has fulfilled your expectation?'
'It has more than done so,' said the dean, bewildered by the sudden change.
'For myself, it is, of course, impossible that I should ever visit any scenes except those to which my immediate work may call me--never in this world. The new Jerusalem is still within my reach--if it be not forfeited by pride and obstinacy; but the old Jerusalem I can never behold. Methinks, because it is so, I would sooner stand with my foot on Mount Olivet, or drink a cup of water in the village of Bethany, than visit any other spot within the traveller's compass. The sources of the Nile, of which men talk so much--I see it in the papers and reviews which the ladies at Framley are so good as to send to my wife--do not interest me much. I have no ambition to climb Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn; Rome makes my mouth water but little, nor even Athens much. I can realise without seeing all that Athens could show me, and can fancy that the existing truth would destroy more than it would build up. But to have stood on Calvary!'
'We don't know where Calvary was,' said the dean.
'I fancy that I should know--should know enough,' said the illogical and unreasonable Mr Crawley. 'Is it true that you can look over from the spot on which He stood as He came across the brow of the hill, and see the huge stones of the temple placed there by Solomon's men--as He saw them--right across the brook Cedron, is it not?'
'It's all there, Crawley--just as your knowledge of it tells you.'
'In the privilege of seeing those places I can almost envy a man