He Knew He Was Right, Anthony Trollope [children's ebooks free online .TXT] 📗

Do you

remember the lamb that came when you went away? It made me so sick.’

 

‘But, Priscilla isn’t that morbid?’

 

‘Of course it is. You don’t suppose I really think it grand. I am

morbid. But I am strong enough to live on, and not get killed by the

morbidity. Heaven knows how much more there may be of it forty years,

perhaps, and probably the greater portion of that absolutely alone.’

 

‘No, you’ll be with us then if it should come.’

 

‘I think not, Dolly. Not to have a hole of my own would be intolerable

to me. But, as I was saying, I shall not be unhappy. To enjoy life, as

you do, is I suppose out of the question for me. But I have a

satisfaction when I get to the end of the quarter and find that there

is not half-a-crown due to any one. Things get dearer and dearer, but I

have a comfort even in that. I have a feeling that I should like to

bring myself to the straw a day.’ Of course there were offers made of

aid, offers which were rather prayers and plans suggested of what might

be done between Brooke and Hugh; but Priscilla declared that all such

plans were odious to her. ‘Why should you be unhappy about us?’ she

continued. ‘We will come and see you—at least I will—perhaps once in

six months, and you shall pay for the railway ticket; only I won’t

stay, because of the gown.’

 

‘Is not that nonsense, Pris?’

 

‘Just at present it is, because mamma and I have both got new gowns for

the wedding. Hugh sent them, and ever so much money to buy bonnets and

gloves.’

 

‘He is to be married himself soon down at a place called Monkhams. Nora

is staying there.’

 

‘Yes with a lord,’ said Priscilla. ‘We sha’n’t have to go there, at any

rate.’

 

‘You liked Nora when she was here?’

 

‘Very much, though I thought her self-willed. But she is not worldly,

and she is conscientious. She might have married that lord herself if

she would. I do like her. When she comes to you at Exeter, if the

wedding gown isn’t quite worn out, I shall come and see her. I knew she

liked him when she was here, but she never said so.’

 

‘She is very pretty, is she not? He sent me her photograph.’

 

‘She is handsome rather than pretty. I wonder why it is that you two

should be married, and so grandly married, and that I shall never,

never have any one to love.’

 

‘Oh, Priscilla, do not say that. If I have a child will you not love

it?’

 

‘It will be your child, not mine. Do you suppose that I complain. I

know that it is right. I know that you ought to be married and I ought

not. I know that there is not a man in Devonshire who would take me,

or a man in Devonshire whom I would accept. I know that I am quite

unfit for any other kind of life than this. I should make any man

wretched, and any man would make me wretched. But why is it so? I

believe that you would make any man happy.’

 

‘I hope to make Brooke happy.’

 

‘Of course you will, and therefore you deserve it. We’ll go home now,

dear, and get mamma’s things ready for the great day.’

 

On the afternoon before the great day all the visitors were to come,

and during the forenoon old Miss Stanbury was in a great fidget.

Luckily for Dorothy, her own preparations were already made, so that

she could give her time to her aunt without injury to herself. Miss

Stanbury had come to think of herself as though all the reality of her

life had passed away from her. Every resolution that she had formed had

been broken. She had had the great enemy of her life, Barty Burgess, in

the house with her upon terms that were intended to be amicable, and

had arranged with him a plan for the division of the family property.

Her sister-in-law, whom in the heyday of her strength she had chosen to

regard as her enemy, and with whom even as yet there had been no

recon, was about to become her guest, as was also Priscilla

whom she had ever disliked almost as much as she had respected. She had

quarrelled utterly with Hugh in such a manner as to leave no possible

chance of a reconciliation, and he also was about to be her guest. And

then, as to her chosen heir, she was now assisting him in doing the

only thing, as to which she had declared that if he did do it, he

should not be her heir. As she went about the house, under an idea that

such a multiplicity of persons could not be housed and fed without

superhuman exertion, she thought of all this, and could not help

confessing to herself that her life had been very vain. It was only

when her eyes rested on Dorothy, and she saw how supremely happy was

the one person whom she had taken most closely to her heart, that she

could feel that she had done anything that should not have been left

undone. ‘I think I’ll sit down now, Dorothy,’ she said, ‘or I sha’n’t

be able to be with you tomorrow.’

 

‘Do, aunt. Everything is all ready, and nobody will be here for an hour

yet. Nothing can be nicer than the rooms, and nothing ever was done so

well before. I’m only thinking how lonely you’ll be when we’re gone.’

 

‘It’ll be only for six weeks.’

 

‘But six weeks is such a long time.’

 

‘What would it have been if he had taken you up to London, my pet? Are

you sure your mother wouldn’t like a fire in her room, Dorothy?’

 

‘A fire in September, aunt?’

 

‘People live so differently. One never knows.’

 

‘They never have but one fire at Nuncombe, aunt, summer or winter.’

 

‘That’s no reason they shouldn’t be comfortable here.’ However, she did

not insist on having the fire lighted.

 

Mrs Stanbury and Priscilla came first, and the meeting was certainly

very uncomfortable. Poor Mrs Stanbury was shy, and could hardly speak a

word. Miss Stanbury thought that her visitor was haughty, and, though

she endeavoured to be gracious, did it with a struggle. They called

each other ma’am, which made Dorothy uneasy. Each of them was so dear

to her, that it was a pity that they should glower at each other like

enemies. Priscilla was not at all shy; but she was combative, and, as

her aunt said of her afterwards, would not keep her prickles in. ‘I

hope, Priscilla, you like weddings,’ said Miss Stanbury to her, not

knowing where to find a subject for conversation.

 

‘In the abstract I like them,’ said Priscilla. Miss Stanbury did not

know what her niece meant by liking weddings in the abstract, and was

angry.

 

‘I suppose you do have weddings at Nuncombe Putney sometimes,’ she

said.

 

‘I hope they do,’ said Priscilla, ‘but I never saw one. Tomorrow will

be my first experience.’

 

‘Your own will come next, my dear,’ said Miss Stanbury.

 

‘I think not,’ said Priscilla. ‘It is quite as likely to be yours,

aunt.’ This, Miss Stanbury thought, was almost an insult, and she said

nothing more on the occasion.

 

Then came Hugh and the bridegroom. The bridegroom, as a matter of

course, was not accommodated in the house, but he was allowed to come

there for his tea. He and Hugh had come together; and for Hugh a

bedroom had been provided. His aunt had not seen him since he had been

turned out of the house, because of his bad practices, and Dorothy had

anticipated the meeting between them with alarm. It was, however, much

more pleasant than had been that between the ladies. ‘Hugh,’ she said

stiffly, ‘I am glad to see you on such an occasion as this.’

 

‘Aunt,’ he said, ‘I am glad of any occasion that can get me an entrance

once more into the dear old house. I am so pleased to see you.’ She

allowed her hand to remain in his a few moments, and murmured something

which was intended to signify her satisfaction. ‘I must tell you that I

am going to be married myself, to one of the dearest, sweetest, and

loveliest girls that ever were seen, and you must congratulate me.’

 

‘I do, I do; and I hope you may be happy.’

 

‘We mean to try to be; and some day you must let me bring her to you,

and shew her. I shall not be satisfied, if you do not know my wife.’

She told Martha afterwards that she hoped that Mr Hugh had sown his

wild oats, and that matrimony would sober him. When, however, Martha

remarked that she believed Mr Hugh to be as hardworking a young man as

any in London, Miss Stanbury shook her head sorrowfully. Things were

being very much changed with her; but not even yet was she to be

brought to approve of work done on behalf of a penny newspaper.

 

On the following morning, at ten o’clock, there was a procession from

Miss Stanbury’s house into the Cathedral, which was made entirely on

foot; indeed, no assistance could have been given by any carriage, for

there is a back entrance to the Cathedral, near to the Lady Chapel,

exactly opposite Miss Stanbury’s house. There were many of the

inhabitants of the Close there, to see the procession, and the

cathedral bells rang out their peals very merrily. Brooke, the

bridegroom, gave his arm to Miss Stanbury, which was, no doubt, very

improper, as he should have appeared in the church as coming from some

quite different part of the world. Then came the bride, hanging on her

brother, then two bridesmaids friends of Dorothy’s, living in the town;

and, lastly, Priscilla with her mother, for nothing would induce

Priscilla to take the part of a bridesmaid. ‘You might as well ask an

owl to sing to you,’ she said. ‘And then all the frippery would be

thrown away upon me.’ But she stood close to Dorothy, and when the

ceremony had been performed, was the first, after Brooke, to kiss her.

 

Everybody acknowledged that the bride was a winsome bride. Mrs MacHugh

was at the breakfast, and declared afterwards that Dorothy Burgess, as

she then was pleased to call her, was a girl very hard to be

understood. ‘She came here,’ said Mrs MacHugh, ‘two years ago, a plain,

silent, shy, dowdy young woman, and we all said that Miss Stanbury

would be tired of her in a week. There has never come a time in which

there was any visible difference in her, and now she is one of our city

beauties, with plenty to say to everybody, with a fortune in one pocket

and her aunt in the other, and everybody is saying what a fortunate

fellow Brooke Burgess is to get her. In a year or two she’ll be at the

top of everything in the city, and will make her way in the county

too.’

 

The compiler of this history begs to add his opinion to that of

‘everybody,’ as quoted above by Mrs MacHugh. He thinks that Brooke

Burgess was a very fortunate fellow to get his wife.