The Small House at Allington, Anthony Trollope [best ebook reader for chromebook .txt] 📗

all, and it was scrawled on half a sheet of notepaper. Why, at any rate, had he not called her his dearest Lily? Why had he not assured her that he was ever her own? Such expressions, meaning so much, may be conveyed in a glance of the pen. “Ah,” she said, “if he knew how I hunger and thirst after his love!”

She had but a moment left to her before she must join her mother and sister, and she used that moment in remembering her promise. “I know it is all right,” she said to herself. “He does not think of these things as I do. He had to write at the last moment⁠—as he was leaving his office.” And then with a quiet, smiling face, she walked into the breakfast-parlour.

“What does he say, Lily?” asked Bell.

“What would you give to know?” said Lily.

“I wouldn’t give twopence for the whole of it,” said Bell.

“When you get anybody to write to you letters, I wonder whether you’ll show them to everybody?”

“But if there’s any special London news, I suppose we might hear it,” said Mrs. Dale.

“But suppose there’s no special London news, mamma. The poor man had only been in town one day, you know: and there never is any news at this time of the year.”

“Had he seen uncle Christopher?”

“I don’t think he had; but he doesn’t say. We shall get all the news from him when he comes. He cares much more about London news than Adolphus does.” And then there was no more said about the letter.

But Lily had read her two former letters over and over again at the breakfast-table; and though she had not read them aloud, she had repeated many words out of them, and had so annotated upon them that her mother, who had heard her, could have almost rewritten them. Now, she did not even show the paper; and then her absence, during which she had read the letter, had hardly exceeded a minute or two. All this Mrs. Dale observed, and she knew that her daughter had been again disappointed.

In fact that day Lily was very serious, but she did not appear to be unhappy. Early after breakfast Bell went over to the parsonage, and Mrs. Dale and her youngest daughter sat together over their work. “Mamma,” she said, “I hope you and I are not to be divided when I go to live in London.”

“We shall never be divided in heart, my love.”

“Ah, but that will not be enough for happiness, though perhaps enough to prevent absolute unhappiness. I shall want to see you, touch you, and pet you as I do now.” And she came and knelt on the cushion at her mother’s feet.

“You will have someone else to caress and pet⁠—perhaps many others.”

“Do you mean to say that you are going to throw me off, mamma?”

“God forbid, my darling. It is not mothers that throw off their children. What shall I have left when you and Bell are gone from me?”

“But we will never be gone. That’s what I mean. We are to be just the same to you always, even though we are married. I must have my right to be here as much as I have it now; and, in return, you shall have your right to be there. His house must be a home to you⁠—not a cold place which you may visit now and again, with your best clothes on. You know what I mean, when I say that we must not be divided.”

“But Lily⁠—”

“Well, mamma?”

“I have no doubt we shall be happy together⁠—you and I.”

“But you were going to say more than that.”

“Only this⁠—that your house will be his house, and will be full without me. A daughter’s marriage is always a painful parting.”

“Is it, mamma?”

“Not that I would have it otherwise than it is. Do not think that I would wish to keep you at home with me. Of course you will both marry and leave me. I hope that he to whom you are going to devote yourself may be spared to love you and protect you.” Then the widow’s heart became too full, and she put away her child from her that she might hide her face.

“Mamma, mamma, I wish I was not going from you.”

“No, Lily; do not say that. I should not be contented with life if I did not see both my girls married. I think that it is the only lot which can give to a woman perfect content and satisfaction. I would have you both married. I should be the most selfish being alive if I wished otherwise.”

“Bell will settle herself near you, and then you will see more of her and love her better than you do me.”

“I shall not love her better.”

“I wish she would marry some London man, and then you would come with us, and be near to us. Do you know, mamma, I sometimes think you don’t like this place here.”

“Your uncle has been very kind to give it to us.”

“I know he has; and we have been very happy here. But if Bell should leave you⁠—”

“Then should I go also. Your uncle has been very kind, but I sometimes feel that his kindness is a burden which I should not be strong enough to bear solely on my own shoulders. And what should keep me here, then?” Mrs. Dale as she said this felt that the “here” of which she spoke extended beyond the limits of the home which she held through the charity of her brother-in-law. Might not all the world, as far as she was concerned in it, be contained in that “here”? How was she to live if both her children should be taken away from her? She had already realized the fact that Crosbie’s house could never be a home to her⁠—never even a temporary home. Her visits there must be of that full-dressed nature to which Lily had alluded. It was impossible that she could explain this to