Framley Parsonage, Anthony Trollope [popular e readers txt] 📗

not say that. Ah, yes, about the cow and the dog. All that was true. I was telling you of what his soft words had been while I was becoming such a fool. Since that he has said more.”

“What more has he said, Lucy?”

“I yearn to tell you, if only I can trust you;” and Lucy knelt down at the feet of Mrs. Robarts, looking up into her face and smiling through the remaining drops of her tears. “I would fain tell you, but I do not know you yet⁠—whether you are quite true. I could be true⁠—true against all the world, if my friend told me. I will tell you, Fanny, if you say that you can be true. But if you doubt yourself, if you must whisper all to Mark⁠—then let us be silent.”

There was something almost awful in this to Mrs. Robarts. Hitherto, since their marriage, hardly a thought had passed through her mind which she had not shared with her husband. But now all this had come upon her so suddenly, that she was unable to think whether it would be well that she should become the depositary of such a secret⁠—not to be mentioned to Lucy’s brother, not to be mentioned to her own husband. But who ever yet was offered a secret and declined it? Who at least ever declined a love secret? What sister could do so? Mrs. Robarts therefore gave the promise, smoothing Lucy’s hair as she did so, and kissing her forehead and looking into her eyes, which, like a rainbow, were the brighter for her tears. “And what has he said to you, Lucy?”

“What? Only this, that he asked me to be his wife.”

“Lord Lufton proposed to you?”

“Yes; proposed to me. It is not credible, is it? You cannot bring yourself to believe that such a thing happened, can you?” And Lucy rose again to her feet, as the idea of the scorn with which she felt that others would treat her⁠—with which she herself treated herself⁠—made the blood rise to her cheek. “And yet it is not a dream. I think that it is not a dream. I think that he really did.”

“Think, Lucy!”

“Well, I may say that I am sure.”

“A gentleman would not make you a formal proposal, and leave you in doubt as to what he meant.”

“Oh dear, no. There was no doubt at all of that kind; none in the least. Mr. Smith in asking Miss Jones to do him the honour of becoming Mrs. Smith never spoke more plainly. I was alluding to the possibility of having dreamt it all.”

“Lucy!”

“Well, it was not a dream. Here, standing here, on this very spot⁠—on that flower of the carpet⁠—he begged me a dozen times to be his wife. I wonder whether you and Mark would let me cut it out and keep it.”

“And what answer did you make to him?”

“I lied to him and told him that I did not love him.”

“You refused him?”

“Yes; I refused a live lord. There is some satisfaction in having that to think of, is there not? Fanny, was I wicked to tell that falsehood?”

“And why did you refuse him?”

“Why? Can you ask? Think what it would have been to go down to Framley Court, and to tell her ladyship in the course of conversation that I was engaged to her son. Think of Lady Lufton. But yet it was not that, Fanny. Had I thought that it was good for him, that he would not have repented, I would have braved anything⁠—for his sake. Even your frown, for you would have frowned. You would have thought it sacrilege for me to marry Lord Lufton! You know you would.”

Mrs. Robarts hardly knew how to say what she thought, or indeed what she ought to think. It was a matter on which much meditation would be required before she could give advice, and there was Lucy expecting counsel from her at that very moment. If Lord Lufton really loved Lucy Robarts, and was loved by Lucy Robarts, why should not they two become man and wife? And yet she did feel that it would be⁠—perhaps not sacrilege, as Lucy had said, but something almost as troublesome. What would Lady Lufton say, or think, or feel? What would she say, and think, and feel as to that parsonage from which so deadly a blow would fall upon her? Would she not accuse the vicar and the vicar’s wife of the blackest ingratitude? Would life be endurable at Framley under such circumstances as those?

“What you tell me so surprises me, that I hardly as yet know how to speak about it,” said Mrs. Robarts.

“It was amazing, was it not? He must have been insane at the time; there can be no other excuse made for him. I wonder whether there is anything of that sort in the family?”

“What; madness?” said Mrs. Robarts, quite in earnest.

“Well, don’t you think he must have been mad when such an idea as that came into his head? But you don’t believe it; I can see that. And yet it is as true as heaven. Standing exactly here, on this spot, he said that he would persevere till I accepted his love. I wonder what made me specially observe that both his feet were within the lines of that division.”

“And you would not accept his love?”

“No; I would have nothing to say to it. Look you, I stood here, and putting my hand upon my heart⁠—for he bade me to do that⁠—I said that I could not love him.”

“And what then?”

“He went away⁠—with a look as though he were heartbroken. He crept away slowly, saying that he was the most wretched soul alive. For a minute I believed him, and could almost have called him back. But, no, Fanny; do not think that I am over proud, or conceited about my conquest. He had not reached the gate before he was thanking God for his escape.”

“That I do not believe.”

“But I do; and I thought of Lady Lufton