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

so much about money. If you loved me⁠—as you said you did⁠—” Then a little sob came, and the words were stopped. The words were stopped, but she was again upon his shoulder. What was he to do? In truth, his only wish was to escape, and yet his arm, quite in opposition to his own desires, found its way round her waist. In such a combat a woman has so many points in her favour! “Oh, Johnny,” she said again, as soon as she felt the pressure of his arm. “Gracious, what a beautiful watch you’ve got,” and she took the trinket out of his pocket. “Did you buy that?”

“No; it was given to me.”

“John Eames, did L. D. give it you?”

“No, no, no,” he shouted, stamping on the floor as he spoke.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Amelia, quelled for the moment by his energy. “Perhaps it was your mother.”

“No; it was a man. Never mind about the watch now.”

“I wouldn’t mind anything, Johnny, if you would tell me that you loved me again. Perhaps I oughtn’t to ask you, and it isn’t becoming in a lady; but how can I help it, when you know you’ve got my heart. Come upstairs and have tea with us now, won’t you?”

What was he to do? He said that he would go up and have tea; and as he led her to the door he put down his face and kissed her. Oh, Johnny Eames! But then a woman in such a contest has so many points in her favour.

XXX Is It from Him?

I have already declared that Crosbie wrote and posted the fatal letter to Allington, and we must now follow it down to that place. On the morning following the squire’s return to his own house, Mrs. Crump, the postmistress at Allington, received a parcel by post directed to herself. She opened it, and found an enclosure addressed to Mrs. Dale, with a written request that she would herself deliver it into that lady’s own hand at once. This was Crosbie’s letter.

“It’s from Miss Lily’s gentleman,” said Mrs. Crump, looking at the handwriting. “There’s something up, or he wouldn’t be writing to her mamma in this way.” But Mrs. Crump lost no time in putting on her bonnet, and trudging up with the letter to the Small House. “I must see the missus herself,” said Mrs. Crump. Whereupon Mrs. Dale was called downstairs into the hall, and there received the packet. Lily was in the breakfast-parlour, and had seen the postmistress arrive;⁠—had seen also that she carried a letter in her hand. For a moment she had thought that it was for her, and imagined that the old woman had brought it herself from simple good-nature. But Lily, when she heard her mother mentioned, instantly withdrew and shut the parlour door. Her heart misgave her that something was wrong, but she hardly tried to think what it might be. After all, the regular postman might bring the letter she herself expected. Bell was not yet downstairs, and she stood alone over the teacups on the breakfast-table, feeling that there was something for her to fear. Her mother did not come at once into the room, but, after a pause of a moment or two, went again upstairs. So she remained, either standing against the table, or at the window, or seated in one of the two armchairs, for a space of ten minutes, when Bell entered the room.

“Isn’t mamma down yet?” said Bell.

“Bell,” said Lily, “something has happened. Mamma has got a letter.”

“Happened! What has happened? Is anybody ill? Who is the letter from?” And Bell was going to return through the door in search of her mother.

“Stop, Bell,” said Lily. “Do not go to her yet. I think it’s from⁠—Adolphus.”

“Oh, Lily, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, dear. We’ll wait a little longer. Don’t look like that, Bell.” And Lily strove to appear calm, and strove almost successfully.

“You have frightened me so,” said Bell.

“I am frightened myself. He only sent me one line yesterday, and now he has sent nothing. If some misfortune should have happened to him! Mrs. Crump brought down the letter herself to mamma, and that is so odd, you know.”

“Are you sure it was from him?”

“No; I have not spoken to her. I will go up to her now. Don’t you come, Bell. Oh! Bell, do not look so unhappy.” She then went over and kissed her sister, and after that, with very gentle steps, made her way up to her mother’s room. “Mamma, may I come in?” she said.

“Oh! my child!”

“I know it is from him, mamma. Tell me all at once.”

Mrs. Dale had read the letter. With quick, glancing eyes, she had made herself mistress of its whole contents, and was already aware of the nature and extent of the sorrow which had come upon them. It was a sorrow that admitted of no hope. The man who had written that letter could never return again; nor if he should return could he be welcomed back to them. The blow had fallen, and it was to be borne. Inside the letter to herself had been a very small note addressed to Lily. “Give her the enclosed,” Crosbie had said in his letter, “if you do not now think it wrong to do so. I have left it open, that you may read it.” Mrs. Dale, however, had not yet read it, and she now concealed it beneath her handkerchief.

I will not repeat at length Crosbie’s letter to Mrs. Dale. It covered four sides of letter-paper, and was such a letter that any man who wrote it must have felt himself to be a rascal. We saw that he had difficulty in writing it, but the miracle was, that any man could have found it possible to write it. “I know you will curse me,” said he; “and I deserve to be cursed. I know that I shall be punished for this, and I must