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

Today we will say no more about it. I am so thirsty, Bell; do give me my tea;” and she sat herself down at the breakfast-table.

Lily’s tea was given to her, and she drank it. Beyond that I cannot say that any of them partook with much heartiness of the meal. They sat there, as they would have sat if no terrible thunderbolt had fallen among them, and no word further was spoken about Crosbie and his conduct. Immediately after breakfast they went into the other room, and Lily, as was her wont, sat herself immediately down to her drawing. Her mother looked at her with wistful eyes, longing to bid her spare herself, but she shrank from interfering with her. For a quarter of an hour Lily sat over her board, with her brush or pencil in her hand, and then she rose up and put it away.

“It is no good pretending,” she said. “I am only spoiling the things; but I will be better tomorrow. I’ll go away and lie down by myself, mamma.” And so she went.

Soon after this Mrs. Dale took her bonnet and went up to the Great House, having received her brother-in-law’s message from Bell.

“I know what he has to tell me,” she said; “but I might as well go. It will be necessary that we should speak to each other about it.” So she walked across the lawn, and up into the hall of the Great House. “Is my brother in the book-room?” she said to one of the maids; and then knocking at the door, went in unannounced.

The squire rose from his armchair, and came forward to meet her.

“Mary,” he said, “I believe you know it all.”

“Yes,” she said. “You can read that,” and she handed him Crosbie’s letter. “How was one to know that any man could be so wicked as that?”

“And she has heard it?” asked the squire. “Is she able to bear it?”

“Wonderfully! She has amazed me by her strength. It frightens me; for I know that a relapse must come. She has never sunk for a moment beneath it. For myself, I feel as though it were her strength that enables me to bear my share of it.” And then she described to the squire all that had taken place that morning.

“Poor child!” said the squire. “Poor child! What can we do for her? Would it be good for her to go away for a time? She is a sweet, good, lovely girl, and has deserved better than that. Sorrow and disappointment come to us all; but they are doubly heavy when they come so early.”

Mrs. Dale was almost surprised at the amount of sympathy which he showed.

“And what is to be his punishment?” she asked.

“The scorn which men and women will feel for him; those, at least, whose esteem or scorn are matters of concern to anyone. I know no other punishment. You would not have Lily’s name brought before a tribunal of law?”

“Certainly not that.”

“And I will not have Bernard calling him out. Indeed, it would be for nothing; for in these days a man is not expected to fight duels.”

“You cannot think that I would wish that.”

“What punishment is there, then? I know of none. There are evils which a man may do, and no one can punish him. I know of nothing. I went up to London after him, but he contrived to crawl out of my way. What can you do to a rat but keep clear of him?”

Mrs. Dale had felt in her heart that it would be well if Crosbie could be beaten till all his bones were sore. I hardly know whether such should have been a woman’s thought, but it was hers. She had no wish that he should be made to fight a duel. In that there would have been much that was wicked, and in her estimation nothing that was just. But she felt that if Bernard would thrash the coward for his cowardice she would love her nephew better than ever she had loved him. Bernard also had considered it probable that he might be expected to horsewhip the man who had jilted his cousin, and, as regarded the absolute bodily risk, he would not have felt any insuperable objection to undertake the task. But such a piece of work was disagreeable to him in many ways. He hated the idea of a row at his club. He was most desirous that his cousin’s name should not be made public. He wished to avoid anything that might be impolitic. A wicked thing had been done, and he was quite ready to hate Crosbie as Crosbie ought to be hated; but as regarded himself, it made him unhappy to think that the world might probably expect him to punish the man who had so lately been his friend. And then he did not know where to catch him, or how to thrash him when caught. He was very sorry for his cousin, and felt strongly that Crosbie should not be allowed to escape. But what was he to do?

“Would she like to go anywhere?” said the squire again, anxious, if he could, to afford solace by some act of generosity. At this moment he would have settled a hundred a year for life upon his niece if by so doing he could have done her any good.

“She will be better at home,” said Mrs. Dale. “Poor thing. For a while she will wish to avoid going out.”

“I suppose so;” and then there was a pause. “I’ll tell you what, Mary; I don’t understand it. On my honour I don’t understand it. It is to me as wonderful as though I had caught the man picking my pence out of my pocket. I don’t think any man in the position of a gentleman would have done such a thing when I was young. I don’t think any man would have dared to do it. But now it seems that a man may