The Warden, Anthony Trollope [well read books .TXT] 📗

eye, but visible enough to the keen eyes of practical law mariners. How wrong his wife was to wish that Bold should marry Eleanor! Bold! why, if he should be ass enough to persevere, he would be a beggar before he knew whom he was at law with!

“That’s excellent, Chadwick;⁠—that’s excellent! I told you Sir Abraham was the man for us;” and he put down on the table the copy of the opinion, and patted it fondly.

“Don’t you let that be seen, though, archdeacon.”

“Who?⁠—I!⁠—not for worlds,” said the doctor.

“People will talk, you know, archdeacon.”

“Of course, of course,” said the doctor.

“Because, if that gets abroad, it would teach them how to fight their own battle.”

“Quite true,” said the doctor.

“No one here in Barchester ought to see that but you and I, archdeacon.”

“No, no, certainly no one else,” said the archdeacon, pleased with the closeness of the confidence; “no one else shall.”

“Mrs. Grantly is very interested in the matter, I know,” said Mr. Chadwick.

Did the archdeacon wink, or did he not? I am inclined to think he did not quite wink; but that without such, perhaps, unseemly gesture he communicated to Mr. Chadwick, with the corner of his eye, intimation that, deep as was Mrs. Grantly’s interest in the matter, it should not procure for her a perusal of that document; and at the same time he partly opened the small drawer, above spoken of, deposited the paper on the volume of Rabelais, and showed to Mr. Chadwick the nature of the key which guarded these hidden treasures. The careful steward then expressed himself contented. Ah! vain man! he could fasten up his Rabelais, and other things secret, with all the skill of Bramah or of Chubb; but where could he fasten up the key which solved these mechanical mysteries? It is probable to us that the contents of no drawer in that house were unknown to its mistress, and we think, moreover, that she was entitled to all such knowledge.

“But,” said Mr. Chadwick, “we must, of course, tell your father and Mr. Harding so much of Sir Abraham’s opinion as will satisfy them that the matter is doing well.”

“Oh, certainly⁠—yes, of course,” said the doctor.

“You had better let them know that Sir Abraham is of opinion that there is no case at any rate against Mr. Harding; and that as the action is worded at present, it must fall to the ground; they must be nonsuited, if they carry it on; you had better tell Mr. Harding, that Sir Abraham is clearly of opinion that he is only a servant, and as such not liable;⁠—or if you like it, I’ll see Mr. Harding myself.”

“Oh, I must see him tomorrow, and my father too, and I’ll explain to them exactly so much;⁠—you won’t go before lunch, Mr. Chadwick: well, if you will, you must, for I know your time is precious;” and he shook hands with the diocesan steward, and bowed him out.

The archdeacon had again recourse to his drawer, and twice read through the essence of Sir Abraham Haphazard’s law-enlightened and law-bewildered brains. It was very clear that to Sir Abraham, the justice of the old men’s claim or the justice of Mr. Harding’s defence were ideas that had never presented themselves. A legal victory over an opposing party was the service for which Sir Abraham was, as he imagined, to be paid; and that he, according to his lights, had diligently laboured to achieve, and with probable hope of success. Of the intense desire which Mr. Harding felt to be assured on fit authority that he was wronging no man, that he was entitled in true equity to his income, that he might sleep at night without pangs of conscience, that he was no robber, no spoiler of the poor; that he and all the world might be openly convinced that he was not the man which The Jupiter had described him to be; of such longings on the part of Mr. Harding, Sir Abraham was entirely ignorant; nor, indeed, could it be looked on as part of his business to gratify such desires. Such was not the system on which his battles were fought, and victories gained. Success was his object, and he was generally successful. He conquered his enemies by their weakness rather than by his own strength, and it had been found almost impossible to make up a case in which Sir Abraham, as an antagonist, would not find a flaw.

The archdeacon was delighted with the closeness of the reasoning. To do him justice, it was not a selfish triumph that he desired; he would personally lose nothing by defeat, or at least what he might lose did not actuate him; but neither was it love of justice which made him so anxious, nor even mainly solicitude for his father-in-law. He was fighting a part of a never-ending battle against a never-conquered foe⁠—that of the church against its enemies.

He knew Mr. Harding could not pay all the expense of these doings: for these long opinions of Sir Abraham’s, these causes to be pleaded, these speeches to be made, these various courts through which the case was, he presumed, to be dragged. He knew that he and his father must at least bear the heavier portion of this tremendous cost; but to do the archdeacon justice, he did not recoil from this. He was a man fond of obtaining money, greedy of a large income, but openhanded enough in expending it, and it was a triumph to him to foresee the success of this measure, although he might be called on to pay so dearly for it himself.

IX The Conference

On the following morning the archdeacon was with his father betimes, and a note was sent down to the warden begging his attendance at the palace. Dr. Grantly, as he cogitated on the matter, leaning back in his brougham as he journeyed into Barchester, felt that it would be difficult to communicate his own satisfaction either to his father or his father-in-law. He wanted success on his own