Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖
- Author: Anthony Trollope
- Performer: -
Book online «He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖». Author Anthony Trollope
wife. He declared once that he regarded Stanbury as his keeper, and
endeavoured to be disagreeable and sullenly combative; but on the
second day, he was too weak for this, and accepted, without
remonstrance, the attentions that were paid to him. At Bologna they
rested a day, and from thence both Stanbury and Mrs Trevelyan wrote to
Nora. They did not know where she might be now staying, but the
letters, by agreement, were addressed to Gregg’s Hotel. It was
suggested that lodgings, or, if possible, a small furnished house,
should be taken in the neighbourhood of Mortlake, Richmond, or
Teddington, and that a telegram as well as letter should be sent to
them at the Paris hotel. As they could not travel quick, there might be
time enough for them in this way to know whither they should go on
their reaching London.
They stayed a day at Bologna, and then they went on again to Turin,
over the mountains to Chambery, thence to Dijon, and on to Paris. At
Chambery they remained a couple of days, fancying that the air there
was cool, and that the delay would be salutary to the sick man. At
Turin, finding that they wanted further assistance, they had hired a
courier, and at last Trevelyan allowed himself to be carried in and out
of the carriages and up and down the hotel stairs almost as though he
were a child. The delay was terribly grievous to Stanbury, and Mrs
Trevelyan, perceiving this more than once, begged him to leave them,
and to allow her to finish the journey with the aid of the courier. But
this he could not do. He wrote letters to his friends at the D. R.
office, explaining his position as well as he could, and suggesting
that this and that able assistant should enlighten the British people
on this and that subject, which would in the course of nature, as
arranged at the D. R. office, have fallen into his hands. He and Mrs
Trevelyan became as brother and sister to each other on their way home
as, indeed, it was natural that they should do. Were they doing right
or wrong in this journey that they were taking? They could not conceal
from themselves that the labour was almost more than the poor wretch
could endure; and that it might be, as he himself had suggested, that
they would be called on to bury him on the road. But that residence at
Casalunga had been so terrible, the circumstances of it, including the
solitude, sickness, madness, and habits of life of the wretched hermit,
had been so dangerous, the probability of interference on the part of
some native authority so great, and the chance of the house being left
in Trevelyan’s possession so small, that it had seemed to him that they
had no other alternative; and yet, how would it be if they were killing
him by the toil of travelling? From Chambery, they made the journey to
Paris in two days, and during that time Trevelyan hardly opened his
mouth. He slept much, and ate better than he had done in the hotter
climate on the other side of the Alps.
They found a telegram at Paris, which simply contained the promise of a
letter for the next day. It had been sent by Nora, before she had gone
out on her search. But it contained one morsel of strange information;
‘Lady Milborough is going with me.’ On the next day they got a letter,
saying that a cottage had been taken, furnished, between Richmond and
Twickenham. Lady Milborough had known of the cottage, and everything
would be ready then. Nora would herself meet them at the station in
London, if they would, as she proposed, stay a night at Dover. They
were to address to her at Lady Milborough’s house, in Eccleston Square.
In that case, she would have a carriage for them at the Victoria
Station, and would go down with them at once to the cottage.
There were to be two days more of weary travelling, and then they were
to be at home again. She and he would have a house together as husband
and wife, and the curse of their separation would, at any rate, be
over. Her mind towards him had changed altogether since the days in
which she had been so indignant, because he had set a policeman to
watch over her. All feeling of anger was over with her now. There is
nothing that a woman will not forgive a man, when he is weaker than she
is herself.
The journey was made first to Dover, and then to London. Once, as they
were making their way through the Kentish hop-fields, he put out his
hand feebly, and touched hers. They had the carriage to themselves, and
she was down on her knees before him instantly. ‘Oh, Louis! Oh, Louis!
say that you forgive me!’ What could a woman do more than that in her
mercy to a man?
‘Yes yes; yes,’ he said; ‘but do not talk now; I am so tired.’
A REAL CHRISTIAN
In the meantime the Rowleys were gone. On the Monday after the
departure of Stanbury for Italy, Lady Rowley had begun to look the
difficulty about Nora in the face, and to feel that she must do
something towards providing the poor girl with a temporary home.
Everybody had now agreed that she was to marry Hugh Stanbury as soon as
Hugh Stanbury could be ready, and it was not to be thought of that she
should be left out in the world as one in disgrace or under a cloud.
But what was to be done? Sir Marmaduke was quite incapable of
suggesting anything. He would make her an allowance, and leave her a
small sum of ready money, but as to residence, he could only suggest
again and again that she should be sent to Mrs Outhouse. Now Lady
Rowley was herself not very fond of Mrs Outhouse, and she was aware
that Nora herself was almost as averse to St. Diddulph’s as she was to
the Mandarins. Nora already knew that she had the game in her own
hands. Once when in her presence her father suggested the near
relationship and prudent character and intense respectability of Mrs
Outhouse, Nora, who was sitting behind Sir Marmaduke, shook her head at
her mother, and Lady Rowley knew that Nora would not go to St.
Diddulph’s. This was the last occasion on which that proposition was
discussed.
Throughout all the Trevelyan troubles Lady Milborough had continued to
shew a friendly anxiety on behalf of Emily Trevelyan. She had called
once or twice on Lady Rowley, and Lady Rowley had of course returned
the visits. She had been forward in expressing her belief that in truth
the wife had been but little if at all to blame, and had won her way
with Lady Rowley, though she had never been a favourite with either of
Lady Rowley’s daughters. Now, in her difficulty, Lady Rowley went to
Lady Milborough, and returned with an invitation that Nora should come
to Eccleston Square, either till such time as she might think fit to go
to Monkhams, or till Mrs Trevelyan should have returned, and should be
desirous of having her sister with her. When Nora first heard of this
she almost screamed with surprise, and, if the truth must be told, with
disappointment also.
‘She never liked me, mamma.’
‘Then she is so much more good-natured.’
‘But I don’t want to go to her merely because she is good-natured
enough to receive a person she dislikes. I know she is very good. I
know she would sacrifice herself for anything she thought right. But,
mamma, she is such a bore!’
But Lady Rowley would not be talked down, even by Nora, in this
fashion. Nora was somewhat touched with an idea that it would be a fine
independent thing to live alone, if it were only for a week or two,
just because other young ladies never lived alone. Perhaps there was
some half-formed notion in her mind that permission to do so was part
of the reward due to her for having refused to marry a lord. Stanbury
was in some respects a Bohemian, and it would become her, she thought,
to have a little practice herself in the Bohemian line. She had,
indeed, declined a Bohemian marriage, feeling strongly averse to
encounter the loud displeasure of her father and mother; but as long as
everything was quite proper, as long as there should be no running
away, or subjection of her name to scandal, she considered that a
little independence would be useful and agreeable. She had looked
forward to sitting up at night alone by a single tallow candle, to
stretching a beefsteak so as to last her for two days’ dinners, and
perhaps to making her own bed. Now, there would not be the slightest
touch of romance in a visit to Lady Milborough’s house in Eccleston
Square, at the end of July. Lady Rowley, however, was of a different
opinion, and spoke her mind plainly. ‘Nora, my dear, don’t be a fool. A
young lady like you can’t go and live in lodgings by herself. All
manner of things would be said. And this is such a very kind offer! You
must accept it for Hugh’s sake. I have already said that you would
accept it.’
‘But she will be going out of town.’
‘She will stay till you can go to Monkhams if Emily is not back before
then. She knows all about Emily’s affairs; and if she does come back,
which I doubt, poor thing, Lady Milborough and you will be able to judge
whether you should go to her.’ So it was settled, and Nora’s Bohemian
Castle in the Air fell into shatters.
The few remaining days before the departure to Southampton passed
quickly, but yet sadly. Sir Marmaduke had come to England expecting
pleasure and with that undefined idea which men so employed always have
on their return home that something will turn up which will make their
going back to that same banishment unnecessary. What Governor of
Hong-Kong, what Minister to Bogota, what General of the Forces at the
Gold Coast, ever left the scene of his official or military labours
without a hope, which was almost an expectation, that a grateful
country would do something better for him before the period of his
return should have arrived? But a grateful country was doing nothing
better for Sir Marmaduke, and an ungrateful Secretary of State at the
Colonial Office would not extend the term during which he could regard
himself as absent on special service. How thankful he had been when
first the tidings reached him that he was to come home at the expense
of the Crown, and without diminution of his official income! He had now
been in England for five months, with a per diem allowance, with his
very cabs paid for him, and he was discontented, sullen, and with
nothing to comfort him but his official grievance, because he could not
be allowed to extend his period of special service more than two months
beyond the time at which those special services were in truth ended!
There had been a change of Ministry in the last month, and he had
thought that a Conservative Secretary of State would have been kinder
to him. ‘The Duke says I can stay three months with leave of absence
and have half my pay stopped. I wonder whether it ever enters into his
august mind that even a Colonial Governor must eat and drink.’ It was
thus he expressed his great grievance to his wife.
Comments (0)