He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

CHAPTER XXXIII

HUGH STANBURY SMOKES ANOTHER PIPE

 

Trevelyan was gone, and Bozzle alone knew his address. During the first

fortnight of her residence at St. Diddulph’s Mrs Trevelyan received two

letters from Lady Milborough, in both of which she was recommended,

indeed tenderly implored, to be submissive to her husband. ‘Anything,’

said Lady Milborough, ‘is better than separation.’ In answer to the

second letter Mrs Trevelyan told the old lady that she had no means by

which she could shew any submission to her husband, even if she were so

minded. Her husband had gone away, she did not know whither, and she

had no means by which she could communicate with him. And then came a

packet to her from her father and mother, despatched from the islands

after the receipt by Lady Rowley of the melancholy tidings of the

journey to Nuncombe Putney. Both Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley were

full of anger against Trevelyan, and wrote as though the husband could

certainly be brought back to a sense of his duty, if they only were

present. This packet had been at Nuncombe Putney, and contained a

sealed note from Sir Marmaduke addressed to Mr Trevelyan. Lady Rowley

explained that it was impossible that they should get to England

earlier than in the spring. ‘I would come myself at once and leave papa

to follow,’ said Lady Rowley, ‘only for the children. If I were to

bring them, I must take a house for them, and the expense would ruin

us. Papa has written to Mr Trevelyan in a way that he thinks will bring

him to reason.’

 

But how was this letter, by which the husband was to be brought to

reason, to be put into the husband’s hands? Mrs Trevelyan applied to Mr

Bideawhile and to Lady Milborough, and to Stanbury, for Trevelyan’s

address; but was told by each of them that nothing was known of his

whereabouts. She did not apply to Mr Bozzle, although Mr Bozzle was

more than once in her neighbourhood; but as yet she knew nothing of Mr

Bozzle. The replies from Mr Bideawhile and from Lady Milborough came by

the post; but Hugh Stanbury thought that duty required him to make

another journey to St. Diddulph’s and carry his own answer with him.

 

And on this occasion Fortune was either very kind to him or very

unkind. Whichever it was, he found himself alone for a few seconds in

the parsonage parlour with Nora Rowley. Mr Outhouse was away at the

time. Emily had gone upstairs for the boy; and Mrs Outhouse, suspecting

nothing, had followed her. ‘Miss Rowley,’ said he, getting up from his

seat, ‘if you think it will do any good I will follow Trevelyan till I

find him.’

 

‘How can you find him? Besides, why should you give up your own

business?’

 

‘I would do anything to serve your sister.’ This he said with

hesitation in his voice, as though he did not dare to speak all that he

desired to have spoken.

 

‘I am sure that Emily is very grateful,’ said Nora; ‘but she would not

wish to give you such trouble as that.’

 

‘I would do anything for your sister,’ he repeated, ‘for your sake,

Miss Rowley.’ This was the first time that he had ever spoken a word to

her in such a strain, and it would be hardly too much to say that her

heart was sick for some such expression. But now that it had come,

though there was a sweetness about it that was delicious to her, she

was absolutely silenced by it.

 

And she was at once not only silent, but stern, rigid, and apparently

cold. Stanbury could not but feel as he looked at her that he had

offended her. ‘Perhaps I ought not to say as much,’ said he; ‘but it is

so.’

 

‘Mr Stanbury,’ said she, ‘that is nonsense. It is of my sister, not of

me, that we are speaking.’

 

Then the door was opened and Emily came in with her child, followed by

her aunt. There was no other opportunity, and perhaps it was well for

Nora and for Hugh that there should have been no other. Enough had been

said to give her comfort; and more might have led to his discomposure.

As to that matter on which he was presumed to have come to St.

Diddulph’s, he could do nothing. He did not know Trevelyan’s address,

but did know that Trevelyan had abandoned the chambers in Lincoln’s

Inn. And then he found himself compelled to confess that he had

quarrelled with Trevelyan, and that they had parted in anger on the day

of their joint visit to the East. ‘Everybody who knows him must quarrel

with him,’ said Mrs Outhouse. Hugh when he took his leave was treated

by them all as a friend who had been gained. Mrs Outhouse was gracious

to him. Mrs Trevelyan whispered a word to him of her own trouble. ‘If

I can hear anything of him, you may be sure that I will let you know,’ he

said. Then it was Nora’s turn to bid him adieu. There was nothing to be

said. No word could be spoken before others that should be of any

avail. But as he took her hand in his he remembered the reticence of

her fingers on that former day, and thought that he was sure there was

a difference.

 

On this occasion he made his journey back to the end of Chancery Lane

on the top of an omnibus; and as he lit his little pipe, disregarding

altogether the scrutiny of the public, thoughts passed through his mind

similar to those in which he had indulged as he sat smoking on the

corner of the churchyard wall at Nuncombe Putney. He declared to

himself that he did love this girl; and as it was so, would it not be

better, at any rate more manly, that he should tell her so honestly,

than go on groping about with half-expressed words when he saw her,

thinking of her and yet hardly daring to go near her, bidding himself

to forget her although he knew that such forgetting was impossible,

hankering after the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand, and

something of the tenderness of returned affection and yet regarding her

as a prize altogether out of his reach! Why should she be out of his

reach? She had no money, and he had not a couple of hundred pounds in

the world. But he was earning an income which would give them both

shelter and clothes and bread and cheese.

 

What reader is there, male or female, of such stories as is this, who

has not often discussed in his or her own mind the different sides of

this question of love and marriage? On either side enough may be said

by any arguer to convince at any rate himself. It must be wrong for a

man, whose income is both insufficient and precarious also, not only to

double his own cares and burdens, but to place the weight of that

doubled burden on other shoulders besides his own, on shoulders that are

tender and soft, and ill adapted to the carriage of any crushing

weight. And then that doubled burden, that burden of two mouths to be

fed, of two backs to be covered, of two minds to be satisfied, is so

apt to double itself again and again The two so speedily become four,

and six! And then there is the feeling that that kind of semi-poverty,

which has in itself something of the pleasantness of independence, when

it is borne by a man alone, entails the miseries of a draggle-tailed

and querulous existence when it is imposed on a woman who has in her

own home enjoyed the comforts of affluence. As a man thinks of all

this, if he chooses to argue with himself on that side, there is enough

in the argument to make him feel that not only as a wise man but as an

honest man, he had better let the young lady alone. She is well as she

is, and he sees around him so many who have tried the chances of

marriage and who are not well! Look at Jones with his wan, worn wife

and his five children, Jones who is not yet thirty, of whom he happens

to know that the wretched man cannot look his doctor in the face, and

that the doctor is as necessary to the man’s house as is the butcher!

What heart can Jones have for his work with such a burden as this upon

his shoulders? And so the thinker, who argues on that side, resolves

that the young lady shall go her own way for him.

 

But the arguments on the other side are equally cogent, and so much

more alluring! And they are used by the same man with reference to the

same passion, and are intended by him to put himself right in his

conduct in reference to the same dear girl. Only the former line of

thoughts occurred to him on a Saturday, when he was ending his week

rather gloomily, and this other way of thinking on the same subject

has come upon him on a Monday, as he is beginning his week with renewed

hope. Does this young girl of his heart love him? And if so, their

affection for each other being thus reciprocal, is she not entitled to

an expression of her opinion and her wishes on this difficult subject?

And if she be willing to run the risk and to encounter the dangers, to

do so on his behalf, because she is willing to share everything with

him, is it becoming in him, a man, to fear what she does not fear? If

she be not willing let her say so. If there be any speaking, he must

speak first but she is entitled, as much as he is, to her own ideas

respecting their great outlook into the affairs of the world. And then

is it not manifestly God’s ordinance that a man should live together

with a woman? How poor a creature does the man become who has shirked

his duty in this respect, who has done nothing to keep the world going,

who has been willing to ignore all affection so that he might avoid all

burdens, and who has put into his own belly every good thing that has

come to him, either by the earning of his own hands or from the bounty

and industry of others! Of course there is a risk; but what excitement

is there in anything in which there is none? So on the Tuesday he

speaks his mind to the