Barchester Towers Anthony Trollope (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📖

could not but be useful under the surveillance of so good a clergyman as Mr. Harding, and also under your own. But, dear Mrs. Bold, we won’t talk of these things now. One thing is clear: we must do what we can to annul this rash offer the bishop has made to Mr. Quiverful. Your father wouldn’t see Quiverful, would he? Quiverful is an honourable man, and would not for a moment stand in your father’s way.”

“What?” said Eleanor. “Ask a man with fourteen children to give up his preferment! I am quite sure he will do no such thing.”

“I suppose not,” said Slope, and he again drew near to Mrs. Bold, so that now they were very close to each other. Eleanor did not think much about it but instinctively moved away a little. How greatly would she have increased the distance could she have guessed what had been said about her at Plumstead! “I suppose not. But it is out of the question that Quiverful should supersede your father⁠—quite out of the question. The bishop has been too rash. An idea occurs to me which may perhaps, with God’s blessing, put us right. My dear Mrs. Bold, would you object to seeing the bishop yourself?”

“Why should not my father see him?” said Eleanor. She had once before in her life interfered in her father’s affairs, and then not to much advantage. She was older now and felt that she should take no step in a matter so vital to him without his consent.

“Why, to tell the truth,” said Mr. Slope with a look of sorrow, as though he greatly bewailed the want of charity in his patron, “the bishop fancies that he has cause of anger against your father. I fear an interview would lead to further ill-will.”

“Why,” said Eleanor, “my father is the mildest, the gentlest man living.”

“I only know,” said Slope, “that he has the best of daughters. So you would not see the bishop? As to getting an interview, I could manage that for you without the slightest annoyance to yourself.”

“I could do nothing, Mr. Slope, without consulting my father.”

“Ah!” said he, “that would be useless; you would then only be your father’s messenger. Does anything occur to yourself? Something must be done. Your father shall not be ruined by so ridiculous a misunderstanding.”

Eleanor said that nothing occurred to her, but that it was very hard; the tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Slope would have given much to have had the privilege of drying them, but he had tact enough to know that he had still a great deal to do before he could even hope for any privilege with Mrs. Bold.

“It cuts me to the heart to see you so grieved,” said he. “But pray let me assure you that your father’s interests shall not be sacrificed if it be possible for me to protect them. I will tell the bishop openly what are the facts. I will explain to him that he has hardly the right to appoint any other than your father, and will show him that if he does so he will be guilty of great injustice⁠—and you, Mrs. Bold, you will have the charity at any rate to believe this of me, that I am truly anxious for your father’s welfare⁠—for his and for your own.”

The widow hardly knew what answer to make. She was quite aware that her father would not be at all thankful to Mr. Slope; she had a strong wish to share her father’s feelings; and yet she could not but acknowledge that Mr. Slope was very kind. Her father, who was generally so charitable to all men, who seldom spoke ill of anyone, had warned her against Mr. Slope, and yet she did not know how to abstain from thanking him. What interest could he have in the matter but that which he professed? Nevertheless there was that in his manner which even she distrusted. She felt, she did not know why, that there was something about him which ought to put her on her guard.

Mr. Slope read all this in her hesitating manner just as plainly as though she had opened her heart to him. It was the talent of the man that he could so read the inward feelings of women with whom he conversed. He knew that Eleanor was doubting him, and that, if she thanked him, she would only do so because she could not help it, but yet this did not make him angry or even annoy him. Rome was not built in a day.

“I did not come for thanks,” continued he, seeing her hesitation, “and do not want them⁠—at any rate before they are merited. But this I do want, Mrs. Bold, that I may make to myself friends in this fold to which it has pleased God to call me as one of the humblest of his shepherds. If I cannot do so, my task here must indeed be a sad one. I will at any rate endeavour to deserve them.”

“I’m sure,” said she, “you will soon make plenty of friends.” She felt herself obliged to say something.

“That will be nothing unless they are such as will sympathize with my feelings; unless they are such as I can reverence and admire⁠—and love. If the best and purest turn away from me, I cannot bring myself to be satisfied with the friendship of the less estimable. In such case I must live alone.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will not do that, Mr. Slope.” Eleanor meant nothing, but it suited him to appear to think some special allusion had been intended.

“Indeed, Mrs. Bold, I shall live alone, quite alone as far as the heart is concerned, if those with whom I yearn to ally myself turn away from me. But enough of this; I have called you my friend, and I hope you will not contradict me. I trust the time may come when I may also call your father so. May God bless you, Mrs. Bold, you and your darling boy. And