 56. Another walk on the fells. The carriage, when he left the room in which he had insulted the lawyer, went immediately across to the parlour in which his aunt and sister were sitting. �Kate,� said he, �put on your hat and come and walk with me. That business is over.� Kate's hat and shawl were in the room, and they were out of the house together within a minute. They walked down the carriage road through the desolate, untenanted grounds to the gate, before either of them spoke a word. Kate was waiting for George to tell her of the will, but did not dare to ask any question. George intended to tell her of the will, but was not disposed to do so without some preparation. It was a thing not to be spoken of open mouth as a piece of ordinary news. �Which way shall we go?� said Kate, as soon as they had passed through the old rickety gate, which swung at the entrance of the place. �Up across the fell,� said George. �The day is fine, and I want to get away from my uncle for a time.� She turned round, therefore, outside the hill at first, and led the way back to the beacon-wood through which she and Alice had walked across to Haaswater upon a memorable occasion. They had reached the top of the beacon-hill and were out upon the fell before George had begun his story. Kate was half beside herself with curiosity, but still she was afraid to ask. �Well� said George, when they paused a moment as they stepped over a plank that crossed the boundary ditch of the wood. �Don�t you want to know what the dear old man has done for you?� Then he looked into her face very steadfastly. �But perhaps you know already� he added. He had come out determined not to quarrel with his sister. He had resolved, in that moment of thought which had been allowed to him, that his best hope for the present required that he should keep himself on good terms with her, at any rate till he had settled what line of conduct he would pursue. But he was, in truth, so sore with anger and disappointment. He had become so nearly mad with that continued, unappeased wrath in which he now indulged against all the world, that he could not refrain himself from bitter words. He was as one driven by the furies, and was no longer able to control them in their driving of him. �I know nothing of it� said Kate. �Had I known, I should have told you. Your question is unjust to me.� �I am beginning to doubt� said he, �whether a man can be safe in trusting any one. My grandfather has done his best to rob me of the property altogether. I told you that I feared he would do so. And he has made you his heir. �Me? Yes, you.� He told me distinctly that he would not do that. �But he has, I tell you. Then, George, I shall do that which I told him I should do in the event of his making such a will. For he asked me the question. I told him I should restore the estate to you, and upon that he swore that he would not leave it to me. �And what a fool you were!� said he, stopping her in the pathway. �What an ass! Why did you tell him that? You knew that he would not, on that account, do justice to me?� He asked me, George. �Now you have ruined me, and you might have saved me. But I will save you still, if he has left the estate to me. I do not desire to take it from you. As God in heaven sees me, I have never ceased to endeavor to protect your interests here at Vavasor. I will sign anything necessary to make over my right in the property to you.� Then they walked on over the fell for some minutes without speaking. They were still on the same path, that path which Kate and Alice had taken in that winter, and now poor Kate could not but think of all that she had said that day on George's behalf. How had she mingled truth and falsehood in her efforts to raise her brother's character in her cousin's eyes? It had all been done in vain. At this very moment of her own trouble Kate thought of John Gray, and repented of what she had done. Her hopes in that direction were altogether blasted. She knew that her brother had ill-treated Alice, and that she must tell him so if Alice's name were mentioned between them. She could no longer worship her brother, and hold herself at his command in all things. But as regarded the property to which he was naturally there, if any act of hers could give it to him, that act would be done. If the will is as you say, George, I will make over my right to you. �You can make over nothing!� he answered. �The old robber has been too cunning for that. He has left it all in the hands of my uncle John. Dash him! Dash them both! George, George, he is dead now! �Dead? Of course he is dead. What of that? I wish he had been dead ten years ago, or twenty. Do you suppose I am to forgive him because he is dead? I'll heap his gray with curses if that can be of avail to punish him. �You can only punish the living that way. And I will punish them, but not by cursing them. My uncle John shall have such a life of it for the next year or two, that he shall bitterly regret the hour in which he has stepped between me and my rights. I do not believe that he has done so. �Not done so! What was he down here for at Christmas? Do you pretend to think that that make-believe will was concocted without his knowledge? I am sure that he knew nothing of it. I don't think my grandfather's mind was made up a week before he died. �You'll have to swear to that, remember, in court. I'm not going to let the matter rest, I can tell you. You'll have to prove that. How long is it since he asked you what you would do with the estate if he left it to you?� Kate thought for a moment before she answered. �It was only two days before he died if I remember rightly. But you must remember rightly. You'll have to swear to it. And now tell me this honestly. Do you believe in your heart that he was in a condition fit for making a will? I advised him not to make it. Why? Why? What reason did you give? I told him that I thought no man should alter family arrangements when he was so ill. Exactly! You told him that. And what did he say? He was very angry and made me send for Mr. Gogrom. �Now, Kate, think a little before you answer me again. If ever you are to do me a good turn, you must do it now. And remember this. I don't at all want to take anything away from you, whatever you think is fair, you shall have. He was a fool not to have known her better than that. I want nothing, she said, stopping and stamping with her foot upon the crushed heather. George, you don't understand what it is to be honest.� He smiled, with a slight provoking smile that passed very rapidly from his face. The meaning of the smile was to be read. Had Kate been calm enough to eat it? �I can't say that I do. That was the meaning of the smile.� �Well, never mind about that,� said he. �You advised my grandfather not to make his will, thinking, no doubt, that his mind was not clear enough?� She paused the moment again before she answered him. �His mind was clear,� she said. �But I thought that he should not trust his judgment while he was so weak.� �Look here, Kate. I do believe that you at any rate have no mind to assist in this robbery. That it is a robbery, you can't have any doubt. I said he had left the estate to you. That is not what he has done. He has left the estate to my Uncle John.� �Why tell me, then, what was untrue?� �Are you disappointed?� �Of course I am. Uncle John won't give it to you, George. I don't understand you. I don't indeed.� �Never mind about that, but listen to me. The estate is left in the hands of John Vavasor. But he has left you five hundred a year out of it till somebody is twenty-five years old who is not yet born, and probably never will be born. The will itself shows the old fool to have been mad. He was no more mad than you are, George. �Listen to me, I tell you. I don't mean that he was a raging maniac.� �Now you had advised him not to make any new will because you thought he was not in a fit condition.� �Yes, I did.� �You can swear to that.� �I hope I may not be called on to do so. I hope there may be no swearing about it. But if I am asked the question, I must swear it.� �Exactly. Now listen till you understand what it is I mean. That will, if it stands, gives all the power over the estate to John Vavasor. It renders you quite powerless as regards any help or assistance that you might be disposed to give me. But nevertheless your interest under the will is greater than his, or than that of anyone else, for your son would inherit if I have none. Do you understand? �Yes, I think so.� And your testimony as to the invalidity of the will would be conclusive against all the world. � �I would say in a court what I have told you, if that will do any good. It will not be enough. Look here, Kate. You must be steadfast here. Everything depends on you. How often have you told me that you will stick to me throughout life? Now you will be tried.� Kate felt that her repugnance towards him, towards all that he was doing and wished her to do, was growing stronger within her at every word he spoke. She was becoming gradually aware that he desired from her something which she could not and would not do, and she was aware also that in refusing him she would have to encounter him in all his wrath. She set her teeth firmly together and clenched her little fist. If a fight was necessary she would fight with him. As he looked at her closely with his sinister eyes, her love towards him was almost turned to hatred. But that was what you meant when you advised him not to make the will because you thought his intellect was impaired. No, not so. Stop, Kate, stop. If you will think of it, it was so. What is the meaning of his judgment being weak? I didn't say his judgment was weak. But that was what you meant when you advised him not to trust it. Look here, George, I think I know what you mean. If anybody asks me if his mind was gone or his intellect deranged, I cannot say that there was anything of the kind. You will not? Certainly not. It would be untrue. Then you are determined to throw me over and claim the property for yourself. Again he turned towards her and looked at her as though he were resolved to frighten her. And I am to count you also among my enemies. You had better take care, Kate. They were now upon the fell side, more than three miles away from the hall. And Kate, as she looked round, saw that they were all alone. Not a cottage, not a sign of humanity was within sight. Kate saw that it was so and was aware that the fact pressed itself upon her as being of importance. Then she thought again of her resolution to fight him, if any fight were necessary, to tell him in so many words that she would separate herself from him and defy him. She would not fear him, let his words and face be ever so terrible. Surely her own brother would do her no bodily harm. And even though he should do so, though he should take her roughly by the arm as he had done to Alice, though he should do worse than that, still she would fight him. Her blood was the same as his, and he should know that her courage was at any rate as high. And indeed when she looked at him she had caused fear. He intended that she should fear. He intended that she should dread what he might do to her at that moment. As to what he would do, he had no resolve made. Neither had he resolved on anything when he had gone to Alice and had shaken her rudely as she sat beside him. He had been guided by no fixed intent when he had attacked John Gray, or when he insulted the attorney. But if Hury was driving him, and he was conscious of being so driven, he almost wished to be driven to some act of frenzy. Everything in the world had gone against him, and he desired to expend his rage on someone. Kate, said he stopping her, we will have this out here, if you please. So much at any rage shall be settled today. You have made many promises to me, and I have believed them. You can now keep them all, by simply saying what you know to be the truth. That that old man was a driveling idiot when he made this will. Are you prepared to do me that, Justice? Think before you answer me, for by G. Dash, if I cannot have justice among you I will have revenge, and he put his hand upon her breast up near to her throat. Take your hand down, George, said she. I am not such a fool that you can frighten me in that way. Answer me, he said, and he shook her, having some part of her raiment within his clutch. Oh, George, that I should live to be so ashamed of my brother. Answer me, he said again, and again he shook her. I have answered you. I will say nothing of the kind that you want me to say. My grandfather, up to the last moment that I saw him, knew what he was about. He was not an idiot. He was, I believe, only carrying out a purpose fixed long before. You will not make me change what I say by looking at me like that, nor get it by shaking me. You don't know me, George, if you think you can frighten me like a child. He heard her to the last word, still keeping his hand upon her, and holding her by the cloak she wore. But the violence of his grasp had relaxed itself, and he let her finish her words, as though his object had simply been to make her speak out to him what she had to say. Oh, said he when she had done, that's to be it, is it? That's your idea of honesty. The very name of the money being your own has been too much for you. I wonder whether you and my uncle had contrived it all between you beforehand. You will not dare to ask him, because he is a man, said Kate, her eyes brimming with tears, not through fear but in very vexation at the nature of the charge he had brought against her. Shall I not? You will see what I dare do, as for you, with all your promises. Kate, you know that I keep my word. Say that you will do as I desire you, or I will be the death of you. Do you mean that you will murder me, said she? Murder you? Yes, why not? Treat it as I have been among you. Do you suppose that I shall stick at anything? Why should I not murder you, you and Alice, too, seeing how you have betrayed me? Poor Alice, as she spoke the word she looked straight into his eyes, as though defying him as far as she herself were concerned. Poor Alice, indeed! Dashed hypocrite! There's a pair of you. Cursed, whining, false, intriguing hypocrites! There, go down and tell your uncle and that old woman there that I threatened to murder you. Tell the judge so when you're brought into court to swear me out of my property, you false liar! Then he pushed her from him with great violence, so that she fell heavily upon the stony ground. She did not stop to help her up, or even to look at her as she lay, but walked away across the heath, neither taking the track on towards Haaswater, nor returning by the path which had brought them tither. He went away northwards across the wild fell, and Kate, having risen up and seated herself on a small cairn of stones which stood there, watched him as he descended the slope of the hill till he was out of sight. He did not run, but he seemed to move rapidly, and he never once turned around to look at her. He went away down the hill northwards, and presently the curving of the ground hid him from her view. When she first seated herself, her thoughts had been altogether of him. She had feared no personal injury. Even when she had asked him whether he would murder her, her blood had been hot within her veins, and her heart had been full of defiance. Even yet she feared nothing, but continued to think of him and his misery and his disgrace. That he was gone for ever, utterly and irretrievably ruined, thrown out, as it were, beyond the pale of men, was now certain to her. And this was the brother in whom she had believed, for whom she had not only been willing to sacrifice herself, but for whose purposes she had striven to sacrifice her cousin. What would he do now? As he passed from out of her sight down the hill, it seemed to her as though he were rushing straight into some hell from which there could be no escape. She knew that her arm had been hurt in the fall, but for a while she would not move it or feel it, being resolved to take no account of what might have happened to herself. But when he had been gone some ten minutes, she rose to her feet and finding that the movement pained her greatly, and that her right arm was powerless, she put up her left hand and became aware that the bone of her arm was broken below the elbow. Her first thought was given to the telling him of this, or the not telling, when she should meet him below at the house. How should she mention the accident to him? Should she lie and say that she had fallen as she came down the hill alone? Of course he would not believe her, but still some such excuse as that might make the matter easier for them all. It did not occur to her that she might not see him again at all that day, and that as far as he was concerned there might be need for no lie. She started off to walk down home holding her right arm steadily against her body with her left hand. Of course she must give some account of herself when she got to the house. But it was of the account to be given to him that she thought. As to the others she cared little for them. Here I am, my arm is broken, and you had better send for a doctor. That would be sufficient for them. When she got into the wood the path was very dark, the heavens were overcast with clouds, and a few drops began to fall. Then the rain fell faster and faster, and before she had gone a quarter of a mile down the Beacon Hill the clouds had opened themselves and the shower had become a storm of water. Suffering as she was she stood up for a few moments under a large tree, taking the excuse of the rain for some minutes of delay that she might make up her mind as to what she would say. Then it occurred to her that she might possibly meet him again before she reached the house, and as she thought of it she began for the first time to fear him. Would he come out upon her from the trees and really kill her? Had he made his way round when he got out of her sight that he might fall upon her suddenly and do as he had threatened? As the idea came upon her she made a little attempt to run, but she found that running was impracticable from the pain the movement caused her. Then she walked on through the hard rain steadily holding her arm against her side, but still looking every moment through the trees on the side from which George might be expected to reach her. But no one came near her on her way homewards. Had she been calm enough to think of the nature of the ground, she might have known that he could not have returned upon her so quickly. He must have come back up the steep hillside which she had seen him descend. No, he had gone away altogether, across the fells towards Bampton, and was at this moment vainly buttoning his coat across his breast in his unconscious attempt to keep out the wet. The fury was driving him on, and he himself was not aware whether he was driven. Dinner at the hall had been ordered at five, the old hour, or rather, that had been assumed to be the hour for dinner without any ordering. It was just five when Kate reached the front door. This she opened with her left hand, and turning at once into the dining room, found her uncle and her aunt standing before the fire. "'Dinner is ready,' said John Vavasor. "'Where is George?' "'You are wet, Kate,' said Aunt Greenow. "'Yes, I am very wet,' said Kate. "'I must go upstairs. Perhaps you'd come with me to the front.' "'Come with you?' "'Of course I will.' Aunt Greenow had seen at once that something was amiss.' "'Where's George?' said John Vavasor. "'Has he come back with you? Or are we to wait for him?' Kate seated herself in her chair. "'I don't quite know where he is,' she said. In the meantime her aunt had hastened up to her side just in time to catch her as she was falling from her chair. "'My arm,' said Kate very gently. "'My arm!' Then she slipped down against her aunt and had fainted. "'He has done her a mischief,' said Mrs. Greenow, looking up at her brother. This is his doing.' John Vavasor stood confounded, wishing himself back in Queen Anne Street. End of Chapter 56. Read by Mary Rode in Alaska. Chapter 57. Of Can You Forgive Her? This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. Can You Forgive Her? by Antoni Trollop. Chapter 57. Showing how the wild beast got himself back from the mountains. About eleven o'clock on that night, the night of the day on which Kate Vavasor's arm had been broken, there came a gentle knock at Kate's bedroom door. There was nothing surprising in this, as of all the household Kate only was in bed. Her aunt was sitting at this time by her bedside, and the doctor, who had been summoned from Prenrith and who had set her broken arm, was still in the house talking over the accident with John Vavasor in the dining room before he proceeded back on his journey home. She will do very well, said the doctor. It's only a simple fracture. I'll see her the day after tomorrow. Is it not odd that such an accident should come from a fall whilst walking, asked Mr. Vavasor? The doctor shrugged his shoulders. One never can say how anything may occur, said he. I know a young woman who broke the osphomorus by just kicking her cat. At least she said she did. Indeed. I suppose you didn't take any trouble to inquire. Not much. My business was with the injury, not with the way she got it. Somebody did make inquiry, but she stuck to her story and nothing came of it. Good night, Mr. Vavasor. Don't trouble her with questions so she has had some hours sleep at any rate. Then the doctor went, and John Vavasor was left alone, standing with his back to the dining room fire. There had been so much trouble and confusion in the house since Kate had fainted almost immediately upon her reaching home that Mr. Vavasor had not yet had time to make up his mind as to the nature of the accident which had occurred. Mrs. Greenow had at once ascertained that the bone was broken and the doctor had been sent for. Luckily he had been found at home and had reached the hall a little before ten o'clock. In the meantime, as soon as Kate recovered her senses, she volunteered her account of what had occurred. Her brother had quarreled with her about the will, she said, and had left her abruptly on the mountain. She had fallen, she went on to say, as she turned from him, and had at once found that she had hurt herself. But she had been too angry with him to let him know it, and indeed she had not known the extent herself till he had passed out of her sight. This was her story, and there was nothing in it that was false by the letter, though there was much that was false in the spirit. It was certainly true that George had not known that she was injured. It was true that she had asked him for no help. It was true in one sense that she had fallen, and it was true that she had not herself known how severe had been the injury done to her till he had gone beyond the reach of her voice. But she repressed all mention of his violence, and when she was pressed as to the nature of the battle, she declined to speak further on that matter. Neither her uncle nor her aunt believed her. That was a matter, of course, and she knew that they did not believe her. George's absence, the recent experience of his moods, and the violence by which her arm must have been broken, made them certain that Kate had more to tell if she chose to tell it. But in her present condition they could not question her. Mrs. Greenow did ask us to the probability of her nephew's return. I can only tell you, said Kate, that he went away across the fell in the direction of Banpton. Perhaps he has gone on to penrith. He was very angry with us all, and as the house is not his own, he has probably resolved that he will not stay another night under the roof. But who can say? He is not in his senses when he is angered. John Vavasor, as he stood alone after the doctor's departure, endeavored to ascertain the truth by thinking of it. I am sure, he said to himself, that the doctor suspects that there has been violence. I know it from his tone, and I can see it in his eye. But how to prove it? And would there be good in proving it? Poor girl, will it not be better for her to let it pass as though we believed her story? He made up his mind that it would be better. Why should he take upon himself the terrible task of calling this insane relation to account for an act which he could not prove? The will itself, without that trouble, would give him trouble enough. Then he began to long that he was back at his club and to think that the signing room and chance relaying was not so bad. And so he went up to his bed, calling at Kate's door to ask after the patient. In the meantime, there had come a messenger to Mrs. Grinnell, who had stationed herself with her niece. One of the girls of the house brought up a scrap of paper to the door, saying that a boy had brought it over with a cart from a shop, and that it was intended for Miss Vavasor, and it was she who knocked at the sick-room door. The note was open and was not addressed. Indeed, the words were written on a scrap of paper that was crumpled up rather than folded and were as follows. Send me my clothes by the bearer. I shall not return to the house. Mrs. Grinnell took it into Kate, and then went away to see her nephew's things duly put into his portmanteau. This was sent away in the cart, and Mr. Vavasor, as he went upstairs, was told what had been done. Neither on that night or on the following day did Mrs. Grinnell ask any further questions. But on the morning after that, when the doctor had left them with a good account of the broken limb, her curiosity would broke no further delay. And indeed, indignation as well as curiosity urged her on. In this position she was less easy and perhaps less selfish than her brother. If it were the case that that man had ill-treated his sister, she would have sacrificed much to bring him to punishment. Kate, she said, when the doctor was gone, I expect that you will tell me the whole truth as to what occurred between you and your brother when you had this accident. I have told you the truth, but not the whole truth. All the truth I meant to tell Aunt, he has quarreled with me as I think most unnecessarily, but you don't suppose that I'm going to give an exact account of the quarrel. We were both wrong, probably, and so let there be an end of it. Was he violent to you when he quarreled with you? When he is angry he is always violent in his language. But did he strike you? Dear Aunt, don't be angry with me if I say that I won't be cross-examined. I would rather answer no more questions about it. I know that questioning can do no good. Mrs. Grinnell knew her niece well enough to be aware that nothing more would be told her, but she was quite sure now that Kate had not broken her arm by a simple fall. She was certain that the injury had come from positive violence. Had it not been so, Kate would not have contented herself with refusing to answer the last question that had been asked, but would also have repelled the charge made against her brother with indignation. You must have it your own way, said Mrs. Grinnell, but let me just tell you this, that your brother George had better keep out of my way. It is probable that he will, said Kate, especially if you remain here to nurse me. Kate's conduct in answering all the questions made to her was not difficult, but she found that there was much difficulty in planning her own future behavior towards her own brother. Must she abandon him altogether from henceforth, divide herself from him as it were, have perfectly separate interests and interests that were indeed hostile, and must she see him roined and overwhelmed by want of money while she had been made a rich woman by her grandfather's will? It will be remembered that her life had hitherto been devoted to him, that all her schemes and plans had had his success as their object, that she had taught herself to consider it to be her duty to sacrifice everything to his welfare. It is very sad to abandon the only object of a life. It is very hard to tear up from one's heart and fling away from it the only love that one has cherished. What was she to say to Alice about all this, to Alice whom she had cheated of a husband worthy of her, that she might allure her into the arms of one so utterly unworthy? Luckily for Kate, her accident was of such a nature that any writing to Alice was now out of the question. But a blow. What woman can bear a blow from a man and afterwards return to him with love? A wife may have to bear it and to return, and she may return with that sort of love which is a thing of custom. The man is the father of her children and earns the bread which they eat and which she eats. Habit and the ways of the world require that she should be careful in his interests, and that she should live with him and what amity is possible to them. But as for love, all that we mean by love when we speak of it and write of it, a blow given by the defender to the defenseless crushes it all. A woman may forgive deceit, treachery, desertion, even the preference given to a rival. She may forgive them and forget them, but I do not think that a woman can forget a blow. And as for forgiveness, it is not the blow that she cannot forgive but the meanness of spirit that made it possible. Kate, as she thought of it, told herself that everything in life was over for her. She had long feared her brother's nature, had feared that he was hard and heartless, but still there had been some hope with her fear. Success, if he could be made to achieve it, would soften him and then all might be right. But now all was wrong and she knew that it was so. When he had compelled her to write to Alice for money, her faith in him had almost succumbed. That had been very mean and the meanness had shocked her. But now he had asked her to perjure herself that he might have his own way and had threatened to murder her and had raised his hand against her because she had refused to obey him. And he'd accused her of treachery to himself, had accused her of premeditated deceit in obtaining this property for herself. But he does not believe it, said Kate to herself. He said that because he thought it would vex me, but I know he does not think it. Kate had watched her brother longing for money all his life, had thoroughly understood the intensity of his wish for it, the agony of his desire. But so far removed was she from any such longing on her own account that she could not believe that her brother would in his heart accuse her of it. How often had she offered to give him on the instant, every shilling that she had in the world? At this moment she resolved in her mind that she never wished to see him more. But even now, had it been practicable, she would have made over to him without any drawback all her interests in the Vavasora state. But any such making over was impossible. John Vavasor remained in West Moorland for a week, and during that time many discussions were, of course, held about the property. Mr. Round came down from London and met Mr. Gogrem at Penrith. As to the validity of the will, Mr. Round said that there was no shadow of a doubt. So an agent was appointed for receiving the rents, and it was agreed that the old hall should be led in six minutes. And she could make her plans for the future. Aunt Grinnell promised to remain at the hall for the present and offered, indeed, indefinite services for the future, as though she were quite forgetful of Captain Belfield. Of Mr. Cheesaker, she was not forgetful, for she still continued to speak of that gentleman to Kate, as though he were Kate's suitor. But she did not have the fortune, and though such a marriage might be comfortable, it was no longer necessary. Mrs. Grinnell called him poor Cheesaker, pointing out how easily he might be managed, and how indubitable were his possessions. But she no longer spoke of Kate's chances in the marriage market as desperate, even though she should decline the Cheesaker alliance. A young woman with six hundred a year, my dear, may do pretty nearly what she pleases, said Aunt Grinnell. And will last longer, certainly, said Kate. Kate's desire was that Alice should come down to her for a while on Westmoreland before the six months were over, and this desire she mentioned to her uncle. He promised to carry the message up to Alice, but could not be got to say more than that upon the subject. Then Mr. Vavasor went away, leaving the aunt and niece together at the hall. What on earth shall we do if that wild beast shows himself to her brother? The brother could only say that he hoped the wild beast would keep his distance. And the wild beast did keep his distance, at any rate as long as Mrs. Grinnell remained at the hall. We will now go back to the wild beast and tell how he walked across the mountains in the rain to Bampton, a little village at the foot of Haaswater. It will be remembered that after he had struck his sister, he turned away from her and walked with her. He had found himself to be without any power of persuasion over her as regarded her evidence to be given if the will were questioned. The more he threatened her, the steadier she had been in asserting her belief in her grandfather's capacity. She had looked into his eye and defied him, and he had felt himself to be worsted. What was he to do? In truth there was nothing for him to do. He had told her that he would murder her, and in the state of mind he had suggested itself to him as a resource to which he might apply himself. But what could he gain by murdering her, or at any rate by murdering her then, out on the mountainside? Nothing but a hanging. There would be no gratification even to his revenge. If indeed he had murdered that old man, who was now unfortunately gone beyond the reach of murder, if you could have poisoned the old man's cup before that last will had been made, there might have been something in such a way that he could have killed his sister. Nothing was to be got by killing his sister, so he restrained himself in his passion and walked away from her solitary down the mountain. The rain soon came on and found him exposed on the hillside. He thought little about it but buttoned his coat, as I have said before and strode on. It was a storm of rain so that he was forced but with his hand to his hat and his head bent against the wind he went on till he had reached the valley at the foot and found that the track by which he had been led thither had become a road. He had never known the mountains round the hall as Kate had known them and was not aware with her he was going. On one thing only had he made up his mind since he had left his sister and that was that he would not return to the house. He had no longer any friend in the house. He could hardly tell himself what line of conduct he would pursue but he thought that he would hurry back to London and grasp at whatever money he could get from Alice. He was still at this moment a member of parliament and as the rain drenched him through and through he endeavored to get consolation from the remembrance of that fact in his favor. As he got near the village he overtook a shepherd boy coming down from the hills and said the boy with an accent that was almost Scotch when he was asked the name of the place. When Vavasor further asked whether a gig were kept there the boy simply stared at him not knowing a gig by that name. At last however he was made to understand the nature of his companions want and expressed his belief that John Appletweight up at the Craig's Yon had got a Vavasor hoping that he might still find a speedier conveyance than John Appletweight's Mickelkart went on to the public house in the village but in truth neither there nor yet from John Appletweight to whom at last an application was sent could he get any vehicle and between six and seven he started off again through the rain to make his weary way on foot to a walkie mud before he started he took a glass of hot rum and water but the effect of that soon passed away from him and then he became colder and weaker than he had been before. Wearily and wretchedly he plotted on a man may be very weary in such a walk as that and yet be by no means wretched tired hungry cold wet and nearly penniless I have but my heart has been as light as my purse and there has been something in the air of the hills that made me buoyant and happy in the midst of my weariness but George Vavasor was wretched as well as weary and every step that he took plotting through the mud was a new misfortune to him what are five miles of a walk to a young man even though the rain be falling and the ways be dirty but George stopped on his way from time to time leaning on the loose walls and cursing the misfortune that had brought him to such a pass he cursed his grandfather his uncle his sister his cousin and himself he cursed the place in which his forefathers had lived and he cursed the whole county he cursed the rain and the wind and his town made boots which would not keep out the wet that had robbed him and the attorney that had made it he cursed the mother that had borne him and the father that had left him poor he thought of Scrooby and cursed him thinking how that money would be again required of him by that stern agent he cursed the house of commons which had cost him so much and the greedy electors who would not send him there without his paying for it he cursed John Gray as he thought of those two thousand pounds with double cursing everything he made his way at last up to the end at Shabb it was nearly nine when he got there he had wasted over an hour at Bampton in his endeavor to get John Applethwaite's cart to carry him on and he had been two hours on his walk from Bampton to Shab two hours amidst his cursing he ordered supper and brandy and possessions during all this time he had by no means ceased from cursing but continued it over his broiled ham and while he swallowed his brandy and water he swore aloud so that the red-armed servant at the end could not but hear him that those thieves at the hall intended to rob him of his clothes that they would not send him his property he could not restrain he knew that he had been mad to strike his sister and curse himself for his madness yet he could not restrain himself he told himself that the battle for him was over and he thought of poison for himself he thought of poison and a pistol of the pistols he had ever loaded at home each with six shots good for a life of peace he thought of an express train rushing along in its full career he would not go alone no indeed why should he go alone leaving those pistols ready loaded in his desk among them they had brought him to ruin into death was he a man to pardon his enemies when it was within his power to take them with him down down down what were the last words upon his impious lips as with he went I may not utter here End of Chapter 57 Recording by Leanne Howlett Chapter 58 of Can You Forgive Her This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Can You Forgive Her by Anthony Trollop Chapter 58 The Palisairs at Breakfast Gentle Reader Do you remember Lady Monk's party and how it ended? How it ended at least as regards those special guests with whom we are concerned? Mr. Palisair went away early. Mrs. Marsham followed him to his house in Park Lane caught him at home and told her tale. He returned to his wife found her sitting with Bergo under the Argus eyes of the constant Botte and bore her away home. Bergo disappeared utterly from the scene and Mr. Botte complaining inwardly that Virtue was too frequently allowed to be its own reward comforted himself with champagne and then walked off to his lodgings. Lady Monk when Mr. Palisair made his way into her room upstairs seeking his wife's scarf which little incident also the reader may perhaps remember saw that the game was up and thought with regret of the loss of her two hundred pounds. Such was the ending of Lady Monk's party. Lady Glencora on her journey home in the carriage with her husband had openly suggested that Mrs. Marsham had gone to Park Lane to tell of her doings with Bergo and had declared her resolution never again to see either that lady or Mr. Botte in her own house. This she said with more of defiance in her tone than Mr. Palisair had ever hitherto heard. He was by nature less ready than her and knowing his own deficiency in that respect abstained from all answer on the subject. Indeed during that drive home very few further words were spoken between them. I will breakfast with you to-morrow. He said to her as she prepared to go upstairs. I have work still to do to-night and I will not disturb you by coming to your room. You won't want me to be very early," said his wife. No," said he, with more of anger in his voice than he had yet shown. What hour will suit you? I must say something of what has occurred to-night before I leave you to-morrow. I don't know what you can have got to say about to-night, but I'll be down by half past eleven, if that will do." Mr. Palisair said that he would make it do, and then they parted. Lady Glencora had played her part very well before her husband. She had declined to be frightened by him, had been the first to mention Bergoe's name and had done so with no tremor in her voice and had boldly declared her irreconcilable enmity to the male and female duenas who had dared to take her in charge. While she was in the carriage with her husband, she felt some triumph in her own strength, and as she wished him good-night on the staircase and slowly walked up to her room without having once lowered her eyes before his. But she was left alone. All her triumph departed from her. She bade her maid go while she was still sitting in her dressing-gown, and when the girl was going down to her room with her husband, she felt some discomfort in her body. She felt that she would not yield that she would not be cowed either by her husband or by his spies. But when she was left alone, all her triumph and when the girl was gone, she got close over the fire, sitting with her slippers on the fender, with her elbows on her knees and her face resting on her hands. In this position she remained for an hour with her eyes fixed on the altering shapes of the hot coals. During this hour her spirit was by no means defiant and her thoughts of herself anything but triumphant. Mr. Botte and Mrs. Martiam she had forgotten all together. After all they were but buzzing flies who annoyed her by their presence. Should she choose to leave her husband, they could not prevent her leaving him. It was of her husband and of Bergo that she was thinking, weighing them, one against the other, and connecting her own existence with theirs, not as expecting joy or the comfort of love from either of them, but with an assured conviction that on either side there must be misery for her. But of that shame before all the world which must be hers for ever should she break her vows and consent to live with a man who was not her husband, she thought hardly at all. That which in the estimation of Alice was everything to her at this moment was almost nothing. For herself she had been sacrificed and, as she told herself with bitter denunciations against herself, had been sacrificed through her own weakness. But that was done. Whatever way she might go she was lost. They had married her to a man who cared nothing for a wife, nothing for any woman. So at least she declared to herself, but who had wanted a wife that he might have an heir. Had it been given to her to have a child she thought that she might have been happy, sufficiently happy in sharing her husband's joy in that respect. But everything had gone against her. There was nothing in her home to give her comfort. He looks at me every time he sees me as the cause of his misfortune, she said to herself. Of her husband's rank, of the future possession of his title and his estates she thought much. But of her own wealth she thought nothing. It did not occur to her that she had given him enough in that respect to make his marriage with her a comfort to him. She took it for granted as distasteful to him as it was to herself and that he would eventually be the gainer if she should so conduct herself that her marriage might be dissolved. As to Bergo I doubt whether she deceived herself much as to his character. She knew well enough that he was a man infinitely less worthy than her husband. She knew that he was a spendthrift into bad courses, that he drank, that he gambled, that he lived the life of the loosest man about the town. She knew also that whatever chance she might have had to redeem him had she married him honestly before all the world there could be no such chance if she went to him as his mistress abandoning her husband and all her duties and making herself vile women. Bergo Fitzgerald would not be influenced for good by such a woman as she would then be. She knew much of the world and its ways and told herself no lies about this. But as I have said before she did not count herself for much. What though she were ruined what though Bergo were false mean and untrustworthy she loved him and he was the only man she ever had loved. Lower and lower she crouched before the fire and then when the coals were no longer red and the shapes altered themselves no more she crept into bed. As to what she should say to her husband on the following morning she had not yet begun to think of that. Exactly at half-past eleven she entered the little breakfast parlor which looked out over the park. It was the prettiest room in the house and now at this spring tide when the town trees were putting out their earliest greens and were fresh and bright almost as country trees it might be hard to find a prettier chamber. Mr. Palacere was there already sitting with the morning paper in his hand. He rose when she entered and, coming up to her just touched her with his lips. She put her cheek up to him and then took her place at the breakfast-table. Have you any headache this morning? He asked. Oh, no! she said. Then he took his tea and his toast spoke some word to her about the fineness of the weather told her some scraps of news and soon returned to the absorbing interest of a speech made by the leader of the opposition in the House of Lords. The speech was very interesting to Mr. Palacere because in it the noble lord alluded to a break-up in the present cabinet as to which the rumors were, he said, so rife through the country as to have destroyed all that feeling of security in the existing government which the country so much valued and desired. Mr. Palacere had as yet heard no official tidings of such a rupture but if such rupture were to take place it must be in his favour. He felt himself at this moment to be full of politics, to be near the object of his ambition, to have affairs upon his hands which required all his attention. Was it absolutely incumbent on him to refer again to the incidents of last night? The doing so would be odious to him. The remembrance of the task now immediately before him destroyed all his political satisfaction. He did not believe that his wife was in any serious danger. Might it not yet be possible for him to escape from the annoyance and to wash his mind clean of all suspicion? He was not jealous. He was indeed incapable of jealousy. He knew what it would be to be dishonoured. And he knew that under certain circumstances the world would expect him to exert himself in a certain way. But the thing that he had was a great trouble to him. He would rather have to address the House of Commons with ten columns of figures than utter a word of remonstrance to his wife. But she had defied him. Defied him by saying that she would see his friends no more. And it was the remembrance of this, as he sat behind his newspaper, that made him ultimately feel that he could not pass over what had been done. Nevertheless he went on reading, or pretending to read, as long as the continuance of the breakfast made it certain that his wife would remain with him. Every now and then he said some word to her of what he was reading, endeavouring to use the tone of voice that was customary to him in his domestic teachings of politics. But through it all there was a certain hesitation. There were the sure signs of an attempt being made of which he was himself conscious, and which she understood with the most perfect accuracy. He was deferring the evil moment, and vainly endeavouring to make himself believe that he was comfortably employed the while. She had no newspaper, and made no endeavour she, therefore, was the first to begin the conversation. Plantagenet, she said, you told me last night, as I was going to bed, that you had something to say about Lady Monk's party. He put down the newspaper slowly, and turned towards her. Yes, my dear, after what happened I believe that I must say something. If you think anything say it," said Glencora. It is not always easy for a man to show what he thinks by what he says. He replied, my fear is that you should suppose me to think more than I do. And it was for that reason that I determined to sleep on it before I spoke to you. If anybody is angry with me I'd much rather they should have it out with me while I hate cold anger. But I am not angry. That's what husbands always say when they're going to scold. But I am not going to scold. I am only going to advise you. I'd sooner be scolded. Advice is to anger just what cold anger is too hot. But, my dear Glencora, surely if I find it necessary to speak I don't want to stop you, Plantagenet. Pray go on. Only it will be so nice to have it over. He was now more than ever averse to the task before him. Husbands, when they give their wives a talking should do it out of hand, uttering their words hard, sharp, and quick, and should then go. There are some works that won't bear a preface, and this work of marital fault finding of them. Mr. Palacere was already beginning to find out the truth of this. Glencora, he said, I wish you to be serious with me. I am very serious, she replied, as she settled herself in her chair, with an air of mockery, while her eyes and mouth were bright and eloquent with a spirit which her husband did not love to see. Poor girl! There was seriousness enough in store for her, before she would be able to leave the room. You ought to be serious. Do you know why Mrs. Marsham came here from Lady Monks last night? Of course I do. She came to tell you that I was waltzing with Bergo Fitzgerald. You might as well ask me whether I knew why Mr. Bott was standing at all the doors of my room. I don't know anything about Mr. Bott. I know something about him, though, she said, again, moving herself in her chair. I am speaking now of Mrs. Marsham. You should speak of them both together as they hunt in couples. Glencora, will you listen to me or will you not? If you say that you will not I shall know what to do. Don't think you would, Plantagenet. And she nodded her little head at him as she spoke. I'm sure I don't know what you would do. But I will listen to you. Only, as I said before, it will be very nice when it's over. Mrs. Marsham came here not simply to tell me that you were waltzing with Mr. Fitzgerald. And I wish that when you mentioned his name you would call him Mr. Fitzgerald. So I do. You generally prefix his Christian name, which it would be much better that you should omit. I will try, she said, very gently. But it's hard to drop an old habit. Before you married me you knew that I had learned to call him Bergo. Let me go on, said Mr. Palacere. Oh, certainly. It was not simply to tell me that you were waltzing that Mrs. Marsham came here. And it was not simply to see me waltzing that Mr. Bott stood in the doorways, for he followed me about and came down after me to the suburb. Glencora, will you oblige me by not speaking of Mr. Bott? I wish you would oblige me by not speaking of Mrs. Marsham. Mr. Palacere rose quickly from his chair with a gesture of anger, stood upright for half a minute, and then sat down again. I beg your pardon, Plantagenet, she said. I think I know what you want, and I'll hold my tongue till you bid me speak. Mrs. Marsham came here because she saw that everyone in the room was regarding you with wonder. Lady Glencora twisted herself about in her chair, but she said nothing. She saw that you were not only dancing with Mr. Fitzgerald, but that you were dancing with him what shall I say? Upon my word, I can't tell you. Recklessly. Oh! Recklessly, was I? What was I reckless of? Reckless of what people might say. Reckless I might feel about it. Reckless of your own position. Am I to speak now? Perhaps you had better let me go on. I think she was right to come to me. That's, of course. What's the good of having spies if they don't run and tell as soon as they see anything, especially anything? Reckless. Glencora, you are determined I am angry now, very angry. I have employed no spies. When rumours have reached me not from spies as you choose to call them, but through your dearest friends and mine. What do you mean by rumours from my dearest friends? Never mind, let me go on. No, not when you say my dear friends have spread rumours about me. Tell me who they are. I have no dear friends. Do you mean Alice Favisaur? It does not signify. But when I was warned that you had better not go to any house in which you could meet that man, I would not listen to it. I said that you were my wife and that as such I could trust you anywhere, everywhere, with any person. Others might distrust you but I would not do so. When I wished you to go to Monkshade, were there to be any spies there? When I left you last night at Lady Monks, do you believe in your heart that I trusted to Mrs. Marsham's eyes rather than to your own truth? Do you think that I have lived in fear of Mr. Fitzgerald? No, Plantagenet, I do not think so. Do you believe that I have commissioned Mr. Bott to watch your conduct? Answer me, Glencora. She paused a moment thinking what actually was her true belief on that subject. He does watch me, certainly, she said. That does not answer my question. Do you believe that I have commissioned him to do so? No, I do not. Then it is ignoble in you to talk to me of spies. I have employed no spies. If it were ever to come to that, that I thought spies necessary, it would be all over with me. There was something of feeling in his voice as he said this, something that almost approached to passion which touched Chief's heart. Whether or not spies would be of any avail, she knew that she had, in truth, done that of which he had declared that he had never suspected her. She had listened to words of love from her former lover. She had received, and now carried about with her a letter from this man in which he asked her to elope with him. By no means resolved that she would not do this thing. She had been false to her husband, and as her husband spoke of his confidence in her, her own spirit rebelled against the deceit which she herself was practicing. I know that I have never made you happy," she said. I know that I never can make you happy. He looked at her, struck by her altered tone, and saw that her whole manner and demeanor were changed. I do not understand what you mean," he said. I have never complained. You have not made me unhappy. He was one of those men to whom this was enough. If his wife caused him no uneasiness, what more was he to expect from her? In fact, she was a man to whom he would never have done much more for him. She might have given him an air. But he was a just man and knew that the blank he had drawn was his misfortune and not her fault. But now her heart was loosed and she spoke out. At first slowly, but after a while I shall never make you happy. You have never loved me nor are you. We have never loved each other for a single moment. I have been wrong to talk to you about spies. I was wrong to go to Lady Monks. I have been wrong in everything that I have done, but never so wrong as when I let them persuade me to be your wife, Glencora. Let me speak now, Plantagenet. It is better that I should tell you everything and I will. I will tell you everything, everything. I do love Bergo Fitzgerald. I do, I do, I do. How can I help loving him? Have I not loved him from the first before I had seen you? Did you not know I do love Bergo Fitzgerald, and when I went to Lady Monks last night I had almost made up my mind that I must tell him so and that I must go away with him and hide myself. But when he came to speak to me he has asked you to go with him then," said the husband, in whose bosom the poison was beginning to take effect, thereby showing that he was of nor below humanity. Glencora was immediately reminded that though she might, if she pleased, tell her own secrets, she ought not in accordance with her ideas of honour, tell those of her lover. What need is there of asking, do you think, when people have loved each other as we have done? You wanted to go with him then? Would it not have been the best for you, Plantagenet? I do not love you. Not as women love their husbands when they do love them. But before God my first wish is to free you from the misfortune that I have brought on you. As she made this attestation she started up from her chair and coming close to him took him by the coat. He was startled and stepped back a pace and then stood looking at her as she went on. What matters it whether I drown myself or throw myself away by going with such a one as him so that you might marry again and have a child? I'd die. I'd die willingly. How I wish I could die. Plantagenet, I would kill myself if I dared. He was a tall man and she was short of stature so that he stood over her and looked upon her and now she was looking up into his face with all her eyes. I would, she said. I would, I would. What is there left for me that I should wish to live? Softly, slowly, very gradually as though he were afraid of doing, he put his arm round her waist. You are wrong in one thing he said. I do love you. She shook her head touching his breast with her hair as she did so. I do love you he repeated. If you mean that I am not apt at telling you so it is true, I know. You are running on other things. Yes, she said. Your mind is running on other things. But I do love you. If you cannot love me it is a great misfortune to us both. But we need not therefore be disgraced. As for that other thing of which you spoke of our having as yet no child I pressed her somewhat closer with his arm. You allow yourself to think too much of it. Much more of it than I do. I have made no complaints on that head even within my own breast. I know what your thoughts are Plantagenet. Believe me that you wrong my thoughts. Of course I have been anxious and have perhaps shown my anxiety by the struggle I have made to hide it. I have never told you what is false, Glencora. No, you are not false. I would rather have you for my wife, childless if you will try to love me than any other woman though another might give me an air. Will you try to love me? She was silent. At this moment after the confession that she had made she could not bring herself to say that she would even try. Had she said so she would have seemed to have accepted his forgiveness too easily. I think, dear, he said, still holding her by her waist that we had better leave England for a while. I will give up politics for this season. Should you like to go to Switzerland for the summer perhaps through some of the German baths and then on to Italy when the weather is cold enough? Still, she was silent. Perhaps your friend, Miss Vavasor, would go with us. He was killing her by his goodness. She could not speak to him yet. But now as he mentioned Alice's name she gently put up her hand and rested it on the back of his. At that moment there came a knock at the door, a sharp knock which was quickly repeated. Come in said Mr. Palacere dropping his arm from his wife's waist and standing away from her a few yards. End of Chapter 58 Recording by Laura Koskinen LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Mill Nicholson Can you forgive her by Anthony Trollop Chapter 59 The Duke of St. Bungay in search of a minister It was the butler who had knocked showing that the knock was of more importance than it would have been struck by the knuckles of the footman in livery. If you please sir, the Duke of St. Bungay is here. The Duke of St. Bungay said Mr. Palacere becoming rather red as he heard the announcement. Yes sir, his grace is in the library. He bade me tell you that he particularly wanted to see you so I told him that you were with my lady. Quite right. Tell his grace that I will be with him in two minutes. Then the butler retired and Mr. Palacere was again alone with his wife. I must go now my dear he said and perhaps I shall not see you again until the evening. Don't let me put you out in any way she answered. Oh no, you won't put me out. You will be dressing I suppose about nine. I did not mean as to that she answered. You must not think more of Italy he has come to tell you that you are wanted in the cabinet. Again he turned very red. It may be so he answered but though I am wanted I need not go but I must not keep the Duke waiting goodbye and he turned to the door. She followed him and took hold of him as he went forced to turn to her once again. She managed to get hold of both his hands and pressed them closely looking up into his face with her eyes laden with tears. He smiled at her gently returned the pressure of the hands and then left her without kissing her. It was not that he was minded not to kiss her he would have kissed her willingly enough had he thought that the occasion required it he says that he loves me said Lady Glancora to herself but he does not know what love means but she was quite aware that he had behaved to her with genuine true nobility as soon as she was alone and certain of her solitude she took out that letter from her pocket and tearing it into very small fragments without reading it through the pieces on the fire as she did so her mind seemed to be fixed at any rate to one thing that she would think no more of Bergo Fritz Gerald as her future master I think however that she had arrived at so much certainty as this at that moment in which she had been parting with Bergo Fritz Gerald in Lady Monk's dining room she had had courage enough or shall we rather say sin enough to think of going with him to tell herself that she would do so to put herself in the way of doing it nay she had had enough of both to enable her to tell her husband that she had resolved that it would be good for her to do so but she was neither bold enough nor wicked enough to do the thing as she had said of her own idea of destroying herself she did not dare take the plunge therefore knowing now that it was so she tore up the letter that she had carried so long and burnt it in the fire she had in truth told him everything believing that in doing so she was delivering her own death warrant as regarded her future position in this house she had done this not hoping thereby for any escape not with any purpose as regarded herself but simply because deceit had been grievous to her and had become unendurable as soon as his words and manner had in them any feeling of kindness but her confession had no sooner been made than her fault had been forgiven she had told him that she did not love him she had told him even that she had thought of leaving him she had justified by her own words any treatment of his however harsh which he might choose to practice but the result had been the immediate result had been more tender to her than she had ever remembered him to be before she knew that he had conquered her however cold and heartless his home might be to her it must be her home now there could be no further thought of leaving him she had gone out into the tilt yard and had tilted with him and he had been the victor Mr. Palliser himself had not time for much thought before he found himself closeted with the Duke but as he crossed the hall and went up the stairs a thought or two did pass quickly across his mind she had confessed to him and he had forgiven her he did not feel quite sure that he had been right but he did feel quite sure that the thing had been done he recognized it for a fact that as regarded the past no more was to be said there were to be no reproaches and there must be some tacit abandoning of Mrs. Marsham's close attendance as to Mr. Bott he had begun to hate Mr. Bott and had felt cruelly ungrateful when that gentleman never to whisper a word into his ear as he passed through the doorway into Lady Monk's dining room and he had offered to go abroad to go abroad and leave his politics and his ambition and his coming honors he had persisted in his offer even after his wife had suggested to him that the Duke of St. Bungay was now in the house with the object of offering him that very thing for which he had so longed as he thought of this his heart became heavy within him such chances so he told himself do not come twice in a man's way when returning from a 12 month's residence abroad he would be nobody in politics he would have lost everything for which he had been working all his life but he was a man of his word and as he opened the library door he was resolute he thought that he could be resolute in adhering to his promise Duke he said I'm afraid I have kept you waiting and the two political allies shook each other by the hand the Duke was in a glow of delight there had been no waiting he was only too glad to find his friend at home he had been prepared to wait even if Mr. Palliser had been out and I suppose you guess why I've come said the Duke I would rather be told and have to guess said Mr. Palliser smiling for a moment but the smile quickly passed off his face as he remembered his pledge to his wife he has resigned at last what was said in the Lord's last night made it necessary that he should do so or that Lord Brock should declare himself able to support him through thick and thin of course I can tell you everything now he must have gone or I must have done so you know that I don't like him in the cabinet I admire his character and his genius but I think him the most dangerous man in England as a statesman he has high principles the very highest but they are so high as to be out of sight to ordinary eyes they are too exalted to be of any use for everyday purposes he is honest as the son I'm sure but it's just like the son's honesty of the kind which we men below can't quite understand or appreciate he has no instinct in politics but reaches his conclusions philosophical deduction now in politics I would a deal sooner trust to instinct and to calculation I think he may probably know how England ought to be governed three centuries hence better than any man living but of the proper way to govern it now I think he knows less Brock half likes him and half fears him he likes the support of his eloquence and he likes the power of the man but he fears his restless activity and thoroughly dislikes his philosophy at any rate he has left us and I am here to ask you to take his place the Duke as he concluded his speech was quite contented and almost jovial he was thoroughly satisfied with the new political arrangement which he was proposing he regarded Mr. Pelliser as a steady practical man of business luckily young and therefore with a deal of work in him belonging to the race from which English ministers ought in his opinion to be taken and as being in some respects his own pupil he had been the first to declare allowed that Pantagin at Pelliser was the coming Chancellor of the Exchequer and it had been long known though no such declaration had been made that the Duke did not sit comfortably in the same cabinet with the gentlemen who had now resigned everything had now gone as the Duke wished and he was prepared to celebrate some little ovation with his young friend before he left the house in Park Lane and who goes out with him asked Mr. Pelliser putting off the evil moment of his own decision but before the Duke could answer him he had reminded himself that under his present circumstances he had no right to ask such a question his own decision could not rest upon that point but it does not matter he said I'm afraid I must decline the offer you bring me decline it said the Duke who could not have been more surprised had his friend talked of declining heaven I fear I must the Duke had now risen from his chair and was standing with both his hands upon the table all his contentment all his joviality had vanished his fine round face had become almost ludicrously long his eyes and mouth were struggling to convey reproach and the reproach was almost drowned in vexation ever since Parliament had met he had been whispering Mr. Pelliser's name into the Prime Minister's ear and now but he could not and would not believe it Nonsense, Pelliser he said you must have got some false notion in your head there can be no possible reason why you should not join us Fine Spun himself will support us at any rate for a time Mr. Fine Spun was the gentleman whose retirement from the ministry the Duke of St. Bungay had now announced it is nothing of that kind said Mr. Pelliser who perhaps felt himself quite equal to the duties proposed to him even though Mr. Fine Spun should not support him it is nothing of that kind it is no fear of that sort that hinders me then for Mercy's sake what is it? my dear Pelliser I looked upon you as being assured in this matter as myself and I had a right to do so you certainly intended to join us a month ago if the opportunity offered you certainly did it is true Duke I must ask you to listen to me now and I must tell you what I would not willingly tell to any man as Mr. Pelliser said this a look of agony came over his face there are men who can talk easily of all their most in most matters but he was not such a man it went sorely against the grain with him to speak of the sorrow of his home even to such a friend as the Duke but it was essentially necessary to him that he should justify himself upon my word said the Duke I can't understand that there should be any reason strong enough to make you throw your party over I have promised to take my wife abroad is that it said the Duke looking at him with surprise but at the same time with something of returning joviality in his face nobody thinks of going abroad at this time of the year of course you can get away for a time when Parliament breaks up but I have promised to go at once then considering your position you have made a promise which it behoves you to break I am sure Lady Glencora will see it in that light you do not quite understand me and I am afraid I must trouble you to listen to matters which under other circumstances it would be impertinent in me to obtrude upon you a certain stiffness of demeanour and measured propriety of voice much at variance with his former manner came upon him as he said this of course, palacer I don't want to interfere for a moment if you will allow me Duke my wife has told me that this morning which makes me feel that absence from England is requisite for her present comfort I was with her when you came and had just promised her that she should go but palacer think of it if this were a small matter I would not press you when a man in your position has public duties he owes his services to his country he has no right to go back if it be possible that he should so do when a man has given his word it cannot be right that he should go back from that of course not but a man may be absolved from a promise Lady Glencora my wife would of course absolve me it is not that happiness demands it and it is partly my fault that it is so I cannot explain to you more fully why it is that I must give up the great object for which I have striven with all my strength oh no said the Duke if you are sure that it is imperative it is imperative I could give you 24 hours you know as I did not answer it once and the Duke thought that he saw some sign of hesitation I suppose it would not be possible that I should speak to Lady Glencora it could be of no avail Duke she would only declare the first word that she would remain in London but it would not be the less my duty on that account to take her abroad well I can't save of course I can't say such an opportunity may not come twice in a man's life and at your age too you are throwing away from you the finest political position that the world can offer to the ambition of any man no one at your time of life has had such a chance within my memory that a man under 30 should be thought fit to be Chancellor of the Exchequer and should refuse it because he wants to take his wife abroad Palliser if she were dying you should remain under such an emergency as this she might go but you should remain Mr. Palliser remained silent for a moment or two in his chair he then rose and walked towards the window as he spoke there are things worse than death he said when his back was turned his voice was very low and there was a tear in his eye as he spoke them the words were indeed whispered but the Duke heard them and felt that he could not press him any more on the subject of his wife and must this be final said the Duke I think it must but your visit here has come so quickly on my resolution to go abroad which in truth was only made 10 minutes before your name was brought to me that I believe I ought to ask for a portion of those 24 hours which you have offered me a small portion will be enough will you see me if I come to you this evening say at eight if the house is up in the lords I will go to you in St. James's Square we shall be sitting after eight I think then I will see you there and Duke I ask you to think of me in this matter as a friend should think and not as though we were bound together only by party feeling oh I will I will I have told you what I shall never whisper to anyone else I think you know that you are safe with me I am sure of it and Duke I can tell you that the sacrifice to me is almost more than I can bear this thing that you have offered me today is the only thing that I have ever coveted I have thought of it and worked for it have hoped and despared have for moments been vain enough to think that it was within my strength and have been wretched for weeks together because I have told myself that it was utterly beyond me and as to that neither Brock nor I nor any of us have any doubt Fine-spun himself says that you are the man I am much obliged to them but I say all this simply that you may understand how imperative is the duty which as I think requires me to refuse the offer but you haven't refused as yet said the Duke I shall wait at the house for you whether they are sitting or not and endeavor to join us do the best you can I will say nothing as to that duty of which you speak but if it can be made compatible with your public service pray, pray let it be done remember how much such a one as you owes to his country then the Duke went and Mr. Palliser was alone he had not been alone before since the revelation which had been made to him by his wife and the word she had spoken was still sounding in his ears I do love Bergo Fitzgerald I do, I do, I do they were not pleasant words for a young husband to hear men there are no doubt whose nature would make them more miserable under the inflection than it had made Plantagen at Palliser he was calm without strong passion not prone to give to words a stronger significance that they should bear and he was essentially unsuspicious never for a moment had he thought even while those words were hissing in his ears that his wife had betrayed his honour nevertheless there was that at his heart as he remembered those words which made him feel that the world was almost too heavy for him for the first quarter of an hour after the Duke's departure he thought more of his wife and of Bergo Fitzgerald than he did of Lord Brock and Mr. Feinspan but of this he was aware that he had forgiven his wife that he had put his arm round her and embraced her after hearing her confession and that she, mutely with her eyes had promised him that she would do her best for him then the feeling of an idea of love came across his heart and he acknowledged to himself that he had married without loving or without requiring love much of all this had been his own fault indeed had not the whole of it come from his own wrongdoing he acknowledged that it was so but now now he loved her he felt that he could not bear to part with her there were no question of public scandal or of disgrace he had been torn inwardly by that assertion that she loved another man she had got at his heartstrings at last there are men who may love their wives though they never can have been in love before their marriage when the Duke had been gone about an hour and when under ordinary circumstances it would have been his time to go down to the house he took his hat and walked into the park he made his way across Hyde Park and into Kensington Gardens and there he remained for an hour walking up and down beneath the elms the quidnunks of the town who chanced to see him and who had heard something of the political movements of the day thought no doubt that he was meditating his future ministerial career but he had not been there long before he had resolved that no ministerial career was at present open to him it has been my own fault he said as he returned to his house and with God's help I will mend it if it be possible but he was a slow man and he did not go off instantly to the Duke he had given himself to eight o'clock and he took the full time he could not go down to the House of Commons because men would make inquiries of him and find it difficult to answer so he dined at home alone he had told his wife that he would see her at nine and before that hour he would not go to her he sat alone till it was time for him to get into his broom and thought it all over that seat in the cabinet and Chancellor's ship of the Exchequer which he had so infinitely desired were already done with there was no doubt about that it would have been better for him not to have married but now that he was married and that things had brought him untowardly to this pass he knew that his wife's safety was his first duty we will go through Switzerland he said to himself to Barden and then we will get on to Florence and to Rome she has seen nothing of all these things yet and the new life will make a change in her she shall have her own friend with her then he went down to the House of Lords and saw the Duke well, Palliser said the Duke and he had listened to him of course I cannot argue it with you anymore I can only say that I am very sorry more sorry than perhaps you will believe indeed it half breaks my heart the Duke's voice was very sad and it might almost have been thought that he was going to shed a tear in truth he disliked Mr. Feinspan with the strongest political feeling of which he was capable and had attached himself to Mr. Palliser almost as strongly it was a thousand pities how hard had he not worked to bring about this arrangement which was now to be upset because a woman had been foolish I never above half liked her said the Duke to himself thinking perhaps a little of the Duchess's complaints of her I must go to Brock at once he said aloud and tell him God knows what we must do now goodbye goodbye no I'm not angry there shall be no quarrel but I am very sorry in this way the two politicians parted we may as well follow this political movement to its end the Duke saw Lord Brock that night and then those two ministers sent for another minister another noble lord a man of great experience in cabinets these three discussed the matter together and on the following day Lord Brock got up in the house and made a strong speech in defense of his colleague Mr. Feinspan so the end of the session at the same rate Mr. Feinspan kept his position and held the seals of the exchequer while all the quidnunks of the nation shaking their heads spoke of the wonderful power of Mr. Feinspan and declared that Lord Brock did not dare to face the opposition without him in the meantime Mr. Palliser had returned to his wife and told her of his resolution with reference to their tour abroad we may as well cut up our minds to start at once said he at any rate there is nothing on my side to hinder us end of chapter 59