 Chapter sixty-one of Ayala's Angel, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Ayala's Angel by Anthony Trollop, Chapter sixty-one, Tom Tringle goes upon his travels. We must again go back and pick up our threads to April, having rushed forward to be present at the wedding of Frank Huston and Imogen Dosama, which did not take place until near mid-summer. This we must do at once in regard to Tom Tringle, who, if the matter be looked at a right, should be regarded as the hero of this little history. Ayala, indeed, who is no doubt the real heroine among so many young ladies who have been more or less heroic, did not find in him the angel of whom she had dreamed, and whose personal appearance on earth was necessary to her happiness. But he had been able very clearly to pick out an angel for himself, and though he had failed in his attempt to take the angel home with him, had been constant in his endeavours as long as there remained to him a chance of success. He had shown himself to be foolish, vulgar and ignorant. He had given way to Bolivian champagne and faddle intimacies. He had been silly enough to think that he could bribe his Ayala with diamonds for herself and charm her with cheaper jewellery on his own person. He had thought to soar high by challenging his rival to a duel, and had then been tempted by pot courage to strike him in the streets, a very vulgar and foolish young man, but a young man capable of a persistent passion. Young men, not foolish and not vulgar, are perhaps common enough, but the young men of constant heart and capable of such persistency as Tom's, are not to be found every day walking about the streets of the metropolis. Jonathan Stubbs was constant too, but it may be doubted whether the Colonel ever really disbared. The merit is to despair and yet to be constant. When a man has reason to be assured that a young lady is very fond of him, he may always hope that love will follow, unless indeed the love which he seeks has been already given away elsewhere. Moreover Stubbs had many substantial supports at his back, the relationship of the Marquesa, the friendship of Lady Aubrey, the comforts of Stullum, and not least if last the capabilities and prowess of Croppy. Then too he was neither vulgar nor foolish nor ignorant. Tom Tringle had everything against him, everything that would weigh with Ayala, and yet he fought his battle out to the last gasp. Therefore I desire my hearers to regard Tom Tringle as the hero of the transactions with which they have been concerned, and to throw their old shoes after him as he starts away upon his grand tour. Tom, my boy, you have to go, you know, in four days, said his father to him. At this time Tom had, as yet given, no positive consent as to his departure. He had sunk into a low state of moaning and groaning, in which he refused even to accede to the doctrine of the expedience of a manly bearing. What's the good of telling a lie about it, he'd say to his mother? What's the good of manliness when a fellow would rather be drowned? He'd left his bed indeed, and had once or twice sauntered out of the house. He had been instigated by his sister to go down to his club, under the idea that by such an effort he would shake off the despondency which overwhelmed him. But he had failed in the attempts, and had walked by the doors of the mountaineers, letting himself unable to face the whore-porter. But still the preparations for his departure were going on. It was presumed that he was to leave London for Liverpool on the Friday, and his father had now visited him in his own room on the Tuesday evening with the intention of extorting from him his final consent. Sir Thomas, had on that morning expressed himself very freely to his son-in-law Mr. Traffic, and on returning home had been glad to find that his words had been of avail, at any rate as regarded the dinner-hour. He was tender-hearted towards his son, and disposed to tempt him rather than threaten him into obedience. I haven't ever said I would go, replied Tom. But you must, you know, everything has been packed up, and I want to make arrangements with you about money. I have got a cabin for you to yourself, and Captain Mary says that you will have a very pleasant passage. The equinoxes are over. I don't care about the equinoxes, said Tom. I should like bad weather if I'm to go. Perhaps you may have a touch of that, too. If the ship could be dashed against a rock I should prefer it, exclaimed Tom. That's nonsense. The Cunard ships never are dashed against rocks. By the time you've been three days at sea you'll be hungry as a hunter. Now, Tom, how about money? I don't care about money, said Tom. How about you? Then you're very unlike anybody else that I meet. I think I'd better give you power to draw at New York, San Francisco, Yokohama, Peking, and Calcutta. Am I to go to Peking, asked Tom, with renewed melancholy? Well, yes, I think so. You'd better see what the various houses are doing in China. And then from Calcutta you can go up to country. By that time I dare say we shall have possession of Kabul. With such a government as we have now, thank God, the Russians will have been turned pretty nearly out of Asia by this time next year. Am I to be away more than a year? If I were you, said the father, glad to catch a glimmer of ascent which was hereby implied, if I were you I would do it thoroughly whilst I was about it. Had I seen so much when I was young I would have been a better man of business. It's all the same to me, said Tom, say ten years if you like it, say twenty. I don't ever want to come back again. Am I to go after Kabul? I didn't exactly fix it that you should go to Kabul. Of course you will write home and give me your own opinion as you travel on. You will stay two or three months, probably in the States. Am I to go to Niagara? He asked. Of course you will, if you wish it. The Falls of Niagara, I'm told, are very wonderful. If a man is to drown himself, said Tom, it's the sort of place to do it effectually. Oh, Tom exclaimed his father, don't speak to me in that way when I'm doing everything in my power to help you in your trouble. You cannot help me, said Tom. Circumstances will, time will do it, employment will do it, a sense of your dignity as a man will do it, when you find yourself among others who know nothing of what you've suffered. You revel in your grief now because those around you know that you've failed. All that will be changed when you're with strangers. You should not talk to your father of drowning yourself. That was wrong, I know it was wrong, said Tom, humbly. I won't do it if I can help it, but perhaps I'd better not go there. And how long ought I to stay at Yokohama? Perhaps you'd better put it all down on a bit of paper. Then Sir Thomas endeavored to explain to him that all he had said now was in the way of advice, that it would be in truth left to himself to go almost where he liked and to stay at each place almost as long as he liked, that he would be his own master, and that within some broad and undefined limits he would have as much money as he pleased to spend. Surely no preparations for a young man's tour were ever made with more alluring circumstances. But Tom could not be tempted into any expression of satisfaction. This, however, Sir Thomas did gain, that before he left his son's room it was definitely settled, that Tom should take his departure on the Friday, going down to Liverpool by an afternoon train on that day. Tell you what, said Sir Thomas, I'll go down with you and see you on board the ship and introduce you to Captain Merry. I should be glad of an opportunity of paying a visit to Liverpool." And so the question of Tom's departure was settled. On the Wednesday and Thursday he seemed to take some interest in his bags and portmanteaus and began himself to look after those assuagements of the toils of travel which he generally dear to young men. He interested himself in a fur coat, in a well-arranged dispatch box, and in a very neat leather case which was intended to hold two brandy flasks. He consented to be told of the number of his shirts and absolutely expressed an opinion that he should want another pair of dress boots. When this occurred every female bosom in the house, from native tringles down to the kitchen-maids, rejoiced at the signs of recovery which have inst themselves, but neither Lady Tringle nor the kitchen-maid, nor did any of the intermediate female bosoms, know how he employed himself when he left the house on that Thursday afternoon. He walked across the park, and calling at Kingsbury Crescent, left a note addressed to his aunt. It was as follows. I start tomorrow afternoon, I hardly know whether. It may be for years, or it may be for ever. I should wish to say a word to Ayala before I go, for she see me if I come at twelve o'clock exactly to-morrow morning. I will call for an answer in half an hour, T. T. Jr. Of course I am aware that Ayala is to become the bride of Colonel Jonathan Stubbs. In half an hour he returned and got his answer. Ayala will be glad to have an opportunity of saying goodbye to you to-morrow morning. From this it will be seen that Ayala had at that time returned from Stullum to Kingsbury Crescent. She had come back joyful in heart, thoroughly triumphant as to her angel, with everything in the world sweet and happy before her, desire as if possible to work her fingers on in mending the family linen, if only she could do something for somebody in return for all the joy that the world was giving her. When she was told that Tom wished to see her for the last time, for the last time at any rate before her marriage, she assented at once. I think you should see him as he asks it, said her aunt. Poor Tom, of course I'll see him. And so the note was written which Tom received when he called a second time at the door. At half past eleven he sculked out of the house in Queensgate, anxious to avoid his mother and sisters who were on their side, anxious to devote every remaining minute of the time to his comfort and welfare. I'm afraid it must be acknowledged that he went with all his jewellery. It could do no good. At last he was aware of that. But still he thought that she would like him better with his jewellery than without it. Stubbs wore no gems, not even a ring, and Ayala, when she saw her cousin enter the room, could only assure herself that the male angels certainly were never bejeweled. She was alone in the drawing-room, Mrs. Dosset having arranged that at the expiration of ten minutes, which were to be allowed to Tom for his private adieu, she would come down to say goodbye to her nephew. Ayala, said Tom. So you're going away for a very long journey, Tom? Yes, Ayala, for a very long journey to Peking and Kabul if I live through to get to those sort of places. I hope you will live through, Tom. Thank you, Ayala. Thank you. I daresay I shall. They tell me I shall get over it. I don't feel like getting over it now. You'll find some beautiful young lady in Peking, perhaps. Beauty will never have any effect upon me again, Ayala. Beauty, indeed. Think what I've suffered from beauty. From the first moment in which you came down to Glen Bogie, I've been a victim to it. It has destroyed me—destroyed me. I'm sure you'll come back quite well, said Ayala, hardly knowing how to answer the last appeal. Perhaps I may, if I can only get my heart to turn to stone, then I shall. I don't know why I should have been made to care so much about it. Other people don't. And now we must say goodbye, I suppose. Oh, yes, goodbye. I did want to say one or two words if you ain't in a hurry. Of course you'll be his bride now. I hope so, said Ayala. I take that for granted. Of course I hate him. Oh, Tom, you shan't say that. It's human nature. I can tell a lie if you want it. I'd do anything for you. But you may tell him this. I'm very sorry I struck him. He knows that, Tom. He said so to me. He behaved well to me, very well, as he always does to everybody. Now, Tom, that is good of you. I do like you so much for saying that. But I hate him. No. The evil spirits always hate the good ones. I'm conscious of an evil spirit within my bosom. It's because my spirit is evil that you would not love me. He is good, and you love him. Yes, I do, said Ayala. And now we will change the conversation. Ayala, I have got a little present which you must take from me. Oh, no, said Ayala, thinking of the diamond necklace. It's only a little thing, and I hope you will. Then he brought out from his pocket a small brooch, which he had selected from his own stock of jewelry for the occasion. We are cousins, you know. Yes, we are cousins, said Ayala, accepting the brooch, but still accepting it unwillingly. He must be very disdainful if he would object to such a little thing as this, said Tom, referring to the Colonel. He's not at all disdainful. He'll not object in the least, I'm sure of that, Tom. I will take it then, and I will wear it sometimes as a memento that we have parted like friends, as cousins should do. Yes, as friends, said Tom, who thought that even that word was softer to his ear than cousins. Then he took her by the hand and looked into her face wistfully, thinking what might be the effect if, for the last and for the first time, he should snatch a kiss. Had he done so, I think she would have let it pass without rebuke under the guys of cousinship. It would have been very disagreeable, but then he was going away for so long a time, for so many miles. But at the moment Mrs. Dossett came in and Ayala was saved. Good-bye, he said, good-bye. And without waiting to take the hand which his aunt offered him, he hurried out of the room, out of the house, and back across the gardens to Queensgate. At Queensgate there was an early dinner at three o'clock, at which Sir Thomas did not appear, as he had arranged to come out of the city and meet his son at the railway station. There were, therefore, sitting at the board for the last time, the mother and the two sisters with the intending traveller. Oh, Tom, said Lady Tringle, as soon as the servant had left them together, I do so hope you will recover. Of course he'll recover, said Augusta. Why shouldn't he recover? asked Gertrude. It's all in a person's mind. If he'd only make up his mind not to think about it, the thing would be done, and there would be nothing the matter with him. There are twenty others ever so much better than Ayala would have him tomorrow, said his mother. And be glad to catch him, said Gertrude. He's not like one of those who haven't got anything to make a wife comfortable with. As for Ayala, said Augusta, she doesn't deserve such good luck. I'm told that that Colonel Stubbs can't afford to keep any kind of carriage for her, but then to be sure she has never been used to a carriage. Oh, Tom, do look up, said his mother, and say that you will try to be happy. He'll be all right in New York, said Gertrude. There's no place in the world, they say, where the girls put themselves forward so much, and make things so pleasant for the young men. He'll soon find someone there, said Augusta, with a good deal more to say for herself than Ayala, and a great deal better looking. I hope he will find someone who will really love him, said his mother. Tom sat silent while he listened to all this encouragement, turning his face from one speaker to the other. It was continued with many other similar promises of coming happiness, and assurances that he had been a gainer in losing all that he had lost, when he suddenly turned sharply upon them and strongly expressed his feelings to his sisters. I don't believe that either of you know anything about it, he said. Don't know anything about what, said Augusta, who was a lady who had been married over twelve months, and was soon about to become a mother, felt that she certainly did know all about it. Why don't we know as well as you, asked Gertrude, who had also had her experiences. I don't believe you do know anything about it, that's all, said Tom, and now there's the cab. Goodbye, mother. Goodbye, Augusta. I hope you'll be all right. This alluded to the baby. Goodbye, Gertrude. I hope you'll get all right too some day. This alluded to Gertrude's two lovers. Then he left them, and as he got into his cab, declared to himself that neither of them had ever or would ever know anything of that special trouble which had so nearly overwhelmed himself. Upon my word, Tom, said his father, walking about the vessel with him, I wish I were going to New York myself with you. It all looks so comfortable. Yes, said Tom. It's very nice. You'll enjoy yourself amazingly. There is that Mrs. Thompson has two as pretty daughters with her as ever a man wish to see. Tom shook his head. And you're fond of smoking. Did you see the smoking-room? They've got everything on board these ships now. Upon my word I envy you the voyage. It's as good as anything else, I dare say, said Tom. Perhaps it's better than London. Then his father, who had been speaking aloud to him, whispered a word in his ear. Shake yourself, Tom. Shake yourself and get over it. I am trying, said Tom. Love is a very good thing, Tom, when a man can enjoy it and make himself warm with it and protect himself by it from selfishness and hardness of heart. But when it knocks a man's courage out of him and makes him unfit for work and leaves him to bemoan himself, there's nothing good in it. It's as bad as drink. Don't you know that I'm doing the best I can for you to make a man of you? I suppose so. Then shake yourself, as I call it. It is to be done, if you set about it in earnest. Now, God bless you, my boy. Then said Thomas got into his boat, and left his son to go upon his travels and get himself cured by a change of scene. I have no doubt that Tom was cured, if not before he reached New York, at any rate before he left that interesting city, so that when he reached Niagara, which he did do in company with Mrs. Thompson and her charming daughters, he entertained no idea of throwing himself down the falls. We cannot follow him on that prolonged tour to Japan and China, and then stick Alcutta and Bombay. I fancy that he did not go on to Kabul, as before that time the ministry in England was unfortunately changed, and the Russians had not as yet been expelled from Asia, but I have little doubt that he obtained a great deal of very useful mercantile information, and that he will live to have a comfortable wife and a large family, and become in the course of years the senior partner in the Great House of Travers and Treason. Let us, who have soft hearts, now throw our old shoes after him. Note, it is to be stated that this story was written in 1878. We have seen how Mr. Traffic was finally turned out of his father-in-law's house, or rather not quite finally when we last saw him, as he continued to sleep at Queensgate for two or three nights after that, until he had found shelter for his head. This he did without encountering Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas pretending the wild to believe that he was gone, and then in very truth his last pair of boots was removed. But his wife remained, awaiting the great occurrence with all the paternal comforts around her, Mr. Traffic having been quite right in surmising that the father would not expose his daughter in her delicate condition to the inclemencies of the weather. But this no more than natural attention on the part of the father and grandfather to the needs of his own daughter and grandchild did not in the least mitigate in the bosom of the Member of Parliament the wrath which he felt at his own expulsion. It was not, as he said to himself, the fact that he was expelled, but the coarseness of the language used. The truth is, he said to a friend in the house, that though it was arranged that I should remain there until after my wife's confinement I could not bear his language. It will probably be acknowledged that the language was of a nature not to be borne. When therefore Captain Batsby went down to the house on the day of Tom's departure to see his councillor, he found Mr. Traffic full rather of anger than of counsel. Oh, yes, said the Member, walking with the Captain up and down some of the lobbies. I spoke to him and told him my mind very freely. When I say I'll do a thing, I always do it. And as for Tringle, nobody knows him better than I. It does not do to be afraid of him. There's a little bit of the cure about him. What did he say? He didn't like it. The truth is, you know I don't mind speaking to you openly. Oh, no, said Batsby. He thinks you ought to do as well with the second girl as he's done with the first. Captain Batsby had this opened his eyes, but he said nothing. Having a good income of his own, he thought much of it. Not being the younger son of a Lord and not being a Member of Parliament, he thought less of the advantages of those high privileges. It did not suit him, however, to argue the question at the present moment. He's proud of his connection with our family and looks even more, perhaps, than he ought to do to a seat in the house. I could get in myself if I cared for it, said Batsby. Very likely it's more difficult than ever to find a seat just now. A family connection, of course, does help one. I had to trust to that a good deal before I was known myself. But what did Sir Thomas say? He made himself uncommonly disagreeable, I can tell you that. He couldn't very well abuse me, but he wasn't very particular in what he said about you. Of course, he was cut up about the elopement. We all felt it. Augusta was very much hurt. In her precarious state, it was so likely to do a mischief. It can't be undone now. No, it can't be undone. But it makes one feel that you can't make a demand for money, as though you set about it in the other way. When I made up my mind to marry, I stated what I thought I had a right to demand, and I got it. He knew very well that I shouldn't take a shilling less. It does make a difference when he knows very well that you've got to marry the girl whether with or without money. I haven't got to marry the girl at all. Haven't you? I rather think you have, old fellow. It's generally considered that when a gentleman has gone off with a girl he means to marry her. Not if the father comes after her and brings her back. And when he has gone afterwards to the family house and proposed himself again in the mother's presence. In all this, Mr. Traffic had received an unfair advantage from the communications which were made to him by his wife. Of course you must marry her. Sir Thomas knows that, and knowing it, why should he be flush with his money? I never allowed myself to say a single word they could use against me until the ready money down had been all settled. What was it he did say? Buttsby was thoroughly sick of hearing his counselor tell so many things as to his own prudence and his own success, and asked the question in an angry tone. He said that he would not consider the question of money at all till the marriage had been solemnised. Of course he stands on his right. Why shouldn't he? But rough as he is. He isn't stingy. Give him his due. He isn't stingy. The money's there all right, and the girl is his own child. You'll have to wait his time, that's all. And have nothing to begin with. That'll be about it, I think. But what does it matter Buttsby you're always talking about your income. No, I ain't, not half so much as you do of your seat in Parliament, which everybody says you're likely to lose at the next election. Then, of course, there was a quarrel. Mr. Traffic took his offended dignity back to the house, almost doubting whether it might not be his duty to bring Captain Buttsby to the bar for contempt of privilege, and the captain took himself off in thorough disgust. Nevertheless, there was the fact that he had engaged himself to the young lady a second time. He had run away with her with the object of marrying her, and had then, according to his own theory in such matters, been relieved from his responsibility by the appearance of the father and the re-obduction of the young lady. As the young lady had been taken away from him, it was to be supposed that the intended marriage was negative by a proper authority. When starting for Brussels he was a free man, and had he been wise he would have remained there, or at some equally safe distance from the lady's charms. Then, from a distance he might have made his demand for money, and the elopement would have operated in his favour rather than otherwise. But he had come back, and had foolishly allowed himself to be persuaded to show himself at Queen's Gate. He had obeyed Traffic's advice, and now Traffic had simply thrown him over and quarreled with him. He had, too, promised in the presence both of the mother and the married sister that he would marry the young lady without any regard to money. He felt it all, and was very angry with himself, consoling himself as best he might with the reflection that Sir Thomas's money was certainly safe, and that Sir Thomas himself was a liberal man. In his present condition it would be well for him, he thought, to remain inactive, and see what circumstances would do for him. But circumstances very quickly became active. On his return to his lodgings, after leaving Mr. Traffic, he found a note from Queen's Gate. Dearest Ben, Mamar wants you to come and lunch to-morrow. Papa has taken poor Tom down to Liverpool, and won't be back till dinner time. Gee! He did not do as he was bid, alleging some engagement of business. But the persecution was continued in such a manner as to show him that all opposition on his part would be hopeless, unless he were to proceed on some tour as prolonged as that of his future brother-in-law. Come and walk at three o'clock in Kensington Gardens to-morrow. This was written on the Saturday after his note had been received. What use would there be in continuing a vain fight? He was in their hands, and the more gracefully he yielded, the more probable it would be that the father would evince his generosity at an early date. He therefore met his lady-love on the steps of the Albert Memorial, with her she had managed to take herself all alone from the door of the family mansion. Ben, she said as she greeted him, why did you not come for me to the house? I thought you would like it best. Why should I like it best? Of course Mamar knows all about it. Augusta would have come with me just to see me here, only that she cannot walk out just at present. Then he said something to her about the monument, expressed his admiration of the Prince's back, abused the east wind, remarked that the buds were coming on some of the trees, and suggested that the broad road along by the round pond would be drier than the little paths. It was not interesting, as Gertrude felt, but she had not expected him to be interesting. The interest she knew must be contributed by herself. Ben, she said, I was so happy to hear what you said to Mamar the other day. What did I say? Why, of course, that her papa has given his consent, our engagement is to go on just as if—just as if what?—as if we'd found the clergyman at our stand. If we had done that we should have been married now, suggested Batsby. Exactly, and it's almost as good as being married, isn't it? I suppose it comes to the same thing. Hadn't you better go to papa again and have it all finished? He makes himself so very unpleasant. It's only because he wants to punish us for running away. I suppose it was wrong. I shall never be sorry, because it made me know how very, very much you loved me. Didn't it make you feel how very, very dearly I loved you, to trust myself all alone with you in that way? Oh, yes, of course. And papa can't bite you, you know. You go to him and tell him that you hope to be received in the house as my—my future husband, you know. Shall I say nothing else? You mean about the day? I was meaning about money. I don't think I would. He's very generous, but he doesn't like to be asked. When Augusta was to be married he arranged all that himself after they were engaged. But traffic demanded a certain sum. This question, Captain Batsby, asked with a considerable surprise, remembering what Mr. Traffic had said to him in reference to Augusta's fortune. Not at all. Septimus knew nothing about it until after the engagement. He was only too glad to get papa's consent. You mustn't believe all that Septimus says, you know. You may be sure of this that you can trust papa's generosity. Then, before he landed her at the door in Queensgate, he had promised that he would make another journey to Lombard Street with the express purpose of obtaining Septimus's sanction to the marriage, either with or without money. How are you again? said Septimus, when the captain was for the third time shown into the little-back parlor. Have you had another trip to the continent since I saw you? Septimus was in a good humour. Tom had gone upon his travels. Mr. Traffic had absolutely taken himself out of the house, and the millions were accommodating themselves comfortably. No, said Thomas, I haven't been abroad since then. I don't keep on going abroad constantly in that way. And what can I do for you now? Of course it's about your daughter. I want to have your permission to consider ourselves engaged. I explained to you before that if you and Gertrude choose to marry each other I shall not stand in your way. Thank you, sir. I don't know that it's much to thank me for, only that she made a fool of herself by running away with you. I should have preferred to wait till some more sensible candidate had proposed himself for her hand. I don't suppose you'll ever set the Thames on fire. I did very well in the army. It's a pity you did not remain there, and then perhaps you would not have gone to our stand with my daughter. As it is, there she is. I think she might have done better with herself, but that's her fault. She's made her bed, and she must lie upon it. If we are to be married, I hope you won't go on abusing me always, Sir Thomas. That's as you behave. You don't suppose that I should allow such a piece of tomfoolery as that to be passed over without saying anything about it. If you marry her and behave well to her, I will—then he paused. What will you do, Sir Thomas? I'll say as little as possible about the Osten journey. And as to money, Sir Thomas? I think I've promised quite enough for you. You're not in a position, Captain Batsby, to ask me as to money. Nor is she. You shall marry her without a shilling, or you shall not marry her at all, which is it to be. I must have an input to all this. I won't have you hanging about my house unless I know the reason why. Are you to engage to each other? I suppose we are, said Batsby, lugubriously. Supposing is not enough. We are, said Batsby, courageously. Very well. Then, from this moment, Osten shall be as though there weren't such a seaport anywhere in Europe. I will never allude to the place again, unless perhaps you should come and stay with me too long when I am particularly anxious to get rid of you. Now you had better go and settle about the time, and all that with Lady Tringle, and tell her that you mean to come and dine to-morrow or the next day or whenever it suits. Come and dine as often as you please, only do not bring your wife to live with me pertinaciously when you're not asked. All this, Captain Batsby, did not understand, but as he left Lombard Street he made up his mind that of all the men he had ever met, Sir Thomas Tringle, his future father-in-law, was the most singular. He's a better fellow than traffic, said Sir Thomas to himself when he was alone, and as he has trusted me so far I'll not throw him over. The Captain now had no hesitation in taking himself to Queen's Gate. As he was to be married, he might as well make the best of such delights as were to be found in the happy state of mutual affection. My dear dearest Benjamin, I'm so happy, said Lady Tringle, dissolved in tears as she embraced her son-in-law that it was to be. It will always be so dear to me. In this she was quite true. Traffic was not dear to her. She had at first thought much of Mr. Traffic's position in noble blood, but of late she too had become very tired of Mr. Traffic. Augusta took almost too much upon herself, and Mr. Traffic's prolonged presence had been an eyesore. Captain Batsby was softer and would be much more pleasant as a son-in-law. Even the journey to our stand had had a good effect in producing a certain humility. My dear Benjamin, said Augusta, we shall always be so happy to entertain you as a brother. Mr. Traffic has a great regard for you, and said from the first that if you behaved as you ought to do after that little journey, he would arrange that everything should go straight between you and papa. I was quite sure that you would come forward at once as a man. But Gertrude's delight was, of course, the strongest, and Gertrude's welcoming the warmest as was proper. When I think of it, she said to him, I don't know how ever I should have looked to anybody in the face again, after our going away with our things mixed up in that way. I'm rather glad now that we didn't find the clergyman. Oh, certainly, said Gertrude, I don't suppose any one would have given me anything. Now there'll be a regular wedding, and of course there'll be the presence. And though nothing is to be settled, I suppose he will do something. And it would have been very dreadful not having a regular trousseau, said Gertrude. Mama will, of course, do now, just as she did about Augusta. He allowed her three hundred pounds. Only think if we'd been married at our stand you would have had to buy things for me before the first month was out. I hadn't more than half a dozen pair of stockings with me. He can't but say now that we have done as he would have us, added the captain. I do suppose that he will not be so unnatural as not to give something when Augusta had two hundred thousand pounds. Indeed she had not, but you'll see that sooner or later papa will do for me quite as well as for Augusta. In this way they were happy together, consoling each other for any little trouble which seemed for a while to cloud their joys, and basking in the full sunshine of their permitted engagement. The day was soon fixed, but fixed not entirely in reference to the wants of Gertrude and her wedding. Lucy had also to be married from the same house, and the day for her marriage had already been arranged. Sir Thomas had ordered that everything should be done for Lucy as though she were a daughter of the house, and her wedding had been arranged for the last week in May. When he heard that Ayala and Colonel Stubbs were also engaged, he was anxious that the two sisters should be buckled, as he called it, on the same occasion, and he magnanimously offered to take upon himself the entire expense of the double arrangement, intimating that the people in Kingsbury Crescent had hardly room enough for a wedding. But Ayala, acting probably under stallum influences, would not consent to this. Lady Aubrey, who is now in London, was determined that Ayala's marriage should take place from her own house, and as Aunt Margaret and Uncle Reginald had consented, that matter was considered as settled. But Sir Thomas, having fixed his mind upon a double wedding, resolved that Gertrude and Lucy should be the joint brides. Gertrude, who still suffered, perhaps a little in public estimation from the Ostend journey, was glad enough to wipe out that stain as quickly as possible, and did not therefore object to the arrangement. But to the captain there was something in it by which his more delicate feelings were revolted. It was a matter of course that Ayala should be present at her sister's wedding, and would naturally appear there in the guise of bridesmaid. She would also now act as a bridesmaid to Gertrude, her future position as Mrs. Colonel Stubbs giving her, as was supposed, sufficient dignity for that honorable employment. But Captain Batsby not so very long ago had appeared among the suitors for Ayala's hand, and therefore, as he said to Gertrude, he felt a little shame-faced about it. What does that signify? said Gertrude. If you say nothing to her about it, I'll be bound, she'll say nothing to you. And so it was on the day of the wedding. Ayala did not say a word to Captain Batsby, nor did Captain Batsby say very much to Ayala. On the day before his marriage Captain Batsby paid a fourth visit to Lombard Street in Abidians to directions from Sir Thomas. There, my boy, said he, though you and Gertrude did take a little journey on the slide to a place which we will not mention, you shan't take her altogether empty-handed. Then he explained certain arrangements which he had made for endowing Gertrude with an allowance, which under the circumstances the bridegroom could not but feel to be liberal. It must be added that considering the shortness of time allowed for getting them together, the amount of wedding presents bestowed was considered by Gertrude to be satisfactory. As Lucy's were exhibited at the same time, the show was not altogether mean. No doubt I had twice as much as the two put together, said Mrs. Traffic to Ayala up in her bedroom, but then of course Lord Watertrade's rank would make people give. End of Chapter sixty-two Chapter sixty-three of Ayala's Angel This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Ayala's Angel by Anthony Trollop Chapter sixty-three Ayala again in London After that last walk in gobble-goose wood, after Lady Tringle's unnecessary journey to Stullum on the Friday, and the last days hunting with Sir Harry's hounds, which took place on the Saturday, Ayala again became anxious to go home. Her anxiety was, in its nature, very different from that which had prompted her to leave Stullum on an appointed day, lest she should seem to be waiting for the coming of Colonel Stubbs. No, I don't want to run away from him any more, she said to Lady Albury. I want to be with him always, and I hope he won't run away from me, but I've got to be somewhere where I can think about it all for a little time. Can't you think about it here? No, one can never think about a thing where it has all taken place. I must be up in my own little room at Kingsbury Crescent, and must have Aunt Margaret's work around me, so that I may realise what is going to come. Not but what I mean to do a great deal of work always. Mend his stockings. Yes, if he wears stockings. I know he doesn't. He always wears socks. He told me so. Whatever he has, I'll mend, or make, if he wants me. I can bake, and I can brew, and I can make an Irish stew, wash a shirt, and iron it too. Then as she sang her little song, she clapped her hands together. Where did you get all your poetry? He taught me that. We're not going to be fine people, except sometimes when we may be invited to stull them. But I must go on Thursday, Lady Albury. I came for a week, and I've been here ever since the middle of February. It seems years since the old woman told me I was perverse, and he said that she was right. Think how much you've done since that time. Yes, indeed, I very nearly destroyed myself, didn't I? Not very nearly. I thought I had. It was only when you showed me his letter on that Sunday morning that I began to have any hopes. I wonder what Mr. Green preached about that morning. I didn't hear a word. I kept on repeating what he said in the post-script. Was there a post-script? Of course there was, don't you remember? No, indeed, not I. The letter would have been nothing without the post-script. He said that Cropby was to come back for me. I knew he wouldn't say that unless he meant to be good to me. And yet I wasn't quite sure of it. I know it now, don't I? But I must go, Lady Albury. I ought to let Aunt Margaret know all about it. Then it was settled that she should go on the Thursday, and on the Thursday she went. As it was now considered quite wrong that she should travel by the railway alone, in dread, probably, lest the old lady should tell her again how perverse she had been, Colonel Stubbs accompanied her. It had then been decided that the wedding must take place at Stullum, and many messages were sent to Mr. and Mrs. Dossett, assuring them that they would be made very welcome on the occasion. My own darling Lucy will be away at that time with her own young man, said Ayala, in answer to further invitations from Lady Albury. And so you've taken Colonel Stubbs at last, said her Aunt Margaret. He's taken me, Aunt, I didn't take him. But you refused him ever so often. Well, yes, I don't think I quite refused him. I thought you did. It was a dreadful muddle, Aunt Margaret, but it's come right at last, and we'd better not talk about that part of it. I was so sure you didn't like him. Not like him. I always liked him better than anybody else in the world that I ever saw. Dear me! Of course I shouldn't say so if it hadn't come right at last. I may say whatever I please about it now, and I declare that I always loved him. A girl can be such a fool. I was, I know. I hope you're glad, Aunt. Of course I am. I'm glad of anything that makes you happy. It seemed such a pity that when so many gentlemen were falling in love with you all round you couldn't like anybody. But I did like somebody, Aunt Margaret, and I did like the best, didn't I? In answer to this Mrs. Dossett made no reply, having always had an aunt's partiality for poor Tom, in spite of all his chains. Her uncle's congratulations were warmer even than her aunt's. My dear girl, he said, I'm rejoiced indeed that you should have before you such a prospect of happiness. I always felt how sad for you was your residence here, with two such homely persons as your aunt and myself. I have always been happy with you, said Ayala, perhaps straining the truth a little in her anxiety to be courteous. And I know, she added, how much Lucian I have always owed you since poor Papa's death. Nevertheless it has been dull for a young girl like you. Now you will have your own duties, and if you endeavor to do them properly the world will never be dull to you. And then there were some few words about the wedding. We have no feeling, my dear, said her uncle, except to do the best we can for you. We should have been glad to see you married from here, if that had suited. But as this lover of yours has grand friends of his own, I dare say their place may be the better. Ayala could hardly explain to her uncle that she had exceeded to Lady Aubrey's proposal, because by doing so she would spare him the necessary expense of the wedding. But Ayala's great delight was in meeting her sister. The two girls had not seen each other since the engagement of either of them had been ratified by their friends. The winter and spring as passed by Lucy at Mole Park had been very unhappy for her. Things at Mole Park had not been pleasant to any of the residents there, and Lucy had certainly had her share of the unpleasantness. Her letters to Ayala had not been triumphant when Aunt Emilyne had more than once expressed her wish to be rid of her, and when the news reached her that Uncle Tom and Harmel had failed to be gracious to each other. Nor had Ayala written in a spirit of joy before she had been able to recognize the Angel of Light in Jonathan Stubbs, but now they were to meet after all their miseries, and each could be triumphant. It was hard for them to know exactly how to begin. To Lucy, Isid or Harmel was, at the present moment, the one hero walking the face of this sublunary globe, and to Ayala, as we all know, Jonathan Stubbs was an Angel of Light, and therefore even more than a hero. As each spoke, the he's intended took a different personification, so that to any one less interested than the young ladies themselves there might be some confusion as to which he might at that moment be under discussion. It was bad, said Lucy, when Uncle Tom told him to sell those magnificent conceptions of his brain by auction. I did feel for him certainly, said Ayala, and then when he was constrained to say that he would take me at once without any preparation because Aunt Emilyne wanted me to go, I don't suppose any man ever behaved more beautifully than he did. Yes, indeed, said Ayala. And then she felt herself constrained to change the subject by the introduction of an exaggerated superlative in her sister's narrative. Harmel no doubt had acted beautifully, but she was not disposed to agree that nothing could be more beautiful. Oh, Lucy, she said, I was so miserable when he went away after that walk in the wood, I thought he never would come back again when I'd behaved so badly, but he did. Wasn't that grand in him? I suppose he was very fond of you. I hope he was, I hope he is. But what should I have done if he had not come back? No other man would have come back after that. You never behaved unkindly to his at all. I think he would have come back a thousand times, said Lucy, only I cannot imagine that I should ever have given him the necessity of coming back even a second, but then I'd known him so much longer. It wasn't that I hadn't known him long enough, said Ayala. I seemed to know all about him almost all at once. I knew how good he was and how grand he was long before I'd left the Marquesa up in London, but I think it astounded me that such a one as he should care for me. And so it went on through an entire morning each of the sisters feeling that she was bound to listen with rapt attention to the praises of the other's hymn if she wished to have an opportunity of singing those of her own. But Lucy's marriage was to come first by more than two months, and therefore in that matter she was allowed precedence, and at her marriage Ayala would be present, or as with Ayala's Lucy would have no personal concern, though she did think that Uncle Tom had been worse than any vandal in that matter of selling her lover's magnificent works, still she was ready to tell of his generosity. In a manner of his own he had sent the money which Hamel had so greatly needed, and had now come forward to provide with the generous hand for the immediate necessities and more than the necessities of the wedding. It was not only that she was to share the honours of the two wedding-gakes with Gertrude, and that she was to be taken as a bride from the gorgeous mansion in Queen's Gate, but that he had provided for her bridal needs almost as fully as for those of his own daughter. Never mind what she'll be able to do afterwards, he said to his wife, who ventured on some slight remonstrance with him as to the unnecessary luxuries he was preparing for the wife of a poor man. She won't be the worse for having a dozen new petticoats in her trunk, and if she don't want to blow her nose with as many handkerchiefs this year as Gertrude does, she'll be able to keep them for next year. Then Aunt Emeline obeyed without further hesitation the orders which were given her. Nor was his generosity confined to the niece who for the last twelve months had been his property. Lucy was still living in Queen's Gate, though at the time she spent much of each day at King's Recrecent, and on one occasion she brought with her a little note from Uncle Tom. Dear Ayala, said the little note, as you are going to be married too, I suppose that you will want some new finery. I therefore send a check. Write your name on the back of it and give it to your uncle. He will let you have the money as you want it. Yours affectionately, T. Tringle. I hope your Colonel Stubbs will come and see me some day. You must go and see him, she said to her Colonel Stubbs, when he called one day at King's Recrecent. Only for him I shouldn't have any clothes to speak of at all, and I should have to be married in my old brown morning frock. It would be just as good as any other for my purpose, said the Colonel. But it wouldn't for mine, sir. Fine feathers make fine birds, and I mean to be as fine as Lady Albury's big peacock. So if you please you'll go to Queen's Gate in Lombard Street too and show yourself. Oh, Jonathan, I shall be so proud that everybody who knows me should see what sort of a man has chosen to love me. Then there was a joint visit paid by the two sisters to Mr. Hummel's studio, an expedition which was made somewhat on the sly. Aunt Margaret and King's Recrecent knew all about it, but Aunt Emmeline was kept in the dark. Even now, though the marriage was sanctioned and was so nearly at hand, Aunt Emmeline would not have approved of such a visit. She still regarded the sculptor as improper, at any rate not sufficiently proper to be treated with full familiarity, partly on account of his father's manifest improprieties, and partly because of his own relative poverty and unauthorized position in the world. But Aunt Margaret was more tolerant and thought that the sister-in-law was entitled to visit the workshop in which her sister's future bread was to be earned, and then, starting from King's Recrecent, they could go in a cab, whereas any such proceeding emanating from Queen's Gate would have required the carriage. There was a wickedness in this starting-off in a handsome cab to call on an unmarried young man, doing it in a manner successfully concealed from Aunt Emmeline, on which Ayala expatiated with delight when she next saw Colonel Stubbs. You don't come and call on me, said the Colonel. What, all the way down to Aldershot? I should like, but I don't quite dare to do that. The visit was very successful. Though it was expected, Hummel was found in his artist's costume, with a blouse or loose linen tunic fitted close around his throat and fastened with a belt around his waist. Lucy thought that in this apparel he was certainly as handsome as could ever have been any Apollo, and so thinking had contrived her little plans in such a way that he should certainly be seen at his best. To her thinking Colonel Stubbs was not a handsome man. Hummel's hair was nearly black, and she preferred dark hair. Hummel's features were regular, whereas the Colonel's hair was red, and he was known for large mouth and broad nose, which were not obliterated, though they were enlightened by the brightness of his eyes. Yes, said Ayala to herself, as she looked at Hummel, he is very good looking, but nobody would take him for an angel of light. Ayala has come to see with your work, said Lucy, as they entered the studio. I'm delighted to see her. Do you remember where we last met Miss Dorma? Miss Dorma indeed, said Ayala. I'm not going to call you Mr. Hummel. Yes, it was high up among the seats of the Coliseum. There has a great deal happened to us all since then. And I remember you at the Bijou. I should think so. I knew then so well what was going to happen, said Ayala. What did you know? That you and Lucy were to fall in love with each other? I'd done my part of it already, said he. Hardly that is a door, said Lucy, or you would not have passed me in Kensington Gardens without speaking to me. But I did speak to you. It was then I learned where to find you. That was the second time. If I had remained away as I ought to have done, I suppose you never would have found me. Ayala was then taken round to see all those magnificent groups and figures which Sir Thomas would have disposed of at so many shillings apiece under the auctioneer's amour. It was cruel, was it not, said Lucy. He never saw them, you know, said Ayala, putting in a good-natured word for her uncle. If he had, said the sculptor, he would have doubted the auctioneer's getting anything. I've turned it all in my mind very often since, and I think that Sir Thomas was right. I'm sure he was wrong, said Lucy, his very good-natured, and nobody can be more grateful to another person than I am to him. But I won't agree he was right about that. He never would have said it if he'd seen them, again pleaded Ayala. They will never fetch anything as they are, continued the sculptor, and I don't suppose that when I made them I thought they would. They've served their purpose, and I sometimes feel inclined to break them up and have them carted away. Is it all? exclaimed Lucy. For what purpose? asked Ayala. They were the lessons which I had to teach myself and the play which I gave to my imagination, who wants a great figure of Beelzebub like that in his house. I call it magnificent, said Ayala. His name is Lucifer, not Beelzebub, said Lucy. You call him Beelzebub merely to make little of him. It's difficult to do that, because he's nearly ten feet high, and who wants a figure of Bacchus? The thing is, whether having done a figure of Bacchus, I may not be better able to do a likeness of Mr. Jones when he comes to sit for his bust at the request of his admiring friends. For any further purpose that it will answer, Bacchus might just as well be broken up and carted away in the dust-cart. To this, however, the two girls expressed their vehement opposition, and were of opinion that the time would come when Beelzebub and Bacchus, transferred to Marble, would occupy places of honour in some well-proportioned hall built for the purpose of receiving them. I should be quite content, said Hummel, if the whole family of the Joneses will have their busts done about the size of life, and stand them up over their bookshelves. My period for Beelzebubs has gone by. The visit on the hall was delightful. Lucy was contented with the almost more than divine beauty of her lover, and the two sisters as they made their return journey to Kingsbury Crescent in another handsome discussed questions of art in a spirit that would have been delightful to any aspiring artist who might have heard them. Then came the wedding of which some details were given at the close of the last chapter, at which two brides, who were very unlike to each other, were joined in matrimony to two bridegrooms as dissimilar. But the captain made himself gracious to the sculptor, who was now to be connected with him, and declared that he would always look upon Lucy as a second sister to his dear Gertrude, and Gertrude was equally gracious, protesting when she was marshal to walk up to the altar first that she did not like to go before her darling Lucy. But the dimensions of the church admitted but of one couple at a time, and Gertrude was compelled to go in advance. Colonel Stubbs was there, acting as best man to Hummel, while Lord John Battledore performed the same service for Captain Batsby. Lord John was nearly broken-hearted by the apostasy of a second chum, having heard that the girl whom Frank Huston had not succeeded in marrying was now being taken by Batsby without a shilling. Somebody had to bottle-hold for him, said Lord John, defending himself at the club afterwards, and I didn't like to throw the fella over, though he is such a fool. And there were Stubbs, too, continued his lordship, going to take the other girl without a shilling. The Stubbs and Huston and Batsby all gone and drowned themselves. It's just the same as though they'd drowned themselves. Lord John was horrified, nay, disgusted by the folly of the world. Nevertheless, before the end of the year, he was engaged to marry a very pretty girl, as devoid of fortune as our Ayala. Now we have come to our last chapter, and it may be doubted whether any reader, unless he be someone especially gifted with a genius for statistics, will have perceived how very many people have been made happy by matrimony. If marriage be the proper ending for a novel, the only ending, as this writer takes it to be, which is not discordant, surely no tale was ever so properly ended or with so full a concord as this one. Infinite trouble has been taken not only in arranging these marriages, but in joining like-to-like, so that if not happiness at any rate sympathetic unhappiness might be produced. Our two sisters, will it is trusted, be happy. They have chosen men from their hearts, and have been chosen after the same fashion. Those two other sisters have been so wedded that the one will follow the idiosyncrasies of her husband, and the other bring her husband to follow her idiosyncrasies without much danger of mutiny or revolt. As to Miss Dosama, there must be room for fear. It may be questioned whether she was not worthy of a better lot than has been achieved for her by joining her fortunes to those of Frank Houston. But I, speaking for myself, have my hopes of Frank Houston. It is hard to rescue a man from the slower of luxury and idleness combined. If anything can do it, it is a cradle filled annually. It may be that he will yet learn that a broad back with a heavy weight upon it gives the best chance of happiness here below. Of Lord John's married prospects I could not say much, as he came so very lately on the scene, but even he may perhaps do something in the world when he finds that his nursery is filling. For our special friend Tom Tringle no wife has been found. In making his effort, which he did manfully, he certainly had not chosen the consort who would be fit for him. He had not seen clearly, as had done his sisters and cousins. He had fallen in love too young, it being the nature of young men to be much younger than young ladies, and not knowing himself had been as might be a barn door cock who had set his heart upon some azure plumaged high-soring lady of the woods. The lady with the azure plumes had too her high-soring tendencies, but she was enabled by true insight to find the male who would be fit for her. The barn door cock, when we left him on board the steamer going to New York, had not yet learned the nature of his own requirements. The knowledge will come to him. There may be doubts as to Frank Houston, but we think that there need be none as to Tom Tringle. The proper wife will be forthcoming, and in future years, when he will probably have a glen bogey in a mole-park of his own, he will own that fortune did well for him in making his cousin Ayala so stern to his prayers. But Ayala herself, Ayala, our pet heroine, had not yet been married when the last chapter was written, and now there remains a page or two in which the reader must bid adieu to her, as she stands at the altar with her angel of light. She was at Stullum for a fortnight before her marriage in order, as Lady Aubrey said, that the buxom ladies made might see that everything had been done rightly in reference to the trousseau. My dear, said Lady Aubrey, it is important, you know, I dare say you can bake and brew because you say so, but you don't know anything about clothes. Ayala, who by this time was very intimate with her friend, pouted her lips and said that if Jonathan did not like her things as she chose to have them, he might do the other thing. But Lady Aubrey had her way, inducing to Harry to add something even to Uncle Tom's liberality, and the buxom woman went about her task in such a fashion that if Colonel Stubbs were not satisfied he must have been a very unconscionable colonel. He probably would know nothing about it, except that his bride in her bridal array had not looked so well as in any other garments, which I take it is invariably the case, till at the end of the first year a glimmer of the truth as to a lady's wardrobe would come upon him. I told you there would be many new dresses before two years were over-mests, said the buxom female, as she spread all the frocks and all the worked petticoats and all the collars and all the silk stockings and all the lace handkerchiefs about the bedroom to be inspected by Lady Aubrey, Mrs. Gosling and one or two other friends before they were finally packed up. Then came the day on which the colonel was to reach Stullum, that day being a Monday, whereas the wedding was to take place on Wednesday. It was considered to be within the bounds of propriety that the colonel should sleep at Stullum on the Monday under the same roof with his bride, but on the Tuesday it was arranged that he should satisfy the decorous feeling of the neighbourhood by removing himself to the parsonage which was distant about half a mile across the park and was contiguous to the church. Here lived Mr. Green, the bachelor curate, the rector of the parish, being an invalid and absent in Italy. I don't see why he's to be sent away after dinner to walk across the park in the dark, said Ayala, when the matter was discussed before the colonel's coming. It is a law, my dear, said Lady Aubrey, and has to be obeyed whether you understand it or not, like other laws. Mr. Green will be with him so that no one shall run away with him in the dark, then he will be able to go into church without dirtying his dress-boots. But I thought there would be half a dozen carriages at least, but there won't be room in one of them for him. He is to be nobody until he comes forth from the church as your husband, then he is to be everybody. That's the very theory of marriage. I think we managed it all very well between us, said Lady Aubrey, afterwards, but you really cannot guess the trouble we took. Why should there have been trouble? Because you were such a perverse creature, as the old lady said. I'm not sure that you were not right, because a girl does so often raise herself in her lover's estimation by refusing him half a dozen times, but you were not up to that. Indeed I was not. I'm sure I did not intend to give any trouble to anybody. But you did. Only think of my going up to London to meet him, and of him coming from all the shot to meet me, simply that we might put our heads together how to overcome the perversity of such a young woman as you. Then there came a look or most of pain on Ayala's brow. But I do believe it was for the best. In this way he came to understand how absolutely necessary you were to him. Am I necessary to him? He thinks so. Oh, if I can only be necessary to him always. But there should have been no going up to London. I should have rushed into his arms at once. That would have been unusual. But so is he unusual, said Ayala. It is probable that the Colonel did not enjoy his days at Stullum before his marriage, except during the hour or two in which he was allowed to take Ayala out for a last walk. Such days can hardly be agreeable to the man of whom it is known by all around him that he is on the eve of committing matrimony. There is always on such occasions a feeling of weakness, as though the man had been subdued, brought at length into a cage, and tamed, so as to be made fit for domestic purposes, and deprived of his ancient freedom amongst the woods. Whereas the girl feels herself to be the triumphant conqueror who has successfully performed this great act of taming. Such being the case, the man had perhaps better keep away until he is forced to appear at the church door. Nevertheless our Colonel did enjoy his last walk. Oh, yes, she said. Of course we will go to the old wood. Where else? I'm so glad that poor fox went through gobble-goose, otherwise we should never have gone there. And then who knows whether you and I would have been friends again any more? If one wood hadn't been there, I think another would have been found. Ah, that's just it. You can know that you had a purpose, and perhaps were determined to carry it out. Well, rather. But I couldn't be sure of that. I couldn't carry out my purpose even if I had one. I had to doubt and be unhappy and hate myself because I'd been perverse. I declare I do think you men have so much the best of it. How glorious would it have been to be able to walk straight up and say, Jonathan Stubbs, I love you better than all the world. Will you be my husband? But suppose the Jonathan Stubbs of the occasion were to decline the honour. Where would you be then? That would be disagreeable, said Ayala. It is disagreeable, as you made me feel, twice over. Oh, Jonathan, I'm so sorry. Therefore it is possible that you may have the best of it. And so you will never take another walk with Ayala Dorma, she said, as they were returning home. Never another, he replied. You cannot think how I regret it. Of course I'm glad to become your wife. I do not at all want to have it postponed. But there is something so sweet in having a lover, and you know that though I shall have a husband, I shall never have a lover again. And I never had one before, Jonathan. There has been very little of it. When a thing has been so sweet, it is sad to think that it must be gone for ever. Then she leaned upon him with both her hands, and looked up at him and smiled with her lips a little open, as she knew that he liked her to lean upon him and to look, for she had caught by her instinct the very nature of the man, and knew how to witch him with her little charms. Ah, me, I wonder whether you'll like me to lean upon you when a dozen years have gone by. That depends on how heavy you may be. I shall be a fat old woman, perhaps, but I shall lean upon you always, always. What else shall I ever have to lean upon now? What else should you want? Nothing, nothing, nothing, I want nothing else. I wonder whether there is anybody in all the world who has got so completely everything that she ever dreamed of wanting as I have. But if you could have been only my lover for a little longer. Then he assured her that he would be her lover just the same, even though they were husband and wife. Alas, no, there he had promised more than is given to a man to perform. Faith, honesty, steadiness of purpose, joined to the warmest love in the tourist heart, will not enable a husband to maintain the sweetness of that aroma, which is filled with delight the senses of the girl who has leaned upon his arm as her permitted lover. What a happy fellow you are, said Mr. Green, as in the intimacy of the moment they walked across the park together. Why don't you get a wife for yourself? Yes, with a hundred and twenty pounds a year. With a little money you might. I don't want to have to look for the money, and if I did I shouldn't get it. I often think how very unfairly things are divided in this world. That will all be made up in the next. Not if one covets one's neighbour's wife or even his ass, said Mr. Green. On the return of the two lovers to the house from their walk there were Mr. and Mrs. Dossett, who would much rather have stayed away had they not been unwilling not to show their mark of affection to their niece. I doubt whether they were very happy, but they were at any rate received with every distinction. Sir Thomas and Aunt Emilyne were asked, but they made some excuse. Sir Thomas knew very well that he had nothing in common with Sir Harry Albury, and as for Aunt Emilyne, her one journey to Stalem had been enough for her. But Sir Thomas was again very liberal, and sent down as his contribution to the wedding-presence the very necklace which Ayala had refused from her cousin Tom. "'Upon my word, your uncle is magnificent,' said Lady Albury, upon which the whole story was told to her. Lucy and her husband were away on their tour, as were Gertrude and hers on theirs. This was rather a comfort, as Captain Batsby's presence at the house would have been a nuisance. But there was quite enough of guests to make the wedding, as being a country wedding, very brilliant. Among others old Tony Tappett was there, mindful of the manner in which Cranberry Brook had been ridden, and of Croppie's presence when the hounds ran their fox into Dilsborough Wood. I hope she be de-royed with us often on, Colonel, said Tony, when the ceremony had been completed. Now and then, Tony, when we can get hold of Croppie. Because when they come out like that, Colonel, there's a pity to lose them, just because they's got their husbands to attend to. And Lord Rufford was there with his wife, who on this occasion was very pressing with her invitations. She had heard that Colonel Stubbs was likely to rise high in his profession, and there were symptoms of which she was an excellent judge, that Mrs. Colonel Stubbs would become known as a professional beauty. And Larry Twentyman was there, who, being in the neighborhood, was to his great delight invited to the breakfast. Thus, to her own intense satisfaction, Ayala was handed over to her angel of light. End of Chapter 64 This is also the End of Ayala's Angel by Anthony Trollop. Reading by Tabithat.