Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and screwed hisstick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with emotion in his voice, "Well,I've got a bit of news. What do you think of Fred going to live at StoneCourt, and managing the land there?"
"How can that ever be, father?" said Mary, wonderingly.
"He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor woman hasbeen to me begging and praying. She wants to do the lad good, and itmight be a fine thing for him. With saving, he might gradually buy thestock, and he has a turn for farming."
"Oh, Fred would be so happy! It is too good to believe."
"Ah, but mind you," said Caleb, turning his head warningly, "I musttake it on my shoulders, and be responsible, and see after everything;and that will grieve your mother a bit, though she mayn't say so. Fredhad need be careful."
"Perhaps it is too much, father," said Mary, checked in her joy."There would be no happiness in bringing you any fresh trouble."
"Nay, nay; work is my delight, child, when it doesn't vex yourmother. And then, if you and Fred get married," here Caleb's voice shookjust perceptibly, "he'll be steady and saving; and you've got your mother'scleverness, and mine too, in a woman's sort of way; and you'll keep himin order. He'll be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell you first, becauseI think you'd like to tell him by yourselves. After that, I could talk it wellover with him, and we could go into business and the nature of things."
"Oh, you dear good father!" cried Mary, putting her hands round herfather's neck, while he bent his head placidly, willing to be caressed. "Iwonder if any other girl thinks her father the best man in the world!"
"Nonsense, child; you'll think your husband better."
"Impossible," said Mary, relapsing into her usual tone; "husbands arean inferior class of men, who require keeping in order."
When they were entering the house with Letty, who had run to jointhem, Mary saw Fred at the orchard-gate, and went to meet him.
"What fine clothes you wear, you extravagant youth!" said Mary, asFred stood still and raised his hat to her with playful formality. "You arenot learning economy."
"Now that is too bad, Mary," said Fred. "Just look at the edges ofthese coat-cuffs! It is only by dint of good brushing that I lookrespectable. I am saving up three suits—one for a wedding-suit."
"How very droll you will look!—like a gentleman in an old fashion-book."
"Oh no, they will keep two years."
"Two years! be reasonable, Fred," said Mary, turning to walk. "Don'tencourage flattering expectations."
"Why not? One lives on them better than on unflattering ones. If wecan't be married in two years, the truth will be quite bad enough when itcomes."
"I have heard a story of a young gentleman who once encouragedflattering expectations, and they did him harm."
"Mary, if you've got something discouraging to tell me, I shall bolt; Ishall go into the house to Mr. Garth. I am out of spirits. My father is socut up—home is not like itself. I can't bear any more bad news."
"Should you call it bad news to be told that you were to live at StoneCourt, and manage the farm, and be remarkably prudent, and savemoney every year till all the stock and furniture were your own, and youwere a distinguished agricultural character, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbullsays—rather stout, I fear, and with the Greek and Latin sadly weather-worn?"
"You don't mean anything except nonsense, Mary?" said Fred,coloring slightly nevertheless.
"That is what my father has just told me of as what may happen, andhe never talks nonsense," said Mary, looking up at Fred now, while hegrasped her hand as they walked, till it rather hurt her; but she wouldnot complain.
"Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary, and wecould be married directly."
"Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not rather defer ourmarriage for some years? That would leave you time to misbehave, andthen if I liked some one else better, I should have an excuse for jiltingyou."
"Pray don't joke, Mary," said Fred, with strong feeling. "Tell meseriously that all this is true, and that you are happy because of it—because you love me best."
"It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it—because I love youbest," said Mary, in a tone of obedient recitation.
They lingered on the door-step under the steep-roofed porch, andFred almost in a whisper said—
"When we were first engaged, with the umbrella-ring, Mary, you usedto—"
The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, butthe fatal Ben came running to the door with Brownie yapping behindhim, and, bouncing against them, said—
"Fred and Mary! are you ever coming in?—or may I eat your cake?"
FINALE.
Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who can quit younglives after being long in company with them, and not desire to knowwhat befell them in their after-years? For the fragment of a life, howevertypical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be kept, andan ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers may findtheir long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand retrieval.
Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is still agreat beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoonin Eden, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of thewilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epic—the gradualconquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which makes theadvancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet memories incommon.
Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment ofhope and enthusiasm and get broken by the way, wanting patience witheach other and the world.
All who have cared for Fred Vincy and Mary Garth will like to knowthat these two made no such failure, but achieved a solid mutualhappiness. Fred surprised his neighbors in various ways. He becamerather distinguished in his side of the county as a theoretic and practicalfarmer, and produced a work on the "Cultivation of Green Crops and theEconomy of Cattle-Feeding" which won him high congratulations atagricultural meetings. In Middlemarch admiration was more reserved:most persons there were inclined to believe that the merit of Fred'sauthorship was due to his wife, since they had never expected FredVincy to write on turnips and mangel-wurzel.
But when Mary wrote a little book for her boys, called "Stories ofGreat Men, taken from Plutarch," and had it printed and published byGripp & Co., Middlemarch, every one in the town was willing to give thecredit of this work to Fred, observing that he had been to the University,"where the ancients were studied," and might have been a clergyman ifhe had chosen.
In this way it was made clear that Middlemarch had never beendeceived, and that there was no need to praise anybody for writing abook, since it was always done by somebody else.
Moreover, Fred remained unswervingly steady. Some years after hismarriage he told Mary that his happiness was half owing to Farebrother,who gave him a strong pull-up at the right moment. I cannot say that hewas never again misled by his hopefulness: the yield of crops or theprofits of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was alwaysprone to believe that he could make money by the purchase of a horsewhich turned out badly—though this, Mary observed, was of course thefault of the horse, not of Fred's judgment. He kept his love ofhorsemanship, but he rarely allowed himself a day's hunting; and whenhe did so, it was remarkable that he submitted to be laughed at forcowardliness at the fences, seeming to see Mary and the boys sitting onthe five-barred gate, or showing their curly heads between hedge andditch.
There were three boys: Mary was not discontented that she broughtforth men-children only; and when Fred wished to have a girl like her,she said, laughingly, "that would be too great a trial to your mother."Mrs. Vincy in her declining years, and in the diminished lustre of herhousekeeping, was much comforted by her perception that two at least ofFred's boys were real Vincys, and did not "feature the Garths." But Marysecretly rejoiced that the youngest of the three was very much what herfather must have been when he wore a round jacket, and showed amarvellous nicety of aim in playing at marbles, or in throwing stones tobring down the mellow pears.
Ben and Letty Garth, who were uncle and aunt before they were wellin their teens, disputed much as to whether nephews or nieces weremore desirable; Ben contending that it was clear girls were good for lessthan boys, else they would not be always in petticoats, which showedhow little they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who argued much frombooks, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adamand Eve alike—also it occurred to her that in the East the men too worepetticoats. But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty of the former,was one too many, for Ben answered contemptuously, "The morespooneys they!" and immediately appealed to his mother whether boyswere not better than girls. Mrs. Garth pronounced that both were alikenaughty, but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could run faster, andthrow with more precision to a greater distance. With this oracularsentence Ben was well satisfied, not minding the naughtiness; but Lettytook it ill, her feeling of superiority being stronger than her muscles. Fred never became rich—his hopefulness had not led him to expectthat; but he gradually saved enough to become owner of the stock andfurniture at Stone Court, and the work which Mr. Garth put into hishands carried him in plenty through those "bad times" which are alwayspresent with farmers. Mary, in her matronly days, became as solid infigure as her mother; but, unlike her, gave the boys little formalteaching, so that Mrs. Garth was alarmed lest they should never be wellgrounded in grammar and geography. Nevertheless, they were foundquite forward enough when they went to school; perhaps, because theyhad liked nothing so well as being with their mother. When Fred wasriding home on winter evenings he had a pleasant vision beforehand ofthe bright hearth in the wainscoted parlor, and was sorry for other menwho could not have Mary for their wife; especially for Mr. Farebrother."He was ten times worthier of you than I was," Fred could now say toher, magnanimously. "To be sure he was," Mary answered; "and for thatreason he could do better without me. But you—I shudder to think whatyou would have been—a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambricpocket-handkerchiefs!"
On inquiry it might possibly be found that Fred and Mary stillinhabit Stone Court—that the creeping plants still cast the foam of theirblossoms over the fine stone-wall into the field where the walnut-treesstand in stately row—and that on sunny days the two lovers who werefirst engaged with the umbrella-ring may be seen in white-hairedplacidity at the open window from which Mary Garth, in the days of oldPeter Featherstone, had often been ordered to look out for Mr. Lydgate.
Lydgate's hair never became white. He died when he was only fifty,leaving his wife and children provided for by a heavy insurance on hislife. He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to theseason, between London and a Continental bathing-place; having writtena treatise on Gout, a disease which has a good deal of wealth on its side.His skill was relied on by many paying patients, but he always regardedhimself as a failure: he had not done what he once meant to do. Hisacquaintances thought him enviable to have so charming a wife, andnothing happened to shake their opinion. Rosamond never committed asecond compromising indiscretion. She simply continued to be mild inher temper, inflexible in her judgment, disposed to admonish herhusband, and able to frustrate him by stratagem. As the years went onhe opposed her less and less, whence Rosamond concluded that he hadlearned the value of her opinion; on the other hand, she had a morethorough conviction of his talents now that he gained a good income,and instead of the threatened cage in Bride Street provided one allflowers and gilding, fit for the bird of paradise that she resembled. Inbrief, Lydgate was what is called a successful man. But he diedprematurely of diphtheria, and Rosamond afterwards married an elderlyand wealthy physician, who took kindly to her four children. She made avery pretty show with her daughters, driving out in her carriage, andoften spoke of her happiness as "a reward"—she did not say for what,but probably she meant that it was a reward for her patience withTertius, whose temper never became faultless, and to the lastoccasionally let slip a bitter speech which was more memorable than thesigns he made of his repentance. He once called her his basil plant; andwhen she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which hadflourished wonderfully on a murdered man's brains. Rosamond had aplacid but strong answer to such speeches. Why then had he chosen her?It was a pity he had not had Mrs. Ladislaw, whom he was alwayspraising and placing above her. And thus the conversation ended withthe advantage on Rosamond's side. But it would be unjust not to tell,that she never uttered a word in depreciation of Dorothea, keeping inreligious remembrance the generosity which had come to her aid in thesharpest crisis of her life.
Dorothea herself had no dreams of being praised above otherwomen, feeling that there was always something better which she mighthave done, if she had only been better and known better. Still, she neverrepented that she had given up position and fortune to marry WillLadislaw, and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as sorrowto him if she had repented. They were bound to each other by a lovestronger than any impulses which could have marred it. No life wouldhave been possible to Dorothea which was not filled with emotion, andshe had now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she hadnot the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself. Willbecame an ardent public man, working well in those times when reformswere begun with a young hopefulness of immediate good which has beenmuch checked in our days, and getting at last returned to Parliament bya constituency who paid his expenses. Dorothea could have liked nothingbetter, since wrongs existed, than that her husband should be in thethick of a struggle against them, and that she should give him wifelyhelp. Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so substantive and rarea creature should have been absorbed into the life of another, and beonly known in a certain circle as a wife and mother. But no one statedexactly what else that was in her power she ought rather to have done—not even Sir James Chettam, who went no further than the negativeprescription that she ought not to have married Will Ladislaw.
