"I have thought of that," said Dorothea. "So far as self is concerned, Ithink it would be easier to give up power and money than to keep them.It seems very unfitting that I should have this patronage, yet I felt that Iought not to let it be used by some one else instead of me."
"It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret your power,"said Mr. Farebrother.
His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the more activewhen the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He made no display of humilityon the subject, but in his heart he felt rather ashamed that his conducthad shown laches which others who did not get benefices were free from.
"I used often to wish I had been something else than a clergyman,"he said to Lydgate, "but perhaps it will be better to try and make as gooda clergyman out of myself as I can. That is the well-beneficed point ofview, you perceive, from which difficulties are much simplified," heended, smiling.
The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would be easy. ButDuty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly—something like a heavyfriend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his legwithin our gates.
Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study under thedisguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from Omnibus College with hisbachelor's degree.
"I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred, whosefair open face was propitiating, "but you are the only friend I canconsult. I told you everything once before, and you were so good that Ican't help coming to you again."
"Sit down, Fred, I'm ready to hear and do anything I can," said theVicar, who was busy packing some small objects for removal, and wenton with his work.
"I wanted to tell you—" Fred hesitated an instant and then went onplungingly, "I might go into the Church now; and really, look where Imay, I can't see anything else to do. I don't like it, but I know it'suncommonly hard on my father to say so, after he has spent a good dealof money in educating me for it." Fred paused again an instant, and thenrepeated, "and I can't see anything else to do."
"I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little way withhim. He said it was too late. But you have got over one bridge now: whatare your other difficulties?"
"Merely that I don't like it. I don't like divinity, and preaching, andfeeling obliged to look serious. I like riding across country, and doing asother men do. I don't mean that I want to be a bad fellow in any way;but I've no taste for the sort of thing people expect of a clergyman. Andyet what else am I to do? My father can't spare me any capital, else Imight go into farming. And he has no room for me in his trade. And ofcourse I can't begin to study for law or physic now, when my fatherwants me to earn something. It's all very well to say I'm wrong to go intothe Church; but those who say so might as well tell me to go into thebackwoods."
Fred's voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance, and Mr.Farebrother might have been inclined to smile if his mind had not beentoo busy in imagining more than Fred told him.
"Have you any difficulties about doctrines—about the Articles?" hesaid, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred's sake.
"No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with anyarguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than I amgo in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculous in me tourge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge," said Fred, quite simply.
"I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fairparish priest without being much of a divine?"
"Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and do myduty, though I mayn't like it. Do you think any body ought to blameme?"
"For going into the Church under the circumstances? That dependson your conscience, Fred—how far you have counted the cost, and seenwhat your position will require of you. I can only tell you about myself,that I have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in consequence."
"But there is another hindrance," said Fred, coloring. "I did not tellyou before, though perhaps I may have said things that made you guessit. There is somebody I am very fond of: I have loved her ever since wewere children."
"Miss Garth, I suppose?" said the Vicar, examining some labels veryclosely.
"Yes. I shouldn't mind anything if she would have me. And I know Icould be a good fellow then."
"And you think she returns the feeling?"
"She never will say so; and a good while ago she made me promisenot to speak to her about it again. And she has set her mind especiallyagainst my being a clergyman; I know that. But I can't give her up. I dothink she cares about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and she said thatMary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss Farebrother."
"Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish to go there?"
"No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed to bother youin this way; but Mary might listen to what you said, if you mentionedthe subject to her—I mean about my going into the Church."
"That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have topresuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the subject as youwish me to do, will be asking her to tell me whether she returns it."
"That is what I want her to tell you," said Fred, bluntly. "I don'tknow what to do, unless I can get at her feeling."
"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going intothe Church?"
"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong inone way as another."
"That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but they don'toutlive the consequences of their recklessness."
"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary. If I hadto give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs."
"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?"
"No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more than any one,and she would not put you off with fun as she does me. Of course Icould not have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her,but you. There is no one else who could be such a friend to both of us."Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly, "And sheought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass. She ought tobelieve that I would exert myself for her sake."
There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down hiswork, and putting out his hand to Fred said—
"Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish."
That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nagwhich he had just set up. "Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought, "theyoung growths are pushing me aside."
He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling thepetals on a sheet. The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadowsacross the grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet orparasol. She did not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass,and had just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier, whichwould persist in walking on the sheet and smelling at the rose-leaves asMary sprinkled them. She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted upthe forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and lookedembarrassed. "Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you," Mary was saying in agrave contralto. "This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybody wouldthink you were a silly young gentleman."
"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar,within two yards of her.
Mary started up and blushed. "It always answers to reason with Fly,"she said, laughingly.
"But not with young gentlemen?"
"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellentmen."
"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very moment tointerest you in a young gentleman."
"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluck the rosesagain, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.
"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point, but ratheraffection and sincerity. However, wisdom lies more in those two qualitiesthan people are apt to imagine. I hope you know by those marks whatyoung gentleman I mean."
"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious,and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy."
"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church. Ihope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty in promising todo so."
"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses,and folding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you haveanything to say to me I feel honored."
"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point onwhich your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was that veryevening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, just afterhe had gone to college. Mr. Garth told me what happened on the night ofFeatherstone's death—how you refused to burn the will; and he said thatyou had some heart-prickings on that subject, because you had been theinnocent means of hindering Fred from getting his ten thousand pounds.I have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that may relieveyou on that score—may show you that no sin-offering is demanded fromyou there."
Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meant togive Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clearher mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow whenthey do a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Mary'scheeks had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot. I findthat the first will would not have been legally good after the burning ofthe last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed, and you may besure it would have been disputed. So, on that score, you may feel yourmind free."
"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am grateful toyou for remembering my feelings."
"Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree. Hehas worked his way so far, and now the question is, what is he to do?That question is so difficult that he is inclined to follow his father'swishes and enter the Church, though you know better than I do that hewas quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him on thesubject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection to his being aclergyman, as things go. He says that he could turn his mind to doing hisbest in that vocation, on one condition. If that condition were fulfilled Iwould do my utmost in helping Fred on. After a time—not, of course, atfirst—he might be with me as my curate, and he would have so much todo that his stipend would be nearly what I used to get as vicar. But Irepeat that there is a condition without which all this good cannot cometo pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss Garth, and asked me toplead for him. The condition lies entirely in your feeling."
Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, "Let uswalk a little;" and when they were walking he added, "To speak quiteplainly, Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance thatyou would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try hisbest at anything you approve."
"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother:but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. Whatyou say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a moment to correctyour judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way of lookingat things," said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulness in heranswer which only made its modesty more charming.
"He wishes me to report exactly what you think," said Mr.Farebrother.
"I could not love a man who is ridiculous," said Mary, not choosingto go deeper. "Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make himrespectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can neverimagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, andpraying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a caricature.His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake, and I thinkthere is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile gentility. I used tothink that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and neat umbrella, andmincing little speeches. What right have such men to representChristianity—as if it were an institution for getting up idiots genteelly—as if—" Mary checked herself. She had been carried along as if she hadbeen speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.
"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of action as mendo, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But youdon't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?"
"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show itas a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation."
"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have nohope?"
Mary shook her head.
"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in some otherway—will you give him the support of hope? May he count on winningyou?"
"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have already saidto him," Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner. "I meanthat he ought not to put such questions until he has done somethingworthy, instead of saying that he could do it."
Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as theyturned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassywalk, said, "I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you, buteither your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaining anotherattachment, or it does not: either he may count on your remaining singleuntil he shall have earned your hand, or he may in any case bedisappointed. Pardon me, Mary—you know I used to catechise youunder that name—but when the state of a woman's affections touchesthe happiness of another life—of more lives than one—I think it wouldbe the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open."
Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother'smanner but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it.When the strange idea flashed across her that his words had reference tohimself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She hadnever thought that any man could love her except Fred, who hadespoused her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and littlestrapped shoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr.Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle. She had only time tofeel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was clearand determined—her answer.
