"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that Ihave too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for any one else. Ishould never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss ofme. It has taken such deep root in me—my gratitude to him for alwaysloving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the timewhen we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming tomake that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthyof every one's respect. But please tell him I will not promise to marryhim till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother. He is freeto choose some one else."
"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly," said Mr.Farebrother, putting out his hand to Mary, "and I shall ride back toMiddlemarch forthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fredinto the right niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands.God bless you!"
"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea," said Mary. Her eyesfilled with tears, for something indefinable, something like the resolutesuppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner, made her feelsuddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her father's handstrembling in a moment of trouble.
"No, my dear, no. I must get back."
In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gonemagnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciation ofwhist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations.
CHAPTER LIII.
It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity from what
outsiders call inconsistency—putting a dead mechanism of "ifs" and
"therefores" for the living myriad of hidden suckers whereby the belief
and the conduct are wrought into mutual sustainment.
Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new interest inLowick, had naturally had an especial wish that the new clergymanshould be one whom he thoroughly approved; and he believed it to be achastisement and admonition directed to his own shortcomings and thoseof the nation at large, that just about the time when he came inpossession of the deeds which made him the proprietor of Stone Court,Mr. Farebrother "read himself" into the quaint little church and preachedhis first sermon to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and villageartisans. It was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent LowickChurch or to reside at Stone Court for a good while to come: he hadbought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a retreat whichhe might gradually enlarge as to the land and beautify as to the dwelling,until it should be conducive to the divine glory that he should enter on itas a residence, partially withdrawing from his present exertions in theadministration of business, and throwing more conspicuously on the sideof Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, whichProvidence might increase by unforeseen occasions of purchase. A strongleading in this direction seemed to have been given in the surprisingfacility of getting Stone Court, when every one had expected that Mr.Rigg Featherstone would have clung to it as the Garden of Eden. Thatwas what poor old Peter himself had expected; having often, inimagination, looked up through the sods above him, and, unobstructedby. perspective, seen his frog-faced legatee enjoying the fine old place tothe perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors.
But how little we know what would make paradise for our neighbors!We judge from our own desires, and our neighbors themselves are notalways open enough even to throw out a hint of theirs. The cool andjudicious Joshua Rigg had not allowed his parent to perceive that StoneCourt was anything less than the chief good in his estimation, and hehad certainly wished to call it his own. But as Warren Hastings looked atgold and thought of buying Daylesford, so Joshua Rigg looked at StoneCourt and thought of buying gold. He had a very distinct and intensevision of his chief good, the vigorous greed which he had inheritedhaving taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his chief goodwas to be a moneychanger. From his earliest employment as an errand-boy in a seaport, he had looked through the windows of themoneychangers as other boys look through the windows of the pastry-cooks; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a deep specialpassion; he meant, when he had property, to do many things, one ofthem being to marry a genteel young person; but these were all accidentsand joys that imagination could dispense with. The one joy after whichhis soul thirsted was to have a money-changer's shop on a much-frequented quay, to have locks all round him of which he held the keys,and to look sublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins of allnations, while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously from the otherside of an iron lattice. The strength of that passion had been a powerenabling him to master all the knowledge necessary to gratify it. Andwhen others were thinking that he had settled at Stone Court for life,Joshua himself was thinking that the moment now was not far off whenhe should settle on the North Quay with the best appointments in safesand locks.
Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of hisland from Mr. Bulstrode's point of view, and he interpreted it as acheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purpose whichhe had for some time entertained without external encouragement; heinterpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up his thanksgivingin guarded phraseology. His doubts did not arise from the possiblerelations of the event to Joshua Rigg's destiny, which belonged to theunmapped regions not taken under the providential government, exceptperhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arose from reflecting thatthis dispensation too might be a chastisement for himself, as Mr.Farebrother's induction to the living clearly was.
This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for the sake ofdeceiving him: it was what he said to himself—it was as genuinely hismode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, if you happento disagree with him. For the egoism which enters into our theories doesnot affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism is satisfied, themore robust is our belief.
However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode,hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone, had becomethe proprietor of Stone Court, and what Peter would say "if he wereworthy to know," had become an inexhaustible and consolatory subjectof conversation to his disappointed relatives. The tables were now turnedon that dear brother departed, and to contemplate the frustration of hiscunning by the superior cunning of things in general was a cud of delightto Solomon. Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the proof that itdid not answer to make false Featherstones and cut off the genuine; andSister Martha receiving the news in the Chalky Flats said, "Dear, dear!then the Almighty could have been none so pleased with the almshousesafter all."
Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the advantagewhich her husband's health was likely to get from the purchase of StoneCourt. Few days passed without his riding thither and looking over somepart of the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings were delicious in thatquiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending forth odorsto mingle with the breath of the rich old garden. One evening, while thesun was still above the horizon and burning in golden lamps among thegreat walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode was pausing on horseback outsidethe front gate waiting for Caleb Garth, who had met him by appointmentto give an opinion on a question of stable drainage, and was nowadvising the bailiff in the rick-yard.
Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good spiritual frame andmore than usually serene, under the influence of his innocent recreation.He was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of merit inhimself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without pain when thesense of demerit does not take a distinct shape in memory and revive thetingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Nay, it may be held withintense satisfaction when the depth of our sinning is but a measure forthe depth of forgiveness, and a clenching proof that we are peculiarinstruments of the divine intention. The memory has as many moods asthe temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama. At this moment Mr.Bulstrode felt as if the sunshine were all one with that of far-off eveningswhen he was a very young man and used to go out preaching beyondHighbury. And he would willingly have had that service of exhortation inprospect now. The texts were there still, and so was his own facility inexpounding them. His brief reverie was interrupted by the return ofCaleb Garth, who also was on horseback, and was just shaking his bridlebefore starting, when he exclaimed—
"Bless my heart! what's this fellow in black coming along the lane?He's like one of those men one sees about after the races."
Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the lane, but madeno reply. The comer was our slight acquaintance Mr. Raffles, whoseappearance presented no other change than such as was due to a suit ofblack and a crape hat-band. He was within three yards of the horsemannow, and they could see the flash of recognition in his face as he whirledhis stick upward, looking all the while at Mr. Bulstrode, and at lastexclaiming:—
"By Jove, Nick, it's you! I couldn't be mistaken, though the five-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us both! How are you, eh? youdidn't expect to see me here. Come, shake us by the hand." To say thatMr. Raffles' manner was rather excited would be only one mode of sayingthat it was evening. Caleb Garth could see that there was a moment ofstruggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode, but it ended in his putting outhis hand coldly to Raffles and saying—
"I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote country place."
"Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine," said Raffles, adjusting himselfin a swaggering attitude. "I came to see him here before. I'm not sosurprised at seeing you, old fellow, because I picked up a letter—whatyou may call a providential thing. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you,though; for I don't care about seeing my stepson: he's not affectionate,and his poor mother's gone now. To tell the truth, I came out of love toyou, Nick: I came to get your address, for—look here!" Raffles drew acrumpled paper from his pocket.
Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have been tempted tolinger on the spot for the sake of hearing all he could about a man whoseacquaintance with Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in the banker'slife so unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarch that theymust have the nature of a secret to pique curiosity. But Caleb waspeculiar: certain human tendencies which are commonly strong werealmost absent from his mind; and one of these was curiosity aboutpersonal affairs. Especially if there was anything discreditable to befound out concerning another man, Caleb preferred not to know it; and ifhe had to tell anybody under him that his evil doings were discovered,he was more embarrassed than the culprit. He now spurred his horse,and saying, "I wish you good evening, Mr. Bulstrode; I must be gettinghome," set off at a trot.
"You didn't put your full address to this letter," Raffles continued."That was not like the first-rate man of business you used to be. 'TheShrubs,'—they may be anywhere: you live near at hand, eh?—have cutthe London concern altogether—perhaps turned country squire—have arural mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago! The oldlady must have been dead a pretty long while—gone to glory without thepain of knowing how poor her daughter was, eh? But, by Jove! you'revery pale and pasty, Nick. Come, if you're going home, I'll walk by yourside."
Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an almost deathlyhue. Five minutes before, the expanse of his life had been submerged inits evening sunshine which shone backward to its remembered morning:sin seemed to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence,humiliation an exercise of the closet, the bearing of his deeds a matter ofprivate vision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptions ofthe divine purposes. And now, as if by some hideous magic, this loud redfigure had risen before him in unmanageable solidity—an incorporatepast which had not entered into his imagination of chastisements. ButMr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and he was not a man to act or speakrashly.
"I was going home," he said, "but I can defer my ride a little. And youcan, if you please, rest here."
"Thank you," said Raffles, making a grimace. "I don't care now aboutseeing my stepson. I'd rather go home with you."
"Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here no longer. Iam master here now."
Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of surprise, beforehe said, "Well then, I've no objection. I've had enough walking from thecoach-road. I never was much of a walker, or rider either. What I like isa smart vehicle and a spirited cob. I was always a little heavy in thesaddle. What a pleasant surprise it must be to you to see me, old fellow!"he continued, as they turned towards the house. "You don't say so; butyou never took your luck heartily—you were always thinking ofimproving the occasion—you'd such a gift for improving your luck."
Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and Swung his legin a swaggering manner which was rather too much for his companion'sjudicious patience.
"If I remember rightly," Mr. Bulstrode observed, with chill anger,"our acquaintance many years ago had not the sort of intimacy whichyou are now assuming, Mr. Raffles. Any services you desire of me will bethe more readily rendered if you will avoid a tone of familiarity whichdid not lie in our former intercourse, and can hardly be warranted bymore than twenty years of separation."
"You don't like being called Nick? Why, I always called you Nick inmy heart, and though lost to sight, to memory dear. By Jove! my feelingshave ripened for you like fine old cognac. I hope you've got some in thehouse now. Josh filled my flask well the last time."
Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the desire forcognac was not stronger in Raffles than the desire to torment, and that ahint of annoyance always served him as a fresh cue. But it was at leastclear that further objection was useless, and Mr. Bulstrode, in givingorders to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the guest, had aresolute air of quietude.
