One morning about the middle of April Mr Toogood received a telegram from Venice which caused him instantly to leave his business in Bedford Row and take the first train for Silverbridge. 'It seems to me that this job will be a deal of time and very little money,' said his partner to him, when Toogood on the spur of the moment was making arrangements for his sudden departure and uncertain period of absence. 'That's about it,' said Toogood. 'A deal of time, some expense, and no returns. It is not the kind of business a man can live upon, is it?' The partner growled, and Toogood went. But we must go with Mr Toogood down to Silverbridge, and as we cannot make the journey in this chapter, we will just indicate his departure and then go back to John Eames, who, as will be remembered, was just starting for Florence when we last saw him.
Our dear old friend Johnny had been rather proud of himself as he started from London. He had gotten an absolute victory over Sir Raffle Buffle, and that alone was gratifying to his feelings. He liked the excitement of a journey, and especially a journey to Italy; and the importance of the cause of his journey was satisfactory to him. But above all things he was delighted at having found that Lily Dale was pleased at his going. He had seen clearly that she was much pleased, and that she had made something of a hero of him because of his alacrity in the cause of his cousin. He had partially understood--and had understood in a dim sort of way--that his want of favour in Lily's eyes had come from some deficiency of his own in this respect. She had not found him to be a hero. She had known him first as a boy, with boyish belongings around him, and she had seen him from time to time as he became a man, almost with too much intimacy for the creation of that love with which he wished to fill her heart. His rival had come before her eyes for the first time with all the glories of Pall Mall heroism about him, and Lily in her weakness had been conquered by them. Since that she had learned how weak she had been--how silly, how childish, she would say to herself when she allowed her memory to go back to the details of her own story;but not the less on that account did she feel the want of something heroic in a man before she could teach herself to look upon him as more worthy of her regard than other men. She had still unconsciously hoped in regard to Crosbie, but now that hope had been dispelled as unconsciously, by simply by his appearance. There had been moments in which John Eames had almost risen to the necessary point--had almost made good his footing on the top of some moderate, but still sufficient mountain. But there had still be a succession of little tumbles --unfortunately slips for which he himself should not always have been held responsible; and he had never quite stood upright on his pinnacle, visible to Lily's eyes as being really excelsior. Of all this John Eames himself had an inkling which had often made him uncomfortable. What the mischief was it she wanted of him; and what was he to do? The days for plucking glory from the nettle danger were clean gone by. He was well dressed. He knew a good many of the right sort of people. He was not in debt. He had saved an old nobleman's life once upon a time, and had been a good deal talked about on that score. He had even thrashed the man who had ill-treated her. His constancy had been as the constancy of Jacob!
What was it that she wanted of him? But in a certain way he did know what was wanted; and now, as he started for Florence, intending to stop nowhere till he reached that city, he hoped that by this chivalrous journey he might even yet achieve the thing necessary.
But on reaching Paris he heard tidings of Mrs Arabin which induced him to change his plans and make for Venice instead of for Florence. Abanker at Paris, who whom he had brought a letter, told him that Mrs Arabin would now be found at Venice. This did not perplex him at all. It would have been delightful to have seen Florence--but was more delightful still to see Venice. His journey was the same as far as Turin; but from Turin he proceeded through Milan to Venice, instead of going to Bologna to Florence. He had fortunately come armed with an Austrian passport--as was necessary in those bygone days of Venice's thraldom. He was almost proud of himself, as though he had done something great, when he tumbled in to his inn at Venice, without having been in bed since he left London.
But he was barely allowed to swim in a gondola, for on reaching Venice he found that Mrs Arabin had gone back to Florence. He had been directed to the hotel which Mrs Arabin had used, and was there told that she had started the day before. She had received some letter, from her husband as the landlord thought, and had done so. That was all the landlord knew. Johnny was vexed, but became a little prouder than before as he felt it to be his duty to go on to Florence before he went to bed. There would be another night in a railway carriage, but he would live through it. There was just time to have a tub, and a breakfast, to swim in a gondola, to look at the outside of the Doge's palace, and to walk up and down the piazza before he started again. It was hard work, but I think he would have been pleased had he heard that Mrs Arabin had retreated from Florence to Rome. Had such been the case, he would have folded his cloak around him, and have gone on--regardless of brigands--thinking of Lily, and wondering whether anybody else had ever done so much before without going to bed. As it was, he found that Mrs Arabin was at the hotel in Florence--still in bed, as he had arrived early in the morning.
So he had another tub, another breakfast, and sent up his card--'Mr John Eames'--and across the top of it he wrote, 'has come from England about Mr Crawley.' Then he threw himself on a sofa in the hotel reading-room, and went fast to sleep.
John had found an opportunity of talking to a young lady in the breakfast-room, and had told her of his deeds. 'I only left London on Tuesday night, and I have come here taking Venice on the road.'
