'Paltry little fool! It will be long enough before such a chaunt as that is heard in and English cathedral again.' Then Mrs Grantly got up and kissed her husband, but he, somewhat negligent of the kiss, went on with his speech. 'But your father remembers nothing of it, and if there was a single human being who shed a tear in Barchester for that woman, Ibelieve it was your father. And it was the same with mine. It came to that at last, that I could not bear to speak to him of any shortcomings as to one of his own clergymen. I might as well have pricked him with a penknife. And yet they say men become heartless and unfeeling as they grow old.'
'Some do, I suppose.'
'Yes; the heartless and unfeeling do. As the bodily strength fails and the power of control becomes lessened, the natural aptitude of the man pronounces itself more clearly. I take it that that is it. Had Mrs Proudie lived to be and hundred and fifty, she would have spoken spiteful lies on her deathbed.' Then Mrs Grantly told herself that her husband, should he live to be hundred and fifty, would still be expressing his horror of Mrs Proudie--even on his deathbed.
As soon as the letter from Mrs Arabin had reached Plumstead, the archdeacon and his wife arranged that they would both go together to the deanery. There were the double tidings to be told--those of Mr Crawley's assured innocence, and those also of Mrs Arabin's instant return. And as they went together various ideas were passing through their minds in reference to the marriage of their son with Grace Crawley. They were both now reconciled to it. Mrs Grantly had long ceased to feel any opposition to it, even though she had not seen Grace; and the archdeacon was prepared to give way. Had he not promised that in a certain case he would give way, and had not that case come to pass? He had no wish to go back from his word. But he had a difficulty in this--that he liked to make all the affairs of his life matter for enjoyment, almost for triumph; but how was he to be triumphant over this marriage, or how even was he to enjoy it, seeing that he had opposed it so bitterly? Those posters, though they were now pulled down, had been up on a barn ends and walls patent--alas, too patent--to all the world of Barsetshire!
'What will Mr Crawley do now, do you suppose?' said Mrs Grantly.
'What will he do?'
'Yes; must he go on at Hogglestock?'
'What else?' said the archdeacon.
'It is a pity something could not be done for him after all he has undergone. How on earth can he be expected to live there with a wife and family, and no private means?' To this the archdeacon made no answer.
Mrs Grantly had spoken almost immediately upon their quitting Plumstead, and the silence was continued till the carriage had entered the suburbs of the city. Then Mrs Grantly spoke again, asking a question, with some internal trepidation which, however, she managed to hide from her husband. 'When poor papa does go, what shall you do about St Ewold's?'
Now, St Ewold's was a rural parish lying about two miles out of Barchester, the living of which was in the gift of the archdeacon, and to which the archdeacon had presented to his father-in-law, under certain circumstances, which need not be repeated in this last chronicle of Barsetshire. Have they not been written in other chronicles? 'When poor papa does go, what will you do about St Ewold's?' said Mrs Grantly, trembling inwardly. A word too much might, as she well knew, settle the question against Mr Crawley for ever. But were she to postpone the word till too late, the question would be settled as fatally.
'I haven't thought about it,' he said sharply. 'I don't like thinking of such things while the incumbent is still living.' Oh, archdeacon, archdeacon! Unless that other chronicle be a false chronicle, how hast thou forgotten thyself and thy past life! 'Particularly not, when that incumbent is your father,' said the archdeacon. Mrs Grantly said nothing more about St Ewold's. She would have said as much as she had intended to say if she had succeeded in making the archdeacon understand that St Ewold's would be a very nice refuge for Mr Crawley after all the miseries which he had endured at Hogglestock.
They learned as they entered the deanery that Mrs Baxter had already heard of Mrs Arabin's return. 'Oh yes, ma'am. Mr Harding got a letter hisself, and I got another--separate; both from Venice, ma'am. But when master come nobody seems to know.' Mrs Baxter knew that the dean had gone to Jerusalem, and was inclined to think that from such distant bournes there was not return to any traveller. The East is always further than the West in the estimation of the Mrs Baxters of the world.
Had the dean gone to Canada, she would have thought that he might come back tomorrow. But still there was the news to be told of Mr Crawley, and there was also joy to be expressed at the sudden coming back of the much-wished-for mistress of the deanery.
'It's so good of you to come both together,' said Mr Harding.
'We thought that we should be too many for you,' said the archdeacon.
'Too many! Oh dear no. I like to have people by me; and as for voices and noise, and all that, the more the better. But I am weak. I'm weak in my legs. I don't think I shall ever stand again.'
'Yes, you will,' said the archdeacon.
'We have brought good news,' said Mrs Grantly.
'It is not good news that Nelly will be home this week? You can't understand what a joy it is to me. I used to think sometimes, at night, that I should never see her again. That she would come back in time was all I have wished for.' He was lying on his back, and as he spoke he pressed his withered hands together above the bed-clothes. They could not begin immediately to tell him of Mr Crawley, but as soon as his mind had turned itself away from the thoughts of his absent daughter, Mrs Grantly again reverted to the news.'
'We have come to tell you about Mr Crawley, papa.'
'What about him?'
'He is quite innocent.'
'I knew it, my dear. I always said so. Did I not always say so, archdeacon?'
'Indeed you did. I'll give you that credit.'
