Jenny let him drive on more than a mile before she spoke; and when she did, the tears stood on her cheek, and it was quite an effort that her voice was made steady. "No, Raymond, I am very sorry, but it will not do. Two griefs will not make one joy."
"Yes, they would, to my mother."
"Ah! there it lies! Indeed, Raymond, I do feel for you all so much, especially your dear mother, that I would bring myself to it, if I could; but the very thought brings Archie up so vividly before me that I cannot! He has almost seemed to be sitting by me all this time. It seems as though beginning again would kill my right to think of him foremost of all."
"I could bear with that and trust to time," said Raymond. "Think it over, Jenny. I will be candid with you. The old delusion was too strong for any repetition of that kind, as you may see by the lame performance I am making now."
Jenny gave a little agitated laugh, and ejaculated, "Dear Raymond!" then added, "It is not on your account, but mine."
"But," he added, "my marriage is becoming a necessity, if only for my mother's sake; and you stand far before any other woman with me, if that would but satisfy you. I verily believe that in a short time we should be just as comfortable together as if we could start with more romance."
"I dare say we should, dear Raymond," said Jenny; "but I cannot feel that it is the right thing, while I have not that feeling for you which overpowers everything else; it seems to me that I ought not to give up my place at home. Papa depends on me a good deal, and they both will want me more and more."
"Less than my mother."
"I don't know; and they are my first duty. I can always come to your mother when I am wanted, and I know in your secret soul you prefer me on those terms."
He made no answer, only when passing the lodge he said, "Will you consider it a little longer, Jenny?"
But this only resulted in a note:-
"DEAR RAYMOND,-Considering only shows me that I must be Archie Douglas's now and for ever. I can't help it. It is better for you; for you can find some young girl who can wake your heart again, as never could be done by your still affectionate J. B."
Raymond and Jenny had met so often since, that the matter was entirely past, and no one ever guessed it.
At any rate, Rosamond, the most ready to plunge into counsel to Cecil, was the least likely to have it accepted; Rosamond had foibles of her own that Cecil knew of, and censured freely enough within herself.
That never-ending question, whether what became the Colonel's daughter became the clergyman's wife, would crop up under endless forms. Rosamond, in all opinions, was good-natured and easy, and always for pardon and toleration to an extent that the Compton code could not understand. She could not bear that anybody should be punished or shut out of anything; while there was no denying that, now the first novelty was passing, she was very lazy as to her parochial work, and that where her feelings were not stirred she was of little use.
Julius seemed shamefully tolerant of her omissions, and likewise of her eagerness for all gaieties. He would not go himself, would not accept a dinner invitation for any of the three busy nights of the week, and refused all those to dances and balls for himself, though he never hindered Rosamond's going.
She used absolutely to cry with passionate entreaties that he would relent and come with her, declaring that he was very unkind, he knew it took away all her pleasure-he was a tyrant, and wanted her not to go. And then he smiled, and owned that he hoped some day she would be tired of it; whereat she raged, and begged him to forbid her, if he really thought her whole life had been so shocking, declaring in the same breath that she would never disown her family, or cast a slur on her mother and sisters.
It always ended in her going, and though never again offending as by her bridal gown, she seldom failed to scandalize Cecil by an excess of talking and of waltzing, such as even Raymond regretted, and which disabled her for a whole day after from all but sofa, sleep, novels, and yawns.
Was this the person whose advice the discreet heiress of Dunstone was likely to follow?
It may be mentioned here, among other elements of difficulty, that Cecil's maid Grindstone was a thorough Dunstonite, who 'kept herself to herself,' was perfectly irreproachable, lived on terms of distant civility with the rest of the household, never complained, but constantly led her young mistress to understand that she was enduring much for her sake.
Cecil was too well trained, and so was she, for a word of gossip or censure to pass between them; but the influence was not the less strong.
CHAPTER XII. Pastoral Visiting
A finger's breadth at hand may mar A world of light in heaven afar; A mote eclipse a glorious star,
An eyelid hide the sky.-KEBLE.
The dinner was over, and Cecil was favouring the audience with a severely classical piece of music, when, under cover thereof, a low voice said to Julius, "Now, really and truly, tell me how he is getting on?"
"Really and truly, Jenny?"
"Well, not as you would tell mamma, for instance; but as you think in your secret soul."
"I am sorry you think me so duplex."
"Come, you understand how anxious I am about the boy."
"Exactly." And they both laughed.
"Is that all?" said Joanna Bowater.
"Really and truly it is! Rose can manage him much better than I can."
"He is very fond of her; but does he-is he-is his heart in his work?" asked the sister, looking with her honest eyes earnestly at Julius, her contemporary and playfellow as a child, and afterwards the companion with whom she had worked out many a deep problem, rendering mutual assistance that made each enter in no common degree into the inner thoughts of the other.
Julius smiled. "I doubt whether he has come to his heart yet."
"Why should he be so young? Think what you were at twenty-three."
"I never had Herbert's physique; and that makes an immense difference. I had no taste or capacity for what is a great privation to a fine young fellow like him. Don't look startled! He attempts nothing unfitting; he is too good and dutiful, but-"
"Yes, I know what that but means."
"Nothing to be unhappy about. You know how blameless he has always been at Eton and Oxford; and though he may view his work rather in a school-boy aspect, and me as a taskmaster, as long as he is doing right the growth is going on. Don't be unhappy, Jenny! His great clear young voice is delightful to hear; he is capital at choral practices, and is a hero to all the old women and boys, the more so for the qualities that earnestness cannot give, but rather detracts from."
"You mean that he is not in earnest?"
"Don't pervert all I say! He is not past the time of life when all appointed work seems a task, and any sort of excuse a valid cause against it; but he is conscientious, and always good-humoured under a scolding,-and Rosamond does not spare him," he added, laughing.
"Then you don't think there has been a mistake about him?" said Jenny, in a low voice of alarm.
"I have little doubt that when anything develops his inner life, so as to overcome the great strong animal that demands play and exercise, he will be a most useful clergyman."
"Perhaps he is too young, though I don't see how it could be helped. Papa always intended it, because of the living; and Herbert never wished anything else. I thought he really desired it, but now I don't know whether he did not only take it as a matter of course."
"Obedience is no unwholesome motive. As things stood, to delay his ordination would have been a stigma he did not deserve; and though he might have spent a year with advantage in a theological college, pupilage might only have prolonged his boyhood. It must be experience, not simply years of study, that deepens him."
"Ah, those studies!"