Part 41 (1/2)

”But will he be angry?”

”I will manage it. Dear Mrs. Robarts, you must not be surprised at him. His lot is sometimes very hard to bear: such things are so much worse for a man than for a woman.”

f.a.n.n.y was not quite prepared to admit this in her own heart, but she made no reply on that head. ”I am sure I hope we may be able to be of use to you,” she said, ”if you will only look upon me as an old friend, and write to me if you want me. I hesitate to come frequently for fear that I should offend him.”

And then, by degrees, there was confidence between them, and the poverty-stricken helpmate of the perpetual curate was able to speak of the weight of her burden to the well-to-do young wife of the Barchester prebendary. ”It was hard,” the former said, ”to feel herself so different from the wives of other clergymen around her--to know that they lived softly, while she, with all the work of her hands, and unceasing struggle of her energies, could hardly manage to place wholesome food before her husband and children. It was a terrible thing--a grievous thing to think of, that all the work of her mind should be given up to such subjects as these. But, nevertheless, she could bear it,” she said, ”as long as he would carry himself like a man, and face his lot boldly before the world.”

And then she told how he had been better there at Hogglestock than in their former residence down in Cornwall, and in warm language she expressed her thanks to the friend who had done so much for them.

”Mrs. Arabin told me that she was so anxious you should go to them,”

said Mrs. Robarts.

”Ah, yes; but that I fear is impossible. The children, you know, Mrs.

Robarts.”

”I would take care of two of them for you.”

”Oh, no; I could not punish you for your goodness in that way. But he would not go. He could go and leave me at home. Sometimes I have thought that it might be so, and I have done all in my power to persuade him. I have told him that if he could mix once more with the world, with the clerical world, you know, that he would be better fitted for the performance of his own duties. But he answers me angrily, that it is impossible--that his coat is not fit for the dean's table,” and Mrs. Crawley almost blushed as she spoke of such a reason.

”What! with an old friend like Dr. Arabin? Surely that must be nonsense.”

”I know that it is. The dean would be glad to see him with any coat.

But the fact is that he cannot bear to enter the house of a rich man unless his duty calls him there.”

”But surely that is a mistake?”

”It is a mistake. But what can I do? I fear that he regards the rich as his enemies. He is pining for the solace of some friend to whom he could talk--for some equal, with a mind educated like his own, to whose thoughts he could listen, and to whom he could speak his own thoughts. But such a friend must be equal, not only in mind, but in purse; and where can he ever find such a man as that?”

”But you may get better preferment.”

”Ah, no; and if he did, we are hardly fit for it now. If I could think that I could educate my children; if I could only do something for my poor Grace--”

In answer to this Mrs. Robarts said a word or two, but not much.

She resolved, however, that if she could get her husband's leave, something should be done for Grace. Would it not be a good work? and was it not inc.u.mbent on her to make some kindly use of all the goods with which Providence had blessed herself?

And then they went back to the sitting-room, each again with a young child in her arms, Mrs. Crawley having stowed away in the kitchen the chicken broth and the leg of pork and the supply of eggs. Lucy had been engaged the while with the children, and when the two married ladies entered, they found that a shop had been opened at which all manner of luxuries were being readily sold and purchased at marvellously easy prices; the guava jelly was there, and the oranges, and the sugar-plums, red and yellow and striped; and, moreover, the gingerbread had been taken down in the audacity of their commercial speculations, and the nuts were spread out upon a board, behind which Lucy stood as shop-girl, disposing of them for kisses.

”Mamma, mamma,” said Bobby, running up to his mother, ”you must buy something of her,” and he pointed with his fingers at the shop-girl.

”You must give her two kisses for that heap of barley-sugar.” Looking at Bobby's mouth at the time, one would have said that his kisses might be dispensed with.

When they were again in the pony-carriage, behind the impatient Puck, and were well away from the door, f.a.n.n.y was the first to speak.

”How very different those two are,” she said; ”different in their minds and in their spirit!”

”But how much higher toned is her mind than his! How weak he is in many things, and how strong she is in everything! How false is his pride, and how false his shame!”

”But we must remember what he has to bear. It is not every one that can endure such a life as his without false pride and false shame.”

”But she has neither,” said Lucy.