Part 53 (1/2)
”The altar.”
”Why, what does it signify what we call it? The thing is the same.”
”Ah!” exclaimed the young gentleman, in a tone of contemptuous enthusiasm, ”it is all the difference in the world. There should be a stone altar and a reredos. We have put up a reredos in our chapel at Bradley. All the fellows subscribed; I gave a sovereign.”
”Well, I must say,” said the archbishop, who had been standing in advance with Mrs. Thornberry and the children, while this brief and becoming conversation was taking place between father and son, ”I think you could hardly do a better thing than restore this chapel, Mr.
Thornberry, but there must be no mistake about it. It must be restored to the letter, and it is a style that is not commonly understood. I have a friend, however, who is a master of it, the most rising man in his profession, as far as church architecture is concerned, and I will get him just to run down and look at this, and if, as I hope, you resolve to restore it, rest a.s.sured he will do you justice, and you will be proud of your place of wors.h.i.+p.”
”I do not care how much we spend on our gardens,” said Job, ”for they are transitory pleasures, and we enjoy what we produce; but why I should restore a chapel in a house which does not belong to myself is not so clear to me.”
”But it should belong to yourself,” rejoined the archbishop. ”Hurstley is not in the market, but it is to be purchased. Take it altogether, I have always thought it one of the most enviable possessions in the world. The house, when put in order, would be one of the ornaments of the kingdom. The acreage, though considerable, is not overwhelming, and there is a range of wild country of endless charm. I wandered about it in my childhood and my youth, and I have never known anything equal to it. Then as to the soil and all that, you know it. You are a son of the soil. You left it for great objects, and you have attained those objects. They have given you fame as well as fortune. There would be something wonderfully dignified and graceful in returning to the land after you have taken the princ.i.p.al part in solving the difficulties which pertained to it, and emanc.i.p.ating it from many perils.”
”I am sure it would be the happiest day of my life, if Job would purchase Hurstley,” said Mrs. Thornberry.
”I should like to go to Oxford, and my father purchase Hurstley,” said the young gentleman. ”If we have not landed property, I would sooner have none. If we have not land, I should like to go into the Church, and if I may not go to Oxford, I would go to Cuddesdon at once. I know it can be done, for I know a fellow who has done it.”
Poor Job Thornberry! He had ruled mult.i.tudes, and had conquered and commanded senates. His Sovereign had made him one of her privy councillors, and half a million of people had returned him their representative to parliament. And here he stood silent, and a little confused; sapped by his wife, bullied by his son, and after having pa.s.sed a great part of his life in denouncing sacerdotalism, finding his whole future career chalked out, without himself being consulted, by a priest who was so polite, sensible, and so truly friendly, that his manner seemed to deprive its victims of every faculty of retort or repartee. Still he was going to say something when the door opened, and Mrs. Penruddock appeared, exclaiming in a cheerful voice, ”I thought I should find you here. I would not have troubled your Grace, but this letter marked 'private, immediate, and to be forwarded,' has been wandering about for some time, and I thought it was better to bring it to you at once.”
The Archbishop of Tyre took the letter, and seemed to start as he read the direction. Then he stood aside, opened it, and read its contents.
The letter was from Lady Roehampton, desiring to see him as soon as possible on a matter of the utmost gravity, and entreating him not to delay his departure, wherever he might be.
”I am sorry to quit you all,” said his Grace; ”but I must go up to town immediately. The business is urgent.”
CHAPTER XCI
Endymion arrived at home very late from the Montfort ball, and rose in consequence at an unusually late hour. He had taken means to become sufficiently acquainted with the cause of his sister's absence the night before, so he had no anxiety on that head. Lady Roehampton had really intended to have been present, was indeed dressed for the occasion; but when the moment of trial arrived, she was absolutely unequal to the effort. All this was amplified in a little note from his sister, which his valet brought him in the morning. What, however, considerably surprised him in this communication was her announcement that her feelings last night had proved to her that she ought not to remain in London, and that she intended to find solitude and repose in the little watering-place where she had pa.s.sed a tranquil autumn during the first year of her widowhood. What completed his astonishment, however, was the closing intimation that, in all probability, she would have left town before he rose. The moment she had got a little settled she would write to him, and when business permitted, he must come and pay her a little visit.
”She was always capricious,” exclaimed Lady Montfort, who had not forgotten the disturbance of her royal supper-table.
”Hardly that, I think,” said Endymion. ”I have always looked on Myra as a singularly consistent character.”
”I know, you never admit your sister has a fault.”
”You said the other day yourself that she was the only perfect character you knew.”
”Did I say that? I think her capricious.”
”I do not think you are capricious,” said Endymion, ”and yet the world sometimes says you are.”
”I change my opinion of persons when my taste is offended,” said Lady Montfort. ”What I admired in your sister, though I confess I sometimes wished not to admire her, was that she never offended my taste.”
”I hope satisfied it,” said Endymion.
”Yes, satisfied it, always satisfied it. I wonder what will be her lot, for, considering her youth, her destiny has hardly begun. Somehow or other, I do not think she will marry Sidney Wilton.”
”I have sometimes thought that would be,” said Endymion.
”Well, it would be, I think, a happy match. All the circ.u.mstances would be collected that form what is supposed to be happiness. But tastes differ about destinies as well as about manners. For my part, I think to have a husband who loved you, and he clever, accomplished, charming, ambitious, would be happiness; but I doubt whether your sister cares so much about these things. She may, of course does, talk to you more freely; but with others, in her most open hours, there seems a secret fund of reserve in her character which I never could penetrate, except, I think, it is a reserve which does not originate in a love of tranquillity, but quite the reverse. She is a strong character.”
”Then, hardly a capricious one.”