The Small House at Allington - Anthony Trollope (i want to read a book txt) 📗

They had sat thus for an hour together, and Eames was not as yet an inch nearer to his object. He had sworn to himself that he would not leave the Small House without asking Lily to be his wife. It seemed to him as though he would be guilty of falsehood towards the earl if he did so. Lord De Guest had opened his house to him, and had asked all the Dales there, and had offered himself up as a sacrifice at the cruel shrine of a serious dinner-party, to say nothing of that easier and lighter sacrifice which he had made in a pecuniary point of view, in order that this thing might be done. Under such circumstances Eames was too honest a man not to do it, let the difficulties in his way be what they might.

He had sat there for an hour, and Mrs. Dale still remained with her daughter. Should he get up boldly and ask Lily to put on her bonnet and come out into the garden? As the thought struck him, he rose and grasped at his hat. “I am going to walk back to Guestwick,” said he.

“It was very good of you to come so far to see us.”

“I was always fond of walking,” he said. “The earl wanted me to ride, but I prefer being on foot when I know the country, as I do here.”

“Have a glass of wine before you go.”

“Oh, dear, no. I think I’ll go back through the squire’s fields, and out on the road at the white gate. The path is quite dry now.”

“I dare say it is,” said Mrs. Dale.

“Lily, I wonder whether you would come as far as that with me.” As the request was made Mrs. Dale looked at her daughter almost beseechingly. “Do, pray do,” said he; “it is a beautiful day for walking.”

The path proposed lay right across the field into which Lily had taken Crosbie when she made her offer to let him off from his engagement. Could it be possible that she should ever walk there again with another lover? “No, John,” she said; “not today, I think. I am almost tired, and I had rather not go out.”

“It would do you good,” said Mrs. Dale.

“I don’t want to be done good to, mamma. Besides, I should have to come back by myself.”

“I’ll come back with you,” said Johnny.

“Oh, yes; and then I should have to go again with you. But, John, really I don’t wish to walk today.” Whereupon John Eames again put down his hat.

“Lily,” said he; and then he stopped. Mrs. Dale walked away to the window, turning her back upon her daughter and visitor. “Lily, I have come over here on purpose to speak to you. Indeed, I have come down from London only that I might see you.”

“Have you, John?”

“Yes, I have. You know well all that I have got to tell you. I loved you before he ever saw you; and now that he has gone, I love you better than I ever did. Dear Lily!” and he put out his hand to her.

“No, John; no,” she answered.

“Must it be always no?”

“Always no to that. How can it be otherwise? You would not have me marry you while I love another!”

“But he is gone. He has taken another wife.”

“I cannot change myself because he is changed. If you are kind to me you will let that be enough.”

“But you are so unkind to me!”

“No, no; oh, I would wish to be so kind to you! John, here; take my hand. It is the hand of a friend who loves you, and will always love you. Dear John, I will do anything⁠—everything for you but that.”

“There is only one thing,” said he, still holding her by the hand, but with his face turned from her.

“Nay; do not say so. Are you worse off than I am? I could not have that one thing, and I was nearer to my heart’s longings than you have ever been. I cannot have that one thing; but I know that there are other things, and I will not allow myself to be brokenhearted.”

“You are stronger than I am,” he said.

“Not stronger, but more certain. Make yourself as sure as I am, and you, too, will be strong. Is it not so, mamma?”

“I wish it could be otherwise;⁠—I wish it could be otherwise! If you can give him any hope⁠—”

“Mamma!”

“Tell me that I may come again⁠—in a year,” he pleaded.

“I cannot tell you so. You may not come again⁠—not in this way. Do you remember what I told you before, in the garden; that I loved him better than all the world besides? It is still the same. I still love him better than all the world. How, then, can I give you any hope?”

“But it will not be so forever, Lily.”

“Forever! Why should he not be mine as well as hers when that forever comes? John, if you understand what it is to love, you will say nothing more of it. I have spoken to you more openly about this than I have ever done to anybody, even to mamma, because I have wished to make you understand my feelings. I should be disgraced in my own eyes if I admitted the love of another man, after⁠—after⁠—. It is to me almost as though I had married him. I am not blaming him, remember. These things are different with a man.”

She had not dropped his hand, and as she made her last speech was sitting in her old chair with her eyes fixed upon the ground. She spoke in a low voice, slowly, almost with difficulty; but still the words came very clearly, with a clear, distinct voice which caused them to be remembered with accuracy, both by Eames and Mrs. Dale. To him it seemed to be impossible that he should continue his suit after such a declaration. To Mrs. Dale they were terrible words, speaking of a perpetual widowhood, and