“I suppose not, as he asked about the inn.” Then Johnny reflected that the man might probably be a friend of Crosbie’s, and became melancholy in consequence. Crosbie might have thought it expedient to send an ambassador down to prepare the ground for him before he should venture again upon the scene himself. If it were so, would it not be well that he, John Eames, should get over to Lily as soon as possible, and not wait till he should be staying with Lady Julia?
It was at any rate incumbent upon him to call upon Lady Julia the next morning, because of his commission. The Berlin wool might remain in his portmanteau till his portmanteau should go with him to the cottage; but he would take the spectacles at once, and he must explain to Lady Julia what the lawyers had told him about the income. So he hired a saddle-horse from The Magpie and started after breakfast on the morning after his arrival. In his unheroic days he would have walked—as he had done, scores of times, over the whole distance from Guestwick to Allington. But now, in these grander days, he thought about his boots and the mud, and the formal appearance of the thing. “Ah dear,” he said, to himself, as the nag walked slowly out of the town, “it used to be better with me in the old days. I hardly hoped that she would ever accept me, but at least she had never refused me. And then that brute had not as yet made his way down to Allington!”
He did not go very fast. After leaving the town he trotted on for a mile or so. But when he got to the palings of Guestwick Manor he let the animal walk again, and his mind ran back over the incidents of his life which were connected with the place. He remembered a certain long ramble which he had taken in those woods after Lily had refused him. That had been subsequent to the Crosbie episode in his life, and Johnny had been led to hope by certain of his friends—especially by Lord De Guest and his sister—that he might then be successful. But he had been unsuccessful, and had passed the bitterest hour of his life wandering about in those woods. Since that he had been unsuccessful again and again; but the bitterness of failure had not been so strong with him as on that first occasion. He would try again now, and if he failed, he would fail for the last time. As he was thinking of all this, a gig overtook him on the road, and on looking round he saw that the occupant of the gig was the man who had travelled with him on the previous day in the train. Major Grantly was alone in the gig, and as he recognized John Eames he stopped his horse. “Are you also going to Allington?” he asked. John Eames, with something of scorn in his voice, replied that he had no intention of going to Allington on that day. He still thought that this man might be an emissary from Crosbie, and therefore resolved that but scant courtesy was due to him. “I am on my way there now,” said Grantly, “and am going to the house of your friend. May I tell her that I travelled with you yesterday?”
“Yes, sir,” said Johnny. “You may tell her that you came down with John Eames.”
“And are you John Eames?” asked the major.
“If you have no objection,” said Johnny. “But I can hardly suppose you have ever heard my name before?”
“It is familiar to me, because I have the pleasure of knowing a cousin of yours, Miss Grace Crawley.”
“My cousin is at present staying at Allington with Mrs. Dale,” said Johnny.
“Just so,” said the major, who now began to reflect that he had been indiscreet in mentioning Grace Crawley’s name. No doubt everyone connected with the family, all the Crawleys, all the Dales, and all the Eameses, would soon know the business which had brought him down to Allington; but he need not have taken the trouble of beginning the story against himself. John Eames, in truth, had never even heard Major Grantly’s name, and was quite unaware of the fortune which awaited his cousin. Even after what he had now been told, he still suspected the stranger of being an emissary from his enemy; but the major, not giving him credit for his ignorance, was annoyed with himself for having told so much of his own history. “I will tell the ladies that I had the pleasure of meeting you,” he said; “that is, if I am lucky enough to see them.” And then he drove on.
“I know I should hate that fellow if I were to meet him anywhere again,” said Johnny to himself as he rode on. “When I take an aversion to a fellow at first sight, I always stick to it. It’s instinct, I suppose.” And he was still giving himself credit for the strength of his instincts when he reached Lady Julia’s cottage. He rode at once into the stable-yard, with the privilege of an accustomed friend of the house, and having given up his horse, entered the cottage by the back door. “Is my lady at home, Jemima?” he said to the maid.
“Yes, Mr. John; she is in the drawing-room, and friends of yours are with her.” Then he was announced, and found himself in the presence of Lady Julia, Lily Dale, and Grace Crawley.
He was very warmly received. Lady Julia really loved him dearly, and would have done anything in her power to bring about a match between him and Lily. Grace was his cousin, and though she had not seen him often, she was prepared to love him dearly as Lily’s lover. And Lily—Lily loved him dearly too—if only she could have brought herself to love him as he wished to be
