“Dr. Tempest must not name them; the bishop must name them,” said Mrs. Proudie.
“It is customary to leave that to the rural dean,” said Mr. Chadwick. “The bishop no doubt can object to anyone named.”
“And can specially select any clergyman he pleases from the archdeaconry,” said the bishop. “I have known it done.”
“The rural dean in such case has probably been an old man, and not active,” said the lawyer.
“And Dr. Tempest is a very old man,” said Mrs. Proudie, “and in such a matter not at all trustworthy. He was one of the magistrates who took bail.”
“His lordship could hardly set him aside,” said the lawyer. “At any rate I would not recommend him to try. I think you might suggest a commission of five, and propose two of the number yourself. I do not think that in such a case Dr. Tempest would raise any question.”
At last it was settled in this way. Mr. Chadwick was to prepare a letter to Dr. Tempest, for the bishop’s signature, in which the doctor should be requested, as the rural dean to whom Mr. Crawley was subject, to hold a commission of five to inquire into Mr. Crawley’s conduct. The letter was to explain to Dr. Tempest that the bishop, moved by his solicitude for the souls of the people of Hogglestock, had endeavoured, “in a friendly way,” to induce Mr. Crawley to desist from his ministrations; but that having failed through Mr. Crawley’s obstinacy, he had no alternative but to proceed in this way.
“You had better say that his lordship, as bishop of the diocese, can take no heed of the coming trial,” said Mrs. Proudie.
“I think his lordship had better say nothing at all about the trial,” said Mr. Chadwick.
“I think that will be best,” said the bishop.
“But if they report against him,” said Mr. Chadwick, “you can only then proceed in the ecclesiastical court—at your own expense.”
“He’ll hardly be so obstinate as that,” said the bishop.
“I’m afraid you don’t know him, my lord,” said the lawyer. The bishop, thinking of the scene which had taken place in that very room only yesterday, felt that he did know Mr. Crawley, and felt also that the hope which he had just expressed was one in which he himself put no trust. But something might turn up; and it was devoutly to be hoped that Dr. Tempest would take a long time over his inquiry. The assizes might come on as soon as it was terminated, or very shortly afterwards; and then everything might be well.
“You won’t find Dr. Tempest very ready at it,” said Mr. Chadwick. The bishop in his heart was comforted by the words.
“But he must be made to be ready to do his duty,” said Mrs. Proudie, imperiously. Mr. Chadwick shrugged his shoulders, then got up, spoke his farewell little speeches, and left the palace.
XXXV
Lily Dale Writes Two Words in Her Book
John Eames saw nothing more of Lily Dale till he packed up his portmanteau, left his mother’s house, and went to stay for a few days with his old friend Lady Julia; and this did not happen till he had been above a week at Guestwick. Mrs. Dale repeatedly said that it was odd that Johnny did not come to see them; and Grace, speaking of him to Lily, asked why he did not come. Lily, in her funny way, declared that he would come soon enough. But even while she was joking there was something of half-expressed consciousness in her words—as though she felt it to be foolish to speak of his coming as she might of that of any other young man, before people who knew her whole story. “He’ll come quick enough. He knows, and I know, that his coming will do no good. Of course I shall be glad to see him. Why shouldn’t I be glad to see him? I’ve known him and liked him all my life. I liked him when there did not seem to be much about him to like, and now that he is clever, and agreeable, and good-looking—which he never was as a lad—why shouldn’t I go on liking him? He’s more like a brother to me than anybody else I’ve got. James,”—James was her brother-in-law, Dr. Crofts—“thinks of nothing but his patients and his babies, and my cousin Bernard is much too grand a person for me to take the liberty of loving him. I shall be very glad to see Johnny Eames.” From all which Mrs. Dale was led to believe that Johnny’s case was still hopeless. And how should it not be hopeless? Had Lily not confessed within the last week or two that she still loved Adolphus Crosbie?
Mrs. Eames also, and Mary, were surprised that John did not go over to Allington. “You haven’t seen Mrs. Dale yet, or the squire?” said his mother.
“I shall see them when I am at the cottage.”
“Yes;—no doubt. But it seems strange that you should be here so long without going to them.”
“There’s time enough,” said he. “I shall have nothing else to do when I’m at the cottage.” Then, when Mary had spoken to him again in private, expressing a hope that there was “nothing wrong,” he had been very angry with his sister. “What do you mean by wrong? What rubbish you girls talk! and you never have any delicacy of feeling to make you silent.”
“Oh, John, don’t say such hard things as that of me!”
“But I do say them. You’ll make me swear among you some day that I will never see Lily Dale again. As it is, I wish I never had seen her—simply because I am so dunned about it.” In all of which I think that Johnny was manifestly wrong. When the humour was on him he was fond enough of talking about Lily Dale. Had he not taught her to do so, I doubt whether his sister would ever have mentioned
