“I did not mean to dun you, John,” said Mary, meekly.
But at last he went to Lady Julia’s, and was no sooner there than he was ready to start for Allington. When Lady Julia spoke to him about Lily, he did not venture to snub her. Indeed, of all his friends, Lady Julia was the one with whom on this subject he allowed himself the most unrestricted confidence. He came over one day, just before dinner, and declared his intention of walking over to Allington immediately after breakfast on the following morning.
“It’s the last time, Lady Julia,” he said.
“So you say, Johnny.”
“And so I mean it! What’s the good of a man frittering away his life? What’s the good of wishing for what you can’t get?”
“Jacob was not in such a hurry when he wished for Rachel.”
“That was all very well for an old patriarch who had seven or eight hundred years to live.”
“My dear John, you forget your Bible. Jacob did not live half as long as that.”
“He lived long enough, and slowly enough, to be able to wait fourteen years;—and then he had something to comfort him in the meantime. And after all, Lady Julia, it’s more than seven years since I first thought Lily was the prettiest girl I ever saw.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-seven—and she’s twenty-four.”
“You’ve time enough yet, if you’ll only be patient.”
“I’ll be patient for tomorrow, Lady Julia, but never again. Not that I mean to quarrel with her. I’m not such a fool as to quarrel with a girl because she can’t like me. I know how it all is. If that scoundrel had not come across my path just when he did—in that very nick of time, all might have been right betwixt her and me. I couldn’t have offered to marry her before, when I hadn’t as much income as would have found her in bread-and-butter. And then, just as better times came to me, he stepped in! I wonder whether it will be expected of me that I should forgive him?”
“As far as that goes, you have no right to be angry with him.”
“But I am—all the same.”
“And so was I—but not for stepping in, as you call it.”
“You and I are different, Lady Julia. I was angry with him for stepping in; but I couldn’t show it. Then he stepped out, and I did manage to show it. And now I shouldn’t wonder if he doesn’t step in again. After all, why should he have such a power? It was simply the nick of time which gave it to him.” That John Eames should be able to find some consolation in this consideration is devoutly to be hoped by us all.
There was nothing said about Lily Dale the next morning at breakfast. Lady Julia observed that John was dressed a little more neatly than usual;—though the change was not such as to have called for her special observation, had she not known the business on which he was intent.
“You have nothing to send to the Dales?” he said, as he got up from the table.
“Nothing but my love, Johnny.”
“No worsted or embroidery work—or a pot of special jam for the squire?”
“No, sir, nothing; though I should like to make you carry a pair of panniers, if I could.”
“They would become me well,” said Johnny, “for I am going on an ass’s errand.” Then, without waiting for the word of affection which was on the old woman’s lips, he got himself out of the room, and started on his journey.
The walk was only three miles and the weather was dry and frosty, and he had come to the turn leading up to the church and the squire’s house almost before he remembered that he was near Allington. Here he paused for a moment to think. If he continued his way down by the Red Lion and through Allington Street, he must knock at Mrs. Dale’s door, and ask for admission by means of the servant—as would be done by any ordinary visitor. But he could make his way on to the lawn by going up beyond the wall of the churchyard and through the squire’s garden. He knew the path well—very well; and he thought that he might take so much liberty as that, both with the squire and with Mrs. Dale, although his visits to Allington were not so frequent now as they used to be in the days of his boyhood. He did not wish to be admitted by the servant, and therefore he went through the gardens. Luckily he did not see the squire, who would have detained him, and he escaped from Hopkins, the old gardener, with little more than a word. “I’m going down to see the ladies, Hopkins; I suppose I shall find them?” And then, while Hopkins was arranging his spade so that he might lean upon it for a little chat, Johnny was gone and had made his way into the other garden. He had thought it possible that he might meet Lily out among the walks by herself, and such a meeting as this would have suited him better than any other. And as he crossed the little bridge which separated the gardens he thought of more than one such meeting—of one especial occasion on which he had first ventured to tell her in plain words that he loved her. But before that day Crosbie had come there, and at the moment in which he was speaking of his love she regarded Crosbie as an angel of light upon the earth. What hope could there have been for him then? What use was there in his telling such a tale of love at that time? When he told it, he knew that Crosbie had been before him. He knew that Crosbie was at that moment the angel of light. But as he had never before been able to speak of his love, so was he then unable not
