“If the worst comes to the worst, I wish to take nothing from my father.”
“You won’t put off the sale, then?”
The son paused a moment before he answered his mother, thinking over all the circumstances of his position. “I cannot do so as long as I am subject to my father’s threat,” he said at last. “What took place between my father and Miss Crawley can go for nothing with me. He has told me that his allowance to me is to be withdrawn. Let him tell me that he has reconsidered the matter.”
“But he has not withdrawn it. The last quarter was paid to your account only the other day. He does not mean to withdraw it.”
“Let him tell me so; let him tell me that my power of living at Cosby Lodge does not depend on my marriage—that my income will be continued to me whether I marry or no, and I’ll arrange matters with the auctioneer tomorrow. You can’t suppose that I should prefer to live in France.”
“Henry, you are too hard on your father.”
“I think, mother, he has been too hard upon me.”
“It is you that are to blame now. I tell you plainly that that is my opinion. If evil comes of it, it will be your own fault.”
“If evil come of it I must bear it.”
“A son ought to give up something to his father;—especially to a father so indulgent as yours.”
But it was of no use. And Mrs. Grantly when she went to her bed could only lament in her own mind over what, in discussing the matter afterwards with her sister, she called the cross-grainedness of men. “They are as like each other as two peas,” she said, “and though each of them wished to be generous, neither of them would condescend to be just.” Early on the following morning there was, no doubt, much said on the subject between the archdeacon and his wife before they met their son at breakfast; but neither at breakfast nor afterwards was there a word said between the father and son that had the slightest reference to the subject in dispute between them. The archdeacon made no more speeches in favour of land, nor did he revert to the foxes. He was very civil to his son;—too civil by half, as Mrs. Grantly continued to say to herself. And then the major drove himself away in his cart, going through Barchester, so that he might see his grandfather. When he wished his father goodbye, the archdeacon shook hands with him, and said something about the chance of rain. Had he not better take the big umbrella? The major thanked him courteously, and said that he did not think it would rain. Then he was gone. “Upon his own head be it,” said the archdeacon when his son’s step was heard in the passage leading to the backyard. Then Mrs. Grantly got up quietly and followed her son. She found him settling himself in his dogcart, while the servant who was to accompany him was still at the horse’s head. She went up close to him, and, standing by the wheel of the gig, whispered a word or two into his ear.
“If you love me, Henry, you will postpone the sale. Do it for my sake.” There came across his face a look of great pain, but he answered her not a word.
The archdeacon was walking about the room striking one hand open with the other closed, clearly in a tumult of anger, when his wife returned to him. “I have done all that I can,” he said—“all that I can; more, indeed, than was becoming for me. Upon his own head be it. Upon his own head be it!”
“What is it that you fear?” she asked.
“I fear nothing. But if he chooses to sell his things at Cosby Lodge he must abide the consequences. They shall not be replaced with my money.”
“What will it matter if he does sell them?”
“Matter! Do you think there is a single person in the county who will not know that his doing so is a sign that he has quarrelled with me?”
“But he has not quarrelled with you.”
“I can tell you then, that in that case I shall have quarrelled with him! I have not been a hard father, but there are some things which a man cannot bear. Of course you will take his part.”
“I am taking no part. I only want to see peace between you.”
“Peace!—yes; peace indeed. I am to yield in everything. I am to be nobody. Look here;—as sure as ever an auctioneer’s hammer is raised at Cosby Lodge, I will alter the settlement of the property. Every acre shall belong to Charles. There is my word for it.” The poor woman had nothing more to say;—nothing more to say at that moment. She thought that at the present conjuncture her husband was less in the wrong than her son, but she could not tell him so lest she should strengthen him in his wrath.
Henry Grantly found his grandfather in bed, with Posy seated on the bed beside him. “My father told me that you were not quite well, and I thought that I would look in,” said the major.
“Thank you, my dear;—it is very good of you. There is not much the matter with me, but I am not quite so strong as I was once.” And the old man smiled as he held his grandson’s hand.
“And how is cousin Posy?” said the major.
“Posy is quite well;—isn’t she, my darling?” said the old man.
“Grandpa doesn’t go to the cathedral now,” said Posy; “so I come in to talk to him. Don’t I, grandpa?”
“And to play cat’s-cradle;—only we have not had any
