"I"m sure he is, papa."
"But that is no reason you should marry him if you don"t like him."
"I could never like him,--in that way."
"Very well, my dear. There is an end of that, and I"m sorry for him.
I think that if I had been a young man at The Cleeve, I should have done just the same. And now let us decide this important question.
When Master Graham"s ribs, arms, and collar bones are a little stronger, shall we ask him to come back to Noningsby?"
"If you please, papa."
"Very well, we"ll have him here for the a.s.size week. Poor fellow, he"ll have a hard job of work on hand just then, and won"t have much time for philandering. With Chaffanbra.s.s to watch him on his own side, and Leatherham on the other, I don"t envy him his position. I almost think I should keep my arm in the sling till the a.s.sizes were over, by way of exciting a little pity."
"Is Mr. Graham going to defend Lady Mason?"
"To help to do so, my dear."
"But, papa, she is innocent; don"t you feel sure of that?"
The judge was not quite so sure as he had been once. However, he said nothing of his doubts to Madeline. "Mr. Graham"s task on that account will only be the more trying if it becomes difficult to establish her innocence."
"Poor lady!" said Madeline. "You won"t be the judge; will you, papa?"
"No, certainly not. I would have preferred to have gone any other circuit than to have presided in a case affecting so near a neighbour, and I may almost say a friend. Baron Maltby will sit in that court."
"And will Mr. Graham have to do much, papa?"
"It will be an occasion of very great anxiety to him, no doubt." And then they began to return home,--Madeline forming a little plan in her mind by which Mr. Furnival and Mr. Chaffanbra.s.s were to fail absolutely in making out that lady"s innocence, but the fact was to be established to the satisfaction of the whole court, and of all the world, by the judicious energy of Felix Graham.
On their homeward journey the judge again spoke of pictures and books, of failures and successes, and Madeline listened to him gratefully. But she did not again take much part in the conversation.
She could not now express a very fluent opinion on any subject, and to tell the truth, could have been well satisfied to have been left entirely to her own thoughts. But just before they came out again upon the road, her father stopped her and asked a direct question.
"Tell me, Madeline, are you happy now?"
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Tell me, Madeline, are you happy now?"]
"Yes, papa."
"That is right. And what you are to understand is this; Mr. Graham will now be privileged by your mother and me to address you. He has already asked my permission to do so, and I told him that I must consider the matter before I either gave it or withheld it. I shall now give him that permission." Whereupon Madeline made her answer by a slight pressure upon his arm.
"But you may be sure of this, my dear; I shall be very discreet, and commit you to nothing. If he should choose to ask you any question, you will be at liberty to give him any answer that you may think fit." But Madeline at once confessed to herself that no such liberty remained to her. If Mr. Graham should choose to ask her a certain question, it would be in her power to give him only one answer. Had he been kept away, had her father told her that such a marriage might not be, she would not have broken her heart. She had already told herself, that under such circ.u.mstances, she could live and still live contented. But now,--now if the siege were made, the town would have to capitulate at the first shot. Was it not an understood thing that the governor had been recommended by the king to give up the keys as soon as they were asked for?
"You will tell your mamma of this my dear," said the judge, as they were entering their own gate.
"Yes," said Madeline. But she felt that, in this matter, her father was more surely her friend than her mother. And indeed she could understand her mother"s opposition to poor Felix, much better than her father"s acquiescence.
"Do, my dear. What is anything to us in this world, if we are not all happy together? She thinks that you have become sad, and she must know that you are so no longer."
"But I have not been sad, papa," said Madeline, thinking with some pride of her past heroism.
When they reached the hall-door she had one more question to ask; but she could not look in her father"s face as she asked.
"Papa, is that review you were speaking of here at Noningsby?"
"You will find it on my study table; but remember, Madeline, I don"t above half go along with him."
The judge went into his study before dinner, and found that the review had been taken.
CHAPTER LIX.
NO SURRENDER.
Sir Peregrine Orme had gone up to London, had had his interview with Mr. Round, and had failed. He had then returned home, and hardly a word on the subject had been spoken between him and Mrs. Orme. Indeed little or nothing was now said between them as to Lady Mason or the trial. What was the use of speaking on a subject that was in every way the cause of so much misery? He had made up his mind that it was no longer possible for him to take any active step in the matter. He had become bail for her appearance in court, and that was the last trifling act of friendship which he could show her. How was it any longer possible that he could befriend her? He could not speak up on her behalf with eager voice, and strong indignation against her enemies, as had formerly been his practice. He could give her no counsel. His counsel would have taught her to abandon the property in the first instance, let the result be what it might. He had made his little effort in that direction by seeing the attorney, and his little effort had been useless. It was quite clear to him that there was nothing further for him to do;--nothing further for him, who but a week or two since was so actively putting himself forward and letting the world know that he was Lady Mason"s champion.
Would he have to go into court as a witness? His mind was troubled much in his endeavour to answer that question. He had been her great friend. For years he had been her nearest neighbour. His daughter-in-law still clung to her. She had lived at his house. She had been chosen to be his wife. Who could speak to her character, if he could not do so? And yet, what could he say, if so called on? Mr.
Furnival, Mr. Chaffanbra.s.s--all those who would have the selection of the witnesses, believing themselves in their client"s innocence, as no doubt they did, would of course imagine that he believed in it also. Could he tell them that it would not be in his power to utter a single word in her favour?
In these days Mrs. Orme went daily to the Farm. Indeed, she never missed a day from that on which Lady Mason left The Cleeve up to the time of the trial. It seemed to Sir Peregrine that his daughter"s affection for this woman had grown with the knowledge of her guilt; but, as I have said before, no discussion on the matter now took place between them. Mrs. Orme would generally take some opportunity of saying that she had been at Orley Farm; but that was all.
Sir Peregrine during this time never left the house once, except for morning service on Sundays. He hung his hat up on its accustomed peg when he returned from that ill-omened visit to Mr. Round, and did not move it for days, ay, for weeks,--except on Sunday mornings. At first his groom would come to him, suggesting to him that he should ride, and the woodman would speak to him about the young coppices; but after a few days they gave up their efforts. His grandson also strove to take him out, speaking to him more earnestly than the servants would do, but it was of no avail. Peregrine, indeed, gave up the attempt sooner, for to him his grandfather did in some sort confess his own weakness. "I have had a blow," said he; "Peregrine, I have had a blow. I am too old to bear up against it;--too old and too weak." Peregrine knew that he alluded in some way to that proposed marriage, but he was quite in the dark as to the manner in which his grandfather had been affected by it.
"People think nothing of that now, sir," said he, groping in the dark as he strove to administer consolation.
"People will think of it;--and I think of it. But never mind, my boy.
I have lived my life, and am contented with it. I have lived my life, and have great joy that such as you are left behind to take my place.
If I had really injured you I should have broken my heart--have broken my heart."
Peregrine of course a.s.sured him that let what would come to him the pride which he had in his grandfather would always support him. "I don"t know anybody else that I could be so proud of," said Peregrine; "for n.o.body else that I see thinks so much about other people. And I always was, even when I didn"t seem to think much about it;--always."
Poor Peregrine! Circ.u.mstances had somewhat altered him since that day, now not more than six months ago, in which he had pledged himself to abandon the delights of Cowcross Street. As long as there was a hope for him with Madeline Staveley all this might be very well. He preferred Madeline to Cowcross Street with all its delights.
But when there should be no longer any hope--and indeed, as things went now, there was but little ground for hoping--what then? Might it not be that his trial had come on him too early in life, and that he would solace himself in his disappointment, if not with Carroty Bob, with companionships and pursuits which would be as objectionable, and perhaps more expensive?
On three or four occasions his grandfather asked him how things were going at Noningsby, striving to interest himself in something as to which the outlook was not altogether dismal, and by degrees learned,--not exactly all the truth--but as much of the truth as Peregrine knew.
"Do as she tells you," said the grandfather, referring to Lady Staveley"s last words.
"I suppose I must," said Peregrine, sadly. "There"s nothing else for it. But if there"s anything that I hate in this world, it"s waiting."
"You are both very young," said his grandfather.
"Yes; we are what people call young, I suppose. But I don"t understand all that. Why isn"t a fellow to be happy when he"s young as well as when he"s old?"
Sir Peregrine did not answer him, but no doubt thought that he might alter his opinion in a few years. There is great doubt as to what may be the most enviable time of life with a man. I am inclined to think that it is at that period when his children have all been born but have not yet began to go astray or to vex him with disappointment; when his own pecuniary prospects are settled, and he knows pretty well what his tether will allow him; when the appet.i.te is still good and the digestive organs at their full power; when he has ceased to care as to the length of his girdle, and before the doctor warns him against solid breakfasts and port wine after dinner; when his affectations are over and his infirmities have not yet come upon him; while he can still walk his ten miles, and feel some little pride in being able to do so; while he has still nerve to ride his horse to hounds, and can look with some scorn on the ignorance of younger men who have hardly yet learned that n.o.ble art. As regards men, this, I think, is the happiest time of life; but who shall answer the question as regards women? In this respect their lot is more liable to disappointment. With the choicest flowers that blow the sweetest aroma of their perfection lasts but for a moment. The hour that sees them at their fullest glory sees also the beginning of their fall.
On one morning before the trial Sir Peregrine rang his bell and requested that Mr. Peregrine might be asked to come to him. Mr.
Peregrine was out at the moment, and did not make his appearance much before dark, but the baronet had fully resolved upon having this interview, and ordered that the dinner should be put back for half an hour. "Tell Mrs. Orme, with my compliments," he said, "that if it does not put her to inconvenience we will not dine till seven." It put Mrs. Orme to no inconvenience; but I am inclined to agree with the cook, who remarked that the compliments ought to have been sent to her.