Framley Parsonage: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Gatherum Castle

On the Tuesday morning Mark did receive his wife's letter, and the
ten-pound note, whereby a strong proof was given of the honesty of
the post-office people in Barsetshire. That letter, written as it
had been in a hurry, while Robin post-boy was drinking a single mug
of beer,--well, what of it if it was half filled a second time?--was
nevertheless eloquent of his wife's love and of her great triumph.
"I have only half a moment to send you the money," she said, "for
the postman is here waiting. When I see you I'll explain why I am so
hurried. Let me know that you get it safe. It is all right now, and
Lady Lufton was here not a minute ago. She did not quite like it;
about Gatherum Castle, I mean; but you'll hear nothing about it. Only
remember that _you must dine_ at Framley Court on Wednesday week. _I
have promised for you._ You will; won't you, dearest? I shall come
and fetch you away if you attempt to stay longer than you have said.
But I'm sure you won't. God bless you, my own one! Mr. Jones gave us
the same sermon he preached the second Sunday after Easter. Twice in
the same year is too often. God bless you! The children _are quite
well_. Mark sends a big kiss.--Your own F."

Robarts, as he read this letter and crumpled the note up into his
pocket, felt that it was much more satisfactory than he deserved. He
knew that there must have been a fight, and that his wife, fighting
loyally on his behalf, had got the best of it; and he knew also that
her victory had not been owing to the goodness of her cause. He
frequently declared to himself that he would not be afraid of Lady
Lufton; but nevertheless these tidings that no reproaches were to be
made to him afforded him great relief. On the following Friday they
all went to the duke's, and found that the bishop and Mrs. Proudie
were there before them; as were also sundry other people, mostly
of some note either in the estimation of the world at large or of
that of West Barsetshire. Lord Boanerges was there, an old man who
would have his own way in everything, and who was regarded by all
men--apparently even by the duke himself--as an intellectual king,
by no means of the constitutional kind--as an intellectual emperor,
rather, who took upon himself to rule all questions of mind without
the assistance of any ministers whatever. And Baron Brawl was of the
party, one of Her Majesty's puisne Judges, as jovial a guest as ever
entered a country house; but given to be rather sharp withal in his
jovialities. And there was Mr. Green Walker, a young but rising man,
the same who lectured not long since on a popular subject to his
constituents at the Crewe Junction. Mr. Green Walker was a nephew of
the Marchioness of Hartletop, and the Marchioness of Hartletop was a
friend of the Duke of Omnium's. Mr. Mark Robarts was certainly elated
when he ascertained who composed the company of which he had been so
earnestly pressed to make a portion. Would it have been wise in him
to forgo this on account of the prejudices of Lady Lufton?

As the guests were so many and so great, the huge front portals of
Gatherum Castle were thrown open, and the vast hall, adorned with
trophies--with marble busts from Italy and armour from Wardour
Street--was thronged with gentlemen and ladies, and gave forth
unwonted echoes to many a footstep. His grace himself, when Mark
arrived there with Sowerby and Miss Dunstable--for in this instance
Miss Dunstable did travel in the phaeton, while Mark occupied a
seat in the dicky--his grace himself was at this moment in the
drawing-room, and nothing could exceed his urbanity.

"Oh, Miss Dunstable," he said, taking that lady by the hand, and
leading her up to the fire, "now I feel for the first time that
Gatherum Castle has not been built for nothing."

"Nobody ever supposed it was, your grace," said Miss Dunstable. "I am
sure the architect did not think so when his bill was paid." And Miss
Dunstable put her toes up on the fender to warm them with as much
self-possession as though her father had been a duke also, instead of
a quack doctor.

"We have given the strictest orders about the parrot," said the
duke--

"Ah! but I have not brought him after all," said Miss Dunstable.

--"and I have had an aviary built on purpose,--just such as parrots
are used to in their own country. Well, Miss Dunstable, I do call
that unkind. Is it too late to send for him?"

"He and Dr. Easyman are travelling together. The truth was, I could
not rob the doctor of his companion."

"Why? I have had another aviary built for him. I declare, Miss
Dunstable, the honour you are doing me is shorn of half its glory.
But the poodle--I still trust in the poodle."

"And your grace's trust shall not in that respect be in vain. Where
is he, I wonder?" And Miss Dunstable looked round as though she
expected that somebody would certainly have brought her dog in after
her. "I declare I must go and look for him,--only think if they
were to put him among your grace's dogs,--how his morals would be
destroyed!"

"Miss Dunstable, is that intended to be personal?" but the lady had
turned away from the fire, and the duke was able to welcome his other
guests. This he did with much courtesy. "Sowerby," he said, "I am
glad to find that you have survived the lecture. I can assure you I
had fears for you."

"I was brought back to life after considerable delay by the
administration of tonics at the Dragon of Wantly. Will your grace
allow me to present to you Mr. Robarts, who on that occasion was not
so fortunate. It was found necessary to carry him off to the palace,
where he was obliged to undergo very vigorous treatment." And then
the duke shook hands with Mr. Robarts, assuring him that he was most
happy to make his acquaintance. He had often heard of him since he
came into the county; and then he asked after Lord Lufton, regretting
that he had been unable to induce his lordship to come to Gatherum
Castle.

"But you had a diversion at the lecture, I am told," continued the
duke. "There was a second performer, was there not, who almost
eclipsed poor Harold Smith?" And then Mr. Sowerby gave an amusing
sketch of the little Proudie episode.

"It has, of course, ruined your brother-in-law for ever as a
lecturer," said the duke, laughing.

"If so, we shall feel ourselves under the deepest obligations to Mrs.
Proudie," said Mr. Sowerby. And then Harold Smith himself came up and
received the duke's sincere and hearty congratulations on the success
of his enterprise at Barchester. Mark Robarts had now turned away,
and his attention was suddenly arrested by the loud voice of Miss
Dunstable, who had stumbled across some very dear friends in her
passage through the rooms, and who by no means hid from the public
her delight upon the occasion.

"Well--well--well!" she exclaimed, and then she seized upon a very
quiet-looking, well-dressed, attractive young woman who was walking
towards her, in company with a gentleman. The gentleman and lady, as
it turned out, were husband and wife. "Well--well--well! I hardly
hoped for this." And then she took hold of the lady and kissed her
enthusiastically, and after that grasped both the gentleman's hands,
shaking them stoutly.

"And what a deal I shall have to say to you!" she went on. "You'll
upset all my other plans. But, Mary, my dear, how long are you going
to stay here? I go--let me see--I forget when, but it's all put down
in a book upstairs. But the next stage is at Mrs. Proudie's. I shan't
meet you there, I suppose. And now, Frank, how's the governor?" The
gentleman called Frank declared that the governor was all right--"mad
about the hounds, of course, you know."

"Well, my dear, that's better than the hounds being mad about him,
like the poor gentleman they've put into a statue. But talking of
hounds, Frank, how badly they manage their foxes at Chaldicotes! I
was out hunting all one day--"

"You out hunting!" said the lady called Mary.

"And why shouldn't I go out hunting? I'll tell you what, Mrs. Proudie
was out hunting too. But they didn't catch a single fox; and, if you
must have the truth, it seemed to me to be rather slow."

"You were in the wrong division of the county," said the gentleman
called Frank.

"Of course I was. When I really want to practise hunting I'll go to
Greshamsbury; not a doubt about that."

"Or to Boxall Hill," said the lady; "you'll find quite as much zeal
there as at Greshamsbury."

"And more discretion, you should add," said the gentleman.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Miss Dunstable; "your discretion indeed! But
you have not told me a word about Lady Arabella."

"My mother is quite well," said the gentleman.

"And the doctor? By the by, my dear, I've had such a letter from the
doctor; only two days ago. I'll show it you upstairs to-morrow. But
mind, it must be a positive secret. If he goes on in this way he'll
get himself into the Tower, or Coventry, or a blue-book, or some
dreadful place."

"Why; what has he said?"

"Never you mind, Master Frank: I don't mean to show you the letter,
you may be sure of that. But if your wife will swear three times on
a poker and tongs that she won't reveal, I'll show it to her. And so
you are quite settled at Boxall Hill, are you?"

"Frank's horses are settled; and the dogs nearly so," said Frank's
wife; "but I can't boast much of anything else yet."

"Well, there's a good time coming. I must go and change my things
now. But, Mary, mind you get near me this evening; I have such a deal
to say to you." And then Miss Dunstable marched out of the room.

All this had been said in so loud a voice that it was, as a matter
of course, overheard by Mark Robarts--that part of the conversation
of course I mean which had come from Miss Dunstable. And then Mark
learned that this was young Frank Gresham of Boxall Hill, son of
old Mr. Gresham of Greshamsbury. Frank had lately married a great
heiress; a greater heiress, men said, even than Miss Dunstable;
and as the marriage was hardly as yet more than six months old the
Barsetshire world was still full of it.

"The two heiresses seem to be very loving, don't they?" said Mr.
Supplehouse. "Birds of a feather flock together, you know. But they
did say some little time ago that young Gresham was to have married
Miss Dunstable herself."

"Miss Dunstable! why, she might almost be his mother," said Mark.

"That makes but little difference. He was obliged to marry money, and
I believe there is no doubt that he did at one time propose to Miss
Dunstable."

"I have had a letter from Lufton," Mr. Sowerby said to him the next
morning. "He declares that the delay was all your fault. You were to
have told Lady Lufton before he did anything, and he was waiting to
write about it till he heard from you. It seems that you never said a
word to her ladyship on the subject."

"I never did, certainly. My commission from Lufton was to break the
matter to her when I found her in a proper humour for receiving it.
If you knew Lady Lufton as well as I do, you would know that it is
not every day that she would be in a humour for such tidings."

"And so I was to be kept waiting indefinitely because you two between
you were afraid of an old woman! However, I have not a word to say
against her, and the matter is settled now."

"Has the farm been sold?"

"Not a bit of it. The dowager could not bring her mind to suffer
such profanation for the Lufton acres, and so she sold five
thousand pounds out of the funds and sent the money to Lufton as a
present;--sent it to him without saying a word, only hoping that it
would suffice for his wants. I wish I had a mother, I know."

Mark found it impossible at the moment to make any remark upon what
had been told him, but he felt a sudden qualm of conscience and a
wish that he was at Framley instead of at Gatherum Castle at the
present moment. He knew a good deal respecting Lady Lufton's income
and the manner in which it was spent. It was very handsome for a
single lady, but then she lived in a free and open-handed style; her
charities were noble; there was no reason why she should save money,
and her annual income was usually spent within the year. Mark knew
this, and he knew also that nothing short of an impossibility to
maintain them would induce her to lessen her charities. She had now
given away a portion of her principal to save the property of her
son--her son, who was so much more opulent than herself,--upon whose
means, too, the world made fewer effectual claims. And Mark knew,
too, something of the purpose for which this money had gone. There
had been unsettled gambling claims between Sowerby and Lord Lufton,
originating in affairs of the turf. It had now been going on for four
years, almost from the period when Lord Lufton had become of age.
He had before now spoken to Robarts on the matter with much bitter
anger, alleging that Mr. Sowerby was treating him unfairly, nay,
dishonestly--that he was claiming money that was not due to him;
and then he declared more than once that he would bring the matter
before the Jockey Club. But Mark, knowing that Lord Lufton was not
clear-sighted in those matters, and believing it to be impossible
that Mr. Sowerby should actually endeavour to defraud his friend, had
smoothed down the young lord's anger, and recommended him to get the
case referred to some private arbiter. All this had afterwards been
discussed between Robarts and Mr. Sowerby himself, and hence had
originated their intimacy. The matter was so referred, Mr. Sowerby
naming the referee; and Lord Lufton, when the matter was given
against him, took it easily. His anger was over by that time. "I've
been clean done among them," he said to Mark, laughing; "but it does
not signify; a man must pay for his experience. Of course, Sowerby
thinks it all right; I am bound to suppose so." And then there had
been some further delay as to the amount, and part of the money had
been paid to a third person, and a bill had been given, and Heaven
and the Jews only know how much money Lord Lufton had paid in all;
and now it was ended by his handing over to some wretched villain of
a money-dealer, on behalf of Mr. Sowerby, the enormous sum of five
thousand pounds, which had been deducted from the means of his
mother, Lady Lufton!

Mark, as he thought of all this, could not but feel a certain
animosity against Mr. Sowerby--could not but suspect that he was a
bad man. Nay, must he not have known that he was very bad? And yet he
continued walking with him through the duke's grounds, still talking
about Lord Lufton's affairs, and still listening with interest to
what Sowerby told him of his own. "No man was ever robbed as I have
been," said he. "But I shall win through yet, in spite of them all.
But those Jews, Mark"--he had become very intimate with him in these
latter days--"whatever you do, keep clear of them. Why, I could paper
a room with their signatures; and yet I never had a claim upon one of
them, though they always have claims on me!"

I have said above that this affair of Lord Lufton's was ended, but
it now appeared to Mark that it was not quite ended. "Tell Lufton,
you know," said Sowerby, "that every bit of paper with his name has
been taken up, except what that ruffian Tozer has. Tozer may have
one bill, I believe,--something that was not given up when it was
renewed. But I'll make my lawyer Gumption get that up. It may cost
ten pounds or twenty pounds, not more. You'll remember that when you
see Lufton, will you?"

"You'll see Lufton, in all probability, before I shall."

"Oh, did I not tell you? He's going to Framley Court at once; you'll
find him there when you return."

"Find him at Framley?"

"Yes; this little _cadeau_ from his mother has touched his filial
heart. He is rushing home to Framley to pay back the dowager's hard
moidores in soft caresses. I wish I had a mother; I know that." And
Mark still felt that he feared Mr. Sowerby, but he could not make up
his mind to break away from him.

And there was much talk of politics just then at the castle. Not that
the duke joined in it with any enthusiasm. He was a Whig--a huge
mountain of a colossal Whig--all the world knew that. No opponent
would have dreamed of tampering with his Whiggery, nor would any
brother Whig have dreamed of doubting it. But he was a Whig who gave
very little practical support to any set of men, and very little
practical opposition to any other set. He was above troubling himself
with such sublunar matters. At election time he supported, and always
carried, Whig candidates: and in return he had been appointed lord
lieutenant of the county by one Whig minister, and had received the
Garter from another. But these things were matters of course to a
Duke of Omnium, He was born to be a lord lieutenant and a Knight of
the Garter. But not the less on account of his apathy, or rather
quiescence, was it thought that Gatherum Castle was a fitting place
in which politicians might express to each other their present hopes
and future aims, and concoct together little plots in a half-serious
and half-mocking way. Indeed it was hinted that Mr. Supplehouse and
Harold Smith, with one or two others, were at Gatherum for this
express purpose. Mr. Fothergill, too, was a noted politician, and
was supposed to know the duke's mind well; and Mr. Green Walker, the
nephew of the marchioness, was a young man whom the duke desired to
have brought forward. Mr. Sowerby also was the duke's own member, and
so the occasion suited well for the interchange of a few ideas.

The then prime minister, angry as many men were with him, had not
been altogether unsuccessful. He had brought the Russian war to a
close, which, if not glorious, was at any rate much more so than
Englishmen at one time had ventured to hope. And he had had wonderful
luck in that Indian Mutiny. It is true that many of those even who
voted with him would declare that this was in no way attributable
to him. Great men had risen in India and done all that. Even his
minister there, the Governor whom he had sent out, was not allowed
in those days any credit for the success which was achieved under
his orders. There was great reason to doubt the man at the helm. But
nevertheless he had been lucky. There is no merit in a public man
like success! But now, when the evil days were wellnigh over, came
the question whether he had not been too successful. When a man has
nailed fortune to his chariot-wheels he is apt to travel about in
rather a proud fashion. There are servants who think that their
masters cannot do without them; and the public also may occasionally
have some such servant. What if this too successful minister were
one of them! And then a discreet, commonplace, zealous member of the
Lower House does not like to be jeered at, when he does his duty by
his constituents and asks a few questions. An all-successful minister
who cannot keep his triumph to himself, but must needs drive about in
a proud fashion, laughing at commonplace zealous members--laughing
even occasionally at members who are by no means commonplace, which
is outrageous!--may it not be as well to ostracize him for awhile?

"Had we not better throw in our shells against him?" says Mr. Harold
Smith.

"Let us throw in our shells, by all means," says Mr. Supplehouse,
mindful as Juno of his despised charms. And when Mr. Supplehouse
declares himself an enemy, men know how much it means. They know that
that much-belaboured head of affairs must succumb to the terrible
blows which are now in store for him. "Yes, we will throw in our
shells." And Mr. Supplehouse rises from his chair with gleaming
eyes. "Has not Greece as noble sons as him? aye, and much nobler,
traitor that he is. We must judge a man by his friends," says Mr.
Supplehouse; and he points away to the East, where our dear allies
the French are supposed to live, and where our head of affairs is
supposed to have too close an intimacy.

They all understand this, even Mr. Green Walker. "I don't know that
he is any good to any of us at all, now," says the talented member
for the Crewe Junction. "He's a great deal too uppish to suit my
book: and I know a great many people that think so too. There's my
uncle--"

"He's the best fellow in the world," said Mr. Fothergill, who felt,
perhaps, that that coming revelation about Mr. Green Walker's uncle
might not be of use to them; "but the fact is one gets tired of the
same men always. One does not like partridge every day. As for me,
I have nothing to do with it myself; but I would certainly like to
change the dish."

"If we're merely to do as we are bid, and have no voice of our own,
I don't see what's the good of going to the shop at all," said Mr.
Sowerby.

"Not the least use," said Mr. Supplehouse. "We are false to our
constituents in submitting to such a dominion."

"Let's have a change, then," said Mr. Sowerby. "The matter's pretty
much in our own hands."

"Altogether," said Mr. Green Walker. "That's what my uncle always
says."

"The Manchester men will only be too happy for the chance," said
Harold Smith.

"And as for the high and dry gentlemen," said Mr. Sowerby, "it's not
very likely that they will object to pick up the fruit when we shake
the tree."

"As to picking up the fruit, that's as may be," said Mr. Supplehouse.
Was he not the man to save the nation; and if so, why should he not
pick up the fruit himself? Had not the greatest power in the country
pointed him out as such a saviour? What though the country at the
present moment needed no more saving, might there not, nevertheless,
be a good time coming? Were there not rumours of other wars still
prevalent--if indeed the actual war then going on was being brought
to a close without his assistance by some other species of salvation?
He thought of that country to which he had pointed, and of that
friend of his enemies, and remembered that there might be still work
for a mighty saviour. The public mind was now awake, and understood
what it was about. When a man gets into his head an idea that the
public voice calls for him, it is astonishing how greet becomes his
trust in the wisdom of the public. _Vox populi, vox Dei._ "Has it not
been so always?" he says to himself, as he gets up and as he goes to
bed. And then Mr. Supplehouse felt that he was the master mind there
at Gatherum Castle, and that those there were all puppets in his
hand. It is such a pleasant thing to feel that one's friends are
puppets, and that the strings are in one's own possession. But what
if Mr. Supplehouse himself were a puppet? Some months afterwards,
when the much-belaboured head of affairs was in very truth made
to retire, when unkind shells were thrown in against him in great
numbers, when he exclaimed, "_Et tu, Brute!_" till the words were
stereotyped upon his lips, all men in all places talked much about
the great Gatherum Castle confederation. The Duke of Omnium, the
world said, had taken into his high consideration the state of
affairs, and seeing with his eagle's eye that the welfare of
his countrymen at large required that some great step should be
initiated, he had at once summoned to his mansion many members of the
Lower House, and some also of the House of Lords,--mention was here
especially made of the all-venerable and all-wise Lord Boanerges; and
men went on to say that there, in deep conclave, he had made known
to them his views. It was thus agreed that the head of affairs, Whig
as he was, must fall. The country required it, and the duke did his
duty. This was the beginning, the world said, of that celebrated
confederation, by which the ministry was overturned, and--as the
_Goody Twoshoes_ added--the country saved. But the _Jupiter_ took all
the credit to itself; and the _Jupiter_ was not far wrong. All the
credit was due to the _Jupiter_--in that, as in everything else.

In the meantime the Duke of Omnium entertained his guests in
the quiet princely style, but did not condescend to have much
conversation on politics either with Mr. Supplehouse or with Mr.
Harold Smith. And as for Lord Boanerges, he spent the morning on
which the above-described conversation took place in teaching Miss
Dunstable to blow soap-bubbles on scientific principles.

"Dear, dear!" said Miss Dunstable, as sparks of knowledge came
flying in upon her mind. "I always thought that a soap-bubble was a
soap-bubble, and I never asked the reason why. One doesn't, you know,
my lord."

"Pardon me, Miss Dunstable," said the old lord, "one does; but nine
hundred and ninety-nine do not."

"And the nine hundred and ninety-nine have the best of it," said Miss
Dunstable. "What pleasure can one have in a ghost after one has seen
the phosphorus rubbed on?"

"Quite true, my dear lady. 'If ignorance be bliss, 'tis folly to be
wise.' It all lies in the 'if.'"

Then Miss Dunstable began to sing:--

   "'What tho' I trace each herb and flower
     That sips the morning dew--'

--you know the rest, my lord." Lord Boanerges did know almost
everything, but he did not know that; and so Miss Dunstable went
on:--

   "'Did I not own Jehovah's power
     How vain were all I knew.'"

"Exactly, exactly, Miss Dunstable," said his lordship; "but why not
own the power and trace the flower as well? perhaps one might help
the other." Upon the whole, I am afraid that Lord Boanerges got the
best of it. But, then, that is his line. He has been getting the best
of it all his life.

It was observed by all that the duke was especially attentive to
young Mr. Frank Gresham, the gentleman on whom and on whose wife Miss
Dunstable had seized so vehemently. This Mr. Gresham was the richest
commoner in the county, and it was rumoured that at the next election
he would be one of the members for the East Riding. Now the duke had
little or nothing to do with the East Riding, and it was well known
that young Gresham would be brought forward as a strong Conservative.
But, nevertheless, his acres were so extensive and his money so
plentiful that he was worth a duke's notice. Mr. Sowerby, also, was
almost more than civil to him, as was natural, seeing that this very
young man by a mere scratch of his pen could turn a scrap of paper
into a bank-note of almost fabulous value.

"So you have the East Barsetshire hounds at Boxall Hill; have you
not?" said the duke.

"The hounds are there," said Frank. "But I am not the master."

"Oh! I understood--"

"My father has them. But he finds Boxall Hill more centrical than
Greshamsbury. The dogs and horses have to go shorter distances."

"Boxall Hill is very centrical."

"Oh, exactly!"

"And your young gorse coverts are doing well?"

"Pretty well--gorse won't thrive everywhere, I find. I wish it
would."

"That's just what I say to Fothergill; and then where there's much
woodland you can't get the vermin to leave it."

"But we haven't a tree at Boxall Hill," said Mrs. Gresham.

"Ah, yes; you're new there, certainly; you've enough of it at
Greshamsbury in all conscience. There's a larger extent of wood there
than we have; isn't there, Fothergill?" Mr. Fothergill said that
the Greshamsbury woods were very extensive, but that, perhaps, he
thought--

"Oh, ah! I know," said the duke. "The Black Forest in its old days
was nothing to Gatherum woods, according to Fothergill. And then,
again, nothing in East Barsetshire could be equal to anything in West
Barsetshire. Isn't that it; eh, Fothergill?" Mr. Fothergill professed
that he had been brought up in that faith and intended to die in it.

"Your exotics at Boxall Hill are very fine, magnificent!" said Mr.
Sowerby.

"I'd sooner have one full-grown oak standing in its pride alone,"
said young Gresham, rather grandiloquently, "than all the exotics in
the world."

"They'll come in due time," said the duke.

"But the due time won't be in my days. And so they're going to cut
down Chaldicotes Forest, are they, Mr. Sowerby?"

"Well, I can't tell you that. They are going to disforest it. I have
been ranger since I was twenty-two, and I don't yet know whether that
means cutting down."

"Not only cutting down, but rooting up," said Mr. Fothergill.

"It's a murderous shame," said Frank Gresham; "and I will say one
thing, I don't think any but a Whig government would do it."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed his grace. "At any rate, I'm sure of this," he
said, "that if a Conservative government did do so, the Whigs would
be just as indignant as you are now."

"I'll tell you what you ought to do, Mr. Gresham," said Sowerby: "put
in an offer for the whole of the West Barsetshire Crown property;
they will be very glad to sell it."

"And we should be delighted to welcome you on this side of the
border," said the duke. Young Gresham did feel rather flattered.
There were not many men in the county to whom such an offer could
be made without an absurdity. It might be doubted whether the duke
himself could purchase the Chace of Chaldicotes with ready money; but
that he, Gresham, could do so--he and his wife between them--no man
did doubt. And then Mr. Gresham thought of a former day when he had
once been at Gatherum Castle. He had been poor enough then, and the
duke had not treated him in the most courteous manner in the world.
How hard it is for a rich man not to lean upon his riches! harder,
indeed, than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

All Barsetshire knew--at any rate all West Barsetshire--that Miss
Dunstable had been brought down in those parts in order that Mr.
Sowerby might marry her. It was not surmised that Miss Dunstable
herself had had any previous notice of this arrangement, but it was
supposed that the thing would turn out as a matter of course. Mr.
Sowerby had no money, but then he was witty, clever, good-looking,
and a member of Parliament. He lived before the world, represented an
old family, and had an old place. How could Miss Dunstable possibly
do better? She was not so young now, and it was time that she
should look about her. The suggestion, as regarded Mr. Sowerby, was
certainly true, and was not the less so as regarded some of Mr.
Sowerby's friends. His sister, Mrs. Harold Smith, had devoted herself
to the work, and with this view had run up a dear friendship with
Miss Dunstable. The bishop had intimated, nodding his head knowingly,
that it would be a very good thing. Mrs. Proudie had given in her
adherence. Mr. Supplehouse had been made to understand that it must
be a case of "Paws off" with him, as long as he remained in that part
of the world; and even the duke himself had desired Fothergill to
manage it.

"He owes me an enormous sum of money," said the duke, who held all
Mr. Sowerby's title-deeds, "and I doubt whether the security will be
sufficient."

"Your grace will find the security quite sufficient," said Mr.
Fothergill; "but nevertheless it would be a good match."

"Very good," said the duke. And then it became Mr. Fothergill's duty
to see that Mr. Sowerby and Miss Dunstable became man and wife as
speedily as possible. Some of the party, who were more wide awake
than others, declared that he had made the offer; others, that he was
just going to do so; and one very knowing lady went so far at one
time as to say that he was making it at that moment. Bets also were
laid as to the lady's answer, as to the terms of the settlement, and
as to the period of the marriage--of all which poor Miss Dunstable of
course knew nothing. Mr. Sowerby, in spite of the publicity of his
proceedings, proceeded in the matter very well. He said little about
it to those who joked with him, but carried on the fight with what
best knowledge he had in such matters. But so much it is given to us
to declare with certainty, that he had not proposed on the evening
previous to the morning fixed for the departure of Mark Robarts.
During the last two days Mr. Sowerby's intimacy with Mark had grown
warmer and warmer. He had talked to the vicar confidentially about
the doings of these bigwigs now present at the castle, as though
there were no other guest there with whom he could speak in so free
a manner. He confided, it seemed, much more in Mark than in his
brother-in-law, Harold Smith, or in any of his brother members of
Parliament, and had altogether opened his heart to him in this affair
of his anticipated marriage. Now Mr. Sowerby was a man of mark in the
world, and all this flattered our young clergyman not a little. On
that evening before Robarts went away Sowerby asked him to come up
into his bedroom when the whole party was breaking up, and there got
him into an easy chair, while he, Sowerby, walked up and down the
room.

"You can hardly tell, my dear fellow," said he, "the state of nervous
anxiety in which this puts me."

"Why don't you ask her and have done with it? She seems to me to be
fond of your society."

"Ah, it is not that only; there are wheels within wheels:" and then
he walked once or twice up and down the room, during which Mark
thought that he might as well go to bed.

"Not that I mind telling you everything," said Sowerby. "I am
infernally hard up for a little ready money just at the present
moment. It may be, and indeed I think it will be, the case that I
shall be ruined in this matter for the want of it."

"Could not Harold Smith give it you?"

"Ha, ha, ha! you don't know Harold Smith. Did you ever hear of his
lending a man a shilling in his life."

"Or Supplehouse?"

"Lord love you! You see me and Supplehouse together here, and he
comes and stays at my house, and all that; but Supplehouse and I are
no friends. Look you here, Mark--I would do more for your little
finger than for his whole hand, including the pen which he holds in
it. Fothergill indeed might--but then I know Fothergill is pressed
himself at the present moment. It is deuced hard, isn't it? I must
give up the whole game if I can't put my hand upon �400 within the
next two days."

"Ask her for it, herself."

"What, the woman I wish to marry! No, Mark, I'm not quite come to
that. I would sooner lose her than that." Mark sat silent, gazing at
the fire and wishing that he was in his own bedroom. He had an idea
that Mr. Sowerby wished him to produce this �400, and he knew also
that he had not �400 in the world, and that if he had he would be
acting very foolishly to give it to Mr. Sowerby. But nevertheless he
felt half fascinated by the man, and half afraid of him.

"Lufton owes it to me to do more than this," continued Mr. Sowerby,
"but then Lufton is not here."

"Why, he has just paid five thousand pounds for you."

"Paid five thousand pounds for me! Indeed he has done no such thing:
not a sixpence of it came into my hands. Believe me, Mark, you don't
know the whole of that yet. Not that I mean to say a word against
Lufton. He is the soul of honour; though so deucedly dilatory in
money matters. He thought he was right all through that affair, but
no man was ever so confoundedly wrong. Why, don't you remember that
that was the very view you took of it yourself?"

"I remember saying that I thought he was mistaken."

"Of course he was mistaken. And dearly the mistake cost me; I had to
make good the money for two or three years. And my property is not
like his--I wish it were."

"Marry Miss Dunstable, and that will set it all right for you."

"Ah! so I would if I had this money. At any rate I would bring it to
the point. Now, I tell you what, Mark, if you'll assist me at this
strait I'll never forget it. And the time will come round when I may
be able to do something for you."

"I have not got a hundred, no, not fifty pounds by me in the world."

"Of course you've not. Men don't walk about the streets with �400 in
their pockets. I don't suppose there's a single man here in the house
with such a sum at his bankers', unless it be the duke."

"What is it you want, then?"

"Why, your name, to be sure. Believe me, my dear fellow, I would not
ask you really to put your hand into your pocket to such a tune as
that. Allow me to draw on you for that amount at three months. Long
before that time I shall be flush enough." And then, before Mark
could answer, he had a bill stamp and pen and ink out on the table
before him, and was filling in the bill as though his friend had
already given his consent.

"Upon my word, Sowerby, I had rather not do that."

"Why? what are you afraid of?"--Mr. Sowerby asked this very sharply.
"Did you ever hear of my having neglected to take up a bill when it
fell due?" Robarts thought that he had heard of such a thing; but in
his confusion he was not exactly sure, and so he said nothing.

"No, my boy; I have not come to that. Look here: just you write,
'Accepted, Mark Robarts,' across that, and then you shall never hear
of the transaction again; and you will have obliged me for ever."

"As a clergyman it would be wrong of me," said Robarts.

"As a clergyman! Come, Mark! If you don't like to do as much as that
for a friend, say so; but don't let us have that sort of humbug. If
there be one class of men whose names would be found more frequent on
the backs of bills in the provincial banks than another, clergymen
are that class. Come, old fellow, you won't throw me over when I am
so hard pushed." Mark Robarts took the pen and signed the bill. It
was the first time in his life that he had ever done such an act.
Sowerby then shook him cordially by the hand, and he walked off to
his own bedroom a wretched man.

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