THE COMPLETE PALLISER NOVELS (All 6 Novels in One Edition). Anthony Trollope

course not; of course not; and I can tell you this, Alice, he is a man in a thousand. You’ve heard about the money?”

      “What money, papa?”

      “The money that George had.” As the reader is aware, Alice had heard nothing special about this money. She only knew, or supposed she knew, that she had given three thousand pounds to her cousin. But now her father explained to her the whole transaction. “We couldn’t have realized your money for months, perhaps,” said he; “but Grey knew that some men must have rope enough before they can hang themselves.”

      Alice was unable to say anything on this subject to her father, but to herself she did declare that not in that way or with that hope had John Grey produced his money. “He must be paid, papa,” she said. “Paid!” he answered; “he can pay himself now. It may make some difference in the settlements, perhaps, but he and the lawyers may arrange that. I shan’t think of interfering with such a man as Grey. If you could only know, my dear, what I’ve suffered!” Alice in a penitential tone expressed her sorrow, and then he too assured her that he had forgiven her. “Bless you, my child!” he said, “and make you happy, and good, and—and—and very comfortable.” After that he went back to his club.

      Alice made her journey down to Cheltenham without any adventure, and was received by Lady Macleod with open arms. “Dearest Alice, it is so good of you.” “Good!” said Alice, “would I not have gone a thousand miles to you?”

      Lady Macleod was very eager to know all about the coming marriage. “I can tell you now, my dear, though I couldn’t do it before, that I knew he’d persist for ever. He told me so himself in confidence.”

      “He has persisted, aunt; that is certain.”

      “And I hope you’ll reward him. A beautiful woman without discretion is like a pearl in a swine’s snout; but a good wife is a crown of glory to her husband. Remember that, my dear, and choose your part for his sake.”

      “I won’t be that unfortunate pearl, if I can help it, aunt.”

      “We can all help it, if we set about it in the right way. And Alice, you must be careful to find out all his likes and his dislikes. Dear me! I remember how hard I found it, but then I don’t think I was so clever as you are.”

      “Sometimes I think nobody has ever been so stupid as I have.”

      “Not stupid, my dear; if I must say the word, it is self-willed. But, dear, all that is forgiven now. Is it not?”

      “There is a forgiveness which it is rather hard to get,” said Alice.

      There was something said then as to the necessity of looking for pardon beyond this world, which I need not here repeat. To all her old friend’s little sermons Alice was infinitely more attentive than had been her wont, so that Lady Macleod was comforted and took heart of grace, and at last brought forth from under her pillow a letter from the Countess of Midlothian, which she had received a day or two since, and which bore upon Alice’s case. “I was not quite sure whether I’d show it you,” said Lady Macleod, “because you wouldn’t answer her when she wrote to you. But when I’m gone, as I shall be soon, she will be the nearest relative you have on your mother’s side, and from her great position, you know, Alice—” But here Alice became impatient for the letter. Her aunt handed it to her, and she read as follows:—

      Castle Reekie, July, 186––.

      Dear Lady Macleod,—

      I am sorry to hear of the symptoms you speak about. I strongly advise you to depend chiefly on beef-tea. They should be very careful to send it up quite free from grease, and it should not be too strong of the meat. There should be no vegetables in it. Not soup, you know, but beef-tea. If any thing acts upon your strength, that will. I need not tell one who has lived as you have done where to look for that other strength which alone can support you at such a time as this. I would go to you if I thought that my presence would be any comfort to you, but I know how sensitive you are, and the shock might be too much for you.

      If you see Alice Vavasor on her return to England, as you probably will, pray tell her from me that I give her my warmest congratulations, and that I am heartily glad that matters are arranged. I think she treated my attempts to heal the wound in a manner that they did not deserve; but all that shall be forgiven, as shall also her original bad behaviour to poor Mr Grey.

      Alice was becoming weary of so much forgiveness, and told herself, as she was reading the letter, that that of Lady Midlothian was at any rate unnecessary. “I trust that we may yet meet and be friends,” continued Lady Midlothian. “I am extremely gratified at finding that she has been thought so much of by Mr Palliser. I’m told that Mr Palliser and Mr Grey have become great friends, and if this is so, Alice must be happy to feel that she has had it in her power to confer so great a benefit on her future husband as he will receive from this introduction.” “I ain’t a bit happy, and I have conferred no benefit on Mr Grey,” exclaimed Alice, who was unable to repress the anger occasioned by the last paragraph.

      “But it is a great benefit, my dear.”

      “Mr Palliser has every bit as much cause to be gratified for that as Mr Grey, and perhaps more.”

      Poor Lady Macleod could not argue the matter in her present state. She merely sighed, and moved her shrivelled old hand up and down upon the counterpane. Alice finished the letter without further remarks. It merely went on to say how happy the writer would be to know something of her cousin as Mrs Grey, as also to know something of Mr Grey, and then gave a general invitation to both Mr and Mrs Grey, asking them to come to Castle Reekie whenever they might be able. The Marchioness, with whom Lady Midlothian was staying, had expressly desired her to give this message. Alice, however, could not but observe that Lady Midlothian’s invitation applied only to another person’s house.

      “I’m sure she means well,” said Alice.

      “Indeed she does,” said Lady Macleod, “and then you know you’ll probably have children; and think what a thing it will be for them to know the Midlothian family. You shouldn’t rob them of their natural advantages.”

      Alice remained a week with her aunt, and went from thence direct to Westmoreland. Some order as to bridal preparations we must presume she gave on that single day which she passed in London. Much advice she had received on this head from Lady Glencora, and no inconsiderable amount of assistance was to be rendered to her at Matching during the fortnight she would remain there before her marriage. Something also, let us hope, she might do at Cheltenham. Something no doubt she did do. Something also might probably be achieved among the wilds in Westmoreland, but that something would necessarily be of a nature not requiring fashionable tradespeople. While at Cheltenham, she determined that she would not again return to London before her marriage. This resolve was caused by a very urgent letter from Mr Grey, and by another, almost equally urgent, from Lady Glencora. If the marriage did not take place in September she would not be present at it. The gods of the world,—of Lady Glencora’s world,—had met together and come to a great decision. Lady Glencora was to be removed in October to Gatherum Castle, and remain there till the following spring, so that the heir might, in truth, be born in the purple. “It is such a bore,” said Lady Glencora, “and I know it will be a girl. But the Duke isn’t to be there, except for the Christmas week.” An invitation for the ceremony at Matching had been sent from Mr Palliser to Mr Vavasor, and another from Lady Glencora to Kate, “whom I long to know,” said her ladyship, “and with whom I should like to pick a crow, if I dared, as I’m sure she did all the mischief.”

Chapter LXXVIII.

       Mr Cheesacre’s Fate

       Table of Contents

      It must be acknowledged that Mrs Greenow was a woman of great resources, and that she would be very prudent for others, though I fear the verdict of those who know her must go against her in regard to prudence in herself.