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<title>XXXI</title>
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<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XXXI</h2>
<p>“And now that’s settled, as far as we can settle it now,” said Tozer, as they left the magistrate’s office, where John Brown, the famous Carlingford solicitor, had accompanied them, “you’ll go and see some of the chapel folks, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent? It’ll be took kind of you to lose no time, especially if you’d say a word just as it’s all over, and let them know the news is true.”</p>
<p>“I will go with you first,” said Vincent, who contemplated the butterman’s shop at that moment through a little halo of gratitude and kindness. He went into the back parlour with the gratified deacon, where <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer sat reading over again the same <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Gazette</i> in which poor Susan’s history was summed up and ended. It seemed like a year to Vincent since he had dined with his mother at this big table, amid the distant odours of all the bacon and cheese. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer put down the paper, and took off her spectacles as her visitor came in. “It’s <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, Phoebe,” she said, with a little exclamation. “Dear, dear, I never thought as the pastor would be such a strange sight in my house—not as I was meaning nothing unkind, Tozer, so there’s no occasion to look at me. I’m as glad as ever I can be to see the minister; and what a blessing as it’s all settled, and the poor dear getting well, too. Phoebe, you needn’t be a-hiding behind me, child, as if the pastor was thinking of how you was dressed. She has on her morning wrapper, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, as she was helping her mother in, and we didn’t expect no visitors. Don’t be standing there, as if it was any matter to the minister how you was dressed.”</p>
<p>“Oh, ma, as if I ever thought of such a thing!” said Phoebe, extending a pink uncovered arm out of the loose sleeve of her morning dress to Vincent, and averting her face; “but to see <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent is so like old times—and everything has seemed so different—and it is so pleasant to feel as if it were all coming back again. Oh ma! to imagine that I ever supposed <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent could notice my dress, or think of poor me!” added Phoebe, in a postscript under her breath. The minister heard the latter words quite as well as the first. After he had shaken the pink, plump hand, he sat down on the opposite side of the table, and saw Phoebe, relieved against the light of the window, wiping a tender tear from her eye. All at once out of the darker and heavier trials which had abstracted him from common life, the young Nonconformist plunged back into the characteristic troubles of his position. As usual, he made no response to Phoebe, found nothing civil to say, but turned with desperation to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer, who was luckily about to speak.</p>
<p>“Don’t pay no attention to her, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent; she’s a deal too feelin’. She oughtn’t to be minded, and then she’ll learn better,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer. “I am sure it wasn’t no wish of ours as you should ever stop away. If we had been your own relations we couldn’t have been more took up; and where should a minister seek for sympathy if it isn’t in his own flock? There ain’t nobody so safe to put your trust in, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, as Salem folks. There’s a many fine friends a young man may have when he’s in a prosperous way, but it ain’t to be supposed they would stand by him in trouble; and it’s then as you find the good of your real friends,” continued <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer, looking with some significance at her husband. Tozer, for his own part, rubbed his hands and stationed himself with his back to the fire, as is the custom of Englishmen of all degrees. The husband and wife contemplated Vincent with complacence. With the kindest feelings in the world, they could not altogether restrain a little triumph. It was impossible now that the minister could mistake who were his true friends.</p>
<p>But just then, strangely enough, a vision of a tender smile, a glance up in his face, the touch of a soft hand, came to Vincent’s mind. His fine friends! he had but one, and she had stood by him in his trouble. From Tozer’s complacence the minister’s mind went off with a bound of relief to that sweet, fruitless sympathy which was dearer than help. From her soft perfumy presence to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer’s parlour, with that pervading consciousness in it of the shop hard by and its store of provisions, what a wonderful difference! It was not so easy to be grateful as he had at first thought.</p>
<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Tozer has been my real friend indeed, and a most honest and thorough one,” said Vincent. “But I don’t think I have any other in Salem so sure and steady,” added the minister, after a little pause, half gratefully, half in bitterness. This sentiment was not, however, resented by the assembled family. Phoebe leaned over her mother’s chair, and whispered, “Oh, ma, dear! didn’t I always say he was full of feeling?” somewhat to the discomfiture of the person commented on; while Tozer himself beamed upon the minister from before the blazing fire.</p>
<p>“I said as we’d pull you through,” said Tozer, “and I said as I’d stand by you; and both I’ll do, sir, you take my word, if you’ll but stick to your duty; and as for standing bail in a hundred pound or two,” continued the butterman, magnanimously, “for a poor young creature as couldn’t be nothing but innocent, I don’t mind that, nor a deal more than that, to keep all things straight. It’s nothing but my duty. When a man is a responsible man, and well-known in a place, it’s his business to make use of his credit, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, sir, and his character, for the good of his friends.”</p>
<p>“It may be your duty, but you know there ain’t a many as would have done it,” said his straightforward wife, “as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent sees himself, and no need for nobody a-telling of him. There ain’t a many as would have stood up for the pastor, right and wrong, and finished off with the likes of this, and the minister don’t need us to say so. Dear, dear, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, you ain’t a-going away already, and us hasn’t so much as seen you for I can’t tell how long? I made sure you’d stop and take a bit of dinner at least, not making no ceremony,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer, “for there’s always enough for a friend, and you can’t take us wrong.”</p>
<p>Vincent had risen hurriedly to his feet, under the strong stimulant of the butterman’s self-applause. Conscious as he was of all that Tozer had really done, the minister found it hard to listen and echo, with due humility and gratitude, the perfect satisfaction of the pair over their own generosity. He had no thanks to say when thus forestalled. “Oh, ma, how can you make so much of it?” cried Phoebe. “The minister will think us so selfish; and, oh, please <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, when you go home, will you speak to your mother, and ask her to let me come and help with her nursing? I should do whatever she told me, and try to be a comfort to her—oh, I should indeed!” said Phoebe, clasping those pink hands. “Nobody could be more devoted than I should be.” She cast down her eyes, and stood the image of maidenly devotedness between Vincent and the window. She struck him dumb, as she always did. He never was equal to the emergency where Phoebe was concerned. He took up his hat in his hands, and tried to explain lamely how he must go away—how he had visits to make—duties to do—and would have stuck fast, and lost <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer’s favour finally and forever, had not the butterman interposed.</p>
<p>“It’s me as is to blame,” said the worthy deacon. “If it hadn’t have been as the pastor wouldn’t pass the door without coming in, I’d not have had him here today; and if you women would think, you’d see. We’re stanch—and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent ain’t no call to trouble himself about us; but Pigeon and them, you see, as went off in a huff yesterday—that’s what the minister has got to do. You shan’t be kep’ no longer, sir, in my house. Duty afore pleasure, that’s my maxim. Good mornin’, and I hope as you won’t meet with no unpleasantness; but if you should, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, don’t be disheartened, sir—we’ll pull you through.”</p>
<p>With this encouraging sentiment, Vincent was released from <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer’s parlour. He drew a long breath when he got out to the fresh air in the street, and faced the idea of the Pigeons and other recusants whom he was now bound to visit. While he thought of them, all so many varieties of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer’s parlour, without the kindness which met him there, the heart of the young Nonconformist failed him. Nothing but gratitude to Tozer could have sent him forth at all on this mission of conciliation; but now on the threshold of it, smarting from even Tozer’s well-intentioned patronage, a yearning for a little personal comfort seized upon Vincent’s mind. It was his duty to go away towards Grove Street, where the poulterer’s residence was; but his longing eyes strayed towards Grange Lane, where consolation dwelt. And, besides, was it not his duty to watch over the real criminal, for whose mysterious wickedness poor Susan had suffered? It was not difficult to foresee how that argument would conclude. He wavered for a few minutes opposite Masters’s shop, gave a furtive glance back towards the butterman’s, and then, starting forward with sudden resolution, took his hasty way to Lady Western’s door; only for a moment; only to see that all was safe, and his prisoner still in custody. Vincent sighed over the thought with an involuntary quickening of his heart. To be detained in such custody, the young man thought, would be sweeter than heaven; and the wild hope which came and went like a meteor about his path, sprang up with sudden intensity, and took the breath from his lips, and the colour from his cheek, as he entered at that green garden door.</p>
<p>Lady Western was by herself in the drawing-room—that room divided in half by the closed doors which Vincent remembered so well. She rose up out of the low chair in which she reposed, like some lovely swan amid billows of dark silken drapery, and held out her beautiful hand to him—both her beautiful hands—with an effusion of kindness and sympathy. The poor young Nonconformist took them into his own, and forgot the very existence of Salem. The sweetness of the moment took all the sting out of his fate. He looked at her without saying anything, with his heart in his eyes. Consolation! It was all he had come for. He could have gone away thereafter and met all the Pigeons in existence; but more happiness still was in store for him—she pointed to a chair on the other side of her worktable. There was nobody else near to break the charm. The silken rustle of her dress, and that faint perfume which she always had about her, pervaded the rosy atmosphere. Out of purgatory, out of bitter life beset with trouble, the young man had leaped for one moment into paradise; and who could wonder that he resigned himself to the spell?</p>
<p>“I am so glad you have come,” said Lady Western. “I am sure you must have hated me, and everything that recalled my name; but it was impossible for anyone to be more grieved than I was, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent. Now, will you tell me about Rachel? She sits by herself in her own room. When I go in she gives me a look of fright which I cannot understand. Fright! Can you imagine Rachel frightened, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent—and of me!”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. I would not venture to come into the presence of the angels if I had guilt on my hands,” said Vincent, not very well knowing what he said.</p>
<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent! what can you mean? You alarm me very much,” said the young Dowager; “but perhaps it is about her little girl. I don’t think she knows where her daughter is. Indeed,” said Lady Western, with a cloud on her beautiful face, “you must not think I ever approved of my brother’s conduct; but when he was so anxious to have his child, I think she might have given in to him a little—don’t you think so? The child might have done him good perhaps. She is very lovely, I hear. Did you see her? Oh, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent, tell me about it. I cannot understand how you are connected with it at all. She trusted in you so much, and now she is afraid of you. Tell me how it is. Hush! she is ringing her bell. She has seen you come into the house.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t want to see <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr>—<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Mildmay,” said Vincent, rising up. “I don’t know why I came at all, if it were not to see the sun shining. It is dark down below where I am,” said the young man, with an involuntary outburst of the passion which at that moment suddenly appeared to him in all its unreasonableness. “Forgive me. It was only a longing I had to see the light.”</p>
<p>Lady Western looked up with her sweet eyes in the minister’s face. She was not ignorant of the condition of mind he was in, but she was sorry for him to the bottom of her heart. To cheer him a little could not harm anyone. “Come back soon,” she said, again holding out her hand with a smile. “I am <em>so</em> sorry for your troubles; and if we can do anything to comfort you, come back soon again, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Vincent.” When the poor Nonconformist came to himself after these words, he was standing outside the garden door, out of paradise, his heart throbbing, and his pulse beating in a kind of sweet delirium. In that very moment of delight he recognised, with a thrill of exaltation and anguish, the madness of his dream. No matter. What if his heart broke after? Now, at least, he could take the consolation. But if it was hard to face <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Pigeon before, it may well be supposed that it was not easy now, with all this world of passionate fancies throbbing in his brain, to turn away from his elevation, and encounter Salem and its irritated deacons. Vincent went slowly up Grange Lane, trying to make up his mind to his inevitable duty. When he was nearly opposite the house of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Marjoribanks, he paused to look back. The garden door was again open, and somebody else was going into the enchanted house. Somebody else;—a tall slight figure, in a loose light-coloured dress, which he recognised instinctively with an agony of jealous rage. A minute before he had allowed to himself, in an exquisite despair, that to hope was madness; but the sight of his rival awoke other thoughts in the mind of the minister. With quick eyes he identified the companion of his midnight journey—he in whose name all Susan’s wretchedness had been wrought—he whom Lady Western could trust “with life—to death.” Vincent went back at the sight of him, and found the door now close shut, through which his steps had passed. Close shut—enclosing the other—shutting <em>him</em> out in the cold external gloom. He forgot all he had to do for himself and his friends—he forgot his duty, his family, everything in the world but hopeless love and passionate jealousy, as he turned again to Lady Western’s door.</p>
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