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Page 22
And this compromise would not have been made from any prudential
motive of saving what would yet remain, for Mr Harding still felt
little doubt but he should be left for life in quiet possession of the
good things he had, if he chose to retain them. No; he would have
done so from the sheer love of quiet, and from a horror of being made
the subject of public talk. He had very often been moved to pity.--to
that inward weeping of the heart for others' woes; but none had he
ever pitied more than that old lord, whose almost fabulous wealth,
drawn from his church preferments, had become the subject of so much
opprobrium, of such public scorn; that wretched clerical octogenarian
Croesus, whom men would not allow to die in peace,--whom all the world
united to decry and to abhor.
Was he to suffer such a fate? Was his humble name to be bandied in
men's mouths, as the gormandiser of the resources of the poor, as
of one who had filched from the charity of other ages wealth which
had been intended to relieve the old and the infirm? Was he to be
gibbeted in the press, to become a byword for oppression, to be named
as an example of the greed of the English church? Should it ever
be said that he had robbed those old men, whom he so truly and so
tenderly loved in his heart of hearts? As he slowly paced, hour after
hour, under those noble lime-trees, turning these sad thoughts within
him, he became all but fixed in his resolve that some great step must
be taken to relieve him from the risk of so terrible a fate.
In the meanwhile, the archdeacon, with contented mind and unruffled
spirit, went about his business. He said a word or two to Mr
Chadwick, and then finding, as he expected, the petition lying in his
father's library, he wrote a short answer to the men, in which he told
them that they had no evils to redress, but rather great mercies for
which to be thankful; and having seen the bishop sign it, he got into
his brougham and returned home to Mrs Grantly, and Plumstead Episcopi.
Chapter VI
THE WARDEN'S TEA PARTY
After much painful doubting, on one thing only could Mr Harding
resolve. He determined that at any rate he would take no offence, and
that he would make this question no cause of quarrel either with Bold
or with the bedesmen. In furtherance of this resolution, he himself
wrote a note to Mr Bold, the same afternoon, inviting him to meet a
few friends and hear some music on an evening named in the next week.
Had not this little party been promised to Eleanor, in his present
state of mind he would probably have avoided such gaiety; but the
promise had been given, the invitations were to be written, and when
Eleanor consulted her father on the subject, she was not ill pleased
to hear him say, "Oh, I was thinking of Bold, so I took it into my
head to write to him myself, but you must write to his sister."
Mary Bold was older than her brother, and, at the time of our story,
was just over thirty. She was not an unattractive young woman, though
by no means beautiful. Her great merit was the kindliness of her
disposition. She was not very clever, nor very animated, nor had she
apparently the energy of her brother; but she was guided by a high
principle of right and wrong; her temper was sweet, and her faults
were fewer in number than her virtues. Those who casually met Mary
Bold thought little of her; but those who knew her well loved her
well, and the longer they knew her the more they loved her. Among
those who were fondest of her was Eleanor Harding; and though Eleanor
had never openly talked to her of her brother, each understood the
other's feelings about him. The brother and sister were sitting
together when the two notes were brought in.
"How odd," said Mary, "that they should send two notes. Well, if Mr
Harding becomes fashionable, the world is going to change."
Her brother understood immediately the nature and intention of the
peace-offering; but it was not so easy for him to behave well in the
matter, as it was for Mr Harding. It is much less difficult for the
sufferer to be generous than for the oppressor. John Bold felt that
he could not go to the warden's party: he never loved Eleanor better
than he did now; he had never so strongly felt how anxious he was
to make her his wife as now, when so many obstacles to his doing
so appeared in view. Yet here was her father himself, as it were,
clearing away those very obstacles, and still he felt that he could
not go to the house any more as an open friend.
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