Said I, one night, when I had
conquered myself, ‘Mr. Granville,’—Mr.
Granville Wharton his name was,—‘I doubt if you have
ever yet so much as seen Miss Fareway.’
‘Well, sir,’ returned he, laughing, ‘you see
her so much yourself, that you hardly leave another fellow a
chance of seeing her.’
‘I am her tutor, you know,’ said I.
And there the subject dropped for that time. But I so
contrived as that they should come together shortly
afterwards. I had previously so contrived as to keep them
asunder; for while I loved her,—I mean before I had
determined on my sacrifice,—a lurking jealousy of Mr.
Granville lay within my unworthy breast.
It was quite an ordinary interview in the Fareway Park but
they talked easily together for some time: like takes to like,
and they had many points of resemblance. Said Mr. Granville
to me, when he and I sat at our supper that night, ‘Miss
Fareway is remarkably beautiful, sir, remarkably engaging.
Don’t you think so?’ ‘I think so,’
said I. And I stole a glance at him, and saw that he had
reddened and was thoughtful. I remember it most vividly,
because the mixed feeling of grave pleasure and acute pain that
the slight circumstance caused me was the first of a long, long
series of such mixed impressions under which my hair turned
slowly gray.
I had not much need to feign to be subdued; but I
counterfeited to be older than I was in all respects (Heaven
knows! my heart being all too young the while), and feigned to be
more of a recluse and bookworm than I had really become, and
gradually set up more and more of a fatherly manner towards
Adelina. Likewise I made my tuition less imaginative than
before; separated myself from my poets and philosophers; was
careful to present them in their own light, and me, their lowly
servant, in my own shade. Moreover, in the matter of
apparel I was equally mindful; not that I had ever been dapper
that way; but that I was slovenly now.
As I depressed myself with one hand, so did I labour to raise
Mr. Granville with the other; directing his attention to such
subjects as I too well knew interested her, and fashioning him
(do not deride or misconstrue the expression, unknown reader of
this writing; for I have suffered!) into a greater resemblance to
myself in my solitary one strong aspect. And gradually,
gradually, as I saw him take more and more to these thrown-out
lures of mine, then did I come to know better and better that
love was drawing him on, and was drawing her from me.
So passed more than another year; every day a year in its
number of my mixed impressions of grave pleasure and acute pain;
and then these two, being of age and free to act legally for
themselves, came before me hand in hand (my hair being now quite
white), and entreated me that I would unite them together.
‘And indeed, dear tutor,’ said Adelina, ‘it is
but consistent in you that you should do this thing for us,
seeing that we should never have spoken together that first time
but for you, and that but for you we could never have met so
often afterwards.’ The whole of which was literally
true; for I had availed myself of my many business attendances
on, and conferences with, my lady, to take Mr. Granville to the
house, and leave him in the outer room with Adelina.
And then these two came before me, hand in hand, and entreated me that I would unite them
I knew that my lady would object to such a marriage for her
daughter, or to any marriage that was other than an exchange of
her for stipulated lands, goods, and moneys. But looking on
the two, and seeing with full eyes that they were both young and
beautiful; and knowing that they were alike in the tastes and
acquirements that will outlive youth and beauty; and considering
that Adelina had a fortune now, in her own keeping; and
considering further that Mr. Granville, though for the present
poor, was of a good family that had never lived in a cellar in
Preston; and believing that their love would endure, neither
having any great discrepancy to find out in the other,—I
told them of my readiness to do this thing which Adelina asked of
her dear tutor, and to send them forth, husband and wife, into
the shining world with golden gates that awaited them.
It was on a summer morning that I rose before the sun to
compose myself for the crowning of my work with this end; and my
dwelling being near to the sea, I walked down to the rocks on the
shore, in order that I might behold the sun in his majesty.
The tranquillity upon the deep, and on the firmament, the
orderly withdrawal of the stars, the calm promise of coming day,
the rosy suffusion of the sky and waters, the ineffable splendour
that then burst forth, attuned my mind afresh after the discords
of the night. Methought that all I looked on said to me,
and that all I heard in the sea and in the air said to me,
‘Be comforted, mortal, that thy life is so short. Our
preparation for what is to follow has endured, and shall endure,
for unimaginable ages.’
I married them. I knew that my hand was cold when I
placed it on their hands clasped together; but the words with
which I had to accompany the action I could say without
faltering, and I was at peace.
They being well away from my house and from the place after
our simple breakfast, the time was come when I must do what I had
pledged myself to them that I would do,—break the
intelligence to my lady.
I went up to the house, and found my lady in her ordinary
business-room. She happened to have an unusual amount of
commissions to intrust to me that day; and she had filled my
hands with papers before I could originate a word.
‘My lady,’ I then began, as I stood beside her
table.
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ she said quickly,
looking up.
‘Not much, I would fain hope, after you shall have
prepared yourself, and considered a little.’
‘Prepared myself; and considered a little! You
appear to have prepared yourself but indifferently,
anyhow, Mr. Silverman.’ This mighty scornfully, as I
experienced my usual embarrassment under her stare.
Said I, in self-extenuation once for all, ‘Lady Fareway,
I have but to say for myself that I have tried to do my
duty.’
‘For yourself?’ repeated my lady.
‘Then there are others concerned, I see. Who are
they?’
I was about to answer, when she made towards the bell with a
dart that stopped me, and said, ‘Why, where is
Adelina?’
‘Forbear! be calm, my lady. I married her this
morning to Mr. Granville Wharton.’
She set her lips, looked more intently at me than ever, raised
her right hand, and smote me hard upon the cheek.
‘Give me back those papers! give me back those
papers!’ She tore them out of my hands, and tossed
them on her table. Then seating herself defiantly in her
great chair, and folding her arms, she stabbed me to the heart
with the unlooked-for reproach, ‘You worldly
wretch!’
‘Worldly?’ I cried.
‘Worldly?’
‘This, if you please,’—she went on with
supreme scorn, pointing me out as if there were some one there to
see,—‘this, if you please, is the disinterested
scholar, with not a design beyond his books! This, if you
please, is the simple creature whom any one could overreach in a
bargain! This, if you please, is Mr. Silverman! Not
of this world; not he! He has too much simplicity for this
world’s cunning. He has too much singleness of
purpose to be a match for this world’s
double-dealing. What did he give you for it?’
‘For what? And who?’
‘How much,’ she asked, bending forward in her
great chair, and insultingly tapping the fingers of her right
hand on the palm of her left,—‘how much does Mr.
Granville Wharton pay you for getting him Adelina’s
money? What is the amount of your percentage upon
Adelina’s fortune? What were the terms of the
agreement that you proposed to this boy when you, the Rev. George
Silverman, licensed to marry, engaged to put him in possession of
this girl? You made good terms for yourself, whatever they
were. He would stand a poor chance against your
keenness.’
Bewildered, horrified, stunned by this cruel perversion, I
could not speak. But I trust that I looked innocent, being
so.
‘Listen to me, shrewd hypocrite,’ said my lady,
whose anger increased as she gave it utterance; ‘attend to
my words, you cunning schemer, who have carried this plot through
with such a practised double face that I have never suspected
you. I had my projects for my daughter; projects for family
connection; projects for fortune. You have thwarted them,
and overreached me; but I am not one to be thwarted and
overreached without retaliation. Do you mean to hold this
living another month?’
‘Do you deem it possible, Lady Fareway, that I can hold
it another hour, under your injurious words?’
‘Is it resigned, then?’
‘It was mentally resigned, my lady, some minutes
ago.’
Don’t equivocate, sir. Is it
resigned?’
‘Unconditionally and entirely; and I would that I had
never, never come near it!’
‘A cordial response from me to that wish, Mr.
Silverman! But take this with you, sir. If you had
not resigned it, I would have had you deprived of it. And
though you have resigned it, you will not get quit of me as
easily as you think for. I will pursue you with this
story. I will make this nefarious conspiracy of yours, for
money, known. You have made money by it, but you have at
the same time made an enemy by it. You will take
good care that the money sticks to you; I will take good care
that the enemy sticks to you.’
Then said I finally, ‘Lady Fareway, I think my heart is
broken. Until I came into this room just now, the
possibility of such mean wickedness as you have imputed to me
never dawned upon my thoughts. Your
suspicions—’
‘Suspicions! Pah!’ said she
indignantly. ‘Certainties.’
‘Your certainties, my lady, as you call them, your
suspicions as I call them, are cruel, unjust, wholly devoid of
foundation in fact. I can declare no more; except that I
have not acted for my own profit or my own pleasure. I have
not in this proceeding considered myself. Once again, I
think my heart is broken. If I have unwittingly done any
wrong with a righteous motive, that is some penalty to
pay.’
She received this with another and more indignant
‘Pah!’ and I made my way out of her room (I think I
felt my way out with my hands, although my eyes were open),
almost suspecting that my voice had a repulsive sound, and that I
was a repulsive object.
There was a great stir made, the bishop was appealed to, I
received a severe reprimand, and narrowly escaped
suspension. For years a cloud hung over me, and my name was
tarnished.
But my heart did not break, if a broken heart involves death;
for I lived through it.
They stood by me, Adelina and her husband, through it
all. Those who had known me at college, and even most of
those who had only known me there by reputation, stood by me
too. Little by little, the belief widened that I was not
capable of what was laid to my charge. At length I was
presented to a college-living in a sequestered place, and there I
now pen my explanation. I pen it at my open window in the
summer-time, before me, lying in the churchyard, equal
resting-place for sound hearts, wounded hearts, and broken
hearts. I pen it for the relief of my own mind, not
foreseeing whether or no it will ever have a reader.
