About a week after this Henry Grantly rode over from Cosby Lodge to Hogglestock. It has just been said that though the assizes had passed by and though all question of Mr Crawley's guilt was now set aside, no visitor had of late made his way over to Hogglestock. I fancy that Grace Crawley forgot, in the fullness of her memory as to other things, that Mr Harding, of whose death she heard, had been her lover's grandfather--and that therefore there might possibly be some delay. Had there been much said between the mother and the daughter about the lover, no doubt all this would have been explained; but Grace was very reticent, and there were other matters in the Hogglestock household which in those days occupied Mrs Crawley's mind. How were they again to begin life? for, in very truth, life as it had existed with them before, had been brought to an end. But Grace remembered well the sort of compact which existed between her and her lover;--the compact which had been made in very words between herself and her lover's father. Complete in her estimation as had been the heaven opened to her by Henry Grantly's offer, she had refused it all--lest she should bring disgrace upon him. But the disgrace was not certain; and if her father should be made free from it, then--then--then Henry Grantly ought to come to her and be at her feet with all the expedition possible to him. That was her reading of the compact. She had once declared, when speaking of the possible disgrace which might attach itself to her family and to her name, that her poverty did not 'signify a bit'. She was not ashamed of her father--only of the accusation against her father. Therefore she had hurried home when that accusation was withdrawn, desirous that her lover should tell her of his love--if he chose to repeat such telling--amidst all the poor things of Hogglestock, and not among the chairs, and tables and good dinners of luxurious Framley. Mrs Robarts had given a true interpretation to Lady Lufton of the haste which Grace had displayed.
But she need not have been in so great a hurry. She had been at home already above a fortnight, and as yet he had made no sign. At last she said a word to her mother. 'Might I not ask to go back to Miss Prettyman's now, mamma?' 'I think, dear, you had better wait till things are a little settled. Papa is to hear again from the dean very soon. You see they are all in great sorrow at Barchester about poor Mr Harding's death.' 'Grace!' said Jane, rushing into the house almost speechless, at that moment, 'here he is!--on horseback.' I do not know why Jane should have talked about Major Grantly as simply 'he'. There had been no conversation among the sisters to justify her in such a mode of speech.
Grace had not a moment to put two and two together, so that she might realise the meaning of what her mother had said; but, nevertheless, she felt at the moment that the man, coming as he had done now, had come with all commendable speed. How foolish she had been with her wretched impatience!
There he was certainly, tying his horse to the railing. 'Mamma, what am I to say to him?'
'Nay, dear; he is your own friend--of your own ******. You must say what you think fit.'
'You are not going?'
'I think we had better, dear. Then she went, and Jane with her, and Jane opened the door for Major Grantly. Mr Crawley himself was away, at Hoggle End, and did not return till after Major Grantly had left the parsonage. Jane, as she greeted the grand gentleman, whom she had seen and no more than seen, hardly knew what to say to him. When, after a minute's hesitation, she told him that Grace was in there--pointing to the sitting-room door, she felt that she had been very awkward. Henry Grantly, however, did not, I think, feel her awkwardness, being conscious of some small difficulties of his own. When, however, he found that Grace was alone, the task before him at once lost half its difficulties. 'Grace,' he said, 'am I right to come to you now?'
'I do not know,' she said. 'I cannot tell.'
'Dearest Grace, there is no reason on earth now why you should not be my wife.'
'Is there not?'
'I know of none--if you can love me. You saw my father?'
'Yes, I saw him.'
'And you heard what he said?'
'I hardly remember what he said;--but he kissed me, and I thought he was very kind.'
What little attempt Henry Grantly then made, thinking that he could do no better than follow closely the example of so excellent a father, need not be explained with minuteness. But I think that his first effort was not successful. Grace was embarrassed and retreated, and it was not till she had been compelled to give a direct answer to a direct question that she submitted to allow his arm round her waist. But when she had answered that question she was almost more humble than becomes a maiden who has just been wooed and won. A maiden who has been wooed and won, generally thinks that it is she who has conquered, and chooses to be triumphant accordingly. But Grace was even mean enough to thank her lover. 'I do not know why you should be so good to me,' she said.
'Because I love you,' said he, 'better than all the world.'
'By why should you be so good to me as that? Why should you love me? Iam such a poor thing for a man like you to love.'
'I have had the wit to see that you are not a poor thing, Grace; and it is thus that I have earned my treasure. Some girls are poor things, and some are rich treasures.'
'If love can make me a treasure, I will be your treasure. And if love can make me rich, I will be rich for you.' After that I think he had no difficulty in following in his father's footsteps.
