The Vicar of Wrexhill. Frances Milton Trollope
the reach of his eye.
They nevertheless smilingly submitted themselves to his guidance, and in order to prove that he was not very troublesome, Fanny so far returned to their previous conversation as to say,
"We must ask your judgment, Major Dalrymple, upon a point on which we were disputing just before you joined us: which do you prefer in the pulpit—and out of it—Mr. Wallace, or Mr. Cartwright?"
"You were disputing the point, were you?" he replied. "Then I am afraid, Miss Fanny, I must give it against you; for I believe I know Mary's opinion already, and I perfectly agree with her."
"Then I shall say to you, as I say to her," replied Fanny, eagerly "that you are altogether blinded, benighted, deluded, and wrapt up in prejudice! I have great faith both in her sincerity and yours, major; and yet I declare to you, that it does seem to me so impossible for any one to doubt the superiority of Mr. Cartwright in every way, that I can hardly persuade myself you are in earnest."
"What do you mean by every way, Miss Fanny?—you cannot surely believe him to be a better man than our dear old vicar?" said the major.
"We can none of us, I think, have any right to make comparisons of their respective goodness—at least not as yet," replied Fanny. "When I said every way, I meant in the church and in society."
"On the latter point I suppose I ought to leave the question to be decided between you, as in all cases of the kind where gentlemen are to be tried, ladies alone, I believe, are considered competent to form the jury;—not that Mary can have much right to pronounce a verdict either, for I doubt if she has ever been in a room with Mr. Cartwright in her life."
"Yes, I have," said Mary eagerly, "and he is perfectly delightful!"
"Indeed!—I did not know you had seen him."
"Yes—we met him at Smith's."
"Oh! you saw him in a shop, did you?—and even that was sufficient to prove him delightful?"
"Quite enough!" replied Mary, colouring a little as she observed Major Dalrymple smile.
"The more you see of him, the more you will be aware of his excellence," said Fanny, coming to the aid of her friend, and with an air of gravity that was intended to check the levity of the major. "I have seen him repeatedly at the Park, Major Dalrymple, and under circumstances that gave sufficient opportunity to show the excellence of his heart, as well as the charm of his friendly, affectionate, and graceful manner."
"He has certainly been a very handsome man," said the major.
"Has been!" exclaimed both the girls at once.
"He is still very well-looking," added the gentleman.
"Well-looking!" was again indignantly echoed by the ladies.
"You do not think the term strong enough? but when a man gets on the wrong side of forty it is, I think, as much as he can expect."
"I don't care a farthing what his age maybe," cried Mary; "do you, Miss Mowbray? … If he were a hundred and forty, with that countenance and that manner, I should still think him the handsomest and most perfect person I ever saw."
"Dear Mary!" replied Fanny affectionately, "how exactly we feel alike about him! I love you dearly for fighting his battles so warmly."
"There is surely no fighting in the case," said Major Dalrymple, laughing—"at least not with me. But have a care, young ladies: such perfect conformity of taste on these subjects does not always, I believe, tend to the continuance of female friendship. What a sad thing it would be if those two little hands were some day to set pulling caps between their respective owners!"
"There is not the least danger of any such dismal catastrophe, I assure you. Is there Mary?"
"Good heavens, no!" replied little Mary in a voice of great indignation. "What a hateful idea!"
"One reason why it is so delightful to love and admire Mr. Cartwright," rejoined Fanny, "is, that one may do it and talk of it too, without any danger that rational people, Major Dalrymple, should make a jest of it, and talk the same sort of nonsense that every body is so fond of doing whenever a lady is heard to express admiration for a gentleman. But we may surely love and admire the clergyman of the parish; indeed I think it is a sort of duty for every one to do so."
"I assure you," replied the major, "that I both loved and admired Mr. Wallace exceedingly, and that I shall gladly pay the same homage to his successor as soon as I know him to deserve it. But
"Cautious age and youth. …
you know the song, Mary?"
"I know your meaning, Major Dalrymple: you are always boasting of your age; but I don't know any one but yourself who thinks so very much of. … "
" … My antiquity and my wisdom."
"Just that. … But, good heavens! Fanny Mowbray, who is that to whom your mother is speaking on the lawn?"
"It is Mr. Cartwright!" cried Fanny with animation; "and now, Major Dalrymple, you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself."
"I fear not," he replied, taking out his watch; "it is now eight o'clock, and Mrs. Richards seldom walks much after nine."
The two girls now withdrew their arms, and hastened forward to the group of which Mr. Cartwright made one. Fanny Mowbray held out her hand to him, which was taken and held very affectionately for two or three minutes.
"You have been enjoying this balmy air," said he to her in a voice sweetly modulated to the hour and the theme. "It is heaven's own breath, Miss Fanny, and to such a mind as yours must utter accents worthy of the source from whence it comes."
Fanny's beautiful eyes were fixed upon his face, and almost seemed to say,
"When you speak, I'd have you do it ever."
"I do not think he recollects me," whispered Mary Richards in her ear: "I wish you'd introduce me."
Fanny Mowbray started, but recovering herself, said, "Mr. Cartwright, give me leave to introduce my friend Miss Mary Richards to you. She is one of your parishioners, and one that you will find capable of appreciating the happiness of being so."
Mr. Cartwright extended his pastoral hand to the young lady with a most gracious smile.
"Bless you both!" said he, joining their hands between both of his. "To lead you together in the path in which we must all wish to go, would be a task that might give a foretaste of the heaven we sought!"
He then turned towards Mrs. Mowbray, and with a look and tone which showed that though he never alluded to her situation, he never forgot it, he inquired how far she had extended her ramble.
"Much farther than I intended when I set out," replied Mrs. Mowbray. "But my children, the weather, and the hay, altogether beguiled me to the bottom of Farmer Bennet's great meadow."
"Quite right, quite right," replied Mr. Cartwright, with something approaching almost to fervour of approbation: "this species of quiet courage, of gentle submission, is just what I expected from Mrs. Mowbray. It is the sweetest incense that you can offer to Heaven; and Heaven will repay it."
Mrs. Mowbray looked up at his mild countenance, and saw a moisture in his eye that spoke more tender pity than he would permit his lips to utter. It touched her to the heart.
Mrs. Richards, who was something of a florist, was examining, with the assistance of Rosalind, some new geraniums that were placed on circular stands outside the drawing-room, filling the spaces between the windows. As this occupation had drawn them from the rest of the party from the time Mr. Cartwright approached to join it, they had not yet received that gentleman's salutation, and he now went up to them.
"Miss Torrington looks as if she were discoursing of her kindred. Are these fair blossoms the children of your especial care?"
"They are the children of the gardener and the greenhouse,