She had come there determined to say it all,--to liberate her own soul as it were,--but had much doubted the spirit in which the Duke would listen to her. That he would listen to her she was sure,--and then if he chose to cast her out, she would endure his wrath. It would not be to her now as it had been when he accused her of treachery. But, nevertheless, bold as she was and independent, he had imbued her, as he did all those around him, with so strong a sense of his personal dignity, that when she had finished she almost trembled as she looked in his face. Since he had asked how she could justify to herself the threats which she was using he had sat still with his eyes fixed upon her. Now, when she had done, he was in no hurry to speak. He rose slowly and walking towards the fireplace stood with his back towards her, looking down upon the fire. She was the first to speak again. 'Shall I leave you now?' she said in a low voice.
'Perhaps it will be better,' he answered. His voice, too was very low. In truth he was so moved that he hardly knew how to speak at all. Then she rose and was already on her way on to the door when he followed her. 'One moment if you please,' he said almost sternly. 'I am under a debt of gratitude to you of which I cannot express my sense in words. How far I may agree with you, and where I may disagree I will not attempt to point out to you now.'
'Oh no.'
'But all that you have troubled yourself to think and to feel in this matter, and all that true friendship has compelled you to say to me, shall be written down in the tablets of my memory.'
'Duke!'
'My child has at any rate been fortunate in securing the friendship of such a friend.' Then he turned back to the fireplace, and she was constrained to leave the room without another word.
She had determined to make the best plea in her power for Mary; and while she was making the plea had been almost surprised by her own vehemence; but the greater had been her vehemence, the stronger, she thought, would have been the Duke's anger. And as she had watched the workings of his face she had felt for the moment, that the vials of his wrath were about to be poured upon her. Even when she left the room she almost believed that had he not taken those moments for consideration at the fireplace his parting words would have been different. But, as it was, there could be no question now of her departure. No power was left to her of separating herself from Lady Mary. Though the Duke had not as yet acknowledged himself to be conquered, there was no doubt to her now but that he would be conquered. And she, either here or in London, must be the girl's nearest friend up to the day when she should be given over to Mr Tregear. That was one of the three attacks which were made upon the Duke before he went up to his parliamentary duties.
The second was as follows. Among the letters on the following morning one was brought to him from Tregear. It is hoped that the reader will remember the lover's former letter and the very unsatisfactory answer which had been sent to it. Nothing could have been colder, less propitious, or more inveterately hostile than the reply. As he lay in bed with his broken bones at Harrington he had ample time for thinking over all this. He knew every word of the Duke's distressing note by heart, and had often lashed himself to rage as he had repeated it. But he could effect nothing by showing his anger. He must go on an still do something.
Since the writing of that letter he had done something. He had got his seat in Parliament. And he had secured the interest of his friend Silverbridge. This had been partially done at Polwenning, but the accident in the Brake country had completed the work. The brother had at last declared himself in his friend's favour. 'Of course I should be glad to see it,' he had said while sitting by Tregear's bedside. 'The worst is that everything does seem to go against the poor governor.'
Then Tregear made up his mind that he would write another letter.
Personally he was not in the best condition for doing this as he was lying in bed with his left arm tied up, and with straps and bandages all round his body. But he could sit up in bed, and his right hand and arm were free. So he declared to Lady Chiltern his purpose of writing a letter. She tried to dissuade him gently and offered to be his secretary. But when he assured her that no secretary could write his letter for him she understood pretty well what would be the subject of the letter. With considerable difficulty Tregear wrote his letter.
'MY LORD DUKE,'--On this occasion he left out the epithet which he had before used--'Your Grace's reply to my last letter was not encouraging, but in spite of your prohibition I venture to write to you again. If I had the slightest reason for thinking that your daughter was estranged from me, I would not persecute either you or her. But if it be true that she is as devoted to me as I am to her, can I be wrong in pleading my case? Is it not evident to you that she is made of such stuff that she will not be controlled in her choice,--even by your will?
'I have had an accident in the hunting-field and an now writing from Lord Chiltern's house, where I am confined to bed. But I think you will understand me when I say that even in this helpless condition I feel myself constrained to do something. Of course I ask for nothing from you on my own behalf,--but on her behalf may I not add my prayers to hers?
