He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕

conference. Mr and Mrs Outhouse had both seen the necessity of sleeping

upon the matter. They had slept upon it, and the discourse between them

on the second day was so doubtful in its tone that more sleeping would

probably have been necessary had not Mr Trevelyan appeared and

compelled them to a decision.

‘You must remember that I make no charge against her,’ said Trevelyan,

after the matter had been discussed for about an hour.

‘Then why should she not come back to you?’ said Mr Outhouse, timidly.

‘Some day she may if she will be obedient. But it cannot be now. She

has set me at defiance; and even yet it is too clear from the tone of

her letter to me that she thinks that she has been right to do so. How

could we live together in amity when she addresses me as a cruel

tyrant?’

‘Why did she go away at first?’ asked Mrs Outhouse.

‘Because she would compromise my name by an intimacy which I did not

approve. But I do not come here to defend myself, Mrs Outhouse. You

probably think that I have been wrong. You are her friend; and to you,

I will not even say that I have been right. What I want you to

understand is this. She cannot come back to me now. It would not be for

my honour that she should do so.’

‘But, sir would it not be for your welfare, as a Christian?’ asked Mr

Outhouse.

‘You must not be angry with me, if I say that I will not discuss that

just now. I did not come here to discuss it.’

‘It is very sad for our poor niece,’ said Mrs Outhouse. ‘It is very sad

for me,’ said Trevelyan, gloomily ‘very sad, indeed. My home is

destroyed; my life is made solitary; I do not even see my own child.

She has her boy with her, and her sister. I have nobody.’

‘I can’t understand, for the life of me; why you should not live

together just like any other people,’ said Mrs Outhouse, whose woman’s

spirit was arising in her bosom. ‘When people are married, they must

put up with something at least, most always.’ This she added, lest it

might be for a moment imagined that she had had any cause for complaint

with her Mr Outhouse.

‘Pray excuse me, Mrs Outhouse; but I cannot discuss that. The question

between us is this: can you consent to receive your two nieces till

their father’s return and if so, in what way shall I defray the expense

of their living? You will of course understand that I willingly

undertake the expense not only of my wife’s maintenance and of her

sister’s also, but that I will cheerfully allow anything that may be

required either for their comfort or recreation.’

‘I cannot take my nieces into my house as lodgers,’ said Mr Outhouse.

‘No, not as lodgers; but of course you can understand that it is for me

to pay for my own wife. I know I owe you an apology for mentioning it

but how else could I make my request to you?’

‘If Emily and Nora come here they must come as our guests,’ said Mrs

Outhouse.

‘Certainly,’ said the clergyman. ‘And if I am told they are in want of

a home they shall find one here till their father comes. But I am bound

to say that as regards the elder I think her home should be elsewhere.’

‘Of course it should,’ said Mrs Outhouse. ‘I don’t know anything about

the law, but it seems to me very odd that a young woman should be

turned out in this way. You say she has done nothing?’

‘I will not argue the matter,’ said Trevelyan.

‘That’s all very well, Mr Trevelyan,’ said the lady, ‘but she’s my own

niece, and if I don’t stand up for her I don’t know who will. I never

heard such a thing in my life as a wife being sent away after such a

fashion as that. We wouldn’t treat a cookmaid so; that we wouldn’t. As

for coming here, she shall come if she pleases, but I shall always say

that it’s the greatest shame I ever heard of.’

Nothing came of this visit at last. The lady grew in her anger; and Mr

Trevelyan, in his own defence, was driven to declare that his wife’s

obstinate intimacy with Colonel Osborne had almost driven him out of

his senses. Before he left the parsonage he was brought even to tears

by his own narration of his own misery whereby Mr Outhouse was

considerably softened, although Mrs Outhouse became more and more stout

in the defence of her own sex. But nothing at last came of it.

Trevelyan insisted on paying for his wife, wherever she might be

placed; and when he found that this would not be permitted to him at

the parsonage, he was very anxious to take some small furnished house

in the neighbourhood, in which the two sisters might live for the next

six months under the wings of their uncle and aunt But even Mr Outhouse

was moved to pleasantry by this suggestion, as he explained the nature

of the tenements which were common at St. Diddulph’s. Two rooms, front

and back, they might have for about five-and sixpence a week in a house

with three other families. ‘But perhaps that is not exactly what you’d

like,’ said Mr Outhouse. The interview ended with no result, and Mr

Trevelyan took his leave, declaring to himself that he was worse off

than the foxes, who have holes in which to lay their heads, but it must

be presumed that his sufferings in this respect were to be by attorney;

as it was for his wife, and not for himself, that the necessary hole

was now required.

As soon as he was gone Mrs Outhouse answered Nora’s letter, and without

meaning to be explicit, explained pretty closely what had taken place.

The spare bedroom at the parsonage was ready to receive either one or

both of the sisters till Sir Marmaduke should be in London, if one or

both of them should choose to come. And though there was no nursery at

the parsonage, for Mr and Mrs Outhouse had been blessed with no children,

still room should be made for the little boy. But they must come as

visitors ‘as our own nieces,’ said Mrs Outhouse. And she went on to say

that she would have nothing to do with the quarrel between Mr Trevelyan

and his wife. All such quarrels were very bad but as to this quarrel

she could take no part either one side or the other. Then she stated

that Mr Trevelyan had been at the parsonage, but that no arrangement

had been made, because Mr Trevelyan had insisted on paying for their

board and lodging.

This letter reached Nuncombe Putney before any reply was received by

Mrs Trevelyan from her husband. This was on the Saturday morning, and

Mrs Trevelyan had pledged herself to Mrs Stanbury that she would leave

the Clock House on the Monday. Of course, there was no need that she

should do so. Both Mrs Stanbury and Priscilla would now have willingly

consented to their remaining till Sir Marmaduke should be in England.

But Mrs Trevelyan’s high spirit revolted against this after all that

had been said. She thought that she should hear from her husband on the

morrow, but the post on Sunday brought no letter from Trevelyan. On the

Saturday they had finished packing up so certain was Mrs Trevelyan that

some instructions as to her future destiny would be sent to her by her

lord.

At last they decided on the Sunday that they would both go at once to

St. Diddulph’s; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that this

was the decision of the elder sister. Nora would willingly have yielded

to Priscilla’s entreaties, and have remained. But Emily declared that

she could not, and would not, stay in the house. She had a few pounds

what would suffice for her journey; and as Mr Trevelyan had not

thought proper to send his orders to her, she would go without them.

Mrs Outhouse was her aunt, and her nearest relative in England. Upon

whom else could she lean in this time of her great affliction? A

letter, therefore, was written to Mrs Outhouse, saying that the whole

party, including the boy and nurse, would be at St. Diddulph’s on the

Monday evening, and the last cord was put to the boxes.

‘I suppose that he is very angry,’ Mrs Trevelyan said to her sister,

‘but I do not feel that I care about that now. He shall have nothing to

complain of in reference to any gaiety on my part. I will see no one. I

will have no correspondence. But I will not remain here, after what he

has said to me, let him be ever so angry. I declare, as I think of it,

it seems to me that no woman was ever so cruelly treated as I have

been.’ Then she wrote one further line to her husband.

‘Not having received any orders from you, and having promised Mrs

Stanbury that I would leave this house on Monday, I go with Nora to my

aunt, Mrs Outhouse, tomorrow.

E. T.’

On the Sunday evening the four ladies drank tea together, and they all

made an effort to be civil, and even affectionate, to each other. Mrs

Trevelyan had at last allowed Priscilla to explain how it had come to

pass that she had told her brother that it would be better both for her

mother and for herself that the existing arrangements should be brought

to an end, and there had come to be an agreement between them that they

should all part in amity. But the conversation on the Sunday evening

was very difficult.

‘I am sure we shall always think of you both with the greatest

kindness,’ said Mrs Stanbury.

‘As for me,’ said Priscilla, ‘your being with us has been a delight

that I cannot describe, only it has been wrong.’

‘I know too well,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, ‘that in our present

circumstances we are unable to carry delight with us anywhere.’

‘You hardly understand what our life has been,’ said Priscilla; ‘but

the truth is that we had no right to receive you in such a house as

this. It has not been our way of living, and it cannot continue to be

so. It is not wonderful that people should talk of us. Had it been

called your house, it might have been better.’

‘And what will you do now?’ asked Nora.

‘Get out of this place as soon as we can. It is often hard to go back

to the right path; but it may always be done or at least attempted.’

‘It seems to me that I take misery with me wherever I go,’ said Mrs

Trevelyan.

‘My dear, it has not been your fault,’ said Mrs Stanbury.

‘I do not like to blame my brother,’ said Priscilla, ‘because he has

done his best to be good to us all and the punishment will fall

heaviest upon him, because he must pay for it.’

‘He should not be allowed to pay a shilling,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

Then the morning came, and at seven o’clock the two sisters, with the

nurse and child, started for Lessboro’ Station in Mrs Crocket’s open

carriage, the luggage having been sent on in a cart. There were many