'SILVERBRIDGE,--December, 186-'DEAREST LILY, 'I hardly know how to tell you what has happened, it is so very terrible. But perhaps you will have heard it already, as everybody is talking about it here. It has got into the newspapers, and therefore it cannot be kept secret. Not that I should keep anything from you; only this is so very dreadful that I hardly know how to write it. Somebody says--a Mr Soames, I believe it is--that papa has taken some money that does not belong to him, and he is to be brought before the magistrates and tried. Of course papa has done nothing wrong. I do think he would be the last man in the world to take a penny that did not belong to him. You know how poor he is; what a life he has had! But I think he would almost sooner see mamma starving;--I am sure he would rather be starved himself, then even borrow a shilling which he could not pay. To suppose that he would take money' (she had tried to write the word 'steal' but she could not bring her pen to form the letters)'is monstrous. But, somehow, the circumstances have been made to look bad against him, and they say that he must come over here to the magistrates. I often think that of all men in the world papa is the most unfortunate. Everything seems to go against him, and yet he is so good! Poor mamma has been over here, and she is distracted. I never saw her so wretched before. She has been to your friend Mr Walker, and came to me afterwards for a minute. Mr Walker has got something to do with it, though mamma says she thinks he is quite friendly to papa. I wonder whether you could find out, through Mr Walker, what he thinks about it. Of course, mamma knows that papa has done nothing wrong; but she says that the whole thing is so mysterious, and that she does not know how to account for the money. Papa, you know, is not like other people. He forgets things; and is always thinking, thinking, thinking of his great misfortunes. Poor papa! My heart bleeds so when I remember all his sorrows, that I hate myself for thinking about myself.
'When mamma left me--and it was then I first knew that papa would really have to be tried--Iwent to Miss Annabella, and told her that I would go home. She asked me why, and I said I would not disgrace her house by staying in it. She got up and took me in her arms, and there came a tear out of both her dear old eyes, and she said that if anything evil came to papa--which she would not believe, as she knew him to be a good man--there should be a home in her house not only for me, but for mamma and Jane.
Isn't she a wonderful woman? When I think of her, Isometimes think that she must be an angel already.
Then she became very serious--for just before, through her tears she had tried to smile--and she told me to remember that all people could not be like her, who had nobody to look to but herself and her sister; and that at present I must task myself not to think of that which I had been thinking of before.
She did not mention anybody's name, but of course Iunderstood very well what she meant; and I suppose she is right. I said nothing in answer to her, for Icould not speak. She was holding my hand, and I took hers up and kissed it, to show her, if I could, that Iknew that she was right; but I could not have spoken about it for all the world. It was not ten days since that she herself, with all her prudence, told me that she thought I ought to make up my mind what answer Iwould give him. And then I did not say anything; but of course she knew. And after that Miss Anne spoke quite freely about it, so that I had to beg her to be silent even before the girls. You know how imprudent she is. But it is all over now. Of course Miss Annabella is right. He has got a great many people to think of; his father and mother, and his darling little Edith, whom he brought here twice, and left her with us once for two days, so that she got to know me quite well; and I took such a love for her, that Icould not bear to part with her. But I think sometimes that all our family are born to be unfortunate, and then I tell myself that I will never hope for anything again.
'Pray write to me soon. I feel as though nothing on earth could comfort me, and yet I shall like to have your letter. Dear, dear Lily, I am not even yet so wretched but what I shall rejoice to be told good news of you. If it only could be as John wishes it! And why should it not? It seems to me that nobody has a right or a reason to by unhappy except us. Good-bye, dearest Lily.
'Your affectionate friend, 'GRACE CRAWLEY' 'P.S.--I think I have made up my mind that I will go back to Hogglestock at once if the magistrates decide against papa. I think I should be doing the school harm if I were to stay here.'
The answer to this letter did not reach Miss Crawley till after the magistrate's hearing on the Thursday, but it will be better for our story that it should be given her than postponed until the result of that meeting shall have been told. Miss Dale's answer was as follows:-'ALLINGTON,--December, 186-'DEAR GRACE, 'Your letter has made me very unhappy. If it can at all comfort you to know that mamma and Isympathise with you altogether, in that you may at any rate be sure. But in such troubles nothing will give comfort. They must be borne, till the fire of misfortune burns itself out.
'I had heard about the affair a day or two before I got your note. Our clergyman, Mr Boyce, told us of it. Of course we all know that the charge must be altogether unfounded, and mamma says that the truth will be sure to show itself at last. But that conviction does not cure the evil, and I can well understand that your father should suffer grievously;and I pity your mother quite as much as I do him.