<p><SPAN name="c34" id="c34"></SPAN> </p>
<p> </p>
<h3>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h3>
<h4>PRISCILLA'S WISDOM.<br/> </h4>
<p><ANTIMG class="left" src="images/ch34a.jpg" width-obs="310" alt="Illustration" />
On the night after the dinner party in the Close, Dorothy was not the
only person in the house who laid awake thinking of what had taken
place. Miss Stanbury also was full of anxiety, and for hour after
hour could not sleep as she remembered the fruitlessness of her
efforts on behalf of her nephew and niece.</p>
<p>It had never occurred to her, when she had first proposed to herself
that Dorothy should become Mrs. Gibson that Dorothy herself would
have any objection to such a step in life. Her fear had been that
Dorothy would have become over-radiant with triumph at the idea of
having a husband, and going to that husband with a fortune of her
own. That Mr. Gibson might hesitate she had thought very likely. It
is thus in general that women regard the feelings, desires, and
aspirations of other women. You will hardly ever meet an elderly lady
who will not speak of her juniors as living in a state of breathless
anxiety to catch husbands. And the elder lady will speak of the
younger as though any kind of choice in such catching was quite
disregarded. The man must be a gentleman,—or, at least,
gentlemanlike,—and there must be bread. Let these things be given,
and what girl won't jump into what man's arms? Female reader, is it
not thus that the elders of your sex speak of the younger? When old
Mrs. Stanbury heard that Nora Rowley had refused Mr. Glascock, the
thing was to her unintelligible; and it was now quite unintelligible
to Miss Stanbury that Dorothy should prefer a single life to
matrimony with Mr. Gibson.</p>
<p>It must be acknowledged, on Aunt Stanbury's behalf, that Dorothy was
one of those yielding, hesitating, submissive young women, trusting
others, but doubting ever of themselves, as to whom it is natural
that their stronger friends should find it expedient to decide for
them. Miss Stanbury was almost justified in thinking that unless she
were to find a husband for her niece, her niece would never find one
for herself. Dorothy would drift into being an old maid, like
Priscilla, simply because she would never assert herself,—never put
her best foot foremost. Aunt Stanbury had therefore taken upon
herself to put out a foot; and having carefully found that Mr. Gibson
was "willing," had conceived that all difficulties were over. She
would be enabled to do her duty by her niece, and establish
comfortably in life, at any rate, one of her brother's children. And
now Dorothy was taking upon herself to say that she did not like the
gentleman! Such conduct was almost equal to writing for a penny
newspaper!</p>
<p>On the following morning, after breakfast, when Brooke Burgess was
gone out to call upon his uncle,—which he insisted upon doing
openly, and not under the rose, in spite of Miss Stanbury's great
gravity on the occasion,—there was a very serious conversation, and
poor Dorothy had found herself to be almost silenced. She did argue
for a time; but her arguments seemed, even to herself, to amount to
so little! Why shouldn't she love Mr. Gibson? That was a question
which she found it impossible to answer. And though she did not
actually yield, though she did not say that she would accept the man,
still, when she was told that three days were to be allowed to her
for consideration, and that then the offer would be made to her in
form, she felt that, as regarded the anti-Gibson interest, she had
not a leg to stand upon. Why should not such an insignificant
creature, as was she, love Mr. Gibson,—or any other man who had
bread to give her, and was in some degree like a gentleman? On that
night, she wrote the following letter to her
<span class="nowrap">sister:—</span><br/> </p>
<blockquote>
<p class="jright">The Close, Tuesday.</p>
<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest
Priscilla</span>,</p>
<p>I do so wish that you could be with me, so that I could
talk to you again. Aunt Stanbury is the most affectionate
and kindest friend in the world; but she has always been
so able to have her own way, because she is both clever
and good, that I find myself almost like a baby with her.
She has been talking to me again about Mr. Gibson; and it
seems that Mr. Gibson really does mean it. It is certainly
very strange; but I do think now that it is true. He is to
come on Friday. It seems very odd that it should all be
settled for him in that way; but then Aunt Stanbury is so
clever at settling things!</p>
<p>He sat next to me almost all the evening yesterday; but he
didn't say anything about it, except that he hoped I
agreed with him about going to church, and all that. I
suppose I do; and I am quite sure that if I were to be a
clergyman's wife, I should endeavour to do whatever my
husband thought right about religion. One ought to try to
do so, even if the clergyman is not one's husband. Mr.
Burgess has come, and he was so very amusing all the
evening, that perhaps that was the reason Mr. Gibson said
so little. Mr. Burgess is a very nice man, and I think
Aunt Stanbury is more fond of him than of anybody. He is
not at all the sort of person that I expected.</p>
<p>But if Mr. Gibson does come on Friday, and does really
mean it, what am I to say to him? Aunt Stanbury will be
very angry if I do not take her advice. I am quite sure
that she intends it all for my happiness; and then, of
course, she knows so much more about the world than I do.
She asks me what it is that I expect. Of course, I do not
expect anything. It is a great compliment from Mr. Gibson,
who is a clergyman, and thought well of by everybody. And
nothing could be more respectable. Aunt Stanbury says that
with the money she would give us we should be quite
comfortable; and she wants us to live in this house. She
says that there are thirty girls round Exeter who would
give their eyes for such a chance; and, looking at it in
that light, of course, it is a very great thing for me.
Only think how poor we have been! And then, dear
Priscilla, perhaps he would let me be good to you and dear
mamma!</p>
<p>But of course he will ask me whether I—love him; and what
am I to say? Aunt Stanbury says that I am to love him.
"Begin to love him at once," she said this morning. I
would if I could, partly for her sake, and because I do
feel that it would be so respectable. When I think of it,
it does seem such a pity that poor I should throw away
such a chance. And I must say that Mr. Gibson is very good
and most obliging; and everybody says that he has an
excellent temper, and that he is a most prudent,
well-dispositioned man. I declare, dear Priscilla, when I
think of it, I cannot bring myself to believe that such a
man should want me to be his wife.</p>
<p>But what ought I to do? I suppose when a girl is in love
she is very unhappy if the gentleman does not propose to
her. I am sure it would not make me at all unhappy if I
were told that Mr. Gibson had changed his mind.</p>
<p>Dearest Priscilla, you must write at once, because he is
to be here on Friday. Oh, dear; Friday does seem to be so
near! And I shall never know what to say to him, either
one way or the other.</p>
<p class="ind8">Your most affectionate sister,</p>
<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Dorothy Stanbury</span>.</p>
<p class="noindent">P.S.—Give my kindest
love to mamma; but you need not tell
her unless you think it best.<br/> </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Priscilla received this letter on the Wednesday morning, and felt
herself bound to answer it on that same afternoon. Had she postponed
her reply for a day, it would still have been in Dorothy's hands
before Mr. Gibson could have come to her on the dreaded Friday
morning. But still that would hardly give her time enough to consider
the matter with any degree of deliberation after she should have been
armed with what wisdom Priscilla might be able to send her. The post
left Nuncombe Putney at three; and therefore the letter had to be
written before their early dinner.</p>
<p>So Priscilla went into the garden and sat herself down under an old
cedar that she might discuss the matter with herself in all its
bearings. She felt that no woman could be called upon to write a
letter that should be of more importance. The whole welfare in life
of the person who was dearest to her would probably depend upon it.
The weight upon her was so great that she thought for a while she
would take counsel with her mother; but she felt sure that her mother
would recommend the marriage; and that if she afterwards should find
herself bound to oppose it, then her mother would be a miserable
woman. There could be no use to her in taking counsel with her
mother, because her mother's mind was known to her beforehand. The
responsibility was thrown upon her, and she alone must bear it.</p>
<p>She tried hard to persuade herself to write at once and tell her
sister to marry the man. She knew her sister's heart so well as to be
sure that Dorothy would learn to love the man who was her husband. It
was almost impossible that Dorothy should not love those with whom
she lived. And then her sister was so well adapted to be a wife and a
mother. Her temper was so sweet, she was so pure, so unselfish, so
devoted, and so healthy withal! She was so happy when she was acting
for others; and so excellent in action when she had another one to
think for her! She was so trusting and trustworthy that any husband
would adore her! Then Priscilla walked slowly into the house, got her
prayer-book, and returning to her seat under the tree read the
marriage service. It was one o'clock when she went up-stairs to write
her letter, and it had not yet struck eleven when she first seated
herself beneath the tree. Her letter, when written, was as
<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br/> </p>
<blockquote>
<p class="jright">Nuncombe Putney, August 25, 186—.</p>
<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest
Dorothy</span>,</p>
<p>I got your letter this morning, and I think it is better
to answer it at once, as the time is very short. I have
been thinking about it with all my mind, and I feel almost
awe-stricken lest I should advise you wrongly. After all,
I believe that your own dear sweet truth and honesty would
guide you better than anybody else can guide you. You may
be sure of this, that whichever way it is, I shall think
that you have done right. Dearest sister, I suppose there
can be no doubt that for most women a married life is
happier than a single one. It is always thought so, as we
may see by the anxiety of others to get married; and when
an opinion becomes general, I think that the world is most
often right. And then, my own one, I feel sure that you
are adapted both for the cares and for the joys of married
life. You would do your duty as a married woman happily,
and would be a comfort to your husband;—not a thorn in
his side, as are so many women.</p>
<p>But, my pet, do not let that reasoning of Aunt Stanbury's
about the thirty young girls who would give their eyes for
Mr. Gibson, have any weight with you. You should not take
him because thirty other young girls would be glad to have
him. And do not think too much of that respectability of
which you speak. I would never advise my Dolly to marry
any man unless she could be respectable in her new
position; but that alone should go for nothing. Nor should
our poverty. We shall not starve. And even if we did, that
would be but a poor excuse.</p>
<p>I can find no escape from this,—that you should love him
before you say that you will take him. But honest, loyal
love need not, I take it, be of that romantic kind which
people write about in novels and poetry. You need not
think him to be perfect, or the best or grandest of men.
Your heart will tell you whether he is dear to you. And
remember, Dolly, that I shall remember that love itself
must begin at some precise time. Though you had not
learned to love him when you wrote on Tuesday, you may
have begun to do so when you get this on Thursday.</p>
<p>If you find that you love him, then say that you will be
his wife. If your heart revolts from such a declaration as
being false;—if you cannot bring yourself to feel that
you prefer him to others as the partner of your
life,—then tell him, with thanks for his courtesy, that
it cannot be as he would have it.</p>
<p class="ind4">Yours always and ever most affectionately,</p>
<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Priscilla</span>.<br/> </p>
</blockquote>
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