led in the matter as to
be driven to take the part of the wife against the husband; and Mrs.
Outhouse, though she was full of indignation against Trevelyan, was
at the same time not free from anger in regard to her own niece.
She more than once repeated that most unjust of all proverbs, which
declares that there is never smoke without fire, and asserted broadly
that she did not like to be with people who could not live at
home, husbands with wives, and wives with husbands, in a decent,
respectable manner. Nevertheless the preparations went on busily, and
when the party arrived at seven o'clock in the evening, two rooms had
been prepared close to each other, one for the two sisters, and the
other for the child and nurse, although poor Mr. Outhouse himself was
turned out of his own little chamber in order that the accommodation
might be given. They were all very hot, very tired, and very dusty,
when the cab reached the parsonage. There had been the preliminary
drive from Nuncombe Putney to Lessboro'. Then the railway journey
from thence to the Waterloo Bridge Station had been long. And it had
seemed to them that the distance from the station to St. Diddulph's
had been endless. When the cabman was told whither he was to go, he
looked doubtingly at his poor old horse, and then at the luggage
which he was required to pack on the top of his cab, and laid himself
out for his work with a full understanding that it would not be
accomplished without considerable difficulty. The cabman made it
twelve miles from Waterloo Bridge to St. Diddulph's, and suggested
that extra passengers and parcels would make the fare up to ten and
six. Had he named double as much Mrs. Trevelyan would have assented.
So great was the fatigue, and so wretched the occasion, that there
was sobbing and crying in the cab, and when at last the parsonage was
reached, even the nurse was hardly able to turn her hand to anything.
The poor wanderers were made welcome on that evening without a word
of discussion as to the cause of their coming. "I hope you are not
angry with us, Uncle Oliphant," Emily Trevelyan had said, with tears
in her eyes. "Angry with you, my dear;--for coming to our house!
How could I be angry with you?" Then the travellers were hurried
up-stairs by Mrs. Outhouse, and the master of the parsonage was left
alone for a while. He certainly was not angry, but he was ill at
ease, and unhappy. His guests would probably remain with him for
six or seve