or unsuccessful in the one great wish of his life; and, as such was the case with him—­as he had in hand a thing so vital, it could be nothing to him whether the chance companion of his voyage was an agreeable or disagreeable person.  He himself, in any of the ordinary circumstances of life, was prone enough to talk with anyone he might meet.  He could have travelled for twelve hours together with an old lady, and could listen to her or make her listen to him without half-an-hour’s interruption.  But this journey was made on no ordinary occasion, and it behoved him to think of Lily.  Therefore, after the first little almost necessary effort at civility, he fell back into gloomy silence.  He was going to do his best to win Lily Dale, and this doing of his best would require all his thoughts and all his energy.

And probably Major Grantly’s mind was bent in the same direction.  He, too, had this work before him, and could not look upon his work as a thing that which he was intent upon obtaining.  He knew—­he almost knew—­that he had won the heart of the girl whom he was seeking.  There had been that between him and her which justified him in supposing that he was dear to her, although no expression of affection had ever passed from her lips to his ears.  Men may know all that they require to know on that subject without any plainly spoken words.  Grace Crawley had spoken no word, and yet he had known—­at any rate had not doubted, that he could have the place in her heart of which he desired to be the master.  She would never surrender herself altogether till she had taught herself to be sure of him to whom she gave herself.  But she had listened to him with silence that had not rebuked him, and he had told himself that he might venture, without fear of that rebuke as to which the minds of some men are sensitive to a degree which other men cannot even understand.  But for all this Major Grantly could not be altogether happy as to his mission; he would ask Grace Crawley to be his wife; but he would be ruined by his own success.  And the remembrance that he would be severed from his own family by the thing that he was doing, was very bitter to him.  In generosity he might be silent about this to Grace, but who can endure to be silent on such a subject to the woman who is to be his wife?  And then it would not be possible for him to abstain from some explanation.  He was now following her down to Allington, a step which he certainly would not have taken but the misfortune which had befallen her father, and he must explain to her in some sort of way why he did so.  He must say to her—­if not in so many words, still almost as plainly as words could speak—­I am here now to ask you to be my wife, because you specially require the protection and countenance of the man who loves you, in the present circumstances of your father’s affairs.  He knew that he was doing right;—­perhaps had some idea that he was doing nobly; but this very appreciation of his own good qualities made the task before the more difficult.