The promptings of the dim presence worked uncomfortably on both the occupants of Woolgreaves, but they had the greatest effect on the old gentleman sitting there. With the departure of the girls, and the impossibility which attended his efforts to soften his wife's coldness and do away with the vindictive feeling which she entertained towards his nieces, Mr. Creswell seemed to enter on a new and totally different sphere of existence. The bright earnest man of business became doddering and vague, his cheery look was supplanted by a worn, haggard, fixed regard; his step, which had been remarkably elastic and vigorous for a man of his years, became feeble and slow, and he constantly sat with his hand tightly pressed on his side, as though to endeavour to ease some gnawing pain. A certain amount of coldness and estrangement between him and Marian, which ensued immediately after his nieces' departure, had increased so much as entirely to change the ordinary current of their lives; the pleasant talk which he used to originate, and which she would pursue with such brightness and earnestness as to cause him the greatest delight, had dwindled down into a few careless inquiries on her part, and meaningless replies from him; and the evenings, which he had looked forward to with such pleasure, were now passed in almost unbroken silence.
One day Mr. Gould, the election agent, arrived from London at Brocksopp, and, without going into the town, ordered the fly which he engaged at the station to drive him straight to Woolgreaves. On his arrival there he asked for Mrs. Creswell. The servant, who recognised him and knew his business--what servant at houses which we are in the habit of frequenting does not know our business and all about us, and has his opinion, generally unfavourable, of us and our affairs?--doubted whether he had heard aright, and replied that his master had gone to Brocksopp, and would be found either at the mills or at his committee-rooms. But Mr. Gould renewed his inquiry for Mrs. Creswell, and was conducted by the wondering domestic to that lady's boudoir. The London agent, always sparse of compliments, spoke on this occasion with even more than usual brevity.
"I came to see you to-day, Mrs. Creswell, and not your husband," said he, "as I think you are more likely to comprehend my views, and to offer me some advice."
"Regarding the election, Mr. Gould?"
"Regarding the election, of course. I want to put things in a clear light to you, and, as you're a remarkably clear-headed woman--oh no, I never flatter, I don't get time enough--you'll be able to turn 'em in your mind, and think what's best to be done. I should have made the communication to your husband six months ago, but he's grown nervous and fidgety lately, and I'd sooner have the advantage of your clear brain."
"You are very good--do you think Mr. Creswell's looking ill?"
"Well--I was going to say you mustn't be frightened, but that's not likely--you're too strong-minded, Mrs. Creswell. The fact is, I do see a great difference in the old--I mean Mr. Creswell--during the last few weeks, and not only I, but the people too."
"You mean some of the electors?"
"Yes, some of his own people, good staunch friends. They say they can't get anything out of him now, can't pin him to a question. He used to be clear and straightforward, and now he wanders away into something else, and sits mumchance, and doesn't answer any questions at all."
"And you have come to consult me about this?"