The Duke returned to Matching an almost broken-hearted man.  He had intended to go down into Barsetshire, in reference to the coming elections;—­not with the view of interfering in any unlordly, or rather, unpeerlike fashion, but thinking that if his eldest son were to stand for the county in a proper constitutional spirit, as the eldest son of so great a county magnate ought to do, his presence at Gatherum Castle, among his own people, might properly be serviceable, and would certainly be gracious.  There would be no question of entertainment.  His bereavement would make that impossible.  But there would come from his presence a certain savour of proprietorship, and a sense of power, which would be beneficial to his son, and would not, as the Duke thought, be contrary to the spirit of the constitution.  But all this was now at an end.  He told himself that he did not care how the elections might go;—­that he did not care much how anything might go.  Silverbridge might stand for Silverbridge if he so pleased.  He would give neither assistance nor obstruction, either in the county or in the borough.  He wrote to this effect to his agent, Mr Morton;—­but at the same time desired that gentleman to pay Lord Silverbridge’s electioneering expenses, feeling it to be his duty as a father to do so much for his son.

But though he endeavoured to engage his thoughts in these parliamentary matters, though he tried to make himself believe that this political apostasy was the trouble which vexed him, in truth that other misery was so crushing, as to make the affairs of his son insignificant.  How should he express himself to her?  That was the thought present to his mind as he went down to Matching.  Should he content himself with simply telling her that such a wish on her part was disgraceful, and that it could never be fulfilled; or should he argue the matter with her, endeavouring as he did so to persuade her gently that she was wrong to place her affections so low, and so to obtain from her an assurance that the idea should be abandoned?

The latter course would be infinitely the better,—­if only he could accomplish it.  But he was conscious of his own hardness of manner, and was aware that he had never succeeded in establishing confidence between himself and his daughter.  It was a thing for which he had longed,—­as a plain girl might long to possess the charms of an acknowledged beauty;—­as a poor little fellow, five feet in height, might long to a cubit added to his stature.

Though he was angry with her, how willingly would he take her into his arms and assure her of his forgiveness!  How anxious he would be to make her understand that nothing should be spared by him to add beauty and grace to her life!  Only, as a matter of course, Mr Tregear must be abandoned.  But he knew of himself that he would not know how to begin to be tender and forgiving.  He knew that he would not know not to be stern and hard.