"Ha!" cried the old man, "be off with you, young ones. Miss Orrin is going to receive spiritual direction and absolution."
The tall old woman started up, her right hand upon the bread knife, as if she could have killed her master with it on the spot.
"Well would it be for you, Hobby Stennis, if you did the like!" she said, restraining herself with difficulty. "But there"s Mr.
Ablethorpe, and he must not be kept waiting!"
"Of course not, Miss Orrin," said Mr. Stennis sneeringly. "It were a pity indeed that he should--and he come so far to administer spiritual consolation to conscious sinners!"
Then the old woman was roused to fury.
"Sinner am I?" she said, going up and bending her body till her face came within an inch of two of that of the old man, who was seated, pretending to go on with his tea. "Sinner am I? Well, I do not deny it. But at least, if sinner I be, it is that I may find a home and a livelihood for those three poor things, whom G.o.d hath bereft of their reason! But as for you--for what do you sin--sin till the sand of the sea could hardly tell the mult.i.tude of your crimes, poured from the hand like water, a grain for a sin? For money--yes, for dirty gold!
For money which you dare not spend, and for gear which you dare not show! Answer me that! And if sinner I be--I have never heard or read that the Gospel is not for sinners! Do I not need it the more, Hobby Stennis? And the young man is a good young man, and speaks to me of high things--such as I need much, and you more!"
"Have your shown him your Mumbo-Jumbo worship in the barn? Or your sisters, kneeling before the little coffins--all that flummery? You ought to be ashamed--you, Aphra Orrin, you, a woman of sense, and able to know better!"
"And if I told Mr. Ablethorpe all, he would understand," retorted the old maid. "He would understand that those who cannot know G.o.d must be content with such a G.o.d as they can understand!"
Mr. Stennis laughed, but there was a false ring in his laughter.
"Aye," he said, "doubtless there are a great many things which the good young man, Mr. Ablethorpe, cannot understand. Did you ever, by chance, try to teach him a little gardening?"
"No, and well for you, Hobby Stennis!" cried the woman, still threateningly.
"Well or ill," said the old man, "I go to see these bairns across the bridge and safe on their way home. Then to my weaving! Where is Jeremy?"
"How should I know were Jeremy is--on some of your errands, doubtless!"
she cried. "Come, I will let down the drawbridge myself. Also I shall see to it that you offer no indignity to the one honest man who deigns to enter your house."
This quarrel between the two most sane inhabitants of Deep Moat Grange let me deeper into the secrets of that evil dwelling than anything else. At least, so I thought at the time. But I found afterwards that all I thought I knew had but lain on the surface. I had conceited to find Shallow Moat Grange, and lo! the name was no misnomer. The moat was Deep, indeed.
All the same, it was like coming out of a heated room, with many people therein, into the silence and chill of the winter stars, to get one"s head outside that abominable house of the Grange. How good to pa.s.s by the lily clumps, and feel one"s feet on green gra.s.s again! It seemed to me that even the dull and sullen moat could be crossed, if you only took it determinedly enough. We had seen Jeremy come over and return, and so surely could we, fleeing (if need were) for our lives.
But there was no need at present. Miss Orrin had thrown a white shawl about her head and shoulders, and drawn a pair of tight silk lacy "mits" over her bony wrists. She made straight for the drawbridge, walking at least ten yards in front of us--apparently that she might get the first word with the fine young man in clerical attire who stood waiting on the further bank.
"I am sorry to have kept you, sir," she said, in a voice which I could not have believed to be hers, had I not seen her lips moving as we arrived; "I will let down the bridge in a moment. Mr. Stennis has been entertaining some relatives of his own, and did not wish to be disturbed."
"I hope that I am not intruding!" called out the young man from the farther bank. "I can easily look in again. It will not be the least trouble, I a.s.sure you!"
"Not for the world," cried the old woman hastily; "in a moment the bridge will be down."
And she rushed to the little wheelhouse, to let go the chain with a relieving motion of her foot. And immediately the ponderous affair came clanking to the ground, locking into the pawls at the other side with the pleasant _sloop_ of well-oiled machinery.
Then it was our turn to be introduced. Mr. Ablethorpe came across the wood with the firm tread of an athlete. He held out his hand first to Miss Orrin, who bowed over it, as if she would have loved to raise it reverently to her lips.
Then he shook hands with Mr. Stennis, who took the matter cavalierly enough, immediately turning on his heel and going off in the direction of his weaving-room, which had an additional entrance from the front.
The young curate was apparently well enough accustomed to such treatment, and thought nothing of it, but Miss Orrin bit her thin lips and looked daggers at the bowed head of the old weaver-farmer as he trudged away.
"Halloo, Joseph Yarrow," said Mr. Ablethorpe lightly, as he ruffled my head with his hand. (I understood well enough to take off my cap to a clergyman.) "Joe Yarrow, I know your father. And I think--yes, I think--" (he put a lot of accent on the _think_) "Master Joseph, you ought to be at school. Shall I tell your father, Joseph? If I did, I make no doubt that he would give you a coat of a few colours, mainly black and blue. Ha! ha!"
But he had that light way with him, which made us quite sure that he would do nothing half so mean as to tell either my father or Mr.
Mustard the schoolmaster.
"And who is this young lady?" he said, looking at Elsie, who was tall, and when taken short like that had a kind of "distant" look which made people think she was haughty. But she looked very nice that way--what people call pretty and "chic" (whatever that may be). I could see that Mr. Ablethorpe was interested in her directly. I could have knocked his head off! Cheek, indeed!
"She lives with a poor working woman," said Miss Orrin, who had no doubt noticed the interest as well as I, "one named Nance Edgar, not very far out of Breckonside village. But not in your parish, Mr.
Ablethorpe. Will you come this way, Mr. Ablethorpe? There is tea ready for you."
But Mr Ablethorpe had his own time of doing things, and with such a girl as Elsie in front of him, he was not in a hurry.
"Lives with a poor woman, does she?--Nancy--Nancy--what name did you say?" he went on in the tone in which people ask for additional information.
But I was not going to stand this--from Miss Orrin or any one, about my Elsie.
"This is Miss Elsie Stennis," I said, with what of dignity I could compa.s.s with my inches, "the only grand daughter of Mr Stennis, the owner of this property."
"But how?" said the young man, looking, as I thought, a little reproachfully at Miss Orrin; "I was not seriously aware that Mr.
Stennis had any relatives alive."
"This girl has been represented as the child of his daughter Isabella,"
said Miss Orrin, "but Mr. Stennis, doubtless for excellent reasons, has never acknowledged her as such!"
"But the church records and the registrar have, though," said I. "You can speak to old Mr. Askew, if you like--he knows!"
"You can go now," said Miss Orrin, with dignity, cutting me short, "and remember that you are not to return till you have received an invitation. Mr. Stennis will overlook your conduct on this occasion, in consideration of your youth and ignorance. But you will know better the next time, and no such excuse will be accepted."
As Mr. Ablethorpe pa.s.sed me he nodded his blonde curly head at me, twinkled his eye, and said: "Tell your father that I am going to look him up one of these days. I want a subscription for our Organ Fund, but I won"t say anything about where I found you--I promise you that."
He looked at Elsie, too, as if he had meant to say something jokingly to her also, but thought better of it. Then he lifted his hat and pa.s.sed away across the green lawn side by side with Miss Orrin. They wove their way among the clumps of lilies till they were lost to view, and I could see that they were talking earnestly together.
And from the barn, very lonesome across the black water of the moat, came the indignant hooting of the mad sisters still shut up behind the barred door, with the black altar and the little coffins.
CHAPTER IX
ELSIE"S VISITOR
It was a night or two after our first and (for the time being) last visit to Deep Moat Grange. Elsie and I had arrived back at Nance"s, our hands and even our arms laden with flowers. For Nance had been at home all day, and so Elsie and I had been taking a holiday--I from lessons, and Elsie from looking after the house. We had gone wandering over the long whinny knowes which stretch away to the south, till, from the top of Brom Beacon, one can see the ships crowding into the docks of East Dene and Thorsby, collier and tug and tall sea-going brig, every ship after her kind.
It was a day to be remembered, and as a matter of fact neither of us has forgotten it. We crossed Brom Water where it was as broad as a lake. Our conveyance was a penny flatboat, running on a chain, which chain hauled itself up wet and dripping from the bed of the river. A little farther on we stretched ourselves out on the greensward upon a green knoll above a railway cutting. We talked. We were silent, and listened to the the wind among the leaves and the hum of insects among the lime trees and meadow plants. Mr. Mustard was not at all in our thoughts. Nor yet my father in mine. Only one thing troubled me--the knowledge that in the autumn I must leave Breckonside and go to college. College itself I did not mind about. There was a certain amount of fun in being a student--or so I had always been told. What I really did mind about was leaving Elsie.
It would be--I knew it by instinct--like cutting off a part of my own body to go walking lonely on Sat.u.r.days when we had so often loitered in company, thinking that the good days would never cease, wanting nothing better, nothing other than just what we had. Ah! I had a prevision that day that Elsie and I had better make the most of our time during this summer. For the winter would try our friendship.
What I did not foresee was how suddenly Elsie would grow up. Yet she had always done things suddenly--from boxing my ears to deciding to continue her studies at home. She did the latter that very day, and in the evening she announced to Nance that she was not going back to school.
"Very well," said Nance, not in the least surprised. Indeed, with her own limited education, she had often wondered why Elsie had prolonged hers so unnecessarily.