Presently his eye was once more caught by the roof of Burwood, lying beneath him on its promontory of land, in the quiet shelter of its protecting trees. He stopped, and a delicate sense of harmonious a.s.sociation awoke in him. That girl, atoning as it were by her one white life for all the crimes and coa.r.s.eness of her ancestry: the idea of her seemed to steal into the solemn golden evening and give it added poetry and meaning. The young man felt a sudden strong curiosity to see her.
CHAPTER III
The festal tea had begun, and Mrs. Thornburgh was presiding. Opposite to her, on the vicar"s left, sat the formidable rector"s wife. Poor Mrs.
Thornburgh had said to herself as she entered the room on the arm of Mr.
Mayhew, the inc.u.mbent of the neighbouring valley of Shanmoor, that the first _coup d"oeil_ was good. The flowers had been arranged in the afternoon by Rose; Sarah"s exertions had made the silver shine again; a pleasing odour of good food underlay the scent of the bluebells and fern; and what with the snowy table-linen, and the pretty dresses and bright faces of the younger people, the room seemed to be full of an incessant play of crisp and delicate colour.
But just as the vicar"s wife was sinking into her seat with a little sigh of wearied satisfaction, she caught sight suddenly of an eye-gla.s.s at the other end of the table slowly revolving in a large and jewelled hand. The judicial eye behind the eye-gla.s.s travelled round the table, lingering, as it seemed to Mrs. Thornburgh"s excited consciousness, on every spot where cream or jelly or _meringue_ should have been and was not. When it dropped with a harsh little click, the hostess, unable to restrain herself, rushed into desperate conversation with Mr. Mayhew, giving vent to incoherencies in the course of the first act of the meal which did but confirm her neighbour--a grim, uncommunicative person--in his own devotion to a policy of silence. Meanwhile the vicar was grappling on very unequal terms with Mrs. Seaton. Mrs. Leyburn had fallen to young Elsmere. Catherine Leyburn was paired off with Dr.
Baker, Agnes with Mr. Mayhew"s awkward son--a tongue-tied youth, lately an unattached student at Oxford, but now relegated, owing to an invincible antipathy to Greek verbs, to his native air, till some other opening into the great world should be discovered for him.
Rose was on Robert Elsmere"s right. Agnes had coaxed her into a white dress as being the least startling garment she possessed, and she was like a Stothard picture with her high waist, her blue sash ribbon, her slender neck and brilliant head. She had already cast many curious glances at the Thornburghs" guest. "Not a prig, at any rate," she thought to herself with satisfaction, "so Agnes is quite wrong."
As for the young man, who was, to begin with, in that state which so often follows on the long confinement of illness, when the light seems brighter and scents keener and experience sharper than at other times, he was inwardly confessing that Mrs. Thornburgh had not been romancing.
The vivid creature at his elbow, with her still unsoftened angles and movements, was in the first dawn of an exceptional beauty; the plain sister had struck him before supper in the course of twenty minutes"
conversation as above the average in point of manners and talk. As to Miss Leyburn, he had so far only exchanged a bow with her, but he was watching her now, as he sat opposite to her, out of his quick observant eyes.
She, too, was in white. As she turned to speak to the youth at her side, Elsmere caught the fine outline of the head, the unusually clear and perfect moulding of the brow, nose, and upper lip. The hollows in the cheeks struck him, and the way in which the breadth of the forehead somewhat overbalanced the delicacy of the mouth and chin. The face, though still quite young, and expressing a perfect physical health, had the look of having been polished and refined away to its foundations.
There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on it, and not a vestige of Rose"s peach-like bloom. Her profile, as he saw it now, had the firmness, the clear whiteness, of a profile on a Greek gem.
She was actually making that silent, awkward lad talk! Robert, who, out of his four years" experience as an Oxford tutor, had an abundant compa.s.sion for and understanding of such beings as young Mayhew, watched her with a pleased amus.e.m.e.nt, wondering how she did it. What? Had she got him on carpentering, engineering--discovered his weak point?
Water-wheels, inventors, steam-engines--and the lumpish lad all in a glow, talking away nineteen to the dozen. What tact, what kindness in her gray-blue eyes!
But he was interrupted by Mrs. Seaton, who was perfectly well aware that she had beside her a stranger of some prestige, an Oxford man, and a member, besides, of a well-known Suss.e.x county family. She was a large and commanding person, clad in black _moire_ silk. She wore a velvet diadem, Honiton lace lappets, and a variety of chains, beads, and bangles bestrewn about her that made a tinkling as she moved. Fixing her neighbour with a bland majesty of eye, she inquired of him if he were "any relation of Sir Mowbray Elsmere?" Robert replied that Sir Mowbray Elsmere was his father"s cousin, and the patron of the living to which he had just been appointed. Mrs. Seaton then graciously informed him that long ago--"when I was a girl in my native Hampshire"--her family and Sir Mowbray Elsmere had been on intimate terms. Her father had been devoted to Sir Mowbray. "And I," she added, with an evident though lofty desire to please, "retain an inherited respect, sir, for your name."
Robert bowed, but it was not clear from his look that the rector"s wife had made an impression. His general conception of his relative and patron Sir Mowbray--who had been for many years the family black sheep--was, indeed, so far removed from any notions of "respect," that he had some difficulty in keeping his countenance under the lady"s look and pose. He would have been still more entertained had he known the nature of the intimacy to which she referred. Mrs. Seaton"s father, in his capacity of solicitor in a small country town, had acted as electioneering agent for Sir Mowbray (then plain Mr.) Elsmere on two occasions--in 18--, when his client had been triumphantly returned at a bye-election; and two years later, when a repet.i.tion of the tactics, so successful in the previous contest, led to a pet.i.tion, and to the disappearance of the heir to the Elsmere property from parliamentary life.
Of these matters, however, he was ignorant, and Mrs. Seaton did not enlighten him. Drawing herself up a little, and proceeding in a more neutral tone than before, she proceeded to put him through a catechism on Oxford, alternately cross-examining him and expounding to him her own views and her husband"s on the functions of Universities. She and the Archdeacon conceived that the Oxford authorities were mainly occupied in ruining the young men"s health by over-examination, and poisoning their minds by free-thinking opinions. In her belief, if it went on, the mothers of England would refuse to send their sons to these ancient but deadly resorts. She looked at him sternly as she spoke, as though defying him to be flippant in return. And he, indeed, did his polite best to be serious.
But it somewhat disconcerted him in the middle to find Miss Leyburn"s eyes upon him. And undeniably there was a spark of laughter in them, quenched, as soon as his glance crossed hers, under long lashes. How that spark had lit up the grave, pale face! He longed to provoke it again, to cross over to her and say, "What amused you? Do you think me very young and simple? Tell me about these people."
But, instead, he made friends with Rose. Mrs. Seaton was soon engaged in giving the vicar advice on his parochial affairs, an experience which generally ended by the appearance of certain truculent elements in one of the mildest of men. So Robert was free to turn to his girl neighbour and ask her what people meant by calling the Lakes rainy.
"I understand it is pouring at Oxford. To-day your sky here has been without a cloud, and your rivers are running dry."
"And you have mastered our climate in twenty-four hours, like the tourists--isn"t it?--that do the Irish question in three weeks?"
"Not the answer of a bread-and-b.u.t.ter miss," he thought to himself, amused, "and yet what a child it looks."
He threw himself into a war of words with her, and enjoyed it extremely.
Her brilliant colouring, her gestures as fresh and untamed as the movements of the leaping river outside, the mixture in her of girlish pertness and ignorance with the promise of a remarkable general capacity, made her a most taking, provoking creature. Mrs.
Thornburgh--much recovered in mind since Dr. Baker had praised the pancakes by which Sarah had sought to prove to her mistress the superfluity of naughtiness involved in her recourse to foreign cooks--watched the young man and maiden with a face which grew more and more radiant. The conversation in the garden had not pleased her. Why should people always talk of Catherine; Mrs. Thornburgh stood in awe of Catherine and had given her up in despair. It was the other two whose fortunes, as possibly directed by her, filled her maternal heart with sympathetic emotion.
Suddenly in the midst of her satisfaction she had a rude shock. What on earth was the vicar doing? After they had got through better than any one could have hoped, thanks to a discreet silence and Sarah"s makeshifts, there was the master of the house pouring the whole tale of his wife"s aspirations and disappointment into Mrs. Seaton"s ear! If it were ever allowable to rush upon your husband at table and stop his mouth with a dinner napkin, Mrs. Thornburgh could at this moment have performed such a feat. She nodded and coughed and fidgeted in vain!
The vicar"s confidences were the result of a fit of nervous exasperation. Mrs. Seaton had just embarked upon an account of "our charming time with Lord Fleckwood." Now Lord Fleckwood was a distant cousin of Archdeacon Seaton, and the great magnate of the neighbourhood, not, however, a very respectable magnate. Mr. Thornburgh had heard accounts of Lupton Castle from Mrs. Seaton on at least half a dozen different occasions. Privately he believed them all to refer to one visit, an event of immemorial antiquity periodically brought up to date by Mrs. Seaton"s imagination. But the vicar was a timid man, without the courage of his opinions, and in his eagerness to stop the flow of his neighbour"s eloquence he could think of no better device, or more suitable rival subject, than to plunge into the story of the drunken carrier, and the pastry still reposing on the counter at Randall"s.
He blushed, good man, when he was well in it. His wife"s horrified countenance embarra.s.sed him. But anything was better than Lord Fleckwood. Mrs. Seaton listened to him with the slightest smile on her formidable lip. The story was pleasing to her.
"At least, my dear sir," she said when he paused, nodding her diademed head with stately emphasis, "Mrs. Thornburgh"s inconvenience may have one good result. You can now make an example of the carrier. It is our special business, as my husband always says, who are in authority, to bring their low vices home to these people."
The vicar fidgeted in his chair. What inept.i.tude had he been guilty of now! By way of avoiding Lord Fleckwood he might have started Mrs. Seaton on teetotalism. Now if there was one topic on which this awe-inspiring woman was more awe-inspiring than another it was on the topic of teetotalism. The vicar had already felt himself a criminal as he drank his modest gla.s.s of claret under her eye.
"Oh, the drunkenness about here is pretty bad," said Dr. Baker, from the other end of the table. "But there are plenty of worse things in these valleys. Besides, what person in his senses would think of trying to disestablish John Backhouse? He and his queer brother are as much a feature of the valley as High Fell. We have too few originals left to be so very particular about trifles."
"Trifles?" repeated Mrs. Seaton in a deep voice, throwing up her eyes.
But she would not venture an argument with Dr. Baker. He had all the cheery self-confidence of the old established local doctor, who knows himself to be a power, and neither Mrs. Seaton nor her restless intriguing little husband had ever yet succeeded in putting him down.
"You must see these two old characters," said Dr. Baker to Elsmere across the table. "They are relics of a Westmoreland which will soon have disappeared. Old John, who is going on for seventy, is as tough an old dalesman as ever you saw. He doesn"t measure his cups, but he would scorn to be floored by them. I don"t believe he does drink much, but if he does there is probably no amount of whisky that he couldn"t carry.
Jim, the other brother, is about five years older. He is a kind of softie--all alive on one side of his brain, and a noodle on the other. A single gla.s.s of rum and water puts him under the table. And as he never can refuse this gla.s.s, and as the temptation generally seizes him when they are on their rounds, he is always getting John into disgrace. John swears at him and slangs him. No use. Jim sits still, looks--well, nohow. I never saw an old creature with a more singular gift of denuding his face of all expression. John vows he shall go to the "house"; he has no legal share in the business; the house and the horse and cart are John"s. Next day you see them on the cart again just as usual. In reality neither brother can do without the other. And three days after, the play begins again."
"An improving spectacle for the valley," said Mrs. Seaton drily.
"Oh, my dear madam," said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders, "we can"t all be so virtuous. If old Jim is a drunkard, he has got a heart of his own somewhere, and can nurse a dying niece like a woman. Miss Leyburn can tell us something about that."
And he turned round to his neighbour with a complete change of expression, and a voice that had a new note in it of affectionate respect. Catherine coloured as if she did not like being addressed on the subject, and just nodded a little with gentle affirmative eyes.
"A strange case," said Dr. Baker, again looking at Elsmere. "It is a family that is original and old-world even in its ways of dying. I have been a doctor in these parts for five-and-twenty years. I have seen what you may call old Westmoreland die out--costume, dialect, superst.i.tions.
At least, as to dialect, the people have become bi-lingual. I sometimes think they talk it to each other as much as ever, but some of them won"t talk it to you and me at all. And as to superst.i.tions, the only ghost story I know that still has some hold on popular belief is the one which attaches to this mountain here, High Fell, at the end of this valley."
He paused a moment. A salutary sense has begun to penetrate even modern provincial society, that no man may tell a ghost story without leave.
Rose threw a merry glance at him. They two were very old friends. Dr.
Baker had pulled out her first teeth and given her a sixpence afterwards for each operation. The pull was soon forgotten; the sixpence lived on gratefully in a child"s warm memory.
"Tell it," she said; "we give you leave. We won"t interrupt you unless you put in too many inventions."
"You invite me to break the first law of story-telling, Miss Rose," said the doctor, lifting a finger at her. "Every man is bound to leave a story better than he found it. However, I couldn"t tell it if I would. I don"t know what makes the poor ghost walk; and if you do, I shall say you invent. But at any rate there is a ghost, and she walks along the side of High Fell at midnight every Midsummer day. If you see her and she pa.s.ses you in silence, why you only get a fright for your pains. But if she speaks to you, you die within the year. Old John Backhouse is a widower with one daughter. This girl saw the ghost last Midsummer day, and Miss Leyburn and I are now doing our best to keep her alive over the next; but with very small prospect of success."
"What is the girl dying of?--fright?" asked Mrs. Seaton harshly.
"Oh no!" said the doctor hastily, "not precisely. A sad story; better not inquire into it. But at the present moment the time of her death seems likely to be determined by the strength of her own and other people"s belief in the ghost"s summons."
Mrs. Seaton"s grim mouth relaxed into an ungenial smile. She put up her eye-gla.s.s and looked at Catherine. "An unpleasant household, I should imagine," she said shortly, "for a young lady to visit."
Doctor Baker looked at the rector"s wife, and a kind of flame came into his eyes. He and Mrs. Seaton were old enemies, and he was a quick-tempered mercurial sort of man.
"I presume that one"s guardian angel may have to follow one sometimes into unpleasant quarters," he said hotly. "If this girl lives, it will be Miss Leyburn"s doing; if she dies, saved and comforted, instead of lost in this world and the next, it will be Miss Leyburn"s doing too.
Ah, my dear young lady, let me alone! You tie my tongue always, and I won"t have it."
And the doctor turned his weather-beaten elderly face upon her with a look which was half defiance and half apology. She, on her side, had flushed painfully, laying her white finger-tips imploringly on his arm.
Mrs. Seaton turned away with a little dry cough, so did her spectacled sister at the other end of the table. Mrs. Leyburn, on the other hand, sat in a little ecstasy, looking at Catherine and Dr. Baker, something glistening in her eyes. Robert Elsmere alone showed presence of mind.
Bending across to Dr. Baker, he asked him a sudden question as to the history of a certain strange green mound or barrow that rose out of a flat field not far from the vicarage windows. Dr. Baker grasped his whiskers, threw the young man a queer glance, and replied. Thenceforward he and Robert kept up a lively antiquarian talk on the traces of Norse settlement in the c.u.mbrian valleys, which lasted till the ladies left the dining-room.
As Catherine Leyburn went out Elsmere stood holding the door open. She could not help raising her eyes upon him, eyes full of a half-timid, half-grateful friendliness. His own returned her look with interest.
""A spirit, but a woman too,"" he thought to himself with a new-born thrill of sympathy, as he went back to his seat. She had not yet said a direct word to him, and yet he was curiously convinced that here was one of the most interesting persons, and one of the persons most interesting to _him_, that he had ever met. What mingled delicacy and strength in the hand that had lain beside her on the dinner-table--what potential depths of feeling in the full dark-fringed eye!