Through one or two more turnings Mrs. Caxton led her niece, and opening a door took her out at the other side, the back of the house, where Eleanor"s eyes had not been. Here there was a sort of covered gallery, extending to some length under what was either an upper piazza or the projection of the second story floor. The ground was paved with tiles as usual, and wooden settles stood along the wall, and plain stone pillars supported the roof. But as Eleanor"s eyes went out further she caught her aunt"s hand in ecstasy.
From almost the edge of the covered gallery, a little terraced garden sloped down to the edge of a small river. The house stood on a bank above the river, at a commanding height; and on the river"s further sh.o.r.e a rich sweep of meadow and pasture land stretched to the right and left and filled the whole breadth of the valley; on the other side of which, right up from the green fields, rose another line of hills.
These were soft, swelling, round-topped hills, very different in their outlines from those in another quarter which Eleanor had been enjoying from her window. It was winter now, and the garden had lost its glory; yet Eleanor could see, for her eye was trained in such matters, that good and excellent care was at home in it; and some delicate things were there for which a slight protection had been thought needful. The river was lost to view immediately at the right; it wound down from the other hand through the rich meadows under a thick embowering bosky growth of trees; and just below the house it was spanned by a rude stone bridge, from which a hedged lane led off on the other side. All along the fences or hedges which enclosed the fields grew also beautiful old trees; the whole landscape was decked with wood growth, though the hills had little or none. All the more the sweet contrast; the rare harmony; the beautiful mingling of soft cultivation with what was wild and picturesque and barren. And the river gurgled on, with a fresh sound that told of its activity; and a very large herd of cows spotted the green turf in some of the meadows on the other side of the stream.
"I never saw any place so lovely," exclaimed Eleanor; "never!"
"This is my favourite walking place in winter," said Mrs. Caxton; "when I want to walk under shelter, or not to go far from home."
"How charming that garden must be when the spring comes!"
"Are you fond of gardening?" said Mrs. Caxton.
A talk upon the subject followed, in which Eleanor perceived with some increase of respect that her aunt was no ignoramus; nay, that she was familiar with delicacies both in the practice and the subjects of horticulture that were not well known to Eleanor, in spite of her advantages of the Lodge and Rythdale conservatories and gardens both together. In the course of this talk, Eleanor noticed anew all the indications that had pleased her last night; the calm good sense and self-possession; the quiet dignity; the decision; the kindness. And perhaps Mrs. Caxton too made her observations. But this was the mistress of the cheese-farm!
A pause fell in their talk at length; probably both had matter for reflection.
"Have you settled that question, Eleanor?" said her aunt meaningly.
"That question?--O no, aunt Caxton! It is all confusion; and it is all confused with another question."
There was more than talk in this evidently, for Eleanor"s face had all darkened. Mrs. Caxton answered calmly,
"My dear, the first thing I would do, would be to separate them."
"Aunty, they are like two wrestlers; I cannot seem to separate them. If I think of the one, I get hold of he other; and if I take up the other, I am obliged to think of the one; and my mind is the fighting ground."
"Then the two questions are in reality one?"
"No, aunt Caxton--they are not. Only they both press for attention at once."
"Which is the most important?"
"This one--about which you asked me," Eleanor said, drooping her head a little.
"Then decide that to-day, Eleanor."
"Aunty, I have decided it--in one way. I am determined what I will be--if I can. Only I do not see how. And before I do see how,--perhaps--the other question may have decided itself; and then--Aunty, I cannot tell you about it to-day. Let me wait a few days; till I know you better and you have time to know me."
"Then, as it is desirable you should lose no time, I shall keep you with me, Eleanor. Would you like to-morrow to go through the dairies and see the operation of cheese-making? Did you ever see it?"
"Aunt Caxton, I know no more about cheese than that I have eaten it sometimes. I would like to go to-morrow, or to-day; whenever you please."
"The work is nearly over for to-day."
"Do they make cheese in your dairy every day, aunt Caxton?"
"Two every day."
"But you must have a great number of cows, ma"am?"
"There they are," said her aunt, looking towards the opposite meadows.
"We milk between forty and fifty at present; there are about thirty dry."
"Seventy or eighty cows!" exclaimed Eleanor. "Why aunt Caxton, you must want the whole valley for their pasturing."
"I want no more than I have," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. "You see, those meadows on the other side of the river look rich. It is a very good cheese farm."
"How far does it extend, aunty?"
"All along, the meadowland, as far as you see."
"I do not believe there is a pleasanter or prettier home in all the kingdom!" Eleanor exclaimed. "How charming, aunt Caxton, all this must be in summer, when your garden is in bloom."
"There is a way of carrying summer along with us through all the year, Eleanor; do you know that?"
"Do you wear the "helmet" too?" thought Eleanor. "I have no doubt but you do, over that calm brow!" But she only looked wistfully at her aunt, and Mrs. Caxton changed the conversation. She sat down with Eleanor on a settle, for the day was mild and the place sheltered; and talked with her of home and her family. She shewed an affectionate interest in all the details concerning her brother"s household and life, but Eleanor admired with still increasing and profound respect, the delicacy which stopped every inquiry at the point where delicacy might wish to withhold the answer. The uprightest self-respect went hand in hand with the gentlest regard and respect for others. To this reserve Eleanor was more communicative than she could have been to another manner; and on some points her hesitancy told as much, perhaps, as her disclosures on other points; so that Mrs. Caxton was left with some general idea, if not more, of the home Eleanor had lived her life in and the various people who had made it what it was. On all things that touched Rythdale Eleanor was silent; and so was Mrs. Caxton.
The conversation flowed on to other topics; and the whole day was a gentle entertainment to Eleanor. The perpetual good sense, information, and shrewdness of her hostess was matter of constant surprise and interest. Eleanor had never talked with anybody who talked so well; and she felt obliged unconsciously all the time to produce the best of herself. That is not a disagreeable exercise; and on the whole the day reeled off on silver wheels. It concluded as the former day had done; and in the warm prayer uttered by her aunt, Eleanor could not help feeling there was a pulse of the heart for _her;_ for her darkness and necessities. It sent her to her room touched, and humbled, and reminded; but Eleanor"s musings this night were no more fruitful of results than those of last night had been. They resolved themselves into a long waking dream. Mr. Carlisle exercised too much mastery over her imagination, for any other concern to have fair chance till his question was disposed of. Would he come to look for her there? It was just like him; but she had a little hope that her mother"s pride would prevent his being furnished with the necessary information. That Eleanor should be sought and found by him on a cheese farm, the mistress of the farm her own near relation, would not probably meet Mrs. Powle"s notions of what it was expedient to do or suffer. A slender thread of a hope; but that was all. Supposing he came? Eleanor felt she had no time to lose. She could only deal with Mr. Carlisle at a distance. In his presence, she knew now, she was helpless. But a vague sense of wrong combated all her thoughts of what she wished to do; with a confused and conflicting question of what was right. She wearied herself to tears with her dreaming, and went to bed to aggravate her troubles in actual dreams; in which the impossible came in to help the disagreeable.
CHAPTER XVI.
AT THE FARM.
"What if she be fastened to this fool lord, Dare I bid her abide by her word?"
The next morning nevertheless was bright, and Eleanor was early down stairs. And now she found that the day was begun at the farmhouse in the same way in which it was ended. A reverent, sweet, happy committing of all her affairs and her friends to G.o.d, in the presence and the company of her household, was Mrs. Caxton"s entrance, for her and them, upon the work of the day. Breakfast was short and very early, which it had to be if Eleanor wanted to see the operations of the dairy; and then Mrs. Caxton and she went thither; and then first Eleanor began to have a proper conception of the magnitude and complication of the business her aunt presided over.
The dairies were of great extent, stretching along the ground floor of the house, behind and beyond the covered gallery where she and her aunt had held their first long conversation the day before. Tiled floors, as neat as wax; oaken shelves, tubs, vats, baskets, cheese-hoops, presses; all as neat and sweet as it was possible for anything to be, looked like a confusion of affairs to Eleanor"s eye. However, the real business done that morning was sufficiently simple; and she found it interesting enough to follow patiently every part of the process through to the end. Several blue jackets were in attendance; some Welsh, some English; each as diligent at her work as if she only had the whole to do. And among them Eleanor noticed how admirably her aunt played the mistress and acted the executive head. Quietly, simply, as her words were spoken, they were nevertheless words that never failed to be instantly obeyed; and the service that was rendered her was given with what seemed the alacrity of affection, as well as the zeal of duty. Eleanor stood by, watching, amused, intent; yet taking in a silent lesson of character all the while, that touched her heart and made her draw a deep breath now and then. The last thing visited was the cheese house, the room where the cheeses were stored for ripening, quite away from all the dairies. Here there was a forest of cheeses; standing on end and lying on shelves, in various stages of maturity.
"Two a day!" said Eleanor looking at them. "That makes a wonderful many in the course of the year."
"Except Sundays," said Mrs. Caxton. "No cheese is made on Sunday in my dairy, nor any dairywork done, except milking the cows and setting the milk."
"I meant except Sundays, of course."
"It is not "of course" here," said Mrs. Caxton. "The common practice in large dairy-farms is to do the same work on the seventh day that is done all the six."
"But that is wrong, aunty, it seems to me."
"Wrong? Of course it is wrong; but the defence is, that it is necessary. If Sunday"s milk is not made at once into cheese, it must wait till Monday; and not only double work must be done then, for Monday will have its own milk, but double sets of everything will be needed; tubs and presses and all. So people think they cannot afford it."
"Well, how can they, aunt Caxton? There seems reason in that."