Foxglove Manor, Volume I (of III). Robert W Buchanan

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СКАЧАТЬ to the sea-side for change of air. Early in the bright mornings, and after the day’s schooling was over, Ellen wandered about the sea-shore or took long walks along the cliffs. Santley met her first by accident, and after that, though the meetings might still be called accidental, each knew that to-morrow and to-morrow and yet again to-morrow the same instinctive feeling – call it a divine chance or love’s premonition – would bring them together.

      Ah! happy, radiant days by that glad sea and in the wild loveliness of those romantic cliffs! Oh, vision of flushed cheek and shining eyes, and sweet red lips and throbbing bosom! Oh, dim heavenly summer dawns, when the sea mists were just brightening, and the little birds were singing, and the sea-side town was still half asleep, and only two lovers were walking hand in hand along the green brow of the cliffs! Oh, sweet autumn twilights which the shining eyes seemed to fill with dark burning lustre! Oh, kisses, sweeter than ever pressed by woman’s lips before or since! Oh, thrill of clasped hands and mad palpitations of loving bosoms!

      The swaying corn sounded like the sea as the breeze passed over it, and the-murmur broke the vicars reverie.

      “Married!”

      Married? yes, married! The sweet secret could not be kept for ever, and when Miss Lilburn, Ellen’s aunt, discovered it, she at once spoke to Mr. Santley. She did not oppose his suit – indeed, she liked him greatly, but love, after all, was no mere school-girl’s dream. Was he in a position to make Ellen his wife? In any case, they must know about it at home. If Mr. Derwent approved, she would be most happy that Mr. Santley should visit her; but, in the meantime, it was only prudent that Ellen should discontinue these pleasant rambles.

      He had never seen Ellen since, until her face made his heart stand still in the midst of his sermon.

      The vicar rose from the stile with clenched hands and set teeth.

      “Bitter, bitter!” he said, raising his face to the sky and shaking his head as though he saw above him an invisible face, and spoke half in exquisite pain, half in stoical endurance.

      CHAPTER III. “THERE IS A CHANGE!”

      When Edith and Miss Santley reached the Vicarage, they went into the parlour, which, besides having a western exposure, commanded to a considerable distance a view of the high-road along which the vicar had passed.

      “I always think this is the pleasantest room in the house,” said Miss Santley, as she drew an armchair into the recess of the open window, and Edith seated herself on the couch. “Charles prefers an eastern frontage, for the sake of the early morning, he says; but I am always. busy in the morning, so I suppose I like the afternoon light best, when I have a little time to sit and bask.”

      “Isn’t it natural, too,” suggested Edith, “that men should prefer sunrise and women sunset? Men are so active and sanguine, and have so many interests to engage their attention, and women – well, as a rule – are such dreamers! Is it not almost constitutional?”

      “And when did you ever see me dreaming, may I ask?” inquired Miss Santley.

      “Oh no; you are not one of the dreamers,” replied Edith, quickly. “You should have been called Martha instead of Mary.”

      “Insinuating that I am a bit of a busybody, eh?” said Miss Santley, with a sly twinkle of humour.

      “You know I did not mean to insinuate that.”

      “Or that you had yourself chosen the better part, eh?” she continued gaily.

      Edith coloured deeply, and cast her eyes on the floor, while an expression of pain passed across her face.

      “Nay, my dear, do not look hurt. You know that was only said in jest.”

      “You cannot tell how such jests hurt me,” replied the girl, her lips beginning to tremble.

      “Even between our two selves?” asked Miss Santley, taking Edith’s hand gently and stroking it with both of hers. “You know, my dear little girl, how I love you, and how pleased I was when I discovered the way in which that poor little heart of yours was beating. You know that there is no one in the world whom I would more gladly – ay, or a thousandth part so gladly – take for a sister. Don’t you, Edith? Answer me, dear.”

      “Yes,” replied the girl, letting her head hang upon her bosom, and feeling her face on flame.

      “And have I not tried to help you? I know Charles is fond of you – I am sure of that. I have eyes in my head, my dear, though they are not so young and pretty as yours. And I know, too, that a little while ago he was anxious to know what I would say if he should propose to take a wife. I shall be only too pleased when he makes up his mind. It will relieve me of a great deal of care and anxiety. And he could not in the wide world choose a better or a dearer little girl.”

      Miss Santley was not ordinarily of a demonstrative disposition, but as she uttered those last words she drew Edith towards her and kissed her on the forehead.

      The vicar’s sister was some twelve years his senior. A stout, homely, motherly little woman, with plain but pleasing features, brown hair, a shrewd but kindly expression, clear grey eyes, and a firm mouth and chin, she was as unlike the Vicar in personal appearance as she was unlike him in character and temperament. This family unlikeness, however, had had no prejudicial effect on their mutual affection, though in Miss Santley’s case it was the source of much secret uneasiness on her brother’s account. As unimaginative as she was practical, she was at a loss to understand her brother’s emotional mysticism and dreamy idealism; but her knowledge of human nature made her timorously aware of the dangers which beset the combination of a splendid physique with a glowing temperament which was almost febrile in its sensuous impulsiveness. She was spared the torture of sharing that darker secret of unbelief; but she was sufficiently conscious of the strong fervid nature of the vicar, to feel thankful that Edith had made a deep impression on him, and that when he did marry it would be a bright and congenial young creature who would be worthy of him and attached to herself.

      “So why should it hurt you, if I do jest a little?” asked Miss Santley, as she kissed Edith. “Love cannot always be transcendental, otherwise two people will never come closely together. The best gift a couple of lovers can possess in common, is a capacity for a little fun and affectionate wit. Your solemn lovers are always misunderstanding each other, and quarrelling and making it up again.”

      “But we are not lovers yet, Mary,” said Edith in a timid whisper.

      “Not yet, perhaps; but you will be soon, if I am capable of forming any opinion.”

      “I don’t know, I don’t know,” Edith replied with a sigh; and her soft blue eyes filled with tears. Then raising her eyes imploringly to Miss Santley, and nervously taking her hand, she continued: “Oh, Mary, do not think me too forward and eager and unwomanly. Do not judge me too hardly. I know a girl should not give her heart away till she is asked for it. But I cannot help it – I love him – I love him so! I have done all I could to prevent myself from loving him, but it is no use – oh! it is no use.”

      She burst into a paroxysm of passionate sobbing, and Miss Santley, without saying a word, put her arms about her and softly caressed her soft flaxen hair.

      The outburst was gradually subdued, and Edith, with a hot glowing face hidden on her friend’s shoulder, was too ashamed to change her position.

      “Do you feel better now, dear? asked Miss Santley in a kindly voice.

      “Oh, Mary, are you not ashamed of me – disgusted?”

      Miss СКАЧАТЬ