A Day's Ride: A Life's Romance. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ the ‘Rosary;’ that’s his cottage,” said he, taking my arm, while he pointed upward to a little jutting promontory of rock over the river, surmounted by a little thatched cottage almost embowered in roses and honeysuckles. So completely did it occupy the narrow limits of ground, that the windows projected actually over the stream, and the creeping plants that twined through the little balconies hung in tangled masses over the water. “Search where you will through the Scottish and Cumberland scenery, I defy you to match that,” said my companion; “not to say that you can hook a four-pound fish from that little balcony on any summer evening while you smoke your cigar.”

      “It is a lovely spot, indeed,” said I, inhaling with ecstasy the delicious perfume which in the calm night air seemed to linger in the atmosphere.

      “He tells me,” continued my companion, – “and I take his word for it, for I am no florist, – that there are seventy varieties of the rose on and around that cottage. I can answer for it that you can’t open a window without a great mass of flowers coming in showers over you. I told him, frankly, that if I were his tenant for longer than the fishing-season, I 'd clear half of them away.”

      “You live there, then?” asked I, timidly.

      “Yes, I rent the cottage, all but two rooms, which he wished to keep for himself, but which he now writes me word may be let, for this month and the next, if a tenant offer. Would you like them?” asked he, abruptly.

      “Of all things – that is – I think so – I should like to see them first!” muttered I, half startled by the suddenness of the question.

      “Nothing easier,” said he, opening a little wicket as he spoke, and beginning to ascend a flight of narrow steps cut in the solid rock. “This is a path of my designing,” continued he; “the regular approach is on the other side; but this saves fully half a mile of road, though it be a little steep.”

      As I followed him up the ascent, I proposed to myself a variety of questions, such as, where and how I was to procure accommodation for the night, and in what manner to obtain something to eat, of which I stood much in need? and I had gained a little flower-garden at the rear of the cottage before I had resolved any of these difficult points.

      “Here we are,” said he, drawing a long breath. “You can’t see much of the view at this hour; but to-morrow, when you stand on this spot, and look down that reach of the river, with Mont Alto in the background, you ‘ll tell me if you know anything finer!”

      “Is that Edward?” cried a soft voice; and at the same instant a young girl came hastily out of the cottage, and, throwing her arms around my companion, exclaimed, “How you have alarmed me! What could possibly have kept you out so late?”

      “A broad-shouldered fish, a fellow weighing twelve pounds at the very least, and who, after nigh three hours’ playing, got among the rocks and smashed my tackle.”

      “And you lost him?”

      “That did I, and some twenty yards of gut, and the top splice of my best rod, and my temper, besides. But I ‘m forgetting; Mary, here is a gentleman who will, I hope, not refuse to join us at supper. – My sister.”

      By the manner of presentation, it was clear that he expected to hear my name, and so I interposed, “Mr. Potts, – Algernon Sydney Potts.”

      The young lady courtesied slightly, muttered something like a repetition of the invitation, and led the way into the cottage.

      My astonishment was great at the “interior” now before me; for though all the arrangements bespoke habits of comfort and even luxury, there was a studious observance of cottage style in everything; the bookshelves, the tables, the very pianoforte, being all made of white unvarnished wood. And I now perceived that the young lady herself, with a charming coquetry, had assumed something of the costume of the Oberland, and wore her bodice laced in front, and covered with silver embroidery both tasteful and becoming.

      “My name is Crofton,” said my host, as he disengaged himself of his basket and tackle; “we are almost as much strangers here as yourself. I came here for the fishing, and mean to take myself off when it ‘s over.”

      “I hope not, Edward,” broke in the girl, who was now, with the assistance of a servant-woman, preparing the table for supper; “I hope you ‘ll stay till we see the autumn tints on those trees.”

      “My sister is just as great an enthusiast about sketching as I am for salmon-fishing,” said he, laughingly; “and for my own part, I like scenery and landscape very well, but think them marvellously heightened by something like sport. Are you an angler?”

      “No,” said I; “I know nothing of the gentle craft”

      “Fond of shooting, perhaps? Some men think the two sports incompatible.”

      “I am as inexpert with the gun as the rod,” said I, diffidently.

      I perceived that the sister gave a sly look under her long eyelashes towards me; but what its meaning, I could not well discover. Was it depreciation of a man who avowed himself unacquainted with the sports of the field, or was it a quiet recognition of claims more worthy of regard? At all events, I perceived that she had very soft, gentle-looking gray eyes, a very fair skin, and a profusion of beautiful brown hair. I had not thought her pretty at first I now saw that she was extremely pretty, and her figure, though slightly given to fulness, the perfection of grace.

      Hungry, almost famished as I was, with a fast of twelve hours, I felt no impatience so long as she moved about in preparation for the meal. How she disposed the little table equipage, the careful solicitude with which she arranged the fruit and the flowers, – not always satisfied with her first dispositions, but changing them for something different, – all interested me vastly, and when at last we were summoned to table, I actually felt sorry and disappointed.

      Was it really so delicious, was the cookery so exquisite? I own frankly that I am not a trustworthy witness; but if my oath could be taken, I am willing to swear that I believe there never were such salmon-steaks, such a pigeon-pie, and such a damson-tart served to mortals as these. My enthusiasm, I suspect, must have betrayed itself in some outward manifestation, for I remember Crofton laughingly having remarked, —

      “You will turn my sister’s head, Mr. Potts, by such flatteries; all the more, since her cookery is self-taught.”

      “Don’t believe him, Mr. Potts; I have studied all the great masters of the art, and you shall have an omelette to-morrow for breakfast, Brillat Savarin himself would not despise.”

      I blushed at the offer of an hospitality so neatly and delicately insinuated, and had really no words to acknowledge it, nor was my confusion unfavorably judged by my hosts. Crofton marked it quickly, and said, —

      “Yes, Mr. Potts, and I ‘ll teach you to hook a trout afterwards. Meanwhile let us have a glass of Sauterne together; we drink it out of green glasses, to cheat ourselves into the fancy that it’s Rhenish.”

      “‘Am Rhein, am Rhein, da wachsen unsere Reben,’” said I, quoting the students’ song.

      “Oh, have you been in Germany?” cried she, eagerly.

      “Alas! no,” said I. “I have never travelled.” I thought she looked disappointed as I said this. Indeed, I already wished it unsaid; but her brother broke in with, —

      “We are regular vagabonds, Mr. Potts. My sister and myself have had a restless paroxysm for the last three years СКАЧАТЬ