before.'
'You will see Professor Bruce,' he answered sternly.
'Oh yes,' I said hurriedly. 'Professor Bruce of course. I meant that.
Thank you, sir.'
So it was settled.
Master Caleb, good man, need not have been so sharp on me for wishing
to see Morechester. It was not only to visit Professor Bruce, as I
found out afterwards, that he cared so much for going there himself.
'Cuthbert, I wish you were going too,' I said just before we started.
'I should like well enough to go to Morechester,' he answered,
stretching himself, 'but I'd rather not see any more schoolmasters.'
Market day at Morechester! The busiest and most stirring scene I had
ever beheld.
A long sunny street stretching up a hill, built of irregular
houses,--old and new, tall and short, brown and grey and red,--high
houses with square windows and green shutters,--short houses, having
high-pitched roofs, carved wooden balconies, and queer-shaped windows
overhanging the roof; here and there a gilt weathercock flashing in
the sun; oaken pillars supporting the jutting-out upper storey of some
quaint old house; shop windows full of gorgeous coloured stuffs; the
grey town hall, rich with ancient sculpture, standing back within its
own railings; bright light, and black shadows lying across the uneven
pavement. This, then, was a town.
Further on, the street widened into a sunlit market-place, and there an
ever-shifting crowd came and went, bought and sold and bargained, round
the old market cross.
What a noise there was! Farmers were riding up the street in twos and
threes; their scarlet-cloaked wives jogged along laden with baskets
of eggs and fresh butter; clattering carts, horses for sale were being
trotted up and down, loud voices talking all at once.
Above all this there floated suddenly the music of airy chimes,
followed by three slow deep strokes.
'Three by the Minster clock,' said Master Caleb.
The house we stopped at was close to the great towered church, which
seemed to overshadow it and push it into the corner. It was a little
low house, with dormer windows in a thatched roof, standing further
back than its neighbours, and quite out of the reach of any stray
sunbeams that found their way over the Minster roof.
Master Caleb rang a jangling bell, and as we stood waiting, whispered
hurriedly, 'Make your bow, Willie, and don't speak unless you are
spoken to.'
We were inside in a narrow passage; then a door opened.
'Hush,' said Master Caleb.
I never saw any room at all like the Professor's study. Coming into
it out of the sunshine it was at first too dark to see anything
distinctly. The only window looked out upon a blank wall. Inside, the
walls of the room seemed to be made of books, and there were piles of
them besides, heaped up on the chairs and on the floor.
What wonderful things there were crowded on to the tables and
mantel-shelf, and filling the half-open cupboards. Wonderful things?
frightening things rather. I am not going to describe them, seeing that
I know not what any of them were. 'Chemical apparatus' is the name
Master Caleb gave them afterwards, whatever that may be. But such a
number of queer-shaped jars and glasses, and saucers and tubes, such
odd glass spoons and ladles, such strange liquids and powders, and bits
of metal as were lying about, I should think no one else ever gathered
round them before or since.
My first thought was, whatever Granny would say if Cuthbert and I made
her clean kitchen at home half so untidy-looking as this.
Then I saw the great man himself sitting at the table holding an open
letter in one hand and an oddly-shaped bottle in the other, an old
man with a keen wrinkled face, who seemed to me at first sight to be
all black and white; for white eyebrows shaded his piercing black
eyes, and he wore a black velvet cap over his white hair, and a black
dressing-gown, against which his long thin hands looked wonderfully
white.
He seemed too eager over his letter and his bottle to have much time
to spare for greeting Master Caleb. He began directly, speaking fast
and loud. To my surprise Master Caleb immediately got excited too,
and stood listening with a rapt face while the Professor poured out a
torrent of hard words. I don't think it was English that he talked, or
I should have understood it. After that I did not need to be told what
a great man he was. I had heard it for myself.
My best bow was not needed. No one noticed me. I sat down, as Master
Caleb had bidden me, in a corner, on the edge of a chair that was piled
up with big books, and listened with respectful wonder. But the hard
words I did not understand went on for a long time, and the room was
hot, and full of odd sleepy smells. I much fear that I fell asleep
in Professor Bruce's study. Once I woke up for a minute with a great
start, and saw Master Caleb on his knees, pouring something into a
saucer, while the Professor shouted directions at the top of his voice,
and there was a fizzing noise and an odder smell than ever.
Then I dozed again, but was roused by Master Caleb's jumping up
suddenly, and turning back the sleeves of his coat in a great hurry.
The Professor looked up impatiently. 'What's the matter?'
'I think somebody is coming,' said my master. The Professor listened
for a minute. 'Why, it's only Dolly,' and went on with the reading of
his letter.
A door behind his chair opened quietly, and there came in a small, lame
girl in a grey gown.
This was 'Dolly,' then, and that was what I thought her at first, just
a small lame girl in a grey gown. 'Dolly' came in slowly, and Master
Caleb turned round and made her a beautiful low bow. He tried to go
and meet her, but the Professor had got his hand upon his arm, and was
pointing to him with the glass tube, and evidently had just come to the
very pith of his discourse.
Dolly--Mistress Dorothy, as I called her later--leant over the back
of her father's chair, and smiled at Master Caleb. Watching her from
my dark corner, I presently saw how good she looked and how her eyes
lighted up her pale face when she smiled--nice soft eyes they were;
just as grey as her gown.
Professor Bruce never found out that his listener was not as attentive
as before; but I saw more--his thoughts had wandered away from the
wonderful saucer since the young lady came into the room.
I was getting tired of sitting so very still on the edge of the big
books. I wanted to hear Mistress Dorothy speak. She saw me too, for
she looked full into my corner, and then glanced at Master Caleb with
another of her pleasant little smiles.
We waited until the Professor folded up the letter, and turning round
in his chair so as to look up in his daughter's face, said, 'So we have
got it all right at last, Dolly.'
She said heartily, 'I am so glad, father,' and then everybody moved.
The Professor pushed back his chair and stood up.
'Caleb Morton was in luck,' he said with a pleased look, 'to come in
just as I was reading that letter. It makes it clear, Caleb, doesn't
it.'
'Indeed it does, Professor. Mistress Dorothy,' and he went a step or
two near to her and spoke low. I just caught the words, 'ventured,' 'my
best boy,' and 'Wyncliffe Castle.'
She came to me with her hand stretched out. I made the bow that had
been waiting for so long and at the first word from her clear voice I
felt as if we were friends.
We had tea before we went away, in Mistress Dorothy's parlour, which
looked out upon the Minster, and was so near to it that when the bells
chimed the quarters it sounded as if they were ringing in the room
itself. It was because this was a town, I supposed, that there was no
sunshine, and everything in the room looked brown or drab or dark grey.
Mistress Dorothy looked very happy, notwithstanding, and not at all
as if she thought the room dull. She took me to the window, where her
chair and the table with her work-basket stood, and showed me how she
could see through one of the side windows of the Minster, to where
another great painted window facing the west was blazing in the sunset.
'Is it not beautiful?' she said.
There was a shimmer of gold, and red and blue, but so far off.
I wished she could have seen Farmer Foster's field of sainfoin as
it was just now, a glittering rose-coloured sea, that looked in the
evening light as if some of the sunset clouds had floated down to
earth.
Mrs. Dorothy could not even see the sunset; the Minster towered between
her and the red-gold west. Poor little Mistress Dorothy! and yet she
looked so happy, so cordial and contented.
By-and-by she began to ask me questions about home. The Professor had
gone back to his study, and Master Caleb stood in the window opposite
her chair.
'Have you got a father and mother?'
'No; he has lost his mother,' Master Caleb answered for me; and then
rather abruptly he began to tell her about my mother's life and death.
He told it in beautiful words, that made me listen as if it were a
story about some one I had never known.
Mistress Dorothy clasped my hand closer in her own as he went on, and
looked down to hide, I think, the tears that were in her eyes.
'And so she died,' ended Master Caleb, 'and the boy was left to grow up
as best he could.'
There was something in his voice that made me look up at him--something
I could not understand.
Mistress Dorothy must have known better what he meant, for she answered
softly--
'And yet it was best so.'
Master Caleb bowed his head gravely. 'No doubt you are right, Mistress
Dorothy. Only it has often struck me as a strange answer to the promise
that whoever gives a cup of water shall in no wise lose his reward. The
boy did his best, and where is his reward?'
'We do not know yet,' she said, 'but it will surely come. Master
Caleb, you are a schoolmaster; do you always give your best rewards in
schooltime? Don't you often keep them to the end, when your scholars
are leaving school to go home? Perhaps Willie will wait for his reward
even until then.'
'You are speaking of the next world, Mistress Dorothy,' he said.
'Yes,' and she turned to me. 'You will be content to wait, Willie?'
I answered 'Yes' then, because I thought she expected it of me.
With my whole heart I say it now.
* * * * *
'Well, Willie,' said Master Caleb, when he had walked a long way on the
road home without saying a word, 'so you have seen him.'
'Yes, sir; it was very surprising to hear him talk.'
'Ah! he's a wonderful man.' He spoke as if he scarcely knew what he was
saying; and then, waking up again, 'a very wonderful man.'
'And oh! sir! don't you like Mistress Dorothy?'
'Like Mistress Dorothy--I should never think of such a thing--don't
talk of it--like her, no.'
'Oh, I thought you did.'
'I am surprised at you, Willie,' he said, and would not talk any more;
so we went home silently, through sunset and twilight and moonshine.
I went a long way across the hills next day, in search of a certain
fern that only grew in one place. It was a very rare one, Master
Caleb had told me, a soft feathery thing, that I fancied might please
Mistress Dorothy. I carried it home and waited anxiously, hoping that
Master Caleb would take me with him again to Morechester. But he went
alone, and Mrs. Janet said she could not think what ailed him that he
was always on the tramp.
My turn came again at last, and I carried my fern to offer to Mistress
Dorothy. She looked quite bright and pleased as she took it from my
hands.
'I should never have thought of bringing it to you,' said Master Caleb.
He did not add what he had told me on the road, when it was too late
to turn back, that it was not near good enough to give to her.
But I think she liked it. She took me into the parlour to see her water
it, and made me tell her about the steep bank where it had grown, under
waving trees and among primrose tufts.
'Pretty place,' she said smiling.
'Won't you come and see it some day, Mistress Dorothy?'
'Father cannot get away, and I never leave him.'
'Couldn't he spare you?'
She shook her head. 'Oh no, never.'
'But supposing you married and went away?' I asked.
I do not know what set me on thinking of marrying just then.
She coloured and smiled.
'That will never be. I could not leave him; and besides, no one will
ever want to marry a little lame thing like me.'
'Won't they?'
She shook her head again and laughed.
That evening, as we walked down the street, Master Caleb said suddenly,
'She likes you, Willie; she says you are to come again.'
'Does she? Oh, Master Caleb, shouldn't you like to have her there at
home, and let her see the Castle and all?'
He put his hand on my shoulder, and said in a low, changed voice, 'If
it could be, Willie, if it could. But it never can be--never.'
'She says she cannot leave her father.'
'It isn't only for that; I could never ask her. Look you, Willie; she
is just as high above me as the stars.'
That was how I came to know Master Caleb's secret.
* * * * *
It was a heavy secret to him, poor fellow, though he tried hard to
put it away, and to live as if he had not got it on his mind. He told
no one, not even Mrs. Janet, and only sometimes, when we were out on
the hills, he talked a little of it to me. Certainly I was a very odd
person for him to have chosen to hear the story of his love. But he had
lived a solitary life, and perhaps his telling me had been an accident
at first. Once told, no one in the world could have felt more honoured
than I did, or have listened and looked on with more reverential awe.
'You're not quite like a boy in some things, you know, Willie,' he
once said to me. 'Besides, she likes you.'
And he never did things just as other people did. I suppose that was
another reason.
Mistress Dorothy and I became firm friends. I did not wonder the least
at Master Caleb, for there was no one at all like her in the world. To
go to Morechester and see her, I gave up willingly the best cricket
match of that summer; and what boy can do more than that?
The game, played on a certain sunny half holiday, was just beginning,
when Master Caleb and I set off for Morechester. I remember looking
back wistfully at the ground, and seeing how smooth and inviting it
looked in the sunshine. The players were just crossing the field for an
'over,' and Cuthbert was walking by himself rather sulkily, for he and
I had quarrelled that morning about my going so often with Master Caleb.
He said that I did not care for cricket any more, or for him, or for
anything but poking about after the schoolmaster. His injustice stung
me deeply; for, to tell the truth, long walks with Master Caleb were
not the same things now-a-days that they had once been. He had taken to
stalking along in a brown study, with his hands behind his back, and
I, carrying the basket, had to follow silently behind. I would fain
have been somewhere at home with Cuthbert, only I could not tell Master
Caleb so.
'If you only knew all,' I said rather grandly to Cuthbert, and then
stopped short, afraid of letting out the secret. Cuthbert laughed
scornfully, and I walked another way. So we had quarrelled.
The little house in Minster-yard became quite familiar to me. I almost
wondered why Master Caleb cared to go there so often. His visits must
have given him more pain than pleasure, for he generally left me to
talk to Mistress Dorothy in the parlour, while he shut himself up in
the study with the Professor. Anxious as he was about the safe-keeping
of his secret, from no one did he guard it more carefully than from
Dorothy herself. He was always fancying--most needlessly--that she was
on the point of finding it out. And then of course she would never
speak to him again. So he rarely said much to her, but listened with
strained attention to her father's discourse, when he would have given
the world only just to sit still and look at her.
Then, when he had scarcely allowed himself a look or a smile, he went
home with a heavy heart to his hard work, and tried to throw himself
with all his might into spelling-books and the multiplication table.
It was an odd life that Professor Bruce's little daughter lived, in the
dark rooms among the books. She rarely saw anybody except now and then
some old friend of her father's--some one just as learned as himself,
who came to Morechester for the day, to talk over a scientific question
with him, and who paid Mistress Dorothy grandly-worded, old-world
compliments about her 'sweet eyes,' and her 'dishes of good tea.'
But in general she and her father were alone. He adored her, and left
her to herself. If 'Dolly' was not within call to give her ready help
and attention the moment he needed it, the Professor was impatient and
disconcerted. Yet even she was not suffered to interrupt him in his
work. She read his books, talked to him on his favourite subjects,
guarded him jealously from being disturbed, and kept her own thoughts
to herself. The world of dreams she lived in, full of noble thoughts,
and lofty hopes, and brave self-conquest, he did not know much about.
He was contented if she were near him, always bright, quiet, and
helpful, with the quick eyes and the ready wit that never knew
weariness in his service. Her father did not know, and she herself
scarcely guessed, how entirely he had grown to lean on her.
This was something of what Master Caleb told me about her, when, very
rarely, he broke the silence of reverence with which he held her in his
heart.
Why it was that I never saw her without wishing to be braver and
better, I did not understand myself. But so it was. How the stories she
sometimes told me, with the light in her eyes and a thrill in her quiet
voice, made my heart beat with a great longing to do some great thing;
how some of her words, simple and quiet as they were, have been with me
to strengthen me in all the battles of my life--nay, how they are with
me still, it would not be easy to explain.
'I can't think what you talk to her about,' said poor Master Caleb,
almost angrily, sometimes. 'I can never find anything that seems good
enough to say to her.'
It was but too true that he did not shine in her presence. Even I, used
to his odd ways, and satisfied that all he did must be right, often
wondered at his long silences and awkward speeches.
It seemed so easy to talk to her, nay, so impossible not to be drawn on
by some magic in her way of listening. Voice, laugh, her changing face,
the quick answering smile, her very attitude, all showed her ready
interest.
All this time the Professor worked on happily at his chemistry and
experiments, took up more of Master Caleb's attention each time that he
went to visit him, good-naturedly called him his promising disciple and
fellow-worker, and never found out how the disciple's interest flagged
sometimes, and how difficult he found it to give his full attention.
Nevertheless, his admiration and devotion were just as great as ever,
and Master Caleb would have been covered with remorse and shame at the
mere notion of finding any hour long that was spent in the Professor's
study.
By-and-by also, there came a certain happy time when he began to feel
that he was really making himself useful. A new book of Professor
Bruce's was going through the press.
There were few prouder men than Master Caleb, as he helped to gather
together the scattered sheets, to go over calculations, and to get the
pages ready for the printers. Dorothy, too, to make the work doubly
pleasant, was always in her father's study, writing from his words,
finding, as nobody else could, the papers he was for ever losing, and
helping heart and hand at the finishing of the work.
'My last book, Dolly,' said the old man, putting his hand fondly on the
head that was bending so intently over some of his crabbed writing. 'I
shall never write another.'
Dorothy looked up at him quickly, and tried to make a cheerful answer,
that did not seem to come readily.
'No,' he went on, rather as if he was thinking aloud; 'no, I shall
never write another. Perhaps already I have writ too much. But I am
glad of this one, because it is well sold, and will help to make Dolly
comfortable when I am gone. I've never done enough for her heretofore.'
Dorothy looked up again, and laid her hand softly on his arm, glancing
from him to Master Caleb, who was frowning over what looked like a long
sum, and then at me, as I stood near the door waiting for some papers I
was to carry to the post.
By-and-by she brought them to me, and followed me out into the
passage, shutting the door behind her.
'Is this all, Mistress Dorothy?' I asked, as she looked thoughtful.
She turned round quickly. 'Thank you, Willie; yes, that's all. I don't
see you often now,' she went on with a smile, 'but he likes me to be
always with him; and do you know, I can't bear to be ever away from
him. I cannot quite tell why.'
'Dolly,' called her father's voice, with the softness all gone out of
it, sharp, short, and impatient. 'Dolly, who has touched the index? I
can't find it.'
She ran back into the study, with a nod and smile to me.
So as no one wanted me at Morechester, I did not go there for a while,
but stayed at home with Cuthbert, and mended up the old quarrel of a
year ago, that he had never quite forgotten. We played at cricket in
the glowing June evenings, until the long shadows faded quite away, and
the blue of the sky darkened into purple.
People are rather apt to lose count of time in the days of hay-making.
Everybody is so busy. We did not go to school then. Early and late
Cuthbert and I were in the fields at Furzy Nook. Farmer Foster wanted
to have all his hay carried by the last days of June. 'And after that
there'll be school beginning again,' said Cuthbert, with his old
disconsolate look.
We were leaning over the stile on Sunday evening, looking at the
half-cut hay-fields, with their cocks of sweet-smelling hay.
'By-the-by, Will,' went on Cuthbert, 'what made Master Caleb look so
solemn to-day? He went hobbling away through the churchyard as if he
had been a hundred.'
'Did he?' My heart rather smote me. It was so long since I had seen
him or thought of him, and to-day I had followed Farmer Foster out of
church by the door that led across the meadows to Furzy Nook. 'He's
been away at Morechester but I'll run over now, and ask after him.'
Master Caleb was not under his cherry-tree watching the sunset as
usual. He was indoors, sitting with his back to the window, holding
a book open in his hands. Mrs Janet, with a thorough look of Sunday
leisure all about her, sat very upright at the table, reading also.
'I thought you were at Morechester, Master Caleb,' I said, as he
looked up and held out his hand.
'Oh no. I came home a week since. Well, Willie, how's the hay-making
getting on?'
'Pretty fair, sir, if the rain keeps off;' and I looked anxiously out
of the window. I knew that there was not the shadow of a cloud to be
found anywhere, and no chance of rain; but Farmer Foster always scanned
the clouds when he was asked after the hay; so it was probably the
right thing to do. Master Caleb nodded absently.
'Is the Professor's book done yet, Master Caleb?'
'Here it is.' He held the book he had been reading towards me.
'Printed and all!' I turned admiringly over the pages, some of which I
must have carried to the post myself when they went to be printed. 'Did
he give it to you?'
'She did.'
His hand trembled as he took it back. Cuthbert had been right in saying
that he looked worn and ill. It seemed a trouble to him to answer
questions, and I, having the fear of Mrs. Janet somewhat before my
eyes, could not think of anything to talk about.
'Master Caleb,' I said, after standing near him for a few minutes,
hoping he would speak, 'when you see Mrs. Dorothy again, will you tell
her, with my respects----'
He interrupted me. 'You can tell her yourself, Willie, when you go to
bid her good-bye. Ah, you haven't heard. They are leaving Morechester.'
'Mistress Dorothy? But not for long?'
'I mean that they are going away altogether.'
'Going away! where to?'
'To live in Scotland.' His voice sank a little.
'Oh, Master Caleb!'
He looked across at his sister, and half smiled.
Great rough boy as I was, I nearly burst out crying. I stammered, began
to say I was sorry, and had to stop short.
He put his hand kindly on my shoulder, and presently he said, 'There
is just a chance of their not going, Willie. It was not finally
settled--just a chance.'
'It's quite as good as settled,' observed Mrs. Janet, without looking
up.
'I know it is.'
'Why, why do they?' I asked, finding my voice at last, but with a sort
of crack in it.
'Because they want him to be Professor of Chemistry at some place in
Scotland, if you must know everything,' said Mrs. Janet, answering
again, to my surprise. 'That book you have there is very much thought
of, and he is Scotch, and so he wants to go--There!'
'But Mistress Dorothy?'
'She is sorry,' said my master, in a low voice.
And then the silence came down upon us again. Mrs. Janet cleared her
throat, and held up her book so as to catch the remaining light,
and Master Caleb leant his head upon his hand. I durst ask no more
questions. But when I went away, he came out with me into the garden,
over which the twilight was beginning to gather.
'I am very sorry, Master Caleb,' I took courage to say then.
'I know that you are, Willie.'
Quiet as he was, he spoke with a sort of effort, as if each word gave
him pain.
'Scotland seems so far off.'
'Yes,--we shall see her face no more.'
'Is she very sorry? I am sure she does not want to go.'
'She said she had been happy here, God bless her. But I hope--I
think--that such an one as she is must always be peaceful and happy.
May He keep her so.'
'But Master Caleb, what will you do?'
He did not answer for a minute.
'I am thankful to have known her. My star of light. She has been to
me----'
That sentence he never finished.
The following day ended the week that Professor Bruce had taken to
consider whether he should accept the appointment offered to him or
not. Master Caleb could not rest without going to Morechester to learn
his determination, and in obedience to a message from Mistress Dorothy
that she would like to see me again, he took me with him.
On the way to Morechester we talked ourselves into a hope that the
Professor would have decided not to go away. The cool bright touches
of morning air, full of the song of birds and of the smell of dewy
flowers and freshly cut hay, made us feel hopeful. We remembered how
Professor Bruce had said that he should write no more books, because he
was growing an old man, and this new work would be harder still than
book-writing. Master Caleb felt sure that Dorothy was afraid of it for
her father.
'Depend upon it,' he said, 'we shall find that he has listened to his
daughter, and will rest content with having had this great honour
offered to him.'
After that I was astonished at the silence that came over him as we
walked up the High Street of Morechester. The freshness of early
morning still rested on the town, the shadows from the east reached
right across the street, and few passengers were stirring except people
coming in from the country, carrying fragrant baskets of vegetables and
fruit.
'We shall soon know now,' I said. 'See, there is Mistress Dorothy.'
She was coming out into the sunshine through the great door of the
Minster, among a little knot of people that scattered in different
directions. We came up with her as she stood on her own doorstep.
'Willie,' Master Caleb whispered hurriedly, as we crossed the
market-place, 'do not say a word about our being sorry. We must not
trouble her. It would grieve her good heart to think it gave us pain.'
'But she will stay--you said so?'
He shook his head.
Dorothy turned and came to meet us. 'It is kind of you to come over,'
she said, trying for her usual cheerful tone, as she went before us
into the little parlour. 'You wished to hear our fate. Yes, it is
settled, the letter will be sent to-day.'
'And it says----'
'That he will go.'
Master Caleb bowed his head. 'Of course,' he said in a low voice.
He went to the window, and stood looking out for a moment or two, while
Mistress Dorothy spoke to me; but how he managed the smile with which
he turned back directly, I cannot think.
'Then I wish you and the Professor all happiness and success, and--you
will not quite forget old Morechester.'
'Never,' she said earnestly. 'Master Caleb, indeed this is not my
doing. It frightens me for my father. I don't think he is looking well.
But he has so set his heart on going, and if I say a word against it,
he only says, "Let me go home, Dolly, let me go home." I thought he had
forgotten Scotland, but the old love for it seems to have come back. I
cannot keep him from what he calls his home, or try to make him stay
here.'
'No, no. To be sure not. Why should you?'
'I should have been so glad. But that does not matter, if only it is
good for him. He is tiring himself already, making preparations.'
'Then it will be soon----'
'I suppose so. And since it has to come, the saying good-bye, the
leaving here, and all the rest of it, it had better be soon over.'
'Yes,' answered Master Caleb, breaking out into one of those unlucky
speeches that said one thing and meant another, 'it'll be a blessing
when you are gone.'
She smiled a little. 'I think it will. And for you too. I know you will
be sorry.'
'Oh, never mind that. It doesn't matter much for me,--I mean, don't
think--It doesn't matter, I mean----'
'I am afraid you will miss my father very much.'
'Oh yes, your father. Of course I shall miss _him_. Everything
will be gone that I care for in the world,--the chemistry, you know,
and all.'
'And my father will miss you. Won't you come and see him?'
She went across and opened the study door. The room was all in
disorder, drawers open, book-cases half empty, and their contents
scattered about all over the tables and floor.
The Professor, with more colour than usual in his face, was moving
about, adding something every minute to the confusion. He stopped with
a whole shelf-full of books in his arms, as Dorothy said cheerily,
'Father, here is Master Caleb Morton, come to wish us joy. Why, dear
father,' she added, half laughing, 'what are you doing to the room?'
'There's no time to lose, my dear, and a great deal to be done. You are
welcome, Caleb Morton, I am obleeged to you,' as Master Caleb offered
his help. 'Yes. I shall be very grateful for any help that will enable
us to get away more quickly to my future post.'
'Dorothy cannot comprehend,' he went on, as Dorothy was called away,
and he gave up the books he held to Master Caleb, and sat down in his
arm-chair. 'She does not see any occasion for haste. But there is no
time to spare; I am called upon to fill an important chair.'
'I was not surprised, though very proud to hear of the honour tendered
to your acceptance, Professor,' said Master Caleb.
'Ah, well, it is gratifying; yes, doubtless. You were a true prophet
about the book, it appears, Master Caleb, eh? But I do not dwell so
much on that. It is poor Dolly's good that is actuating me now. I
think of Dolly's future and of the time when I must leave her. I should
like her to be comfortable then. I have laid by but little for her at
present, and I shall be glad to be getting more.'
'If the exertion be not too much,' said Master Caleb, doubtfully.
'I do not fear it; my mind is made up.' He was looking tired already,
and passed his hand once or twice across his forehead. 'It is only the
hurry and trouble of this move that worries me, and the having to think
myself of every single thing. Dorothy has no experience. But you must
not keep me talking,' and he got up restlessly; 'I have no leisure for
that. Where is Dolly?'
She was coming back.
'Just look about for the list of the books, child. I had it but a
moment ago; things get mislaid, and I have got to go over it.'
'Here it is; but father, you need not tire yourself with that, dear.'
'Dolly, leave me to manage my own concerns. You have no experience. You
had better pack up your clothes, my dear. That is your business. Well
here, if you want something to do, just go over the books on the lower
shelves. I cannot stoop any longer.'
There was no chance of farewell words from Mistress Dorothy that
morning.
* * * * *
It was but a few days after this, Master Caleb sat at his high desk in
school, the evening sun was creeping slowly across the benches towards
him. Already it shone in two gold square patches on the white-washed
wall. The hum of voices was growing a little louder as the moment of
release drew near, when a man in a smock frock, with a long whip over
his shoulder, looked in at the open door. Every head was raised to look
at him and everybody knew him--the carrier from Morechester.
'It's just a message as I promised I'd give Master Caleb,' he began;
'old Mr. Bruce's young lady, in Minster yard, you know----'
'Yes, I know.'
'Ah! She sent her kind respects, and thought you'd like to know as how
her father's dying. Yes, its some kind of a stroke or a fit,' the man
went on, untying a knot in the lash of his whip, and answering the
questions Mrs. Janet put to him from the window. Master Caleb had got
to the door and stood leaning against it saying nothing. 'He was took
last night, they told me, close upon nine o'clock.'
The rows of faces along the room were some of them indifferent, some
looking on carelessly, others were bent down again over their books,
but each one lighted up with unmixed pleasure when Master Caleb said in
a hoarse voice, 'The school is dismissed, children.'
And the schoolmaster was gone. For many days afterwards, Mrs. Janet sat
in her brother's place. The school was quieter than usual. The boldest
hearts quailed a little before the upright figure at Master Caleb's
desk. No one looked up or whispered, without feeling the quick eyes
upon them, or saw with entire composure the hand that often strayed
towards the tawse, that lay at her right hand. Many were the low-spoken
lamentations over Master Caleb's absence; hearty the wishes for his
speedy return among us.
But I believe he had forgotten all about the school, forgotten
everything outside the quiet house in which his old friend lay dying.
Very quiet it was, and silent. The rooms had fallen back into their old
order. All token of preparation for a journey had vanished; none such
was needed for the solemn journey on which the master of the house was
bound.
He had been busy and earnest about the arrangements to the last.
Dorothy told how constantly his thoughts dwelt on the future, and how
he would spare himself no exertion in his restless longing to be gone,
and at work in the new sphere. He was always hopeful and eager, and
could not bear her to notice how tired and over-taxed he looked at
times.
On the last evening, as he sat alone in his easy chair, he seemed to
be trying to put words and sentences together, and repeating them half
aloud. Dorothy did not dare to vex him by interrupting him. As she
stood out of sight behind him, she heard, with a vague feeling of fear
and sadness, that he was preparing the first lecture he meant to give
when he got to Scotland.
The words did not come easily. He sighed and appeared perplexed,
pressing his hand wearily upon his forehead, and once after a pause
she heard him say, 'for Dolly's sake,' and patiently begin the broken
sentence over again.
Then she could not keep silence any longer, but came round and leant
over his chair to speak to him. He looked up at her wistfully for
a moment or two, and held her hand. 'Dolly,' he said at last, in a
whisper, 'What is it? am I too old?'
She only said 'Father.' She gathered him in her arms, and held him
nearer and nearer to her; she drew his head down upon her shoulder.
What they thought of, those two, as they rested there heart to heart,
while the twilight sank down over them, will never be known to any but
themselves and God.
Later in the evening, when it was quite dark, she left him to get
lights and to make him a cup of tea. She was away but very few minutes.
When she came into the room again he had sunk back in his chair, and
his head had fallen on one side.
There was never any hope, though after a day or two he seemed to be
getting better. His mind was quite clear, he knew everybody, but was
too weak for many words.
Only one thing, they said, was strange. He had entirely forgotten all
that happened just before his illness. The hopes that were so keen, the
cares that weighed so heavily, he never referred to again. Not a single
fear for Dorothy ruffled the serenity of his thoughts.
He smiled at her, smoothed her hair feebly as she knelt beside his bed,
and sometimes kissed the little hand that ministered to his wants.
But the untroubled look was very strange to those who had watched of
late the gallant struggle with his failing powers that he had fought
through for her sake. Now he was leaving her alone, and he did not even
remember it.
'It is such a blessing, such a mercy,' Dorothy said, twisting her hands
tightly together, her only sign of emotion. She looked calm, but there
was no room for any thought beyond the moment itself--her father's
hourly need of her, his sleep, his waking, the words of peace with
which she tried to drive away the cloud that sometimes darkened over
him, like a shadow thrown back from the days of his long life. 'So many
years,' he used to say sadly, 'so many, many years.'
Once only I was allowed to go into his room. Dorothy had been called
away, and she bade me stand by the door ready to go for her the instant
she was wanted.
Like a picture I can recall the scene now. The darkened room--orderly
and quiet--the narrow bed against the wall, on which the Professor
lay--beside it the figure of Master Caleb bending forwards with a heavy
book open upon his knees, the only book that was near at hand now--all
the others had been taken away.
He said the world's learning was over for him, its learning and its
wisdom, and so by degrees Dorothy had moved all the books quietly away,
and left the Bible.
Master Caleb was reading to him now. The Professor had asked for some
words that, half-remembered, kept sounding in his ears, and Master
Caleb finding them, read them aloud. Sad words they seemed to be,
whose burden was vanity and vexation of spirit--weary words, that told
how all things are full of labour, and he who increaseth knowledge
increaseth sorrow--strange words to read beside one who had learned so
much, but who was going now to his long home, for the silver cord was
loosened, and the pitcher was broken at the fountain.
'And further, my son, by these be admonished,' read Master Caleb
slowly; 'of making many books there is no end, and much study is a
weariness to the flesh.'
The reader's voice sank lower and lower; the mournful words sounded
like autumn winds sighing through leafless trees. He ceased, and the
book sank upon his knees; still the sad echo, 'Vanity of vanities, all
is vanity,' went floating through the room.
The dying man sighed heavily. 'All true,' he murmured; 'the dust shall
return to the earth as it was,----'
Then his look changed. Some one had come into the room softly as Master
Caleb read, and was standing behind his chair. It was Dorothy, and
there was a smile on her face that made her beautiful.
She took the Book out of the hands that had dropped it, turned over the
pages quickly, and began to read. If you have ever heard music change
from long chords of wailing sadness into a burst of triumphant harmony,
if you have seen the sun break from behind a cloud, you have known what
we felt then.
'Behold, I show you a mystery,' she began.
Yes, a greater mystery than any that their earthly labour could bring
to light, even the mystery of immortality.
She did not raise her voice as she went on, but all through it there
thrilled the glorious faith and triumph of the thought that 'death is
swallowed up in victory.'
And as she uttered the solemn thanksgiving to Him who giveth us the
victory her father spoke again.
'Thanks be to God,' he repeated after her, raising his hand feebly,
and in the silence it seemed as if the Conqueror Himself drew nigh, and
stood by the dying bed.
* * * * *
The great bell of Morechester Minster was tolling heavily, each slow
stroke falling upon the ear like a blow, and the blinds were all drawn
down in the little house under the shadow of the Minster tower when
Caleb Morton came home.
He left Dorothy, as she wished to be left, alone. The faithful old
woman, who had been for years their only servant, was taking care of
her. For the rest she was better by herself, now that the watching was
ended, and the life-long blank and sorrow begun.
After he knew that it was her wish to be undisturbed during those first
bitter days, Master Caleb was hardly willing even to enter Morechester,
lest she should hear of it by some means and think that he had been
unmindful of a wish of hers. But his heart yearned over her, and either
late at night or in the very early morning he ventured secretly now and
then to the back door of the house to ask for tidings of her.
The great question that was for ever in his thoughts was this: What
would Dorothy do in the life that lay before her? Her father had said
truly that it was but very little he had to leave her. His one brother,
the hard-worked doctor of a poor Highland parish, was scarcely likely
to be better off than he had been.
To him, however, her only near relation, Dorothy had written, and till
the answer to this letter came, she would fain let the future rest.
That answer was very slow in coming. The posts to the north of Scotland
were tardy and uncertain at that time. Days had grown into weeks since
the Professor's funeral, and still we waited. One evening, however,
old Susan answered Master Caleb's low knock at the kitchen door with
unwonted quickness, scarcely waiting for him to speak before she thrust
a letter into his hand. 'Just you read it for yourself, Master Morton;
I brought it away without Mistress Dolly's knowing of it, on purpose
for you to see it. Some one ought to know how they treat the poor lamb.'
Master Caleb tore it open, without stopping, in his eagerness, to
consider whether he had a right to read it or not. The letter was not
long. A formal condolence on the severe bereavement she had sustained;
a regret that he and his only brother had never been enabled to meet
again after their long separation,--a hope that she found herself as
well as could be anticipated under the melancholy circumstances, and
at the end, a half-expressed chilling invitation to make his house her
home until, as no doubt would be the case, she could enter into some
permanent arrangement better suited to her.
'What did she do?' asked Master Caleb, looking up with blazing eyes.
'She just fetched a long sigh,' said the old woman, 'a long, long
sigh!' and she put the letter into my hands, and said, 'See, Susan; he
does not want us.'
Master Caleb had meant to stay in Morechester that night, and had left
me, as he sometimes did when he was away, to sleep at the schoolhouse.
Mrs. Janet and I sat up rather late that evening. She was sewing, and
I, on my best behaviour, was reading 'Baxter's Saint's Rest' aloud. We
were both thunderstruck when the door opened suddenly, and Master Caleb
appeared, dripping wet, for it was raining heavily, and looking as pale
as death.
'Caleb! you here!' exclaimed his sister, getting up in astonishment to
meet him. 'What brings you home on such a night as this? why, how wet
you are!'
'I am come,' Master Caleb said, disregarding the hand she laid on his
drenched coat-sleeve, 'because I cannot bear it any longer--because I
want your counsel--because she is left all alone, and has no friend--no
friend in all the world but us!'
'You speak of Dorothy Bruce,' said Mrs. Janet, slowly.
'She is so lonely,' he went on unheeding, 'and I want to comfort her,
but I do not know how, and I cannot tell how to help her. Janet, you
must tell me what I can do for her--not because she is alone, and that
I pity her, but, Janet, because I love her.'
There was an instant's pause, and then his sister threw her arms round
his neck. 'I know it, Caleb,' she said, with a great sob, 'I know it;
oh, my boy, did you think I did not know it all the time?'
And as she held him in her arms, and kissed his forehead as if he were
indeed still 'her boy,' I stole away and closed the door upon them.
Master Caleb came to me early the next morning, and bade me get ready
to go back with him to Morechester. 'I am going there again,' he said,
'and if anything occurs, which is far from likely, to detain me, I
shall be glad to send you back with a message to my sister.'
He was very quiet. All the hurry and excitement of last night were
gone, and in their stead there had come over him a look and manner of
grave calmness and resolution.
'Last night, Willie, I told my sister Janet what my feelings have long
been; Janet said she knew already,' and Master Caleb paused for a
moment in renewed wonder. 'I really am at a loss to conceive how, but
so it was. And she has counselled me to go to Mistress Dorothy, and
just to tell her all my story.'
'Oh, I am so glad!' I said, jumping up, 'so very glad.'
'Hush, hush, Willie; do not fancy that I have any hope. I know quite
well how it must be. But perhaps Janet is right, and that the time has
come when it is better that she should hear it. It may be, too, that in
her loneliness the knowledge of a love as true, as strong, and faithful
as I know mine is for her, will be a comfort to her.'
We went to Morechester, my master saying, when we started, 'Willie, we
will not talk, if you please.'
Perhaps all that long silent journey he was getting ready the speech
he meant to make to Mistress Dorothy. My thoughts, I know, had time to
wander very far afield.
They say that distance makes things look more beautiful. Alas! it also
makes them seem far easier. Before we got near Morechester Master
Caleb's composure was all gone. His resolution, doggedly held to, he
had kept safe, but the morning's calmness, eloquence and steadiness
were all lost by the way.
We had settled that I was to wait in the poor Professor's study while
he spoke to Mistress Dorothy in the parlour.
I had scarcely been in the room since that day, that seemed so long
ago, when Professor Bruce was beginning to pack up his books, and
Mistress Dorothy laughed at him for making the room untidy. It was
not untidy now. All was in dreary order, speaking sadly in its cold
lifelessness of the master that would never return to it.
No one was in the parlour, and Master Caleb came back to the study,
walking on tiptoe and speaking almost in a whisper.
'I have sent to ask if she will see me,' he said; 'I expect that she
will send for me immediately. You wait here, Willy: that's all you have
to do. Just stay quietly where you are.'
He was pushing me backwards all the time, without very well knowing
what he was about. At last he got me into the window, and told me
again to wait there for him.
'It won't take long,' he said, turning a shade greyer than before, 'and
then'----
The door opened, and Mistress Dorothy herself came into the room. She
moved so quietly that Master Caleb, staring out of window at the blank
wall, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously, did not hear or see
her until she spoke his name.
He turned round with a great start and went to meet her.
'Mistress Dorothy, I hope you will forgive me for coming so soon. I
just happened to be passing, and so'----
Happened to be passing! In my corner I could not help wondering at
Master Caleb. But it was very uncomfortable not to be able to get
out--I was hidden by the window-curtain, Mistress Dorothy had not seen
me, and my master, I was quite sure, had forgotten all about me. They
stood just in the way of the door, and I knew that if I disturbed
Master Caleb now, he would never be able to begin speaking to Mistress
Dorothy again. There was nothing for it but to read a book, and try not
to listen, but my heart was beating fast. I could not help hearing.
Dorothy held out her hand with her frank smile. 'I have been wishing to
see you, to thank you for your great goodness to my father and to me,'
she said. 'It was kind of you to come.'
'It was Janet--my sister--sent me. She said I ought to come now. I
should never have thought of such a thing if it had not been for her.'
'I am glad you came,' she answered. She looked very white and small
in her black gown, and her face was grave and sad. The steady
straightforward look and smile, however, were not the least changed.
She pushed a chair towards Master Caleb, but he did not seem to see it,
and she remained standing too.
'Mistress Dorothy,' he began again, clearing his throat vehemently,
'dear Mistress Dorothy, forgive me for asking you--what are you going
to do?'
She hesitated a little, and then said quietly, 'I do not quite know
yet. I have been thinking about it, but as yet I have not made up my
mind.'
'I thought perhaps I might ask,' went on Master Caleb, 'because'--he
made a short stop here, and I heard my own heart beating--'because you
know you are your father's daughter.'
She smiled then--smiled and sighed too.
'You are always very kind to me,' she said. 'When I have thought of
what I had better do, I shall like to tell you, and I know that you
will help me.'
'There's but little I can do,' he said bluntly, and then came another
silence. He was gathering together all his strength, and she stood
waiting for him to speak.
I scarcely think she caught his meaning directly when he did.
'I could never have said this, if things had been different,' were his
words. 'I should never have thought of it. You must forgive me now. It
is only because you have no better home. Oh, Mistress Dorothy, I know
it is not good enough to ask you to; but would you--could you come to
my home?'
The colour rushed into her face. I saw her put out her hand quickly, as
if she wanted something to hold by. She made some exclamation, too low
for me to hear.
'If I could serve you,' he went on, 'without asking such a great thing
as this, believe me I would not trouble you, but I could see no other
way. I could not help naming it to you. If there were some brighter
life before you, and I could be sure that you were happy, I think I
should be satisfied; but now you are alone, and I cannot bear to think
of it.'
The tears were in her eyes. Once more she held out her hand towards
him, and, grasping his, she spoke very softly. 'Dear friend, it is so
good of you--so very good, but----'
'Hush,' he answered quickly, drawing back. 'Yes, I know, I understand.
I always knew it must be so, forgive me.'
'Forgive you! the truest, the only friend I have.'
'It was just that. If some one, with a better right than mine, had
claimed the great happiness of taking care of you, I would have said no
word; but I thought--that is, Janet thought--we might venture just to
say how welcome--how proud--how glad----'
'I know how faithful you are. I know you are sorry for me, but you must
not----'
'I will not. I never will again. Let me be your friend, Dorothy, still.
Another day I will come back,' he said, trying to smile; 'and you will
tell your father's old friend your plans. Let me go now.'
He was gone. She called his name. Surely if he had heard her
voice then, he would have come back. I think too, that those last
half-choking words of his, first made her understand that he did not
come to her because he had been her father's friend, but because he
loved her.
I heard the door slammed after Master Caleb. As soon as I could get out
without being seen, I ran after him. It was difficult to catch him up,
at the pace he walked.
When I reached him, out of breath, he put his hand heavily on my
shoulder.
'Master Caleb,' I said, looking up into his face, 'may I speak to you?'
'Not now,' he answered, very gently. 'Not now, my boy. It has all
ended, Willie, as I knew it must.'
'I am sorry,' I said boldly; 'but I heard all you and Mistress Dorothy
said. I was in the study window, where you put me, sir, and I could not
help it.'
He did not heed me much.
'We will not speak of it again, Willie. She was quite right to say no.'
'But, Master Caleb, I thought she was going to say "yes."'
He stopped in the road and stared at me.
'Going to say yes!' he repeated slowly.
'Only you would not let her, sir. You gave her no time, and then you
went away.'
He still looked hard at me, and shook his head slowly. 'You know very
little about it, Willie.'
We walked on a long way in silence. At last he said again, 'You thought
she would have said yes?'
'I thought so, sir.'
'You know nothing at all about it.'
When we reached home there was Mrs. Janet watching eagerly for us. I
guessed how much Master Caleb dreaded having to meet and tell her all.
But she only just looked once at him. She asked no questions, she
did not even pity him. Only her sudden change of face--the look
of concern--the quick sigh of disappointment that she checked
instantly--the grave silence that so respected his great sorrow, went
to Master Caleb's heart.
I saw him go up to her, kneel down beside her, look up at her, and
then--no, I must have been mistaken--grown-up men like Master Caleb
never cry.
School had scarcely begun the next morning when I was mysteriously
called out by Mrs. Janet, and found her arrayed in the best bonnet and
gown, that usually never saw the light except on Sundays.
'William Lisle,' she began sternly, 'I have been thinking over things.
They cannot go on as they are now. They must not be suffered to go on.'
I said, 'No, ma'am,' and waited wondering.
'Something must be done,' pursued Mrs. Janet, in the same severe tone.
'It must be seen to, and that immediately. It passes my understanding
how the girl can have behaved to Caleb Morton as she did.'
I was so confounded at hearing Mistress Dorothy--our Mistress
Dorothy--Master Caleb's star, spoken of as 'the girl,' that I stared at
Mrs. Janet and could say nothing.
'She must have been out of her senses, I verily believe; I can make no
other excuse for her. She must have been out of her senses when she
said no to such a one as Caleb.'
'I don't think she meant to say it,' I said, in a low voice, feeling as
if I myself had been found guilty of refusing to marry Master Caleb.
'You don't think that she meant it? Very well. Then why did she say
it? Answer me that, William Lisle. Why did she say what she did not
mean? It's that question I mean to have an answer to, though I go to
Morechester myself to get it.'
'To Morechester! you?' I said. 'Does Master Caleb know?'
'Do as you are bid, Willie, and don't put foolish questions. I don't
ask you to give me your advice, but to run across to Furzy Nook and
borrow Farmer Foster's gig directly. Bring it up to where the four
roads meet, and I will get in there. One would say you were Lord Mayor
of London, Willie, you are so ready to put in your word.'
An hour afterwards I received her parting instructions not to leave
Master Caleb till she came home again, and only to tell him that she
had gone out on some business of her own.
'And I am sure that's the truth. It is my business to reason with the
girl,' murmured Mrs. Janet to herself, as she clambered up to her high
seat with a struggle; 'she's got neither father nor mother, and a good
bit of plain speaking does nobody any harm.'
'Gee up, Dobbin,' said Farmer Foster, shaking the horse's reins, and
the next moment I stood at the cross roads, looking with wondering
eyes after Mrs. Janet, who, driven by Farmer Foster himself, was
disappearing in the high-backed gig round the well-known corner of the
road to Morechester.
All the day I felt guilty whenever I met Master Caleb's eye, thinking
that he would insist on knowing whither his sister had betaken herself
in so unwonted a way. But he was quite satisfied with my first confused
sentence about business, and Farmer Foster, and in truth seemed to have
little heart for inquiring after anybody.
Afternoon came, but without bringing Mrs. Janet. Evening drew on,
school broke up, and Master Caleb, who had kept hard at work all day,
sat down with his head leaning on his hands, and gave himself up
unresistingly to his sad thoughts.
At last, after I had stood for full an hour leaning over the garden
gate, listening eagerly, but in vain, for the sound of wheels, one of
the farm boys from Farmer Foster's came sauntering--taking his time
about it too--over the stile and along the lane from Furzy Nook.
Mrs. Janet was there, and had sent for me. Conscious of being mixed up
in a plot, and standing in wholesome awe of Mrs. Janet, I was dismayed
when Master Caleb got up wearily, saying that if Janet was at the
Farm he supposed he might as well go and fetch her home. Would not
the secret of Mrs. Janet's journey come out somehow, if Master Caleb
went with me? and then whatever was to become of me? Much troubled in
mind, but quite unable to stop him, I followed his footsteps across the
fields.
The sun was setting over Furzy Nook, reddening the old house and making
its many lattice windows shine like gold.
Dame Foster met us at her garden gate, her apron, as of old, quite full
of flowers. 'You are kindly welcome, Master Caleb,' she said; 'yes,
your good sister is here; will you go in and speak to her?'
I ran on in front. 'Mrs. Janet,' I began, pushing open the parlour door
in a great hurry, 'Master Caleb is come too, and----'
I stopped short, for there stood Dorothy.
Master Caleb was close behind me, and at this moment, just when it was
most needed, Mrs. Janet completely lost all presence of mind.
She tried to put herself before Dorothy, to hide her, but Master Caleb
had already seen her, and stood at the door as if he were turned into
stone.
There was a dreadful long minute, and then Dorothy came slowly
forward. She had a colour in her cheeks that I had never seen before,
but she spoke almost as quietly as ever--
'Master Caleb, Mrs. Janet brought me here.'
'Janet! and you let her--you came?'
'I came,' she said, the red flush deepening in her cheeks, 'because you
asked me yesterday.'
'Did Janet say I was unhappy?'
'She said,'--he bent down, for he could scarcely catch the words--'she
said you really wanted me.'
Master Caleb grasped both her hands.
'Dorothy, did you come to me because you pitied me?'
'No, Master Caleb,' she said simply, 'because I was glad to come.'
It was not the words only, but something in her voice, that made him
say suddenly, 'Oh Dorothy! oh Dorothy!'
Until that moment we had quite forgotten, Mrs. Janet and I, that we
ought not to be there. But now, as he bent his head down lower and
lower over the clasped hands he held, Mrs. Janet with a sudden pull
drew me out into the passage, and shut the door upon them.
'Bless their foolish hearts, poor dears,' she ejaculated drying her
eyes vehemently in the passage.
'Oh Mrs. Janet,' I could not help saying, in the fulness of my heart,
'how glad I am that it has come right.'
'Come right!' she echoed, turning round on me.
'Come right! of course it has, Willie Lisle. Who ever thought it
wouldn't? There were no two ways about it.'
* * * * *
Master Caleb and Dorothy were married from Furzy Nook.
A wedding was of all things in the world the most delightful to Farmer
Foster and his wife. A few hours only were needed to make them take
Mistress Dorothy home to their hearts as if she had been a grandchild
of their own. The sweet quiet face, the black gown, and the little
touch of romance in the story of her presence there, won their own
welcome.
Every one was soon persuaded, very willingly, that it would be simple
madness for Dorothy to go back alone to the sad house at Morechester.
'We couldn't think for an instant of suffering such a thing, Mrs.
Janet, neither I, nor yet my master; and then, Furzy Nook will be so
handy, "somebody" can get to see her every day!' and the old dame
nodded slyly to Master Caleb, who did not see her, and then looked
across kindly at the farmer, remembering how he used to come a-courting
in the summer evenings, so many, many years ago.
The troth plight had scarcely been given and received--the engaged
pair had but half begun to realise that they were to belong to each
other some day, before Dame Foster had mentally frosted over the huge
wedding-cake, and doomed to death the fat capons that were to grace the
marriage feast.
It was a proud day on which Master Caleb brought his betrothed to see
the Castle. He whispered to me that he had waited for a fine day. Truly
he had chosen happily. The ruins were all a-glow with burning sunlight.
Our grey towers looked set in warmth and colour. Orange wall-flower,
tufts of scarlet poppies, feathery silver grasses, golden dandelions,
had forced their way through crevices in the old walls; downy thistles
shone with their purple blossoms, crimson woodbine went climbing where
it would. Covering all grew the many-hued mosses and lichens, russet
and grey, golden, red and brown.
Glittering light here and there; violet shadows; brilliant butterflies
hovering over the clover tufts; the warm fragrance of wild thyme; a
few sheep cropping the short grass, one of them carrying a bell that
tinkled lazily and pleasantly as he moved.
Yes, it was a good day for Mistress Dorothy, to see it all. Master
Caleb took her round very slowly, stopping often. We saw him pointing
and explaining, drawing lines in the air with a stick, to show where
broken fragments of stone told of fallen buildings and grass-grown
banquetting halls.
'Poor thing!' said Cuthbert, as we stood watching them from the mound.
'Why poor thing?' I asked indignantly.
'He's teaching her,' Cuthbert said, in a melancholy voice; 'I suppose
he's always at it.'
'I tell you she likes it.'
Cuthbert looked at me, and began to whistle--that clear birdlike
whistle of his, that no one could help listening to. I saw Mistress
Dorothy turn round and look up towards him with a smile.
'Over the hills and far away,' he whistled gaily, and the birds sang
the chorus, and the sun shone. Master Caleb and Dorothy went rambling
in and out through shade and sunshine. I could not help thinking what a
pleasant thing life was.
And next came the wedding day.
It was to be a very quiet one, because the little bride was still
grieving for the kind old father who was not there to give her his
blessing. So everybody kept on repeating that it must be quite quiet.
That is to say, no one was to go to the church who could by any
possibility be persuaded to stay away. But unluckily nobody could be
so persuaded. Master Caleb belonged to all of us. No one--certainly
not Dorothy--would have wished that the scholars, who had suddenly
found out how fond they were of him, should not go to his wedding. They
forgave him on that day all his strange love for three-syllabled words,
and sums in Long Division. They forgot how hardly he had often used
them in respect to learning things by heart, and only strove who could
shout himself the most hoarse in his honour.
All the village was waiting round the porch long before the wedding
party came out of church. How the sun shone that morning! What merry
peals the bells sent out upon the golden air! How cheer after cheer
rang forth, as Master Caleb, in such a coat, such black silk stockings,
such shoe-buckles as Wyncliffe had never before dreamt of, came out
bareheaded into the sunshine, from the deep shade of the porch, and
led his bride by the hand all through the shouting crowd! The village
girls, with Hildred at their head, showered baskets-full of red roses
before Mistress Dorothy as she walked!
Master Caleb could get out nothing but 'I thank you, friends, I thank
you;' and Dorothy held out both hands, right and left, to meet the
eager ones stretched out to greet her.
Then we young ones climbed up trees and stood on the top of walls to
give them one cheer more, as they drove off to Furzy Nook, and the
old folk called down blessings on the sweet face that was bright with
smiles and tears.
Another cheer when the bride, God bless her, waved her handkerchief to
us just before they turned the corner. Another, when Farmer Foster bade
all there come down to Furzy Nook to drink her health. Yet one more, a
hearty one, for Mrs. Janet, arm-in-arm with the farmer; and then, again
and again, for the old schoolhouse and its master. Thus we welcomed
Mistress Morton home to Wyncliffe.
_O little feet! that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and fears--
Must ache and bleed beneath your load;
I, nearer to the wayside inn,
Where toil shall cease and rest begin,
Am weary thinking of your road!_
LONGFELLOW.
Wandering Willie paused. The clock struck. The outer door of the
farm-house kitchen opened. A gust of snowy wind rushed in, and the
farmer followed, after stopping to shake the snow from his hat, and to
stamp it off his long boots in the porch.
Another door opened too. In came 'mother,' proclaiming bed-time.
There was a general petition to be allowed to stay up a little longer.
'Only till the end of the story,' the children begged.
'For it's just done, mother,' said little Cecily, who had been fast
asleep on the old man's shoulder for nearly an hour past. 'It's just
done;' and her blue eyes tried in vain to keep wide open.
'Oh Cecily,' called the rest of the children indignantly, 'it isn't
nearly done. And you've been asleep all the time. We big ones may stay,
mother?'
But mother shook her head.
Then one of the little sisters said she did not so much mind going
to bed, because nearly everybody in the story was grown up now, and
stories about grown-up people were very dull. So she took Cecily's
hand, and the two little maidens ran off together, laughing.
'It's as wild a night as ever I saw,' said the farmer, standing before
the blazing fire. 'There'll be no getting across the moor to-morrow,
Willie. You'll just have to be content and bide here.'
'And we shall hear the end of the story to-morrow evening,' said Lois.
When to-morrow evening came, the same group had gathered round the
hearth. Again bed-time came round, and the little ones dropped off one
by one, until only Lois and Roger were left to listen. But whenever the
old man paused they said 'Go on, go on.' And he went on, drawn by their
listening faces. By-and-by the mother came and joined them when she had
seen that the children were warm and safe in bed,--all the merry eyes
closed and the restless limbs at rest.
She came and listened too, to hear what it was that had so moved her
pretty Lois, that the tears were in her eyes; both she and Roger were
holding Willie's hands and looking with kindly pity into the old man's
face.
But the busy wife and mother, full of life's joys and cares, could see
nothing to cry about in a story of what had come and gone so many years
ago.
Only she listened patiently to the end, because she too loved Wandering
Willie.