MEGALITHIC.
One bright summer day, when the sea was still and blue as the nemophyla,
and twinkling as if strewn with diamond dust, Arminell was in her
garden, with an apron on, gloves over her hands, a basket on her arm,
and scissors for flowers.
At the end of the garden, partly screened by rhododendrons, was a
summer-house, and outside it some lumps of plaster of Paris, pots of
oil-paint, and slabs of slate, smeared with mortar. Occasionally the
door of the pavilion opened, and a man issued from it wearing a
brown-holland blouse, and on his head a paper cap. Particles and
splashes of plaster marked his face, especially about the nose, where he
had rubbed with a white finger.
“I will have it all cleaned away, Giles,” said Arminell. “How are you
getting on with the models?”
“Very well, only the plaster does not set as fast as I could wish. When
I have got the dolmens of Gozo and Constantine, of Lock Mariaker and
Madron to scale, side by side, the most prejudiced persons must agree
that the similarity of construction is strong evidence of identity of
origin. I can show on my map of megalithic monuments where the stream of
dolmen builders travelled, how that it set from Asia, along the margin
of the Baltic, and then branched north over Britain, and south over
Gaul. I can prove conclusively that they were not Gauls and Kelts. Just
come and look at my cromlechs and dolmens in the rough. The resemblance
_saute aux yeux_. We must establish their geographical distribution, and
then compare their points of similarity and dis——”
“Please, ma’am, a lady and a young gentleman are in the drawing-room,
and want to see you.”
“What names?”
“They gave none, ma’am.”
Arminell removed her apron, took off her gloves, and handed them and the
basket to the maid, then went towards the drawing-room glass door
opening upon the garden.
“Some people come to collect for the Jubilee,” said Arminell aside to
her husband, as she passed.
“I heard they were about.”
In another moment, however, Saltren, who was engaged on his models of
prehistoric rude stone monuments, heard a cry, and returning to the door
of his laboratory, saw Arminell in the arms of an old lady, and at the
same moment recognised her, and also the boy at her side. Then, without
removing his blouse or his paper cap, he ran also across the garden, to
welcome Lady Lamerton and his old pupil, Giles.
I do not think I could better illustrate the fact of the transformation
that had been effected in Jingles, than by mentioning this incident. Can
you—I cannot—conceive of Mr. Jingles as tutor at Orleigh Park, allowing
himself to be seen smudged with plaster, in a paper cap, with a nose of
chalky whiteness? On the present occasion he was so excited, so pleased
to see dear Lady Lamerton and Giles again, that he forgot all about his
own personal appearance, and even about the quoit of the Madron cromlech
he was then modelling to scale.
Lady Lamerton had come to see Arminell, as Arminell could not visit her;
and this was her first visit. She had not ventured before, because she
did not think it prudent, not because her heart did not draw her to
Arminell.
The most contradictory reports had circulated relative to the girl. Some
had asserted that she was dead, others declared she was alive. Then it
was said she was lodging in London, under an assumed name, and had made
herself notorious by her advocacy of woman’s rights, divided skirts, and
social democracy. It was asserted that she had become a platform orator
and a writer under the direction of that revolutionist, James Welsh.
This was again denied, and said to rest on a mistake arising from James
Welsh having had a general servant named Inglett. After a twelvemonth
gossip ceased, for interest was no longer taken in a person who was no
more seen, and who probably was dead.
And what does it matter, argued the cynical, whether she be dead or
alive, as she is no more in society? We know nothing of those who do not
appear, who have not been presented, who are not danced before our eyes.
In mediæval times there were _oubliettes_ in all castles, and
inconvenient persons were let fall down them to disappear for ever. Did
they break their necks in falling? Or did they linger on, fed on bread
and water, and languish for years? What did it matter?
They were practically dead when the trap-door closed over their heads.
Every aristocratic, every gentle family has now what was anciently the
prerogative of the mightiest barons only. Every family is encumbered
with its awkward and troublesome members who must be dropped somewhere.
The Honourable Arminell Inglett had gone down an _oubliette_, but
whether it were the family vault or a social limbo mattered nothing. We
are too wise to ask about her. We never do anything inconsistent with
good taste. We let sleeping dogs lie, and don’t push inquiries about
dropped relatives.
When we are invited to dine at my lord’s, we do not peep to see if the
broken meats and half-finished bottles be tumbled down under the feet to
be mumbled and drained by the forgotten ones beneath. When we dance at
my lady’s Christmas ball, in the state ballroom, we know very well that
below it is the family _oubliette_, but we scuffle with our feet to
drown the moans of those _mauvais sujets_ who lie below, and the
orchestra sounds its loudest strain to disguise the rattle of their
chains.
* * * * *
“My dear husband,” said Arminell, “take Lamerton to see your models.
They will interest him, and I will go in with mamma. Besides, you can
clear his mind of delusions with respect to the Druids, which is really
important. You know that there is a circle of stones on Orleigh Common,
and in an unguarded moment the boy might attribute them to the ancient
Britons.”
“The matter is not one to joke upon,” said Jingles with a flicker of
annoyance in his face.
Then he retreated to the pavilion with his old pupil, to show him the
work on which he was engaged.
Arminell, quick in perception, saw that Lady Lamerton had noticed the
transient cloud, so she said, with a smile, “Do you remember my husband
when he was Giles’s tutor? I mean, do you remember how sensitive he then
was, how he winced when you came near him? I have heard of nervous
disorders that make men thus susceptible. If you put a finger on them,
they scream and writhe; if near them, they quiver with apprehension. He
was in like manner touchy. Now, however, he is quite recovered. There is
but one single point on which he is sensitive, and where a feather will
make him wince.”
“What is that?”
“Megalithic monuments.”
“Megalithic monuments, my dear?”
“Yes, mamma. He loves me dearly, but even I, who can do almost anything
with him, would shrink from holding Mr. Fergusson’s view that Stonehenge
was a work of the Anglo-Saxons. If it did not separate us, it would make
a temporary estrangement. But, understand me, we are the greatest of
friends, we never quarrel. I believe with all my soul that the rude
stone monuments are prehistoric and pre-Keltic.”
“And what are his political views?”
“I do not think he has any. But he is deeply interested in the bill for
the acquisition and nationalisation of the antiquities of the country.
He says, and I agree with him, that if Britain is to maintain her place
as a leading nation in the civilized world, she should conserve most
strictly every prehistoric monument on the soil.”
Then Arminell made Lady Lamerton rest on the sofa; and she drew a stool
to her feet, and sat there holding her hands.
“I dare say you cannot understand why I married him,” she said, after a
short period of silence and mutual endearments. “But I was much alone,
and oh! so solitary. I wanted a companion and did not relish the idea of
an elderly eligible female, who, with bland perpetual smile,
acquiescence in all my vagaries, non-resistance to my opinion, would
have been intolerable to me. I could not do without a companion, and I
could not endure the society of one. It is the vocation of these
companions to be complaisant, to have no view, no opinion, no
personality. Unless she were all that, she would be no companion; if she
were all that, she would be insupportable to me. Then—with her I could
not have talked about dear Orleigh.”
She stroked and then kissed her step-mother’s hand.
“Also poor Jingles—I mean Mr. Saltren—required a companion, a nurse;
some one to look after him day and night, and see that he changed his
socks when they were damp, and drank fresh milk warm from the cow, and
took tonics at regular hours, and had sweet-oil rubbed into his back
between the shoulder-blades. I could not ask Mrs. Bankes to do that, or
the housemaid, and there was really no one else who could be asked. I
could not do this unless I married him, and so—I became his wife, and
rubbed in the sweet-oil. Thank God, he is a strong man now; but he has
to be kept up to the mark. I go with him when he makes archæological
excursions to the Morbihan, or to Scotland to plan old stones, for when
he gets interested he forgets himself, and would work on in an east wind
or in a sou’-west drizzle unless I were by to insist on his postponing
the measurements till the weather mends. He is a dear, amiable fellow,
and yields with the best grace. It is real pleasure to have to do with
him. Now tell me something about Orleigh.”
“About the people?”
“O yes, mamma, about the dear people there.”
“You know that Sam Ceely is married to Joan Melhuish, and she is devoted
to that old impostor as you seem to be to your patient. They live now in
the cottage which was occupied by Captain Tubb till he moved to the old
quarry.”
“Where is Patience Kite?”
“She has been had up twice before the magistrates for obtaining money
under false pretences. She is an inveterate witch, and might well have
been left alone, but Mrs. Cribbage has taken a dislike to her, and set
the police upon her, and has had her summonsed. Just now she is in
prison, because she could not pay the fine imposed on her. How is her
daughter, Thomasine?”
“Thomasine!—I will ring and you shall see her.”
“Not just yet, Arminell.”
“No, presently. She is the belle of Bournemouth. Such a handsome girl,
blooms into greater beauty than ever, and is so good and affectionate
and steady. She is going to be married to a coast-guard man, a most
respectable fellow.”
“And now about yourself, Armie. Does time not hang heavy on your hands?
You cannot be always engaged in prehistoric antiquities.”
“Indeed, mamma,” answered Arminell with energy, “time does not hang
heavy on my hands. I have, of course, my dear husband to consider first
of all, but I have plenty to occupy me besides—duties thoroughly
humdrum. I visit the old women, I read to the sick, I am an active
patroness of the Girls’ Friendly Society, and I teach every Sunday in
the school.”
“You do! Why, Armie, you used to hate Sunday School.”
“Dear mamma, I wish you could hear my class of girls, they have just
acquired the list of apocryphal books which are not to be applied to
establish doctrine. And, till I find some positive truth to teach, I
content myself with making them repeat the names of all the homilies
which no one has read, and which never are likely to be read. They have
also been taught the meaning of Quinquagesima, Sexagesima, and
Septuagesima.”
“And you think you are really doing good, Armie?”
“I am using all my energies to teach my girls to grow up humdrum women.”
THE END.
--------------
_S. Cowan & Co., Printers, Perth._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
--------------
S. BARING GOULD, M.A.
--------------
=HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS.= Demy 8vo, 10s. 6d.
[Now Ready.
“Striking into the dark side-paths of history, we have a
collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The
volume is delightful reading.”—_Times._
“The entire contents are stimulating and
delightful.”—_Notes and Queries._
=OLD COUNTRY LIFE.= With numerous Illustrations and
Initial Letters by W. PARKINSON, F. D. BEDFORD, and F.
MASEY. Large Crown 8vo, 10s. 6d. A limited number of
copies on large paper will also be printed.
[_On November 18._
--------------
_CONTENTS._
CHAP.
I. OLD COUNTY FAMILIES.
II. THE LAST SQUIRE.
III. COUNTRY HOUSES.
IV. THE OLD GARDEN.
V. THE COUNTRY PARSON.
VI. THE HUNTING PARSON.
VII. COUNTRY DANCES.
VIII. OLD ROADS.
IX. FAMILY PORTRAITS.
X. THE VILLAGE MUSICIANS.
XI. THE VILLAGE BARD.
XII. OLD SERVANTS.
XIII. THE HUNT.
XIV. THE COUNTY TOWN.
=JAEL AND OTHER STORIES. (In February.)=
=YORKSHIRE ODDITIES. New and Cheaper Edition. (In the
Press.)=
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Punctuation has been normalized. Variations in hyphenation have been
retained as they were in the original publication. The following changes
have been made:
it ha blowed —> it ha’ blowed {page 20}
comman-place —> common-place {page 178}
Mrs. Banks —> Mrs. Bankes {page 246}
Advertising material “By the Same Author” has been moved to the end of
the text.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the chapter in which they occur.
Italicized phrases are presented by surrounding the text with
_underscores_.
Bolded phrases are presented by surrounding the text with =equal signs=.
Words and phrases presented in mixed small capital letters in the
original are presented using ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.
End of Project Gutenberg's Arminell (Vol 3/3), by Sabine Baring-Gould