THE GATES OF SPRING ARE OPENED
"For rest of body perfect was the spot,
All that luxurious nature could desire;
But stirring to the spirit; who could gaze
And not feel motions there? ...
But the gates of Spring
Are opened; churlish winter hath given leave
That she should entertain for this one day,
Perhaps for many genial days to come,
Her guests, and make them welcome."
--WORDSWORTH (The Recluse).
There was a little ceremony when the foundation-stone of Lone Ash was
laid.
Mr. Harland, lord of the manor of Clunbury, had an aged grandmother
living in his house, who actually remembered Captain Brooke's
grandfather, and the departure of the family to South Africa when the
old place was sold up. This venerable dame, as forming so
interesting a link with the past, was at the Squire's suggestion,
asked to lay the stone; and on the first of May the ceremony was
performed, before quite a concourse of spectators.
It was a fine opportunity for the county to show sympathy with the
eligible owner by being present; and there was many a pretty girl who
would have dearly liked to preside at future gatherings on the same
spot.
For the few with whom he was personally acquainted, the Captain
provided champagne luncheon at the primitive inn, where he still had
his unpretentious quarters. Melicent had feelings to contend with on
entering that inn once more.
The health of the architect was proposed by Mr. Harland, and
enthusiastically drunk by those present, among whom the slight young
girl, whose talent was undeniable, was an interesting figure.
Mayne was among the guests, observant but aloof. He was shut out
completely from the confidence of both those who were dear to him.
He could see that the girl was wholly possessed and dominated by her
one absorbing interest. He imagined that she had accepted Lance
simply because he asked her, and because she was young and
undeveloped, and did not know exactly what she wanted; or because
Lance admired her, and the admiration of the young male will always
for a time influence the warm blood of the young girl. But Bert he
found more inscrutable. The man lived within himself to a quite
incredible extent. But as far as Mayne could see, he was not
unhappy: certainly not in despair. He seemed to have accepted,
without one kick, the hardest stroke of Destiny. In such submission,
to one who knew Bert, there was something ominous.
Mayne knew nothing of one electric moment in which Bert had torn from
Melicent's eyes three secrets. First, that she knew him; second,
that she feared him; third, that she was going to entrench herself
against him.
These things lay unspoken in the man's dogged heart.
In the late afternoon, the Captain turned to his architect, who had
been saying good-bye to the Harland party, and took out his watch.
"You have three quarters of an hour before your fly comes to fetch
you," he said, "and Mayne has taken the Helstons to look at the
church. I want to show you something, if you would stroll down the
lane with me."
To refuse would have been ridiculous; but as they went, she was
acutely conscious that this was the first time they had been alone
together since the day she had recognised him.
They were walking towards Lone Ash, and the wonderful beauty of the
May evening breathed incense about them as they went. Orchards
everywhere made the whole earth seem a-bloom. A glory of distant
gorse blazed on the horizon line.
After a few moments Melicent grew nervous, and felt she must speak.
"Is the first consignment of dressing-stone delivered?" she asked.
"Up at the station," he replied eagerly, as if the question pleased
him. "We bring some down to-morrow; it ought to be on the ground at
ten o'clock. I took a look at it to-day, and thought it was up to
sample; but I should like you to see it."
"It's a pity the journey from London is so long," she said
regretfully.
"The very point I want to raise," returned he, with unconcern which
was not overdone. "I think I need my architect on the spot, and I'm
prepared to pay to have her there. Ah!" as they turned a corner and
a charming cottage faced them, "this is what I want to show you. How
do you like it?"
She stopped short, with a certain glow of feature and glint of the
eye, which was characteristic. As usual, when very pleased, she did
not speak. He watched her eyes as they dwelt on the rustic English
beauty of the place.
The white smother of cherry-blossom melted against the mellow red
tiles. By the garden-gate a big Forsythia bush bore a burden of
honey-coloured flowers. The garden was a tangle of periwinkle,
woodruff, and forget-me-not, with the all-pervading sweetness of
wallflower; and the glowing coral of the ribes nestled against the
tumble-down porch.
"It will be a mass of lilac-bloom in a fortnight," said the girl,
hardly knowing she spoke.
"I want you to come in," Brooke told her.
The door was ajar. It opened upon a kitchen, beautifully clean and
tidy, evidently for ornament, not use. Within was a tiny parlour,
with gate-leg table, grandfather's clock and oak dresser.
"This is what I would ask my architect to put up with now and then,
to save her a good deal of going to and fro," said Brooke. "I have
taken it for three months, to accommodate my visitors, as there is no
room in the inn."
Carried away by the sweetness of the place, she sat down upon the
window-seat.
"This is Arcady!" she said.
He leaned against the print valance of the mantel, looking very large
in the tiny place.
"Do you like it? Would you like to stay here now and again?"
She turned her little head, its outlines sungilt against the light
without, and looked at him; and she answered like a child, accepting
unconsciously the suggestion of an older person.
"I like it very much. It would be a great convenience to be able to
stay. I am so anxious about the house."
"If that is so, you shall wait here and talk to Mrs. Barrett, and ask
her to show you the upstairs rooms, while I go and fetch the Helstons
to look at it. There will just be time."