"I beg your pardon," said Archibald Graves, rather abruptly; "I spoke to
Miss Thorne before church. I think she is engaged to me."
The eyes of Beatrice Lambent opened with astonishment and she stared at
this daring young man, who had the presumption to talk of interposing
between the new schoolmistress and the head of the parish. She was
evidently about to speak, for her lips moved, but no words came.
It was Hazel who put an end to the unpleasant dilemma.
"I will come at once. Miss Lambent, if you please," she said
respectfully.
"Miss Beatrice Lambent, if you please," said the lady haughtily; "Miss
Lambent is now descending from the organ-loft."
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Hazel. Then, glancing with quiet dignity
at the intruder and back to Miss Beatrice: "Mr Graves was a friend of
our family a year or two back. Mr Graves, my mother is at the
schoolhouse; if you wish to see me, I must ask you to call there."
She followed Miss Beatrice up between the rows of pews that lady seeming
to take her into moral custody; while, seeing himself the aim of several
pairs of eyes, including those of Mr Chute, Mr William Forth Burge,
Miss Burge, and above all, those of Miss Lambent, which literally
flashed at him, Archibald Graves nodded shortly, turned upon his heel,
and tried to march carelessly out of church; but his easy motions were
terribly full of restraint.
"I was not aware that Miss Thorne would be so soon having friends," said
Miss Lambent; but her remark elicited no reply, for Mr William Forth
Burge and his sister both felt troubled, the schoolmaster angry, and all
too much preoccupied with the appearance of Hazel Thorne as she passed
into the chancel, and through a bar of brilliant colour cast by the sun
from the new stained-glass window, which had been placed in the south
end of the chancel in memory of the late vicar, the effect being very
strange, seeming to etherealise Hazel; though for the matter of that the
same effect would have been seen, had it been noticed, in connection
with Miss Beatrice, who had led the way, drawing aside the curtain that
hung in front of the vestry door, and tapping softly with her knuckles.
"Come in!"
Very simple words, but they set Hazel's heart beating, as, in a whisper
full of awe, but at the same time very distant and cold, Miss Beatrice
said:
"You may go in now."
As she spoke she drew back, holding the curtain for Hazel to pass; and
trying to master her emotion, the latter raised the latch and entered
the vestry.
The vicar was standing with his hat in hand, gazing out of the little
window at the cheerful prospect of a piece of blank old stone wall,
surmounted by a large waterspout, and though he must have heard the door
open and close, he did not turn, but stood there as stiff and
uncompromising of aspect as his sisters.
He had seen Hazel Thorne twice before, but in a gloomy room in London;
and being of rather a preoccupied turn of mind, he had paid so little
heed to her personal appearance that he would hardly have recognised her
again. A new mistress had been required, and the customary
correspondence had taken place; he had called at the institution, asked
a few questions, and there was an end of the matter, the strong
recommendations of the lady-principal being sufficient for the
engagement to be decided on.
Hazel stood waiting for him to turn round, but the Reverend Henry
Lambent remained gazing at the water-pipe for some few moments before
coughing slightly to clear his throat. Then, in a voice full of haughty
condescension, he began:
"I am glad to find that you arrived punctually. Miss Thorne, in
accordance with the arrangements that were made; and I take this
opportunity of saying a few words to you at this commencement of your
career in Plumton."
Here he stopped, and faced slowly round, allowing his half-closed eyes
to rest indifferently upon the new mistress, who was standing facing the
window, and upon whose rather pale care-worn face the light fell
strongly as he turned.
Very plainly dressed in her well-fitting mourning, Hazel Thorne was one
who could have claimed a second look from the sternest of mortals.
It was not that she was surpassing beautiful, and could boast of
finely-chiselled nostrils, Juno-like brow, or any of the wonderfully
entrancing features with which some novelists endow their heroines;
Hazel was simply a sweet-faced, thoroughly English girl, but there was
an expression in her eyes, a touching look so full of appeal that it
even affected the cold, unimpassioned vicar, who remained silent for
some moments as if wondering, and then hastily said:
"I beg your pardon. Miss Thorne, will you sit down!"
He placed a chair for her, and drew another forward from where it was
half hidden behind the folds of the surplice but lately hung upon its
proper peg, and, astonished at himself waited till Hazel had seated
herself before following suit.
"That young man" seemed to have vanished from his thoughts, and the
lecture he had intended to read the young schoolmistress upon the bad
appearance of such meetings as those which had taken place that morning
dropped from his memory, and his lips formed words that surprised him as
much as his acts.
"I trust that you have found everything correct at--at the schoolhouse,
Miss Thorne?"
"Quite, I thank you," replied Hazel, with quiet dignity, and she
entirely forgot that she was addressing her superior, and left out the
"sir."
"Of course everything is very strange and new to you at first; but er--
er, you will soon feel quite at home with us, I hope."
"Indeed, I hope so," said Hazel earnestly. "The time has been so short
as yet."
"Yes--of course--so very short," replied the vicar. "My sisters will
call to-morrow, I have no doubt and see Mrs Thorne. I shall be down at
the school in the afternoon. You saw Miss Burge, of course, this
morning?"
"Oh yes. Miss Burge walked up to church with me."
"And Mr William Forth Burge too, if I mistake not. Most admirable
people, Miss Thorne. Great patrons of our schools. I trust that you
will--er--er--try to--er--that is, endeavour to meet them in little
matters, connected with the management of the children."
"You may rely upon my trying to thoroughly fulfil my duties, Mr
Lambent," said Hazel quietly.
"Of course--to be sure, Miss Thorne, no doubt," he said hastily; and as
he spoke he wondered at himself more and more; "but I must not detain
you, Miss Thorne. Er--allow me one moment, the curtain is rather
awkward to one unaccustomed to the place."
And, to the astonishment--the utter astonishment--of his sisters, who
were standing as stiffly in the chancel as if they were a couple of
monumental effigies, the Reverend Henry Lambent opened the door, passed
out first, and then stood holding the curtain aside for Hazel to pass,
which she did, bowing gravely and with quiet dignity to the two ladies
before gliding along the nave and out of the door.
Neither of the sisters spoke, but stood, like the vicar, watching the
new mistress leave the church.
At last Miss Beatrice turned.
"What excuse did she make, Henry?" she said.
"I--er--I beg your pardon, Beatrice?"
"I say, what excuse did she make? Really, her conduct is very,
strange."
"Excuse? Oh, of course, about her visitor," said the vicar absently.
"I er--I--on second consideration thought it would be better to ignore
the matter. Perhaps she was not to blame."
"Henry!"
"Beatrice, my dear," said the vicar quietly, "I always abstain from
having refreshments in the vestry, but the morning service is long and I
feel faint. Let us go home to lunch."
Miss Beatrice had the first rule over the vicarage, her elder sister the
second rule, and generally speaking, the vicar let them have matters
entirely their own way; still, there were times when he took the reins
in his own hands, and then it was dangerous to interfere.
This was one of the times when the vicar showed that he had a will of
his own, and consequently the sisters exchanged glances and said no
more.