A VIEW FROM THE REFECTORY WINDOW.
THE old discoloured wall of Malory, that runs along the shore
overshadowed by grand old timber, that looks to me darker than any other
grove, is seven feet high, and as he could see neither through nor over
it, and could not think of climbing it, after a few seconds spent in
staring at the gray door, Tom Sedley turned about and walked down to the
little hillock that stands by the roadside, next the strand, and from
the top of this he gazed, during an entire cigar, upon the mullioned
windows of Malory, and was gratified by one faint gleam of a passing
candle from a gallery window.
"That's a nice old woman, odd as she is; she looks quite like a lady;
she's certainly not the woman we saw in church to-day; how well she
looked; what a nice figure, that time, as she stood looking from the
shore; that cloak thing is loose to be sure; but, by Jove, she might
have been a girl almost; and what large eyes she has got, and a
well-shaped face. She must have been quite charming, about a hundred
years ago; she's not the mother: she's too old; a grand-aunt, perhaps;
what a long talk we had, and I such a fool, listening to all that
rubbish, and never getting in a word about the people, that peerless
creature!"
His walk home to Cardyllian was desultory and interrupted. I should not
like to risk my credit by relating how often he halted on his way, and
how long, to refresh his eyes with the dim outlines of the trees and
chimneys of Malory; and how, very late and melancholy, and abstracted,
he reached his crib in the Verney Arms.
Early next morning, in pursuance of a clever idea, Tom Sedley made, I
admit, his most picturesque and becoming toilet. It consisted of his
black velvet knickerbocker suit, with those refined jack-boots of
shining leather, and the most charming jerry that had ever appeared in
Cardyllian, and away he marched over the hill, while the good people of
the town were champing their muffins and sipping their tea, to the back
gate of Malory.
It stood half open, and with as careless a boldness as he could assume,
in he went and walked confidently up the straight farmyard lane, girt
with high thorn hedges. Here, bribing a rustic who showed symptoms of
churlishness, with half-a-crown, he was admitted into a sort of
farmyard, under pretext of examining the old monastic chapel and
refectory, now used as a barn, and some other relics of the friary,
which tourists were wont to admire.
From the front of the refectory there is a fine view of the distant
mountains. Also, as Tom Sedley recollected, a foreground view, under the
trees, in front of the hall-door, and there, with a sudden bound at his
heart, he beheld the two ladies who had yesterday occupied the Malory
pew, the old and the young, busy about the flower-bed, with garden
gauntlets on, and trowel in hand.
They were chatting together cheerily enough, but he could not hear what
they said. The young lady now stood up from her work, in a dress which
looked to him like plain holland.
The young lady had pushed her hat a little back, and stood on the grass,
at the edge of the flowers, with her trowel glittering in the early sun,
in her slender right hand, which rested upon her left; her pretty right
foot was advanced a little on the short grass, and showed just its tip,
over the edge of the flower-bed. A homely dress and rustic appliances.
But, oh! that oval, beautiful face!
Tom Sedley--the "peeping Tom" of this story--from his deep monastic
window, between the parting of the tall trees, looked down upon this
scene in a breathless rapture. From the palmy days of the Roman Pantheon
down, was ever Flora so adored?
From under his Gothic arch, in his monkish shade, Tom could have stood,
he fancied, for ever, gazing as friar has seldom gazed upon his pictured
saint, on the supernatural portrait which his enthusiasm worshipped.
The young lady, as I have described her, looking down upon her old
companion, said something with a little nod, and smiled; then she looked
up at the tree tops from where the birds were chirping; so Tom had a
fair view of her wonderful face, and though he felt himself in imminent
danger of detection, he could not move. Then her eyes with a sidelong
glance, dropped on the window where he stood, and passed on instantly.
With the instinct which never deceives us, he felt her glance touch him,
and knew that he was detected. The young lady turned quietly, and looked
seaward for a few moments. Tom relieved his suspense with a sigh; he
hoped he might pass muster for a tourist, and that the privileges of
such visitors had not been abridged by the recluses.
The young lady then quietly turned and resumed her work, as if nothing
had happened; but, I think, she said something to her elderly companion,
for that slim lady, in a Tweed shawl, closely brooched across her
breast, stood up, walked a step or two backward upon the grass, and
looked straight up at the window, with the inquisitive frown of a person
a little dazzled or near-sighted.
Honest Tom Sedley, who was in a rather morbid state all this morning,
felt his heart throb again, and drum against his ribs, as he affected to
gaze in a picturesque absorption upon the distant headlands.
The old lady, on the other hand, having distinctly seen in the
deep-carved panel of that antique wall, the full-length portrait of our
handsome young friend, Tom Sedley, in his killing knickerbocker suit of
black velvet, with his ivory-headed cane in his hand, and that
"stunning" jerry which so exactly suited his countenance, and of which
he believed no hatter but his own possessed the pattern, or could
produce a similar masterpiece.
The old lady with her hand raised to fend off the morning sun that came
flickering through the branches on her wrinkled forehead, and her light
gray eyes peering on him, had no notion of the awful power of her gaze
upon that "impudent young man."
With all his might Tom Sedley gazed at the Welsh headlands, without even
winking, while he felt the basilisk eye of the old spinster in gray
Tweed upon him. So intense was his stare, that old Pendillion at last
seemed to nod his mighty head, and finally to submerge himself in the
sea. When he ventured a glance downward, he saw Miss Anne Sheckleton
with quick steps entering the house, while the young lady had
recommenced working at a more distant flower-bed, with the same quiet
diligence.
It was to be feared that the old lady was taking steps for his
expulsion. He preferred anticipating her measures, and not caring to be
caught in the window, left the refectory, and walked down the stone
stairs, whistling and tapping the wall with the tip of his cane.
To him, as the old play-books say, entered from the side next the house,
and just as he set the sole of his resplendent boot upon the
paving-stones, a servant. Short, strong, and surly was the man. He did
not seem disposed for violence, however, for he touched an imaginary
hatbrim as he came up, and informed Mr. Sedley, who was properly
surprised and pained to hear it, that he had in fact committed a
trespass; that since it had been let, the place was no longer open to
the inspection of tourists; and, in short, that he was requested to
withdraw.
Tom Sedley was all alacrity and regret. He had never been so polite to a
groom in all his life. The man followed him down the back avenue, to see
him out, which at another time would have stirred his resentment; and
when he held the gate open for him to emerge, Tom gave him no less than
three half-crowns--a prodigality whereat his eyes opened, if not his
heart, and he made a gruff apology for the necessities imposed by duty,
and Tom interrupted him with--
"Quite right, perfectly right! you could do nothing else. I hope the
la----your master is not vexed. You must say I told you to mention how
very much pained I was at having made such a mistake. Say that I, Mr.
Sedley, regret it very much, and beg to apologise. Pray don't forget.
Good morning; and I'm very sorry for having given _you_ so much
trouble--this long walk."
This tenderness his bow-legged conductor was also in a mood to receive
favourably. In fact, if he had not told him his name was Sedley, he
might have settled affirmatively the question at that moment before his
mind--whether the intruder from whom silver flowed so naturally and
refreshingly might not possibly be the Prince of Wales himself, who had
passed through the village of Ware, only seven miles away, three weeks
before.