“There,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be harsh; but discretion was so
necessary. Will you come with me--I am the Lady Sophia Rowe--and we
can discuss your case in safety at home? But every instant means
peril, and we must hasten.”
I suffered her to hurry me up the lane. Her gait took no grace from
urgency, being awkward as with most over-tall women, and the worse to
view because she was reckless how she raised her skirts. In a little
we came round a curve that swept beyond the limits of the green; and
here, under some trees, we found her coach, which had been ordered
round earlier, with the priest and his great folio ensconced glowering
in it. In a moment we were in, and rolling along quiet country roads.
The noise of the fairing died behind us. The world of new peace and
beatitude lay before. For seven miles we sped soberly on, deeper and
deeper into the pleasant hush, that was broken only by the incessant
confidential murmuring of my companions.
At last, taking a road high above a little village bowered in trees,
we turned between beautiful scrolled gates into a drive that seemed to
me to pierce gardens as enchanting as the hanging ones of Babylon.
There were soft lawns and placid groves of timber, with lofty
rookeries. There were vivid parterres, and terraces stooping to blue
depths, wheredown a little silver brook bubbled through mists of
foliage. There were rose bowers, and great jars, like Plenty’s horn,
brimming petunias. There was a mossy fountain, with lilies and
goldfish, and a baby Triton in the midst spurting a jet to heaven.
There were grassy walks, and beyond their vistas the eternal solace of
distance. And, dominating all, there was the house.
At least it seemed less to command than to partake of the serenity of
which it was the habitable nucleus--the human nest in the garden. It
stood before us, not suddenly, but in quiet revelation, a simple old
structure of red brick, unlaboured with ornament, unweighted of stone,
a pleasant home for happiness set on a wide level platform of grass
and gravel. My eyes had hardly accepted it before my heart.
We alighted into a fragrant hall, and madam led me at once into a
large low room with windows bent upon a heavenly prospect of woods and
meadows; and there, bidding me await her until she could come and talk
with me, shut me in, and withdrew.
I had not stood many minutes, in a silent dream of wonder and
expectation, when the door opened softly again, and a little girl
stole in. She was about my own age, or somewhat older, and very dark
and pretty, but with foolish large eyes like a dog’s. For some moments
she stared at me, wondering, without a smile, then came and touched my
hand.
“Madam sent me,” she said. “I live here. I am her adoption child. Are
you come to stay?”