Mrs. Churton was quickly made aware of the now in one sense improved
relations between the girls when they returned from their walk; and with
that new hope in her heart she was not displeased to see it, although
its suddenness startled her a little. She did not know until the
following morning how great the change was. She was an early riser, and
hearing voices and laughter in the garden while dressing, she looked out
of the window, and saw the girls walking in the path, Constance with an
open book in her hand, while Fan at her side had an arm affectionately
thrown over her teacher's shoulder. It was a pretty sight, but it
troubled her; she had not expected so close a friendship as that, which
had made them rise so long before their usual time for the pleasure of
being together. If, after all, a vain hope had deluded her, then there
might be an exceedingly sad end to her experiment. With deep anxiety
and returning jealousy she reflected that the simple-minded affectionate
girl might prove as wax in the hands of her clever godless daughter.
But it was too soon to intervene and try to undo her own work. She would
watch and wait, and hope still that the infinite beauty and preciousness
of a childlike faith would touch the stony heart that nothing had
touched, and win back the wandering feet to the ways of pleasantness.
From her watching nothing much resulted for some days, although she
soon began to suspect that Fan now wore a look of patience, almost of
weariness, whenever she was spoken to on religious subjects, that it
seemed a relief to her when the lesson was finished, and she could go
back to Constance. They were constantly together now, in and out of
doors, and the woods had become their daily haunt. And one day they met
with an adventure. Arriving about three o'clock at their favourite tree,
they saw a young man in a dark blue cycling costume lying on the grass
with his hands clasped behind his head, and gazing up into the
leafy depths above him. At the same moment he saw them, standing and
hesitating which way to turn; and in a moment he sprang to his feet.
He was a handsome young fellow, a little below the medium height, clean
shaved, with black hair and very dark blue eyes, which looked black;
his features were very fine, and his skin, although healthy-looking,
colourless.
“I perceive that I am an intruder here,” he said with a smile, and with
an admiring glance at Miss Churton's face.
“Oh, no,” she returned, with heightened colour. “This wood is free to
all; we can soon find another spot for ourselves.”
“But it is evident that you were coming to sit here,” he said, still
smiling. “I suppose you have done so on former occasions, so that you
have acquired a kind of prescriptive right to this place. I am putting
it on very low grounds, you see,” he added with a slight laugh, and
raising his cap was about to turn away; but just at that moment he
glanced at Fan, who had been standing a little further away, watching
his face with very great interest. He started, looked greatly surprised,
then quickly recovering his easy self-possessed manner, advanced and
held out his hand to her. “How do you do?” he said. “How strange to meet
you here! You have not forgotten me, I hope?”
Fan had taken his hand. “Oh, no, Mr. Chance,” she returned, blushing a
little, “I remember you very well.”
“I'm very glad you do. But I am ashamed to have to confess that though
I remember your Christian name very well I can't recall your surname. I
only remember that it is an uncommon one.”
“My name is Affleck. But you only saw me once, and it is not strange you
should have forgotten it.”
It was true that she had only seen him once; for in spite of the brave
words he had spoken to Miss Starbrow after she had rejected his offer
of marriage, he had never returned to her house. But Fan had heard first
and last a great deal about him, and Mary had even told her the story
of that early morning declaration, not without some scornful laughter.
Nevertheless at this distance from town it seemed very pleasant to see
him once more. It was like meeting an old acquaintance, and vividly
brought back her life in Dawson Place with Mary.
For some minutes he stood talking to her, asking after Miss Starbrow and
herself, and saying that since he left Bayswater he had greatly missed
those delightful evenings; but while he talked to Fan he glanced
frequently at the beautiful face of her companion. Once or twice their
eyes met, and Mr. Chance, judging from what he saw that he had made
a somewhat favourable impression, in his easy way, and with a little
apology, asked Fan to introduce him. This little ceremony over, they all
sat down on the grass and spent an hour very agreeably in conversation.
He told them that he was spending a month's holiday in a bicycle ramble
through the south-west of England, and had turned aside to see the
village of Eyethorne and its woods, which he had heard were worth a
visit. From local scenery the conversation passed by an easy transition
to artistic and literary subjects; in a very short time Fan ceased to
take any part in it, and was satisfied to listen to this new kind of
duet in which harmony of mind was substituted for that of melodious
sound. With a pleased wonder, which was almost like a sense of mystery,
she followed them in this rapid interchange of thoughts about things so
remote from every-day life. They mentioned a hundred names unknown to
her--of those who had lived in ancient times and had written poems in
many languages, and of artists whose works they had never seen and could
yet describe; and in all these far-off things they seemed as deeply
interested as Mrs. Churton was in her religion, her parish work, and
her housekeeping. How curious it was to note their familiarity with an
endless variety of subjects, so that one could not say anything without
a look of quick intelligence and ready sympathy from the other! How well
they seemed to know each other's minds! They were talking familiarly as
if they had been acquainted all their lives!
To Constance the pleasure was more real and far greater; for not only
had her unfortunate opinions concerning matters of faith separated her
from her few educated neighbours, but in that rustic and sleepy-minded
spot there were none among them, excepting the curate, who took any
interest in literary and philosophical questions. Her friends were not
the people she knew, but the authors whose works she purchased with
shillings saved out of the small quarterly allowance her mother made her
for dress. These were the people she really knew and loved, and their
thoughts were of infinitely deeper import to her than the sayings and
doings of the men and women of her little world. In such circumstances,
how pleasant it was to meet with this young stranger, engaging in his
manner and attractive in appearance, and to converse freely with him on
the subjects that constantly occupied her thoughts. There was a glow of
happy excitement on her face, her eyes shone, she laughed in a free glad
way, as Fan had never heard her laugh before; she was surprised at the
extent of her own knowledge--at that miracle of memory, when many fine
thoughts, long forgotten, and multitudes of strange facts, and glowing
passages in verse and prose, came back uncalled to her mind; and above
all she was surprised at a ready eloquence which she had never suspected
herself capable of.
Merton Chance had often conversed with clever and beautiful women, but
this country girl surprised him with the extent of her reading, her
vivacity and wit, and quick sympathy; and the more they talked the more
he admired her.
Then insensibly their conversation took a graver tone, and they passed
to other themes, which, to Constance at least, had a deeper and more
enduring interest. In all philosophical questions she could follow and
even go beyond him, although she didn't know it, and very soon they made
the discovery that towards the faith still professed by a large majority
of their fellow-beings their attitude was the same. Or so it appeared
to Constance. Christianity was one of the forms in which the universal
religious sentiment had found expression for a period among a large
portion of the human race. They were not agnostics, so they both
declared, and yet were contented to be called so by others, not yet
having invented a word better than this one of the materialistic
Professor Huxley to describe themselves by. They had moved onwards and
had left the creed of the Christian behind them, yet were confident that
the vast unbounded prospect before them would not always rest obscured
with clouds. But what the new thing was to be they knew not. Time would
reveal it. They were not left without something to cheer them--gleams
of a spiritual light which, although dim and transient, yet foretold the
perfect day. Like so many others among the choice spirits of the earth,
they turned their eyes this way and that, considering now the hard
and pitiless facts of biology and physics, now the new systems of
philosophy, that come like shadows and so depart, and now the vague
thoughts, or thoughts vaguely expressed, of those the careless world
calls mystics and wild-minded visionaries; and after it all they were
fain to confess that the waters have not yet abated; and that although
for them there could be no return to the ark, they were still without
any rest for the soles of their feet.
If, instead of that young ignorant girl, their listener had been a
grey-haired disillusioned man, he would have shaken his head, and
perhaps remarked that they were a couple of foolish dreamers, that the
light which inspired such splendid hopes was a light from the past--a
dying twilight left in their souls by that sun of faith which for
them had set. But there was nothing to disturb their pleasing
self-complacency--no mocking skeleton to spoil their rare intellectual
feast.
Merton was not yet satisfied, he wished to go more fully into these
great subjects, and pressed her with more and more searching questions.
Constance, on her side, grew more reticent, and seemed troubled in her
mind, glancing occasionally into his face; and at length, dropping her
hand on Fan's, who still listened but without understanding, she said
that for reasons which could not be stated, which he would be able to
guess, further discussion had better be deferred.
He assented with a smile, and returning her look with quick
intelligence. The talk drifted into other channels, and at length they
all rose to their feet, but he did not go at once. He began to ask Fan
about her botanical studies, one of the subjects which Constance had
taught her. He had, he said, studied botany at school and was very
fond of it. Presently he became much interested in a plant, a creeper,
hanging from a low shrub about twenty-five or thirty yards from where
they were standing, and Fan at once started off to get a spray for him
to see.
“I am very glad, Miss Churton, that our discussion is only to be
_deferred,”_ he said. “It has interested me more deeply than you can
imagine, and for various reasons I should be glad to go further with
it.”
She did not reply, although looking pleased at his words, and then he
continued:
“I cannot bear to think of leaving this place without seeing you again.
I wished for one thing--please don't think me very egotistical for
saying it--to tell you about some little papers I am writing, and one
or two of which have been printed in a periodical. I think the subject
would interest you. Will you think me very bold, Miss Churton, if I ask
you to let me call on you at your home?”
His request troubled her, and after a little hesitation she answered:
“I shall be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Chance, and perhaps if I tell
you why I can scarcely do what you ask you will not think hardly of me.
I cannot open my lips at home on the subject we have been discussing,
and I am looked on coldly here, in my own village, on account of my
heterodox opinions. My mother would receive you well, but she would
think it wrong in me to invite a sympathiser to the house.”
“Then, Miss Churton, how lonely your life must be!”
“You must not think more about me, Mr. Chance.”
“You are asking too much,” he answered smiling, and the words brought a
blush to her cheek. “But I cannot bear to go away from Eyethorne without
seeing you once more. May I hope to meet you tomorrow in this place?”
“I cannot promise that. But if--no, I cannot say more now.”
Fan was back with a spray of the plant, but he had somehow lost all
interest in it. That about his botany had all been pure fiction; but
it had served its purpose, and now, he regretfully remarked, his
plant-lore, he found, had completely faded from his mind. And after a
little further conversation he shook hands and left them.