_Which tells how Bellew left Dapplemere in the dawn_
Far in the East a grey streak marked the advent of another day, and upon
all things was a solemn hush, a great, and awful stillness that was like
the stillness of Death. The Earth was a place of gloom, and mist, where
spectral shadows writhed, and twisted, and flitted under a frowning
heaven, and out of the gloom there came a breath, sharp, and damp, and
exceeding chill.
Therefore, as Bellew gazed down from the frowning Heaven to the gloom of
Earth, below, with its ever-moving, misty shapes, he shivered
involuntarily.
In another hour it would be day, and with the day, the gates of Arcadia
would open for his departure, and he must go forth to become once more a
wanderer, going up and down, and to and fro in the world until his
course was run.
And yet it was worth having lived for, this one golden month, and in all
his wanderings needs must he carry with him the memory of her who had
taught him how deep and high, how wide and infinitely far-reaching that
thing called "Love" may really be.
And--Porges!--dear, quaint, Small Porges! where under heaven could he
ever find again such utter faith, such pure unaffected loyalty and
devotion as throbbed within that small, warm heart? How could he ever
bid "Good-bye" to loving, eager, little Small Porges?
And then there was Miss Priscilla, and the strong, gentle Sergeant, and
Peterday, and sturdy Adam, and Prudence, and the rosy-cheeked maids. How
well they all suited this wonderful Arcadia! Yes, indeed he, and he
only, had been out of place, and so--he must go--back to the every-day,
matter-of-fact world, but how could he ever say "Good-bye" to faithful,
loving Small Porges?
Far in the East the grey streak had brightened, and broadened, and was
already tinged with a faint pink that deepened, and deepened, as he
watched. Bellew had seen the glory of many a sun-rise in divers wild
places of the Earth, and, hitherto, had always felt deep within him, the
responsive thrill, the exhilaration of hope new born, and joyful
expectation of the great, unknown Future. But now, he watched the
varying hues of pink, and scarlet, and saffron, and gold, with gloomy
brow, and sombre eyes.
Now presently, the Black-bird who lived in the apple-tree beneath his
window, (the tree of the inquisitive turn of mind), this Black-bird
fellow, opening a drowsy eye, must needs give vent to a croak, very
hoarse and feeble; then, (apparently having yawned prodigiously and
stretched himself, wing, and leg), he tried a couple of notes,--in a
hesitating, tentative sort of fashion, shook himself,--repeated the two
notes,--tried three, found them mellower, and more what the waiting
world very justly expected of him; grew more confident; tried four;
tried five,--grew perfectly assured, and so burst forth into the full,
golden melody of his morning song.
Then Bellew, leaning out from his casement, as the first bright beams of
the rising sun gilded the top-most leaves of the tree, thus
apostrophised the unseen singer:
"I suppose you will be piping away down in your tree there, old fellow,
long after Arcadia has faded out of my life. Well, it will be only
natural, and perfectly right, of course,--She will be here, and may,
perhaps, stop to listen to you. Now if, somehow, you could manage to
compose for me a Song of Memory, some evening when I'm gone,--some
evening when She happens to be sitting idle, and watching the moon rise
over the upland yonder; if, at such a time, you could just manage to
remind her of--me, why--I'd thank you. And so,--Good-bye, old fellow!"
Saying which, Bellew turned from the window, and took up a certain
bulging, be-strapped portmanteau, while the Black-bird, (having,
evidently, hearkened to his request with much grave attention), fell a
singing more gloriously than ever.
Meanwhile, Bellew descended the great, wide stair, soft of foot, and
cautious of step, yet pausing once to look towards a certain closed
door, and so, presently let himself quietly out into the dawn. The dew
sparkled in the grass, it hung in glittering jewels from every leaf, and
twig, while, now and then, a shining drop would fall upon him as he
passed, like a great tear.
Now, as he reached the orchard, up rose the sun in all his majesty
filling the world with the splendour of his coming,--before whose kindly
beams the skulking mists and shadows shrank affrighted, and fled
utterly away.
This morning, "King Arthur" wore his grandest robes of state, for his
mantle of green was thick sewn with a myriad flaming gems; very
different he looked from that dark, shrouded giant who had so lately
been Conspirator No. Two. Yet, perhaps for this very reason, Bellew
paused to lay a hand upon his mighty, rugged hole, and, doing so, turned
and looked back at the House of Dapplemere.
And truly never had the old house seemed so beautiful, so quaint, and
peaceful as now. It's every stone and beam had become familiar and, as
he looked, seemed to find an individuality of its own, the very lattices
seemed to look back at him, like so many wistful eyes.
Therefore George Bellew, American Citizen, millionaire, traveller,
explorer, and--LOVER, sighed as he turned away,--sighed as he strode on
through the green and golden morning, and resolutely--looked back
no more.