Now it happened that Bainton was at that moment engaged in training
some long branches of honey-suckle across the rectory walls, and
being half-way up a ladder for the purpose, the surprise he
experienced at seeing 'Passon' and Miss Vancourt enter the garden
together and walk slowly side by side across the lawn, was so
excessive, that in jerking his head round to convince himself that
it was not a vision but a reality, he nearly lost his balance.
"Woa, steady!" he muttered, addressing the ladder which for a second
swayed beneath him--"Woa, I sez! This ain't no billowy ocean with
wot they calls an underground swell! So the ice 'ave broke, 'ave it!
She, wot don't like clergymen, an' he, wot don't like ladies, 'as
both come to saunterin' peaceful like with one another over the
blessed green grass all on a fine May mornin'! Which it's gettin'
nigh on June now an' no sign o' the weather losin' temper. Well,
well! Wonders won't never cease it's true, but I'd as soon a'
thought o' my old 'ooman dancin' a 'ornpipe among her cream cheeses
as that Passon Walden would a' let Miss Vancourt inside this 'ere
gate so easy like, an' he a bacheldor. But there!--arter all, he's
gettin' on in years, an' she's ever so much younger than he is, an'
I dessay he's made up his mind to treat 'er kind like, as 'twere her
father, which he should do, bein' spiritooal 'ead o' the village,
an' as for the pretty face of 'er, he's not the man to look at it
more'n once, an' then he couldn't tell you wot it's like. He favours
his water-lilies mor'n females,--ah, an' I bet he'd give ten pound
for a new specimen of a flower when he wouldn't lay out a 'apenny on
a new specimen of a woman." Here, pausing in his reflections, he
again looked cautiously round from his high vantage point of view on
the ladder, and saw Walden break off a spray of white lilac from one
bush of a very special kind near the edge of the lawn, and give it
to Miss Vancourt. "Well, now that do beat me altogether!" he
ejaculated under his breath. "If he's told me once, he's told me a
'undred times that he won't 'ave no blossoms broke off that bush on
no account An' there he is a-pickin' of it hisself! That's a kind of
thing which do make me feel that men is a poor feeble-minded lot,--
it do reely now!"
But feeble-minded or not, John had nevertheless gathered the choice
flower, and moreover, had found a certain pleasure in giving it to
his fair companion, who inhaled its delicious odour with an
appreciative smile.
"What a dear old house you have!" she said, glancing up at the
crossed timbers, projecting gables, and quaint dormer windows set
like eyes in the roof--"I had no idea that it was so pretty! And the
garden is perfectly lovely. It is so very artistic!--it looks like a
woman's dream of a garden rather than a man's."
John smiled.
"You think women more artistic than men?" he queried.
"In the decorative line--yes," she replied--"Especially where
flowers are concerned. If one leaves the planning of a garden
entirely to a man, he is sure to make it too stiff and
mathematical,--he will not allow Nature to have her own way in the
least little bit,--in fact"--and she laughed--"I don't think men as
a rule like to let anything or anybody have their own way except
themselves!"
The smile still lingered kindly round the corners of Walden's mouth.
"Possibly you may be right,"--he said--"I almost believe you are.
Men are selfish,--much more selfish than women. Nature made them so
in the first instance,--and our methods of education and training
all tend to intensify our natural bent. But"--here he paused and
looked at her thoughtfully; "I am not sure that absolute
unselfishness would be a wise or strong trait in the character of a
man. You see the first thing he has to do in this world is to earn
the right to live,--and if he were always backing politely out of
everybody else's way, and allowing himself to be hustled to one side
in an unselfish desire to let others get to the front, he would
scarcely be able to hold his own in any profession. And all those
dependent upon his efforts would also suffer,--so that his
'unselfishness' might become the very worst kind of selfishness in
the end--don't you think so?" "Well--yes--perhaps in that way it
might!" hesitated Maryllia, with a faint blush--"I ought not to
judge anyone I know--but--oh dear!--the men one meets in town--the
society men with their insufferable airs of conceit and
condescension,--their dullness of intellect,--their preference for
cigars, whiskey, and Bridge to anything else under the sun,--their
intensely absorbed love of personal ease, and their perfectly absurd
confidence in their own supreme wisdom!--these are the hybrid
creatures that make one doubt the worth of the rest of their sex
altogether."
"But there are hybrid creatures on both sides,"--said Walden
quietly--"Just as there are the men you speak of, so there are women
of the same useless and insufferable character. Is it not so?"
She looked up at him and laughed.
"Why, yes, of course!" she frankly admitted--"I guess I won't argue
with you on the six of one and half-dozen of the other! But it's
just as natural for women to criticise men as for men to criticise
nowadays. Long ago, in the lovely 'once upon a time' fairy period,
the habit of criticism doesn't appear to have developed strongly in
either sex. The men were chivalrous and tender,--the women adoring
and devoted--I think it must have been perfectly charming to have
lived then! It is all so different now!"
"Fortunately, it is," said John, with a mirthful sparkle in his
eyes--"I am sure you would not have liked that 'once upon a time
fairy period' as you call it, at all, Miss Vancourt! Poets and
romancists may tell us that the men were 'chivalrous and tender,'
but plain fact convinces us that they were very rough unwashen
tyrants who used to shut up their ladies in gloomy castles where
very little light and air could penetrate,--and the adoring and
devoted ladies, in their turn, made very short work of the whole
business by either dying of their own grief and ill-treatment, or
else getting killed in cold blood by order of their lords and
masters. Why, one of the finest proofs of an improvement in our
civilisation is the freedom of thought and action given to women in
the present day. Personally speaking, I admit to a great fondness
for old-fashioned ways, and particularly for old-fashioned manners,-
-but I cannot shut my mind to the fact that for centuries women have
been unfairly hindered by men in every possible way from all chance
of developing the great powers of intelligence they possess,--and it
is certainly time the opposition to their advancement should cease.
Of course, being a man myself,"--and he smiled--"I daresay that in
my heart of hearts I like the type of woman I first learned to know
and love best,--my mother. She had the early Victorian, ways,--they
were very simple, but also very sweet."
He broke off, and for a moment or two they paced the lawn in
silence.
"I suppose you live all alone here?" asked Maryllia, suddenly.
"Yes. Quite alone."
"And are you happy?"
"I am content."
"I understand!" and she looked at him somewhat earnestly:--"'Happy'
is a word that should seldom be used I think. It is only at the
rarest possible moments that one can feel real true happiness."
"You are too young to say that,"--he rejoined gently--"All your life
is before you. The greater part of mine lies behind me." Again she
glanced at him somewhat timidly.
"Mr. Walden"--she began--"I'm afraid--I suppose--I daresay you
think---"
John caught the appealing flash of the blue eyes, and wondering what
she was going to say. She played with the spray of lilac he had
given her, and for a moment seemed to have lost her self-possession.
"I am quite sure,"--she went on, hurriedly--"that you--I mean, I'm
afraid you haven't a very good opinion of me because I don't go to
church---"
He looked at her, smiling a little.
"Dor't you go to church?" he asked--"I didn't know it!"
Here was a surprise for the lady of the Manor. The clergyman of her
own parish,--a man, who by all accepted rule and precedent ought to
have been after her at once, asking for subscriptions to this fund
and that fund, toadying her for her position, and begging for her
name and support, had not even noticed her absence from divine
service on Sundays! She did not know whether to be relieved or
dissatisfied. Such indifference to her actions piqued her feminine
pride, and yet, his tone was very kind and courteous. Noting the
colour coming and going on her face, he spoke again---
"I never interfere personally with my parishioners, Miss Vancourt"--
he said--"To attend church or stay away from church is a matter of
conscience with each individual, and must be left to individual
choice. I should be the last person in the world to entertain a bad
opinion of anyone simply because he or she never went to church.
That would be foolish indeed! Some of the noblest and best men in
Christendom to-day never go to church,--but they are none the less
noble and good! They have their reasons of conscience for non-
committing themselves to accepted forms of faith, and it often turns
out that they are more truly Christian and more purely religious
than the most constant church-goer that ever lived."
Maryllia gave a little sigh of sudden relief.
"Ah, you are a broad-minded Churchman!" she said. "I am glad! Very
glad! Because you have no doubt followed the trend of modern
thought,--and you must have read all the discussions in the
magazines and in the books that are written on such subjects,--and
you can understand how difficult it is to a person like myself to
decide what is right when so many of the wisest and most educated
men agree to differ."
Walden stopped abruptly in his walk.
"Please do not mistake me, Miss Vancourt," he said gravely, and with
emphasis--"I should be sorry if you gathered a wrong opinion of me
at the outset of our acquaintance. As your minister I feel that I
ought to make my position clear to you. You say that I have probably
followed the trend of modern thought--and I presume that you mean
the trend of modern thought in religious matters. Now I have not
'followed' it, but I have patiently studied it, and find it in all
respects deplorable and disastrous. At the same time I would not
force the high truths of religion on any person, nor would I step
out of my way to ask anyone to attend church if he or she did not
feel inclined to do so. And why? Because I fully admit the laxity
and coldness of the Church in the present day--and I know that there
are many ministers of the Gospel who do not attract so much as they
repel. I am not so self-opinionated as to dream that I, a mere
country parson, can succeed in drawing souls to Christ when so many
men of my order, more gifted than I, have failed, and continue to
fail. But I wish you quite frankly to understand that the trend of
modern thought does not affect the vows I took at my ordination,--
that I do not preach one thing, and think another,--and that
whatever my faults and shortcomings may be, I most earnestly
endeavour to impress the minds of all those men and women who are
committed to my care with the beauty, truth and saving grace of the
Christian Faith."
Maryllia was silent. She appeared to be looking at the daisies in
the grass.
"I hope," he continued quietly, "you will forgive this rather
serious talk of mine. But when you spoke of 'the trend of modern
thought,' it seemed necessary to me to let you know at once and
straightly that I am not with it,--that I do not belong to the
modern school. Professing to be a Christian minister, I try to be
one,--very poorly and unsuccessfully I know,--but still, I try!"
Maryllia raised her eyes. There was a glisten on her long lashes as
of tears.
"Please forgive ME!" she said simply--"And thank you for speaking as
you have done! I shall always remember it, and honour you for it. I
hope we shall be friends?"
She put the words as a query, and half timidly held out her little
ungloved hand. He took it at once and pressed it cordially.
"Indeed, I am sure we shall!" he said heartily, and the smile that
made his face more than ordinarily handsome lit up his eyes and
showed a depth of sincerity and kindly feeling reflected straight
from his honest soul. A sudden blush swept over Maryllia's cheeks,
and she gently withdrew her hand from his clasp. A silence fell
between them, and when they broke the spell it was by a casual
comment respecting the wealth of apple-blossoms that were making the
trees around them white with their floral snow.
"St. Rest is a veritable orchard, when the season favours it," said
Walden--"It is one of the best fruit-growing corners in England. At
Abbot's Manor, for instance, the cherry crop is finer than can be
gathered on the same acreage of ground in Kent. Did you know that?"
Maryllia laughed.
"No! I know absolutely nothing about my own home, Mr. Walden,--and I
am perfectly aware that I ought to be ashamed of my ignorance. I AM
ashamed of it! I'm going to try and amend the error of my ways as
fast as I can. When Cicely Bourne comes to stay with me, she will
help me. She's ever so much more sensible than I am. She's a
genius."
"Geniuses do not always get the credit of being sensible, do they?"
queried John, smiling--"Are they not supposed to be creatures of
impulse, dwellers in the air, and wholly irresponsible?"
"Exactly so,"--she replied--"That is the commonplace opinion
commonplace people entertain of them. Yet the commonplace people owe
everything they enjoy in art, literature and science to the
conceptions of genius, and of genius alone. As for Cicely, she is
the most practical little person possible. She began to earn her
living at the age of eleven, and has 'roughed' it in the world more
severely than many a man. But she keeps her dreams,"
"And those who wish her well will pray that she may always keep
them,"--said Walden--"For to lose one's illusions is to lose the
world."
"The world itself may be an illusion!" said Maryllia, drawing near
the garden gate and leaning upon it for a moment, as she glanced up
at him with a vague sadness in her eyes,--"We never know. I have
often felt that it is only a pretty little pageant, with a very dark
background behind it!"
He was silent, looking at her. For the first time he caught himself
noticing her dress. It was of simple pale blue linen, relieved with
white embroidered lawn, and in its cool, fresh, clean appearance was
in keeping with the clear bright day. A plain straw garden hat tied
across the crown and under the chin with a strip of soft blue ribbon
to match the linen gown, was the finish to this 'fashionable' young
woman's toilette,--and though it was infinitely becoming to the fair
skin, azure eyes, and gold-brown hair of its wearer, it did not
suggest undue extravagance, or a Paris 'mode.' And while he yet
almost unconsciously studied the picture she made, resting one arm
lightly across his garden gate, she lifted the latch suddenly and
swung it open.
"Good-bye!" and she nodded smilingly--"Thank you so much for letting
me see your lovely garden! As soon as Cicely arrives, you must come
and see her--you will, won't you?"
"I shall be most happy---" he murmured.
"She will be so interested to hear how you sent her my telegram,"--
continued Maryllia--"And Gigue too--poor old Gigue!--he is sure to
come over here some time during the summer. He is such a quaint
person! I think you will like him. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye--for the present!" said John with a slight note of appeal
in his voice, which was not lost wholly upon the air alone, for
Maryllia turned her head back towards him with a laugh.
"Oh, of course!--only for the present! We are really next-door
neighbours, and I'm afraid we can't escape each other unless we each
play hermit in separate caves! But I promise not to bore you with my
presence very often!"
She waved the spray of white lilac he had given her in farewell, and
calling her dog to her side, passed down the village road lightly,
like a blue flower drifting with the May breeze, and was soon out of
sight.
Walden closed the gate after her with careful slowness, and returned
across the lawn to his favourite seat under his favourite apple-
tree. Nebbie followed him, disconsolately snuffing the ground in the
trail of the departed Plato, who doubtless, to the smaller animal's
mind, represented a sort of canine monarch who ruthlessly disdained
the well-meaning attentions of his inferiors. Bainton, having
finished his task of training the vines across the walls of the
rectory, descended his ladder, making as much noise as he could
about it and adding thereto a sudden troublesome cough which would
he considered, probably excite his master's sympathy and instant
attention. But Walden paid no heed. He was apparently busy fumbling
with his watch-chain. Bainton waited a moment, and then, unable any
longer to control his curiosity, seized his ladder and deliberately
carried it across the lawn, though he knew that that was not the
proper way to the tool-shed where it was kept. Halting close to the
seat under the apple-tree, he said:--
"Yon red honeysuckle's comin' on fine, Passon,--it be as full o' bud
as a pod o' peas."
"Ay indeed!" murmured Walden, absently--"That's all right!"
Bainton paused expectantly. No further word however was vouchsafed
to him, and he knew by experience that such silence implied his
master's wish to be left alone. With an almost magisterial gravity
he surveyed the Reverend John's bent head, and with another
scrutinising glance, ascertained the nature of the occupation on
which his fingers were engaged, whereupon his face expressed the
liveliest amazement. Shouldering his ladder, he went his way,--and
once out of earshot gave vent to a long low whistle.
"It do beat me!" he said, slapping one corduroy-trousered leg
vehemently--"It do beat me altogether--it do reely now! I ain't no
swearin' sort, an' bad langwidge ain't my failin', but I feel like
takin' a bet, or sayin' a swear when I sees a sensible man like,
makin' a fool of hisself! If Passon ain't gone looney all on a
suddint, blest if I knows wot's come to 'im. 'Tain't Miss Vancourt,-
-'tain't no one nor nothink wot I knows on, but I'm blowed if he
worn't sittin' under that tree, like a great gaby, a' fastenin' a
mis'able threepenny bit to 'is watch-chain! Did anyone ever 'ear the
like! A threepenny bit with a 'ole in it! To think of a man like
that turnin' to the sup'stitions o' maids an' wearin' a oley bit o'
silver! It do make me wild!--it do reely now!"
And snorting with ineffable disdain, Bainton almost threw his ladder
into the tool-shed, thereby scaring a couple of doves who had found
their way within, and who now flew out with a whirr of white wings
that glistened like pearl in the sunlight as they spread upwards and
away into the sky.
"A threepenny bit with a 'ole in it!" he repeated, mechanically
watching the birds of peace in their flight--"An' on his watch-chain
too, along wi' the gold cross wot he allus wears there, an' which
folks sez was the last thing wore by 'is dead sister! Somethin's
gone wrong with 'im-somethin' MUST a' gone wrong! Ginerally speakin'
a 'oley bit means a woman in it--but 'tain't that way wi' Passon for
sure--there's a deeper 'ole than the 'ole in the threepenny--a 'ole
wot ain't got no bottom to it, so fur as I can see. I'm just fair
'mazed with that 'ole!--'mazed an' moithered altogether, blest if I
ain't!"
The Reverend John, meanwhile, seated under his canopy of apple-
blossoms, had succeeded in attaching the ''oley bit' to his chain in
such a manner that it should not come unduly into notice with the
mere action of pulling out his watch. He could not, for the life of
him, have explained, had he been asked, the reason why he had
determined to thus privately wear it on his own person. To himself
he said he 'fancied' it. And why should not parsons have 'fancies'
like other people? Why should they not wear ''oley bits' if they
liked? No objection, either moral, legal or religious could surely
be raised to such a course of procedure!
And John actually whistled a tune as he slipped back his chain with
its new adornment attached, into his waistcoat pocket, and surveyed
his garden surroundings with a placid smile. His interview with Miss
Vancourt had not been an unpleasant experience by any means. He
liked her better than when he had first seen her on the morning of
their meeting under the boughs of the threatened 'Five Sister'
beeches. He could now, as he thought, gauge her character and
temperament correctly, with all the wonderful perspicuity and not-
to-be-contradicted logic of a man. She was charming,--and she knew
her charm;--she was graceful, and she was aware of her grace;--she
was bright and intelligent in the prettily 'surface' way of women,--
she evidently possessed a kind heart, and she seemed thoughtful of
other people's feelings,--she had a sweet voice and a delightfully
musical laugh,--and--and--that was about all. It was not much,
strictly speaking;--yet he found himself considerably interested in
weighing the pros and cons of her nature, and wondering how she had
managed to retain, in the worldly and social surroundings to which
she had been so long accustomed, the child-like impulsiveness of her
manner, and the simple frankness of her speech.
"Of course it may be all put on,"--he reflected, though with a touch
of shamed compunction at the bare suggestion--"One can never tell!
It seemed natural. And it would hardly be worth her while to act a
part for the benefit of an old fogey like myself. I think she is
genuine. I hope so! At any rate I will believe she is, till she
proves herself otherwise. Of course 'the trend of modern thought'
has touched her. The cruellest among the countless cruel deeds of
latter-day theism is to murder the Christ in women. For, as woman's
purity first brought the Divine Master into the world, so must
woman's purity still keep Him here with us,--else we men are lost--
lost through the sins, not only of our fathers, but chiefly of our
mothers!"
That same evening Maryllia received a prompt reply to one of the
telegrams which Walden had sent off for her in the morning. It was
brief and to the point, and only ran:--'Coming. Cicely';--a message
which Mrs. Tapple had no difficulty in deciphering, and which she
sent up to the Manor, post haste, as soon as it arrived. The
telegraph-boy who conveyed it, got sixpence for himself as a reward
for the extra speed he had put on in running all the way from the
village to the house, thereby outstripping the postman, who being
rotund in figure was somewhat heavily labouring up in the same
direction with the last delivery of letters for the day. Miss
Vancourt's correspondents were generally very numerous,--but on this
occasion there was only one letter for her,--one, neatly addressed,
with a small finely engraved crest on the flap of the envelope.
Maryllia surveyed that envelope and crest with disfavour,--she had
seen too many of the same kind. The smile that brightened her face
when she read Cicely's telegram, faded altogether into an expression
of cold weariness as with a small silver paper-knife she slowly slit
the closed edges of the unwelcome missive and glanced indifferently
at its contents. It ran as follows:
"MY DEAR MISS MARYLLIA,--I feel sure you do not realise the great
pain you are inflicting on your aunt, as well as on myself, by
declining to answer our letters except by telegram. Pray remember
that we are quite in the dark as to the state of your health, your
surroundings and your general well-being. Your sudden departure from
town, was, if you will permit me to say so, a most unwise impulse,
causing as it has done, the greatest perplexity in your own social
circle and among your hosts of friends. I have done my best to
smooth matters over, by assuring all enquirers that certain matters
on your country estate required your personal supervision, but
rumour, as you know, has many tongues which are not likely to be
easily silenced. Your aunt was much surprised and disturbed to
receive from you a box of peacock's feathers, without any word from
yourself. She has no doubt you meant the gift kindly, but was not
the manner of giving somewhat strange?--let me say eccentric? I hope
you will allow me to point out to you that nothing is more fatal to
a woman in good society than to attain any sort of reputation for
eccentricity. I may take the liberty of saying this to you as an old
friend, and as one who still holds persistently to the dear
expectation, despite much discouragement, of being able soon to call
you by a closer name than mere friendship allows. The disagreement
between your aunt and yourself should surely be a matter of slight
duration, and not sufficient in any case to warrant your rash
decision to altogether resign the protection and kindly guardianship
which she, on her part, has exercised over you for so many years. I
cannot too strongly impress upon your mind the fatal effect any long
absence from her is likely to have on your position in society, and
though as yet you have only been about three weeks away, people are
talking and will no doubt continue to talk. If you find your old
home an agreeable change from town life, pray allow your aunt to
join you there. She will do so, I am sure, with pleasure. She misses
you very greatly, and I will never believe that you would wilfully
cause her needless trouble. I may not, I know, express my own
feelings on the subject, as I should probably only incur your scorn
or displeasure, but simply as an honest man who wishes you nothing
but good, I ask you quietly to consider to what misrepresentation
and calumny you voluntarily expose yourself by running away, as it
were, from a rightful and affectionate protector and second mother
like your good aunt, and living all alone in the country without any
one of your immediate circle of friends within calling distance. Is
there a more compromising or more ludicrous position than that of
the independent and defenceless female? I think not! She is the
laughing-stock of the clubs, and the perennial joke of the comic
press. Pray do not place yourself in the same category with the
despised and unlovely of your sex, but remain on the height where
Nature placed you, and where your charm and intelligence can best
secure acknowledgment from the less gifted and fortunate. Entreating
your pardon for any word or phrase in this letter which may
unluckily chance to annoy you, I am. my dear Miss Maryllia,--Yours
with the utmost devotion,"
"ROXMOUTH."
"What a humbug he is!" said Maryllia, half aloud, as she nut the
letter back in its envelope and set it aside--"What a soft, smooth,
civil, correctly trained humbug! How completely he ignores the
possibility of my having any intelligence, even while he asks me to
remain 'on the height' where it can best secure acknowledgment! He
never appears to realise that my intelligence may be of such a
quality as to enable me to see through him pretty clearly! And so
the 'independent and defenceless female' is the laughing-stock of
the clubs, is she? Well, I daresay he is quite right there! There's
nothing braver for men to do at their clubs than to laugh at the
'defenceless' women who would rather fight the world alone and earn
their own livelihood, than enter into loveless marriages! The
quaintest part of the letter is the bit about Aunt Emily. Roxmouth
must really think me a perfect idiot if he dreams that I would
accept such a story as that she was 'surprised and disturbed' at
receiving the box of peacock's feathers. Aunt Emily was never
'surprised' or 'disturbed' at anything in her life, I am sure! When
poor Uncle Fred died, she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes for
five minutes, and then sat down at her desk to write her orders for
mourning. And when I spoke my mind to her about Roxmouth, she only
smiled and told me not to excite myself. Then when I said I had
determined to leave her altogether and go back to my own home to
live, she took it quite easily, and merely stated she would have to
alter her will. I assured her I hoped she would do so at once, as I
had no wish to benefit by her death. Then she didn't speak to me for
several days, and I came away quietly without bidding her good-bye.
And here I am,--and here I mean to stay!"
She laughed a little, and moving to the open window, looked out on
the quiet beauty of the landscape. "Yes!--I too will become a
laughing-stock of the clubs;--and even I may attain the distinction
of being accepted as a 'joke by the comie press'! I will be an
'independent and defenceless female,' and see how I get on! In any
case I'd rather be defenceless than have Roxmouth as a defender. And
I shall not be alone here, now that Cicely is coming. Besides, I
have two men friends in the village,--at least, I think I have! I'm
sure of one,--old Josey Letherbarrow!" The smile lingered on her
lips, as she still looked out on the lawn and terrace, shadowed by
the evening dusk, and sweet with the cool perfume of the rising dew.
"And the other,--if he should turn out as agreeable as he seemed
this morning,--why, he is a tower of strength so far as
respectability is concerned! What better protection can an
'independent and defenceless female' have than the minister of the
parish? I can go to him for a character, ask him for a reference,
throw myself and my troubles upon him as upon a rock, and make him
answer for me as an honest and well-intentioned parishioner! And I
believe he would 'speak up' for me, as the poor folks say,--yes, my
Lord Roxmouth!--I believe he would,--and if he did, I'm certain he
would speak straight, and not whisper a few small poisonous lies
round the corner! For I think"--and here the train of her
reflections wandered away from her aunt and her lordly wooer
altogether, "yes,--I think Mr. Walden is a good man! I was not quite
sure about him when I first met him,--I thought his eyes seemed
deceitful,--so many parsons' eyes are!--but I looked well into them
to-day,--and they're not the usual eyes of a parson at all,--they're
just the eyes of a British sailor who has watched rough seas all his
life,--and such eyes are always true!"