"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunneley dale and
wood."
They both halted on the green brow of the Common. They looked down on
the deep valley robed in May raiment; on varied meads, some pearled with
daisies and some golden with kingcups: to-day all this young verdure
smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and amber gleams played
over it. On Nunnwood--the sole remnant of antique British forest in a
region whose lowlands were once all sylvan chase, as its highlands were
breast-deep heather--slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were
dappled, the horizon was shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery
blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and rose-shades, all melting into
fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye with a
remote glimpse of heaven's foundations. The air blowing on the brow was
fresh and sweet and bracing.
"Our England is a bonnie island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of
her bonniest nooks."
"You are a Yorkshire girl too?"
"I am--Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five generations of my race sleep
under the aisles of Briarfield Church: I drew my first breath in the old
black hall behind us."
Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and
shaken. "We are compatriots," said she.
"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod.
"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is
Nunnwood?"
"It is."
"Were you ever there?"
"Many a time."
"In the heart of it?"
"Yes."
"What is it like?"
"It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The trees are huge and
old. When you stand at their roots, the summits seem in another region:
the trunks remain still and firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to
every breeze. In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite hushed,
and in a high wind a flood rushes--a sea thunders above you."
"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?"
"Yes, and there are mementos of him still existing. To penetrate into
Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back into the dim days of old. Can
you see a break in the forest, about the centre?"
"Yes, distinctly."
"That break is a dell--a deep hollow cup, lined with turf as green and
short as the sod of this Common: the very oldest of the trees, gnarled
mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell; in the bottom lie the
ruins of a nunnery.
"We will go--you and I alone, Caroline--to that wood, early some fine
summer morning, and spend a long day there. We can take pencils and
sketch-books, and any interesting reading-book we like; and of course we
shall take something to eat. I have two little baskets, in which Mrs.
Gill, my house-keeper, might pack our provisions, and we could each
carry our own. It would not tire you too much to walk so far?"
"Oh, no; especially if we rested the whole day in the wood; and I know
all the pleasantest spots. I know where we could get nuts in nutting
time; I know where wild strawberries abound; I know certain lonely,
quite untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses, some yellow as if
gilded, some a sober gray, some gem-green. I know groups of trees that
ravish the eye with their perfect, picture-like effects: rude oak,
delicate birch, glossy beech, clustered in contrast; and ash-trees,
stately as Saul, standing isolated; and superannuated wood-giants clad
in bright shrouds of ivy."