But the pine woods waved,
And the white streams raved;
They told me in my need,
That softness and feeling
Were not soul-healing;
And so it was decreed--
That the marvellous flowers of woman's duty
Should grow on the grave of buried beauty.--FABER
Easter was at hand, and immediately after it Mr. Currie was to return to
Canada to superintend the formation of the Grand Ottawa and Superior
line. He and his assistants were hard at work on the specifications,
when a heavy tap and tramp came up the stairs, and Owen Sandbrook stood
before them, leaning on his crutch, and was greeted with joyful
congratulations on being on his legs again.
'Randolf,' he said, hastily, 'Miss Charlecote is waiting in the carriage
to speak to you. Give me your pen.'
'I shall be back in an instant.'
'Time will show. Where are you?--"such sleepers to be--" I see. Down
with you.'
'Yes; never mind hurrying back,' said the engineer; 'we can get this done
without you'--and as the door closed--'and a good deal beside. I hear
you have put it in train.'
'I have every reason to hope so. Does he guess?'
'Not a whit, as far as I can tell. He has been working hard, and
improving himself in his leisure. He would have made a first-rate
engineer. It is really hard to be robbed of two such assistants one
after the other.'
Meanwhile Honor had spent those few moments in trepidation. She had
brought herself to it at last! The lurking sense of injustice had
persuaded her that it was crossing her conscience to withhold the
recognition of her heir, so soon as she had received full evidence of his
claims and his worthiness. Though she had the power, she felt that she
had not the right to dispose of her property otherwise; and such being
the case, it was a duty to make him aware of his prospects, and offer him
such a course as should best enable him to take his future place in the
county. Still it was a severe struggle. Even with her sense of
insufficiency, it was hard to resign any part of the power that she had
so long exercised; she felt that it was a risk to put her happiness into
unknown hands, and perhaps because she had had this young man well-nigh
thrust on her, and had heard him so much lauded, she almost felt
antagonistic to him as rival of Owen, and could have been glad if any
cause for repudiating him would have arisen. Even the favour that he had
met with in Phoebe's eyes was no recommendation. She was still sore at
Phoebe's want of confidence in her; she took Mervyn's view of his
presumption, and moreover it was another prize borne off from Owen. Poor
dear Honor, she never made a greater sacrifice to principle than when she
sent her William off to Normandy to summon her Edgar Atheling.
She did not imagine that she had it in her to have hated any one so much.
Yet, somehow, when the bright, open face appeared, it had the kindred,
familiar air, and the look of eagerness so visibly fell at the sight of
her alone in the carriage, that she could not defend herself from a
certain amusement and interest, while she graciously desired him to get
in, and drive with her round the Park, since she had something to tell
him that could not be said in a hurry. Then as he looked up in inquiry,
suspecting, perhaps, that she had heard of his engagement, she rushed at
once to the point.
'I believe you know,' she said, 'that I have no nearer relation than
yourself?'
'Not Sandbrook?' he asked, in surprise.
'He is on my mother's side. I speak of my own family. When the Holt
came to me, it was as a trust for my lifetime to do my best for it, and
to find out to whom afterwards it should belong. I was told that the
direct heir was probably in America. Owen Sandbrook has convinced me
that you are that person.'
'Thank you,' began young Randolf, somewhat embarrassed; 'but I hope that
this will make little difference to me for many years!'
Did he underrate the Holt, the wretch, or was it civility? She spoke a
little severely. 'It is not a considerable property, but it gives a
certain position, and it should make a difference to you to know what
your prospects are.'
The colour flushed into his cheeks as he said, 'True! It may have a
considerable effect in my favour. Thank you for telling me;' and then
paused, as though considering whether to volunteer more, but as yet her
manner was not encouraging, but had all the dryness of effort.
'I have another reason for speaking,' she continued. 'It is due to you
to warn you that the estate wants looking after. I am unequal to the
requirements of modern agriculture, and my faithful old bailiff, who was
left to me by my dear cousin, is past his work. Neither the land nor the
people are receiving full justice.'
'Surely Sandbrook could find a trustworthy steward,' returned the young
man.
'Nay, had you not better, according to his suggestion, come and live on
the estate yourself, and undertake the management, with an allowance in
proportion to your position as the heir?'
Her heart beat high with the crisis, and she saw his colour deepen from
scarlet to crimson as he said, 'My engagement with Mr. Currie--'
'Mr. Currie knows the state of things. Owen Sandbrook has been in
communication with him, and he does not expect to take you back with him,
unless you prefer the variety and enterprise of your profession to
becoming a country gentleman of moderate means.' She almost hoped that
he would, as she named the rental and the proposed allowance, adding,
'The estate must eventually come to you, but it is for you to consider
whether it may not be better worth having if, in the interim, it be under
your superintendence.'
He had had time to grow more familiar with the idea, and spoke readily
and frankly. 'Indeed, Miss Charlecote, I need no inducement. It is the
life I should prefer beyond all others, and I can only hope to do my duty
by you, and whatever you may think fit to intrust to me.' And, almost
against her will, the straightforward honesty of his look brought back to
her the countenance where she had always sought for help.
'Then your past misfortunes have not given you a distaste to farming?'
'They did not come from farming, but speculation. I was brought up to
farm work, and am more at home in it than in anything else, so that I
hope I could be useful to you.'
She was silent. Oh, no; she had not the satisfaction of being
displeased. He was ready enough, but not grasping; and she found herself
seeing more of the Charlecote in him, and liking him better than she was
ready to grant.
'Miss Charlecote,' he said after a few moments' thought, 'in the
relations you are establishing between us, it is right that you should
know the full extent of the benefits you are conferring.'
It was true, then? Well, it was better than a New World lady, and Honora
contrived to look pleasantly expectant.
'I know it was very presumptuous,' he said; 'but I could not help making
my feelings known to one who is very dear to you--Miss Fulmort.'
'Indeed she is,' said Honor; though maybe poor Phoebe had of late been a
shade less dear to her.
'And with your consent,' said be, perhaps a little disconcerted by her
want of warmth, 'I hope this kindness of yours may abridge the term of
waiting to which we looked forward.'
'What were you waiting for?'
'Until such time as I could provide a home to which she could take her
sister Maria. So you see what you have done for us.'
'Maria!'
'Yes. She promised her mother, on her death-bed, that Maria should be
her charge, and no one could wish her to lay it aside.'
'And the family are aware of the attachment?'
'The brothers are, and have been kinder than I dared to expect. It was
thought better to tell no one else until we could see our way; but you
have a right to know now, and I have the more hope that you will find
comfort in the arrangement, since I know how warmly and gratefully she
feels towards you. I may tell her?' he added, with a good deal of
affirmation in his question.
'What would you do if I told you not?' she asked, thawing for the first
time out of her set speeches.
'I should feel very guilty and uncomfortable in writing.'
'Then come home with me to-morrow, and let us talk it over,' she said,
acting on a mandate of Owen's which she had strenuously refused to
promise to obey. 'You may leave your work in Owen's hands. He wants to
stay a few days in town, to arrange his plans, and, I do believe, to have
the pleasure of independence; but he will come back on Saturday, and we
will spend Easter together.'
'Miss Charlecote,' said Humfrey, suddenly, 'I have no right to ask, but I
cannot but fear that my having turned up is an injury to Sandbrook.'
'I can only tell you that he has been exceedingly anxious for the
recognition of your rights.'
'I understand now!' exclaimed Humfrey, turning towards her quickly; 'he
betrayed it when his mind was astray. I am thrusting him out of what
would have been his!'
'It cannot be helped,' began Honor; 'he never expected--'
'I can say nothing against it,' said the young man, with much emotion.
'It is too generous to be talked of, and these are not matters of choice,
but duty; but is it not possible to make some compensation?'
'I have done my best to lay up for those children,' said Honor; 'but his
sister will need her full half, and my City property has other claimants.
I own I should be glad to secure that, after me, he should not be
entirely dependent upon health which, I fear, will never be sound again.'
'I know you would be happier in arranging it yourself, though he has
every claim on my gratitude. Could not the estate be charged with an
annuity to him?'
'Thank you!' said Honor, warmly. 'Such a provision will suit him best.
I see that London is his element; indeed, he is so much incapacitated for
a country life that the estate would have been a burthen to him, could he
have rightly inherited it. He is bent on self-maintenance; and all I
wish is, that when I am gone, he should have sonething to fall back
upon.'
'I do not think that I can thank you more heartily for any of your
benefits than for making me a party to this!' he warmly said. 'But there
is no thanking you; I must try to do so by deeds.'
She was forced to allow that her Atheling was winning upon her!
'Two points I liked,' she said to Robert, who spent the evening with her,
while Owen was dining with Mr. Currie--'one that he accepted the Holt as
a charge, not a gift--the other that he never professed to be marrying
for _my_ sake.'
'Yes, he is as true as Phoebe,' said Robert. 'Both have real power of
truth from never deceiving themselves. They perfectly suit one another.'
'High praise from you, Robin. Yet how could you forgive his declaration
from so unequal a position?'
'I thought it part of his consistently honest dealing. Had she been a
mere child, knowing nothing of the world, and subject to parents, it
might have been otherwise; but independent and formed as she is, it was
but just to avow his sentiments, and give her the choice of waiting.'
'In spite of the obloquy of a poor man paying court to wealth?'
'I fancy he was too single-minded for that idea, and that it was not
wealth which he courted was proved by his rejection of Mervyn's offer.
Do you know, I think his refusal will do Mervyn a great deal of good. He
is very restless to find out the remaining objections to his management,
and Randolf will have more influence with him than I ever could, while he
considers parsons as a peculiar species.'
'If people would only believe the good of not compromising!'
'They must often wait a good while to see the good!'
'But, oh! the fruit is worth waiting for! Robin,' she added, after a
pause, 'you have been in correspondence with my boy.'
'Yes,' said Robert; 'and there, indeed, you may be satisfied. The seed
you sowed in the morning is bearing its increase!'
'_I_ sowed! Ah, Robert! what I sowed was a false crop, that had almost
caused the good seed to be rooted up together with it!'
'Not altogether, said Robert. 'If you made any mistakes that led to a
confusion of real and unreal in his mind, still, the real good you did to
him is incalculable.'
'So he tells me, dear boy! But when I think what he was as a child, and
what he has been as a youth, I cannot but charge it on myself.'
'Then think what he is, and will be, I trust, as a man,' said Robert.
'Even at the worst, the higher, purer standard that had been impressed on
him saved him from lower depths; and when "he came to himself," it was
not as if he had neither known his Father's house nor the way to it. Oh,
Miss Charlecote! you must not come to me to assure you that your training
of him was in vain! I, who am always feeling the difference between
trying to pull him and poor Mervyn upwards! There may be more excuse for
Mervyn, but Owen knows where he is going, and springs towards it; while
Mervyn wonders at himself at every stage, and always fancies the next
some delusion of my strait-laced imagination.'
'Ah! once I spurned, and afterwards grieved over, the saying that very
religious little boys either die or belie their promise.'
'There is some truth in it,' said Robert. 'Precocious piety is so
beautiful that it is apt to be fostered so as to make it insensibly
imitative and unreal, or depend upon some individual personal influence;
and there is a certain reaction at one stage of growth against what has
been overworked.'
'Then what could you do with such a child as my Owen if it were all to
come over again? His aspirations were often so beautiful that I could
not but reverence them greatly; and I cannot now believe that they were
prompted by aught but innocence and baptismal grace!'
'Looking back,' said Robert, 'I believe they were genuine, and came from
his heart. No; such a devotional turn should be treated with deep
reverence and tenderness; but the expression had better be almost
repressed, and the test of conduct enforced, though without loading the
conscience with details not of general application, and sometimes
impracticable under other circumstances.'
'It is the practicalness of dear Owen's reformation that makes it so
thoroughly satisfactory,' said Honora; 'though I must say that I dread
the experiment. You will look after him, for this week, Robert; I fear
he is overdoing himself in his delight at moving about and working
again.'
'I will see how he gets on. It will be a good essay for the future.'
'I cannot think how he is ever to bear living with Mrs. Murrell.'
'She is a good deal broken and subdued, and is more easily repressed than
one imagines at her first onset. Besides, she is very proud, and rather
afraid, of him, and will not molest him much. Indeed, it is a good
arrangement for him; he ought to have care above that of the average
landlady.'
'Will he get it?'
'I trust so. She has the ways of a respectable servant; and her
religious principle is real, though we do not much admire its
manifestation. She will be honest and careful of his wants, and look
after his child, and nurse him tenderly if he require it!'
'As if any one but myself would do that! But it is right, and he will be
all the better and happier for accepting his duty to her while she lives,
if he can bear it.'
'As he says, it is his only expiation.'
'Well! I should not wonder if you saw more of me here than hitherto. A
born Cockney like me gets inclined to the haunts of men as she grows old,
and if your sisters and Charlecote Raymond suffice for the parish, I
shall be glad to be out of sight of the improvements _he_ will make.'
'Not without your consent?'
'I shall have to consent in my conscience to what I hate in my heart.'
'I am not the man to argue you away from here,' said Robert, eagerly.
'If you would take up the Young Women's Association, it would be the only
thing to make up for the loss of Miss Fennimore. Then the St. Wulstan's
Asylum wants a lady visitor.'
'My father's foundation, whence his successor ousted me, in a general
sweep of troublesome ladies,' said Honor. 'How sore I was, and how
things come round.'
'We'll find work for you,' cried Robert, highly exhilarated. 'I should
like to make out that we can't do without you.'
'Why, Robin, you of all men taking to compliments!'
'It is out of self-interest. Nothing makes so much difference to me as
having this house inhabited.'
'Indeed,' she said, highly gratified; 'I thought you wanted nothing but
St. Matthew's.'
'Nay,' said Robert, as a bright colour came over his usually set and
impassive countenance. 'You do not want me to say what you have always
been to me, and how better things have been fostered by your presence,
ever since the day you let me out of Hiltonbury Church. I have often
since thought it was no vain imagination that you were a good spirit sent
to my rescue by Mr. Charlecote.'
'Poor Robin,' said Honor, her lip quivering; 'it was less what I gave
than what you gathered up. I barely tolerated you.'
'Which served me right,' said Robert, 'and made me respect you. There
are so few to blame me now that I need you all the more. I can hardly
cede to Owen the privilege of being your only son.'
'You are my autumn-singing Robin,' said Honor, too true to let him think
that he could stand beside Owen in her affections, but with intense
pleasure at such unwonted warmth from one so stern and reserved; it was
as if he was investing her with some of the tenderness that the loss of
Lucilla had left vacant, and bestowing on her the confidences to which
new relations might render Phoebe less open. It was no slight preferment
to be Robert Fulmort's motherly friend; and far beyond her as he had
soared, she might still be the softening element in his life, as once she
had been the ennobling one. If she had formed Robert, or even given one
impulse such as to lead to his becoming what he was, the old maid had not
lived in vain.
She was not selfish enough to be grieved at Owen's ecstasy in
emancipation; and trusting to being near enough to watch over him without
being in his way, she could enjoy his overflowing spirits, and detect
almost a jocund sound in the thump of his crutch across the hall, as he
hurried in, elated with hopes of the success of his invention, eager
about the Canadian railway, delighted with the society of his congeners,
and pouring out on her all sorts of information that she could not
understand. The certainty that her decision was for his happiness ought
surely to reconcile her to carrying home his rival in his stead.
Going down by an early train, she resolved, by Robert's advice, to visit
Beauchamp at once, and give Mervyn a distinct explanation of her
intentions. He was tardy in taking them in, then exclaimed--'Phoebe's
teetotaller! Well, he is a sharp fellow! The luck that some men have!'
'Dear Phoebe,' cried Cecily, 'I am so thankful that she is spared a long
attachment. It was telling on her already!'
'Oh, we should have put a stop to the affair if he had gone out to
Canada,' roundly asserted Mervyn; 'but of course he knew better--'
'Not at all--this was quite a surprise.'
Mervyn recollected in time that it was best that Miss Charlecote should
so imagine, and reserved for his wife's private ear his conviction that
the young fellow had had this hope in his eye when refusing the
partnership. Such smartness and foresight commanded his respect as a man
of the world, though maybe the women would not understand it. For
Phoebe's interest, he must encourage the lady in her excellent
intentions.
'It is very handsome in you, Miss Charlecote--very handsome--and I am
perfectly unprejudiced in assuring you that you have done the very best
thing for yourself. Phoebe is a good girl, and devoted to you already.'
'Indeed she is,' said Cecily. 'She looks up to you so much!'
Somehow Honor did not want Mrs. Fulmort to assure her of this.
'And as to the place,' continued Mervyn, 'you could not put it into
better hands to get your people out of their Old World ways. A young man
like that, used to farming, and with steam and mechanics at his fingers'
ends, will make us all look about us.'
'Perhaps,' murmured poor Honor, with quailing heart.
'John Raymond and I were looking about the Holt the other day,' said
Mervyn, 'and agreeing how much more could be made of it. Clear away some
of those hedgerows--grub up a bit of copse or two--try chemical
manures--drain that terrible old marsh beyond the plantation--and have up
a good engine-house where you have those old ramshackle buildings at the
Home Farm! Why, the place will bring in as much again, and you've hit on
the very man to carry it out. He shall try all the experiments before I
adopt them.'
Honora felt as if she must flee! If she were to hear any more she should
be ready to banish young Randolf to Canada, were he ten times her heir.
Had she lived to hear Humfrey's new barn, with the verge boards conceded
to her taste, called ramshackle? And she had given her word!
As she left Beauchamp, and looked at her scraggy pine-trees cresting the
hill, she felt as though they were her own no longer, and as if she had
given them up to an enemy. She assured herself that nothing could be
done without her free-will, and considered of the limitations that must
be imposed on this frightful reformer, but her heart grew sick at the
conviction that either she would have to yield, or be regarded as a mere
incubus and obstruction.
With almost a passionate sense of defence of Humfrey's trees, and
Humfrey's barns, she undid the gate of the fir plantations--his special
favourites. The bright April sun shed clear gleams athwart the russet
boles of the trees, candied by their white gum, the shadows were sharply
defined, and darkened by the dense silvered green canopy, relieved by
fresh light young shoots, culminating in white powdery clusters, or
little soft crimson conelets, all redolent of fresh resinous fragrance.
The wind whispered like the sound of ocean in the summit of the trees,
and a nightingale was singing gloriously in the distance. All recalled
Humfrey, and the day, thirty years back, when she had given him such sore
pain, in those very woods, grasping the shadow instead of the substance,
and taking the sunshine out of his life as well as from her own. Never
had she felt such a pang in thinking of that day, or in the vain
imagination of how it might have been!
'Yet I believe I am doing right,' she thought. 'Humfrey himself might
say that old things must pass away, and the past give place to the
present! Let me stand once more under the tree where I gave him that
answer! Shall I feel as if he would laugh at me for my shrinking, or
approve me for my resolution?'
The tree was a pinaster, of lengthy foliage and ponderous cones, standing
in a little shooting-path, leading from the main walk. She turned
towards it and stood breathless for a moment.
There stood the familiar figure--youthful, well-knit, firm, with the
open, steadfast, kindly face, but with the look of crowned exultant love
that she had only once beheld, and that when his feet were already within
the waters of the dark river. It was his very voice that exclaimed,
'Here she is!' Had her imagination indeed called up Humfrey before her,
or was he come to upbraid her with her surrender of his charge to modern
innovation! But the spell was broken, for a woodland nymph in soft gray,
edged with green, was instantly beside him, and that calmly-glad face was
no reflection of what Honora's had ever been.
'Dear, dear Miss Charlecote,' cried Phoebe, springing to her; 'we thought
you would come home this way, so we came to meet you, and were watching
both the paths.'
'Thank you, my dear,' said Honor. Could that man, who looked so like
Humfrey, be thinking how those firs would cut up into sleepers?
'Do you know,' said Phoebe, eagerly, 'he says this wood is a little
likeness of his favourite place in his old home.'
'I am afraid,' he added, as if apologizing, 'I shall always feel most at
home in the smell of pine-trees.'
Mervyn's predictions began to lose their force, and Honor smiled.
'But,' said Phoebe, turning to her, 'I was longing to beg your pardon. I
did not like to have any secret from you.'
'Ah! you cunning children,' said Honor, finding surface work easiest;
'you stole a march upon us all.'
'I could not help it,' said Phoebe.
They both laughed, and turning to him, she said, 'Now, could I? When you
spoke to me, I could only tell the truth.'
'And I suppose he could not help it,' said Honor.
'Of course not, if there was no reason for helping it,' he said. There
could be no dwelling on the horrible things that he would perpetrate,
while he looked so like the rightful squire, and while both were so fair
a sight in their glad gratitude; and she found herself saying, 'You will
bear our name.'
There might be a pang in setting aside that of his father, but he looked
at the glowing cheeks and glistening eyes beside him, and said, 'Answer
for me.'
'It is what I should like best of all,' Phoebe said, fervently.
'If we can deserve to bear it,' he gravely added.
And something in his tone made Honora feel confident that, even if he
should set up an engine-house, it would be only if Humfrey would have
done so in his place.
'It will be belonging to you all the more,' said Phoebe. 'It is one
great pleasure that now I shall have a right to you!'
'Yes, Phoebe, the old woman will depend on you, her "Eastern moon
brightening as day's wild lights decline." But she will trouble you no
longer. Finish your walk with Humfrey.' It was the first time she had
called him by that name.
'No,' they said, with one voice, 'we were waiting to walk home with you,
if we may.'
There was something in that walk, in the tender, respectful kindness with
which she was treated, in the intelligent interest that Humfrey showed in
the estate, his clear-headed truthfulness on the need of change, and his
delicate deference in proposing alteration, that set her heart at rest,
made her feel that the 'goodly heritage' was in safe hands, and that she
had a staff in her hands for the first time since that Sunday in harvest.
* * * * *
Before the next harvest, Hiltonbury bells rang out, and the church was
crowded with glad faces; but there was none more deeply joyful than that
of the lonely woman with silvery hair, who quietly knelt beside the gray
slab, lettered H. C., 1840, convinced that the home and people of him who
lay there would be in trusty hands, when she should join him in his true
inheritance. Her idols set aside, she could with clearer eyes look to
that hope, though in no weariness of earth, no haste to depart, but still
in full strength, ready to work for man's good and God's glory.
Beside her, as usual, was Owen, leaning on his crutch, but eminent in
face and figure as the handsomest man present, and full of animation,
betraying neither pain or regret, but throughout the wedding festivities
showing himself the foremost in mirth, and spurring Hiltonbury on to
rejoicings that made the villagers almost oblivious of the Forest Show.
The saddest face in church was that of the head bridesmaid. Even though
Phoebe was only going as far as the Holt, and Humfrey was much loved,
Bertha's heart was sore with undefined regret for her own blotted past,
and with the feeling of present loss in the sister whose motherly
kindness she had never sufficiently recognized. Bertha knew not how much
gentler and more lovable she herself was growing in that very struggle
with her own sadness, and in her endeavours to be sufficient protectress
for Maria. The two sisters were to remain at the Underwood with Miss
Fennimore, and in her kindness, and in daily intercourse with Phoebe and
Cecily, could hardly fail to be happy. Maria was radiantly glad, in all
the delight of her bridesmaid's adornments and of the school feasting,
and above all in patronizing her pretty little niece, Elizabeth Acton,
the baby bridesmaid.
It was as if allegiance to poor Juliana's dislikes had hitherto kept Sir
Bevil aloof from Phoebe, and deterred him from manifesting his good-will;
but the marriage brought him at last to Beauchamp, kind, grave, military,
and melancholy as ever, and so much wrapped up in his little girl and his
fancied memory of her mother, that Cecily's dislike of long attachments
was confirmed by his aspect; and only her sanguine benevolence was bold
enough to augur his finding a comforter in her cousin Susan.
Poor man! Lady Bannerman had been tormenting him all the morning with
appeals to his own wedding as precedents for Cecily's benefit! Her
instructions to Cecily were so overwhelming as to reduce that meek little
lady to something approaching to annihilation; and the simple advice
given by Bertha, and backed by Phoebe herself, 'never to mind,' appeared
the summit of audacity! Long since having ceased to trouble herself as
to the danger of growing too stout, Lady Bannerman, in her brocades and
laces, was such a mountain of a woman that she was forced to sail up the
aisle of Hiltonbury Church alone in her glory, without space for a
cavalier beside her.
The bridegroom's friend was his little seven years' old brother, whom he
had sent for to place at a good school, and who fraternized with little
Owen, a brisk little fellow, his _h's_ and his manners alike doing credit
to the paternal training, and preparing in due time to become a
blue-gowned and yellow-legged Christ's Hospital scholar--a nomination
having been already promised through the Fulmort City influence.
Robert assisted Charlecote Raymond in the rite which joined together the
young pair. They were goodly to look upon, in their grave, glad modesty
and self-possession, and their youthful strength and fairness--which, to
Honor's mind, gave the idea of the beauty of simple strength and
completeness, such as befits a well-built vessel at her launch, in all
her quiet force, whether to glide over smooth waters or to battle with
the tempest. Peaceful as those two faces were, there was in them spirit
and resolution sufficient for either storm or calm, for it was
steadfastness based upon the only strong foundation.
For the last time was signed, and with no unsteady hand, the clear,
well-made letters of the maiden Phoebe Fulmort, and as, above it, the
bride read the words, 'Humfrey Charlecote Randolf Charlecote,' she looked
up to her husband with a sweet, half-smile of content and exultation, as
though his name were doubly endeared, as recalling her 'wise man,' the
revered guardian of her imagination in her orphaned girlhood.
There are years when the buds of spring are nipped by frost or blight,
and when summer blossoms are rent by hail and storm, till autumn sets in
without one relenting pause. Then, even at the commencement of decline,
comes an interval, a renewal of all that former seasons had proffered of
fair and sweet; the very tokens of decay are lovely--the skies are deep
calm blue, the sunsets soft gold, and the exquisite serenity and tranquil
enjoyment are beyond even the bright, fitful hopes of spring. There is a
tinge of melancholy, for this is a farewell, though a lingering farewell;
and for that very cause the enduring flowers, the brilliant eaves, the
persevering singing birds, are even more prized than those which, in
earlier months, come less as present boons than foretastes of the future.
Such an Indian summer may be Honor Charlecote's present life. It is not
old age, for she has still the strength and health of her best days, but
it is the later stage of middle life, with experience added to energy.
Her girlhood suffered from a great though high-minded mistake, her
womanhood was careworn and sorrow-stricken. As first the beloved of her
youth, so again the darling of her after-age was a disappointment; but
she was patient, and patience has met with a reward, even in this life.
Desolateness taught her to rely no longer on things of earth, but to
satisfy her soul with that Love which is individual as well as Infinite;
and that lesson learnt, the human affection that once failed her is come
back upon her in full measure. She is no longer forlorn; the children
whom she bred up, and those whom she led by her influence, alike vie with
one another in their love and gratitude.
The old house in Woolstone-lane is her home for the greater part of the
winter and spring, and her chief work lies in her father's former parish,
directed by Mr. Parsons and Robert, and enjoying especially the Sunday
evenings that Owen constantly spends with her in the cedar parlour, in
such converse, whether grave or gay, as men rarely seek save with a
mother, or one who has been as a mother. But she is still the lady of
the Holt. There she still spends autumn and Christmas, resuming her old
habits, without feeling them a burthen; bemoaning a little, but approving
all the while, Humfrey's moderate and successful alterations, and loving
and delighting above all in Phoebe's sweet wisdom in her happy household
rule. It is well worth all the past to return to the Holt with the
holiday feeling of her girlhood.
FOOTNOTE.
{225} Terrify, to tease or worry.
[Picture: Detail from book cover]