TREMATON-IN-THE-MOOR.
ON a bright evening in the following week, a chaise, drawn by a sturdy
horse, and driven by a ruddy-faced man of Devon, was conveying a
lady and gentleman along a moorland road towards the little hamlet
of Trematon. It was a good new road, of which the dwellers in the
neighbourhood were justly proud, and wound along the side of a heathery
hill, at a height which commanded a lovely view of the deep green
valley below, through which, overhung by trees, a stream made its way.
Dashing through the heather, dipping under the road, and re-appearing
on the lower slope, a tiny torrent made its way, by sharp zigzags, to
join the larger stream far down, where the hills met and interlocked,
forming a fair green valley. The sun's parting rays were on the
hill-tops, and they glowed a beautiful pink.
"Did you ever see anything so lovely?" Grace Erith asked her brother,
in delighted tones, as the chaise slowly ascended the steep road; for
though they were on such high ground, the way was still up-hill.
"It is grand indeed," replied her brother. "People may rave as they
will about the beauties of Switzerland, but, after all, there is no
mean scenery to be found in our own country. I am content with this."
"I am more than content," said Grace. "Is not this air delicious? I
feel as if I wanted to shout and sing. But it is rather keen. You are
not feeling cold, Stanley?" And she leaned forward to draw his wraps
more closely about him.
"Not at all. This air is just what I want. It seems to give me new life
already. Look at that rocky ridge, Grace. What a grand, rugged crest!
We must try to get to the top of that some day."
"That's Rocksbro' Cleave," said the driver, indicating it with his
whip; "the village is below, on the other side. It's not much of a
place, Rocksbro', and you'd find the road to it very bad. There's just
a tourist path, that's all. They tourists goes to it, but no one else
as can help it."
The brother and sister exchanged amused glances.
"He evidently regards tourists as a despicable order of beings,"
whispered Grace. "But what are we coming to now?"
The road no longer ascended. The driver whipped up his horse, and in
another minute they were in the shelter of thick woods. They looked
down into depths of green shade, through which came the music of
rushing water.
"There are falls below," said the man. "People 'll come a long way
to see 'em, but they're not much to see at this time of year. In the
winter, when there's a sight of water coming over the rocks, they're
worth seeing."
A break in the trees now revealed a gateway, a lodge, and a broad
carriage-drive.
"That's the way to the house—Trematon House," explained the driver.
"Ah! Who lives there?" enquired Erith.
"No one, just now. It belongs to the parson, but he prefers to live
at the rectory, though it is a much smaller house. He often lets this
place. It will be Mr. Arthur's home when he marries, I reckon."
"Mr. Arthur?" said Grace, enquiringly.
"Aye, Mr. Arthur Seaton, the parson's nephew. His father and mother
both died out in India when he was a little chap, and the parson
brought him up as if he was his own child."
"Are we getting near Trematon, then?" asked Stanley Erith.
"Aye, we're getting nigh it, but Torhill lies a mile on the other side.
You'll see the church when we come from under the trees."
"I am sure I shall like the 'parson,'" said Grace, in a low tone, to
her brother; "I can never feel grateful enough to him for inviting me
to become temporary organist. I do wonder how he heard of me, and what
put it into his head to do such a thing. It seems really as if he must
have known that we wanted to come to Dartmoor."
"Yes, indeed; it all fits in like a story. They say 'Truth is stranger
than fiction,' but I was never convinced of it till now. Ah! There is
the church!"
The tall, square tower came into view, backed by a grand mass of
moorland rocks. They drove on through a winding Devonshire lane, and
presently came out at the foot of the village green. Facing them,
two low thatched cottages represented respectively the shop and the
beerhouse of the place. The church, and a long, low, ivy-clad house,
stood at the left. To the right, an open gate gave access to a large
farmyard, from which a flock of ducks were slowly waddling out. Higher
up, a fine old stone gateway appeared, the entrance to the rectory
grounds.
"So this is Trematon," said Erith, amused. "Well, I did not expect a
bustling place, but I must say I thought it was somewhat larger than
this."
"Aye, Trematon's a poor place," said the driver, contemptuously. "And
no wonder, so out of the way as it is—six miles from a railway station."
"I like it all the better for that," said Grace, enthusiastically. "Oh,
I call it a charming place, so rural, so peaceful! And the lovely hills
all around! It is a place to be happy in!"
Her raptures increased as they drove on.
"There's Torhill," said the driver, pointing out a farmhouse, which
stood amidst fields on the edge of the moor. "You'll be quiet enough
there, I reckon."
In a few minutes they were jolting down a rough, uneven road to the
house. They drew up in the midst of the farmyard. A comely, buxom
woman, with rosy cheeks and fine, dark eyes, came from the back door
and advanced to welcome them.
"You'll not mind getting down here, miss," she said; "it's but a poor
approach to this place. But if you'll come this way, I'll see to your
luggage in a minute."
She led them through a little gate into a small flower garden, through
which ran the path to the front door. They entered a stone-flagged
passage, with rooms on either side. Within the room on the left the
table was laid for tea, with a bowl of asters in the centre. After
their long drive through the keen air, the home-made bread, the golden
butter, and the Devonshire cream looked very tempting to the travellers.
"Mr. Seaton told me you'd have had a long journey, and be glad of
something to eat when you arrived," said Mrs. Sparks. "Maybe you'd
like me to fry ye some eggs and bacon, or would you try a bit of our
home-cured ham?"
Grace decided in favour of the ham, and in a few minutes they sat
down to partake of the refreshment they so much needed. Grace had the
satisfaction of seeing her brother make a better meal than he had made
since his illness. By the time they had finished, it was almost dark.
And thoroughly weary, they soon unpacked and went to bed.
When Grace looked forth from her window the next morning, a lovely
prospect met her eyes. Before her stretched the moor, rising gradually
towards a lofty hill, crested with strange, irregular masses of rock.
A steep, winding road ran below it, and disappeared in the distance.
Grace learned afterwards that the road went to Ashburton, a place in
which she felt considerable interest. The scene was bathed in sunlight
when Grace first looked on it. But soon dark clouds came sweeping over
the hills, and by the time she was ready for breakfast, a fine driving
rain fell. But Mrs. Sparks assured her visitors that it was only a
shower, and would soon pass.
"Please, miss," she said, "if things are not as you like them, will you
be so good as to tell me so. I'll make you comfortable if I can, but
people's ways is so different. What pleases one won't do for another."
"I am sure we shall be comfortable," said Grace. "You will not find us
hard to please."
She was indeed charmed with their situation, and the quaint old-world
air of everything about the place; the spindle-legged furniture, the
beautiful old china, the ancient spinet, all seeming to belong to
another century, delighted her romantic mind.
"It's a very old house, as you can see," said Mrs. Sparks. "Miss
Dorothy Seaton, the rector's cousin, owned the place for over forty
years. She was a character, was Miss Dorothy. She used to farm the land
herself, and she knew what she was about too. She made the butter with
her own hands, and she'd ride to Ashburton to sell it with the basket
strapped behind her as she sat on horseback. She was Mr. Arthur's
godmother, and when she died, she left him Torhill. He put me and my
husband here to look after the farm. Mr. Arthur did say that he'd send
some gentlemen here for the shooting, but I'm glad he sent a lady."
"Oh, it was the rector who arranged about our coming," said Grace.
"I know that, miss," she replied; "and by-the-bye, the parson desired
his compliments, and I was to tell you the church will be open this
afternoon, if you'd like to try the organ. And he said as how he'd see
you had a list of the hymns for Sunday."
Grace cast a half-frightened glance at her brother.
"Oh, I do hope," she said, "that I shall be able to perform to his
satisfaction. What a good thing it is that I practised the organ a
little when at Seaborough. Otherwise, I dare not attempt this. I hope I
shall not have a critical audience."
"The parish'ners don't know much about music, miss, if that's what
you mean," said Mrs. Sparks, encouragingly. "Miss Anstey, our
school-mistress as was, used to play the organ, and I'm sure she often
made mistakes. One Sunday the singing broke down altogether."
"Dear me, you do not say so!" said Grace, smiling at Stanley across the
table. "Well, I hope I may be able to avoid such a catastrophe."
The shower soon passed, and was succeeded by brilliant sunshine. Grace
and her brother spent the morning on the moor.
In the afternoon he was obliged to rest, so she found her way alone to
the church. A path through fields led her into the churchyard, which
was beautified by a grand old yew, casting on one side a rich depth of
shadow. The church was of venerable aspect, and on entering, Grace was
much impressed by the interior, though it was very simple. Two rows of
granite pillars supported the whitewashed ceiling. The pews were of
dark oak, and quaintly carved. A beautiful carved screen, showing signs
of decay, separated the chancel from the area of the church. The organ
was within the screen, to the left. Someone had opened the keyboard in
readiness for her, and she saw at once that the instrument was of great
age, the keys being discoloured, and some of them denuded of their
ivory. Grace sat down and struck a few chords. The response was better
than she expected.
Despite its age, the organ was still full-toned and sweet. Grace began
to play an air of Handel's with such ease as proved there was little
fear of her breaking down at the Sunday service. As the melody floated
through the church, someone entered by a narrow doorway behind her. She
looked up, and met the earnest, searching gaze of an elderly gentleman,
of tall form and somewhat stately bearing, but with a face of such
grave, calm, spiritual beauty that she knew in a moment he was one to
be trusted and loved.
"Miss Erith, I believe," he said, and bowed. "Pray do not let me
interrupt your playing. I hope you do not find the organ out of tune."
But Grace had risen as she returned his bow, and she did not at once
resume playing.
"Oh, no, I think not," she said quickly. "I am but a poor judge of such
an instrument, but I like the tone of this."
"I am glad of that—indeed, I am very glad you have come to our help.
Since the departure of our late organist, we have had to dispense with
the instrument at our services, and trust to our chief singer, the
village blacksmith, to raise the tune. But now you have come, we shall
get on grandly."
"You cannot know how glad I am to come," said Grace, earnestly. "My
brother, who is with me, wanted such a change so badly. I feel much
obliged to you for thinking of it. But I can't help wondering how you
came to hear of me."
"From my nephew, Arthur Seaton," said the rector, forgetting that his
nephew might not wish this fact to be mentioned. "He is at Trinity, you
know."
"Is he? I have not heard his name, and I can't think how he could know
about me. But perhaps Stanley can explain."
"My nephew will be here next week, so you can demand an explanation
from himself," said the gentleman, observing her smilingly. "But
now tell me about your brother. Do you really think he is regaining
strength?"
Grace was ever ready to talk about her brother. He was her hero, her
pride, the only being she had belonging to her in all the world.
She began to speak of the anxiety she had long felt concerning him,
his determination to win honours, her dread lest he should overwork,
the realisation of that dread, and his long, severe illness. As he
listened, the looks of the old clergyman expressed so much sympathy,
that she quite forgot how recent was her acquaintance with him, and
went on to tell him more and more of the history of herself and
brother. She had just told him that her brother hoped to enter the
church, when she remembered that Stanley, whose disposition was more
reserved than her own, might not be pleased that she should be so
communicative concerning him. She paused abruptly, and turned to
examine the music which lay close by the organ.
"Go on, my dear," said Mr. Seaton, gently. "I am interested in all you
tell me."
But Grace had doubts as to the prudence of saying more.
"I think I should practise now," said she. "Can you tell me what the
tunes will be?"
"This is the book Miss Anstey used. Here is the list. But I have not
the least doubt of your skill, with or without practice."
Grace began to play, with the expectation that the rector would now
retire. But he had no such intention.
He stood by her side as she tried over the tunes. Now and then he made
a remark, but for the most part, he seemed absorbed in listening to her
playing, and watching the changes of her bright, open face, from which
the shadow Arthur had seen on it had already been charmed away.
"I think I must be going now," said Grace, at last. "My brother will be
weary of his own company."
"You are a good sister, I can see. Is your name Grace?"
"It is," said the girl, colouring with surprise. "What made you guess
it?"
"I had a fancy that it might be so," he replied, colouring in his turn,
and looking away in a shy, embarrassed manner. After a moment, he
asked, "Have you ever been in this neighbourhood before, Miss Erith?"
"Never," she replied. "It is our first visit to Devonshire. It is
strange that it should be so, for our mother was brought up not far
from here."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, at Ashburton."
"And her name was Trevor," he said.
Grace was standing with her back towards him, gathering together the
sheets of music. She turned round in astonishment as he uttered her
mother's maiden name. The rector was not looking at her. His eyes
were on the stone floor, on which, with his stick, he was drawing an
imaginary diagram.
"Oh! Is it possible that you knew my mother?" she cried.
He turned quickly at the sound of her voice.
"Yes, my child," he said, in tones that betrayed some emotion; "I knew
well your mother, Grace Trevor. She and I were friends long ago. As
soon as I saw you, I guessed that you were her daughter. You will let
me be a friend to you and your brother for her sake?"
He extended his hand as he spoke, and Grace willingly placed hers in
it. The warm clasp seemed the promise of a strong, true friendship. It
was welcome to Grace, who without uncle or aunt, or any near relative
save her brother, had known a life of singular isolation.
She hurried back to Torhill to tell her brother what had passed.
"It is very strange," said Stanley Erith, as he and his sister
discussed the incidents that puzzled them; "it is very strange about
that fellow Seaton. I fancy I know him by sight, but that is all. His
set would look down on me at college. What can have led him to take
such an extraordinary interest in us?"
"I cannot tell," said Grace. "It is not as if he had known our mother.
And how could he tell that I was capable of officiating as organist? It
is all most mysterious."
"Well, I suppose we shall know some day," said Stanley, philosophically.
[Illustration]