"Yes, deep within and deeper yet
The rankling shaft of conscience hide;
Quick let the melting eye forget
The tears that in the heart abide.
......................
Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart
Tempts him to hide his grief and die;
Too feeble for confession's smart--
Too proud to bear a pitying eye."
CHRISTIAN YEAR.
The following day was Sunday, and some of us drove, some of us
walked, to the village church. It was about two miles distant
from the house by the carriage road, but the path that led
thither by a short cut across the park, through a small wood,
down a steep hill, and up another still steeper, and then by a
gentle descent into the village, was not much more than a mile
in length. It was a beautiful walk, and the view from the top
of that last hill was enough to repay the fatigue of
scrambling up that winding path, exposed to the burning heat
of the sun, and that is not saying a little. As the last bell
had not begun to ring, we sat down on the stile on the brow of
the hill, to wait for it, and in the meantime I looked with
delight on the picture before my eyes. The little footpath
wound down through the daisy-enamelled grass to the edge of a
pond of clear water, that lay between the field and the road,
and was shaded by half a dozen magnificent oaks, elms, and
horse-chesnuts, beyond the little village, which did not seem
to contain more than seven or eight cottages, each half-buried
in trees, or overgrown with creepers, except one red brick
house, that flared in all the pride of newness, and of the
gaudy flowers in its spruce little garden. In the middle of
the irregular square, or rather of the wide part of the
village road, for it could not be called a street, stood a
tall May-pole, still adorned with two or three faded remnants
of the streamers which had decorated it a month before. On an
eminence beyond the village stood the church; one of those
small old beautiful parish churches, with one square gray
tower, and two wide porches; around it grew yews and thorn
trees, of various shapes and sizes, intermingling their white
flowers and dark foliage in graceful contrast.
After a few moments' rest we walked on to the churchyard, and
sat down upon a tombstone close to the principal porch. All
the people of the village were assembled, sitting, or standing
in groups, waiting for the clergyman's arrival. Mr. Brandon
was just telling me, in answer to my expressions of admiration
for a picturesque, ivy-grown old wall and house, which formed
one of the boundaries of the churchyard, that they were part
of the ruins of an ancient palace of King John's, when the
carriage arrived, and we all went into church. It looked
smaller still within than without, but its rude architecture
had something religious as well as rustic about it, and the
simple singing of the morning hymn by the school children
seemed in accordance with it. As usual my mind wandered during
the whole of the service, and though I knelt when others
knelt, and stood when they stood, and though my lips
mechanically repeated the responses, I never prayed except
when occasionally some words in the Liturgy or in the Bible
struck upon the secret feeling of my heart, and drew from it a
mental ejaculation, a passionate appeal to Heaven, which was
rather the cry of a wounded spirit than a direct address to
the God between whom and my soul I felt as if the link of
communion was broken. That day, however, little as I regularly
attended to the service it had a soothing effect upon me.
There was an old monument exactly opposite our seat, to which
my eyes were continually reverting. It was that of a knight
crusader and of his wife; their statues were lying side by
side, in that rigid repose which unites the appearance of
sleep and of death. There was peace in each line of those
sculptured figures--an intensity of repose, the more striking
from its association with some of the emblems of war. As I
looked upon them I longed to be resting too.
The clergyman was reading the morning lesson at that moment,
and these words attracted my attention, "And they all fell
seven together, and were put to death in the days of harvest;
in the first days in the beginning of barley-harvest; and
Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it
for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest, until
water dropped upon them out of Heaven, and suffered neither
the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of
the field by night."
These words seemed to answer my thoughts; why I cannot tell,
perhaps no one but myself could understand what that
connection was, and yet it struck me so powerfully that I felt
as if a chink had suddenly opened, and given me a glimpse into
another world. There was quietness and confidence and
strength, in the midst of torture, agony, and despair. The
mother, who had lost all her sons, and that by an ignominious
death, sat upon the rock days and nights, and she spread
sackcloth upon it, and she slept not by night, and she rested
not by day, but drove away the birds of the air and the beasts
of the field, and verily she had her reward; their bones were
gathered together by the King's command, and they buried them
there. She had her meed, I might have mine at last; I could
weep and pray, fast by day and watch by night, give up the
joys of life, the hopes of youth; cease to banish the
remembrance of the past, but in quiet penitence, in humbled
contemplation bear it ever in mind, and carry about with me,
through a long life perhaps, the dagger in the wound, till at
last the day might come when my own heart would absolve me,
and Edward Middleton would pity me.
After the service the clergyman announced his intention of
administering the holy sacrament on the following Sunday, to
all such as should be religiously and devoutly disposed. For
the last year I had always listened to this address either
with a feeling of dogged indifference, or, if my heart was
less hardened than usual, with a pang of shame and grief; but
always with a determination to remain banished from the altar,
ex-communicated by my own conscience. Now for the first time,
I listened with a somewhat different feeling; I longed to
kneel there, and as I looked at the clergyman while he
preached, and marked his white hair, his venerable
countenance, and the benevolence of his manner, a sudden
resolution occurred to me; I would open my heart to him; I
would tell him all; I would, for once, pour out the secret
anguish of my soul to one who neither loved nor hated me; to
one who would tell me what my guilt had been,--who would
promise me its pardon, and point out the path of duty to my
blinded sight. I felt feverishly impatient to accomplish this
determination; and when we came out of church, and Mrs. Brandon
asked me if I would walk or drive home, I said I would drive,
so as to make the walkers set out without me; and then I drew
Mrs. Brandon aside, and told her, that as I had heard that the
afternoon service was at half-past two o'clock, I should wait
for it, and in the mean time walk about the churchyard and the
village. She made some objections to my remaining alone, which
was inevitable if I stayed, as all the men had walked on, and
the women would none of them be inclined to miss their
luncheon; but at last yielding to my earnest wish, she said
she would herself come to afternoon church, in order to fetch
me back.
I saw them all drive off, and the village people slowly leave
the churchyard in different directions, and sat myself down on
the same tombstone as in the morning to watch for Mr. Leslie.
It was some time before he came out of church, and when he did
he remained for several minutes in conversation with the clerk
at the door of the porch. At last he dismissed him, and walked
my way; he seemed doubtful whether he should stop or not, as
he passed me, but I got up, and this decided him.
He smiled, and asked me if I had been forgotten and left
behind?
"No," I said, "I am only waiting here, as there is hardly time
to go to the house and come back before afternoon church; and
this is a pleasant place to spend an hour in."
"I am glad you like our old churchyard," said Mr. Leslie; and
then he began talking of the views, of the neighbouring
scenery, of the ruined palace now transformed into a farm, of
all the subjects he thought would interest me, little thinking
that at that moment the secret of a life of anguish, the
confession of an over-burthened conscience, was trembling on
my lips. The more he talked, too (although there was nothing
unsuitable to his sacred office in anything he said), the
morel felt to lose sight of the priest of God--of the
messenger of Heaven, in the amiable, conversible,
gentlemanlike man before me; however, when he pulled out his
watch, and apologised for leaving me, pleading a promise he
had made to visit a sick parishioner, I made a desperate
effort, and said: "May I ask you, Mr. Leslie, to allow me a
few moments of conversation with you before the hour of
afternoon service, if you can spare time?"
He looked surprised, but bowed assent, and said he would
return in half an hour. During that half hour I sat with my
face buried in my hands, feeling as if able to count every
pulsation of my heart. The excitement under which I had acted
was past; I trembled at the idea of what my lips were going to
utter; I felt as if I had escaped a great danger; I was
astonished at myself for ever having formed such a resolution;
and when Mr. Leslie stood before me again, and asked me, with
a smile, what my business with him was, I could as soon have
destroyed myself in his presence, as have pronounced the words
of self-accusation, which had appeared to me so natural and so
easy when he was in the pulpit and I on my knees in church.
But he was there, and he was waiting for my answer, and my
cheeks were flushing, and I knew that the next moment I should
burst into tears. With a desperate confusion I drew my purse,
which contained several sovereigns, from my pocket, and asked
him to distribute it among the poor of the village. He seemed
puzzled, but thanked me, and said he should be happy to be the
dispenser of such a liberal donation: and I darted away from
him, unable to bear the shame and the misery I was enduring;
for now it seemed to me that I had added hypocrisy to my
guilt; that I had hardened my heart against the best impulse I
had yet experienced, and that I had deceived the minister of
God, whose praises sounded like curses in my ears.
I attended the afternoon service in a more reckless mood than
ever; and that day at dinner, and during all the evening, was
more feverishly gay, more wildly excited than usual; and Henry
Lovell, who seemed struck with the strangeness of my manner,
for the first time made love to me without reserve. The
language of passion was new to my ears; his words made my
heart throb and my cheeks bum; but even while he spoke, and
while under the influence of a bewildering excitement, which
made me feel, for the time, as if I shared his sentiments, I
once thought of the crusader. I saw a pale, calm face, with
its well known features, under the warrior's helmet; and I
felt that to lie down and die by his side would be happiness
compared to such a life as mine.
A few days after this, we were all sitting in the drawing-room
at about twelve o'clock; the day was not tempting, and instead
of going out, we had settled to work, while Sir Edmund and
Henry alternately read out loud to us; but Rosa Moore, when
she heard the plan proposed, screwed up her lips into a
decided expression of disapprobation, and slipt out of the
room with the look of a child who has escaped its lesson. Two
hours after she came in again, and sat down quietly in a chair
opposite me; she looked red and out of breath, but a look of
mischief and amusement was sparkling in her eyes. She listened
patiently to the conclusion of the tragedy, which Sir Edmund
was reading well, though rather too theatrically for the
occasion; and when the different remarks upon it had subsided,
she turned to Henry, and with perfect gravity, but a most
mischievous look in her eyes, said to him, "Mr. Lovell, I am
sorry to have to break it to you, but, upon pain of death, we
must marry immediately."
"I never dreamt of such an honour," said Henry, laughing; "but
if there is no other alternative, I can resign myself. But who
lays down this law?"
"A gentleman who shortened my walk this morning, for I had no
intention of coming home before the end of the tragedy."
"Who can you mean?"
"Somebody who must be either your best friend or your worst
enemy, by the interest he seems to take in you."
"What _do_ you mean?" said Mrs. Brandon.
"Only that as I was exploring the thicket near East Common, I
heard a rustling in the hedge, and suddenly stood face to face
with an individual of not very prepossessing appearance."
"What kind of man, my love? you frighten me to death."
"Why he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a countryman;
not like anything good in its way. He opened our interview by
laying hold of my arm."
"How dreadful!" "What did he say?" "What did you do?" "How
shocking!" "How did you get away?" "I should have died on the
spot;" was echoed with different sorts of emphasis round the
table.
"Why, I told him I had five shillings and sixpence in my
purse, in case it was agreeable to him to take them."
"Did he?"
"No, here they are quite safe; he did not want to take my
money, but to give me advice, he said," and Rosa burst into
one of her merriest peals of laughter.
"What did he say to you exactly? Now pray be serious, Rosa,"
cried Mrs. Brandon, impatiently.
"This is what he said, 'Hark'ee, my duck, do you marry that
'ere chap, that Mr. Lovell what's a courting you, and the
sooner the better, for if you don't it will be the worse for
you and for him, and for some one as shall be nameless. It
will be the saving of his life, if you mind me my pretty gal.'
He added this, as I wrenched my arm away, and was taking to my
legs."
"And he let you go?"
"No, he caught hold of me again, and begged for an answer. I
am afraid I should have promised to marry Mr. Lovell, or to
kill him, or anything else that was expected of me, in order
to get away, when another man joined us, and muttered, 'Fool,
you are dropping the Brentford ticket at Hammersmith gate.'
Upon which my friend screwed up his mouth into a particular
shape, gave a kind of whistle, and both darted away among the
bushes; and here I am."
I looked round to see how Henry took this account, but he was
gone. Mrs. Brandon noticed also his disappearance, and left
the room. Mrs. Ernsley, Sir Edmund, and the eldest Miss
Farnley drew round Rosa, to hear her recount again her
adventure, and the youngest Miss Farnley whispered to me: "Mr.
Lovell must be in love with Miss Moore, for I never saw a man
more strangely agitated; but it is an odd story; what do you
think it can mean?"
"Perhaps it is a hoax," I said; for I had a vague wish that
the whole thing might be hushed up. I felt frightened--I
thought it evident that Rosa had been taken for me, and I
could not help thinking that the two men she had fallen in
with, were those I had seen at Salisbury. Henry's agitation
and his sudden disappearance confirmed my suspicions, and I
felt the more tormented from having no one near me, to whom I
could impart them. When we went into the dining-room to
luncheon, Mrs. Brandon looked flushed and worried; she told
Rosa that Henry had gone towards the East common, to see if
the men who had frightened her, and used his name for that
purpose, were lurking in that direction; that Mr. Brandon had
sent the gamekeeper and some of his men to make inquiries in
the neighbourhood about these fellows, and directed that they
should be brought up for examination before him as a
magistrate, if they could be found. Rosa proposed to me to
ride with her and all the men of the party, that afternoon,
and scour the park, the neighbouring woods and downs, in
search of the men. Curiosity, and an intense desire to
ascertain if I was right in my suppositions, made me agree to
this plan. We were soon off, and galloping across the park.
Rosa was in tearing spirits; she had been somewhat alarmed in
the morning, but the idea of a _quiproquo_, the amusement of a
practical riddle, the fun of pursuing her assailant, (whose
offence had not been of a nature which would make its results
to him so serious as to check any levity on the subject)
tickled her fancy exceedingly, and she kept her companions in
a continual, roar of laughter. We rode about in different
directions for nearly two hours, but, except a few labourers,
we met no one. As we were walking our horses through a dell,
that divided the upper part of East common from a wood of
beautiful oaks, that stretched for miles beyond it, Mr. Manby
suddenly exclaimed, "There are two men scrambling over a hedge
in the direction of Ash Grove. Now, Miss Moore, for a
desperate effort." We all looked in the direction where he
pointed with his whip, and all set off at once at full speed.
There was a small ditch between the field we were in, and the
one we were making for; all the horses took it at a flying
leap, except mine, who positively refused to budge. In vain I
struck him and urged him on; he began rearing violently, but
would neither jump nor walk over it; the groom begged me to
get off, while he dragged it across; I did so, and walked on a
little to try and find a place where I could step over the
ditch myself. I stopped a minute to look at a clump of ash
trees, surrounding a little ruined hut, which I thought would
make a lovely sketch. At that moment the door of the hut
opened; a man came out and looked cautiously about him--It was
Henry--two others followed him; the very men I had seen at
Salisbury; these last turned into a lane which I knew led into
the high-road to Blandford, and were out of sight in a moment.
Henry stood still for an instant, and then walked off towards
the house. I was not surprised, but my heart sickened within
me. I felt a vague pity for Henry, a nervous terror for
myself; it never occurred to me to point out the two men, or
draw attention to the spot where I had seen them disappear.
In the meantime the groom had brought a plank, by means of
which I crossed the ditch; I got on my horse again, and rode
slowly on to meet the rest of the party, who were galloping
back in great amusement, at having mistaken Mr. Leslie and his
clerk, who had been quietly clambering over a stile, on their
way to the cottage of a sick old woman, for the dangerous
characters they were in search of. We came up with Henry a few
yards from the house. He looked ill and tired; Mr. Brandon
hallooed to him, to know if he had seen or heard anything of
the vagabonds.
"Have you?" was his answer.
"No," cried Mr. Brandon.
"Well then, Miss Moore," (said Henry, with a forced laugh,)
"we must e'en wed to-morrow, or remain single at our peril,"
and he walked off, humming the tune of "_Gai, gai,
mariez-vous_."
The subject of Rosa's adventure was now and then resumed, and
became a sort of standing joke against Henry; evidently a
disagreeable one to him, though he put a good face on the
matter.
One day he asked Rosa, if she had not been laughing at us all,
and whether the whole thing was not a practical joke. He took
to twitting her about her visions, and proposed to write a
ballad on "the two invisible men of Brandon Woods," on which I
said, "And I will write a sequel, which shall be called 'The
ruined Hut of Ash Grove.'"
Mrs. Ernsley looked at Sir Edmund, as much as to say, "What a
silly attempt at _repartie;_" and said in a hesitating manner,
"I do not _quite_ see what would be the point of that."
Henry looked as if the ground had suddenly opened and shut
again before his eyes.