In my catalogue of the little library at the cottage, I forgot to
mention a book of Common Prayer. My reader's fancy might easily have
supplied the omission--old ladies of Margaret's stamp (God bless them)
may as well be without their spectacles, or their elbow chair, as their
prayer book--I love them for it.
Margaret's was a handsome octavo, printed by Baskerville, the binding
red, and fortified with silver at the edges. Out of this book it was
their custom every afternoon to read the proper psalms appointed for the
day.
The way they managed was this: they took verse by verse--Rosamund _read_
her little portion, and Margaret repeated hers, in turn, from
memory--for Margaret could say all the Psalter by heart, and a good part
of the Bible besides. She would not unfrequently put the girl right when
she stumbled or skipped. This Margaret imputed to giddiness--a quality
which Rosamund was by no means remarkable for--but old ladies, like
Margaret, are not in all instances alike discriminative.
They had been employed in this manner just before Miss Clare arrived at
the cottage. The psalm they had been reading was the hundred and
fourth--Margaret was naturally led by it into a discussion of the works
of creation.
There had been _thunder_ in the course of the day--an occasion of
instruction which the old lady never let pass--she began--
"Thunder has a very awful sound--some say, God Almighty is angry
whenever it thunders--that it is the voice of God speaking to us--for my
part, I am not afraid of it"--
And in this manner the old lady was going on to particularise, as usual,
its beneficial effects, in clearing the air, destroying of vermin, &c.
when the entrance of Miss Clare put an end to her discourse.
Rosamund received her with respectful tenderness--and, taking her
grandmother by the hand, said, with great sweetness, "Miss Clare is come
to see you, grandmother."
"I beg pardon, lady--I cannot _see_ you--but you are heartily
welcome--is your brother with you, Miss Clare? I don't hear him."--
"He could not come, madam, but he sends his love by me."
"You have an excellent brother, Miss Clare--but pray do us the honor to
take some refreshment--Rosamund"----
And the old lady was going to give directions for a bottle of her
currant wine--when Elinor, smiling, said "she was come to take a cup of
tea with her, and expected to find no ceremony."
"After tea, I promise myself a walk with _you_, Rosamund, if your
grandmother can spare you."--Rosamund looked at her grandmother.
"O, for that matter, I should be sorry to debar the girl from any
pleasure--I am sure it's lonesome enough for her to be with _me_
always--and if Miss Clare will take you out, child, I shall do very well
by myself till you return--it will not be the first time, you know, that
I have been left here alone--some of the neighbours will be dropping in
bye and bye--or, if _not_, I shall take no harm."
Rosamund had all the simple manners of a child--she kissed her
grandmother, and looked happy.
All tea-time the old lady's discourse was little more than a panegyric
on young Clare's good qualities. Elinor looked at her young friend, and
smiled. Rosamund was beginning to look grave--but there was a cordial
sunshine in the face of Elinor, before which any clouds of reserve, that
had been gathering on Rosamund's soon brake away.
"Does your grandmother ever go out, Rosamund?"
Margaret prevented the girl's reply, by saying--"my dear young lady, I
am an old woman, and very infirm--Rosamund takes me a few paces beyond
the door sometimes--but I walk very badly--I love best to sit in our
little arbour, when the sun shines--I can yet feel it warm and
cheerful--and, if I lose the beauties of the season, I shall be very
happy if you and Rosamund can take delight in this fine summer evening."
"I shall want to rob you of Rosamund's company now and then, if we like
one another. I had hoped to have seen _you_, madam, at our house. I
don't know whether we could not make room for you to come and live with
us--what say you to it?--Allan would be proud to tend you, I am sure;
and Rosamund and I should be nice company."
Margaret was all unused to such kindnesses, and wept--Margaret had a
great spirit--yet she was not above accepting an obligation from a
worthy person--there was a delicacy in Miss Clare's manner--she could
have no interest, but pure goodness, to induce her to make the offer--at
length the old lady spake from a full heart.
"Miss Clare, this little cottage received us in our distress--it gave us
shelter when we had _no home_--we have praised God in it--and, while
life remains, I think I shall never part from it--Rosamund does every
thing for me--"
"And will do, grandmother, as long as I live;"--and then Rosamund fell a
crying.
"You are a good girl, Rosamund, and if you do but find friends when I am
dead and gone, I shall want no better accommodation while I live--but,
God bless you, lady, a thousand times, for your kind offer."
Elinor was moved to tears, and, affecting a sprightliness, bade Rosamund
prepare for her walk. The girl put on her white silk bonnet; and Elinor
thought she had never beheld so lovely a creature.
They took leave of Margaret, and walked out together--they rambled over
all Rosamund's favourite haunts--through many a sunny field--by secret
glade or woodwalk, where the girl had wandered so often with her beloved
Clare.
Who now so happy as Rosamund? She had oft-times heard Allan speak with
great tenderness of his sister--she was now rambling, arm in arm, with
that very sister, the "vaunted sister" of her friend, her beloved Clare.
Not a tree, not a bush, scarce a wild flower in their path, but revived
in Rosamund some tender recollection, a conversation perhaps, or some
chaste endearment. Life, and a new scene of things, were now opening
before her--she was got into a fairy land of uncertain existence.
Rosamund was too happy to talk much--but Elinor was delighted with her
when she _did_ talk:--the girl's remarks were suggested, most of them,
by the passing scene--and they betrayed, all of them, the liveliness of
present impulse:--her conversation did not consist in a comparison of
vapid feeling, an interchange of sentiment lip-deep--it had all the
freshness of young sensation in it.
Sometimes they talked of Allan.
"Allan is very good," said Rosamund, "very good _indeed_ to my
grandmother--he will sit with her, and hear her stories, and read to
her, and try to divert her a hundred ways. I wonder sometimes he is not
tired. She talks him to death!"
"Then you confess, Rosamund, that the old lady _does_ tire _you_
sometimes."
"Oh no, I did not mean _that_--it's very different--I am used to all her
ways, and I can humour her, and please her, and I ought to do it, for
she is the only friend I ever had in the world."
The new friends did not conclude their walk till it was late, and
Rosamund began to be apprehensive about the old lady, who had been all
this time alone.
On their return to the cottage, they found that Margaret had been
somewhat impatient--old ladies, _good old ladies_, will be so at
times--age is timorous and suspicious of danger, where no danger is.
Besides, it was Margaret's bed-time, for she kept very good
hours--indeed, in the distribution of her meals, and sundry other
particulars, she resembled the livers in the antique world, more than
might well beseem a creature of this.
So the new friends parted for that night--Elinor having made Margaret
promise to give Rosamund leave to come and see her the next day.