"I thought that I was strong, Lord,
And did not need Thine arm;
Though dangers thronged around me,
My heart felt no alarm:
I thought I nothing needed--
Riches, nor dress, nor sight:
And on I walked in darkness,
And still I thought it light."
SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE XV.
I have but now read o'er what I writ these last few days, and have
meditated much whether I should go on to tell of Sir _Edwin_, for it
shall ne'er serve to have folk read the same. And methinketh it best
for to go straight on, and at the end, if need be, tear out the leaves.
For it doth me a mighty pleasure to write and think upon the same: and I
can make some excuse when I come to it.
Though Mistress _Nell_,
I guess right well,
Of neatness should be heedful:
Yet I will tear
The leaves out fair,
If it shall so be needful.
There! who saith I cannot write poesy?
This morrow again (I being but just without the garden gate), I met with
my _Protection_, who doffed his plumed bonnet and saluted me as his most
fair _Amiability_. I do see him most days, though but for a minute: and
in truth I think long from one time to another. Coming back, I
meditated what I should say to Mistress _Nell_ (that loveth somewhat too
much to meddle) should she have caught sight of him: for it shall not
serve every time to send him to _Kirkstone_. Nor, of course, could I
think to tell a lie thereabout. So I called to mind that he had once
asked me what name we called the eye-bright in these parts, though it
were not this morrow, but I should not need to say that, and it should
be no lie, seeing he did say so much. Metrusteth the cushion should not
prick me for that, and right sure am I there should be no need.
SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE XVII.
Truly, as saith the old saw, 'tis best not to halloo till thou be out of
the wood. This very afternoon, what should _Edith_ say, without one
word of warning, as we were sat a-sewing, but--
"_Mother_, do you mind a gentleman, by name _Tregarvon_?"
"What name saidst, _Edith_?" asks _Mother_.
"_Tregarvon_," quoth she. "Sir _Edwin Tregarvon_, of _Cornwall_."
"Nay, I never knew no gentleman of that name," saith _Mother_. "Where
heardst of him, child?"
"'Twas when we went o'er to Saint _Hubert's_ Isle, _Mother_," she made
answer,--"what day were it, _Milly_?--about ten days gone--"
"Aye, I mind it," saith _Mother_.
"Well, while I sat of the rock a-drawing, come up a gentleman to me,"
saith she, "and asked at me if _Louvaine_ were not my name. (Why, then,
he knew us! thought I.) I said `Aye,' and he went on to ask me if
_Father_ were at home, for he had list to have speech of him: and he
said he knew you, _Mother_, of old time, when you were Mistress
_Lettice_. I told him _Father_ was at home, and he desired to know what
time should be the best to find him: when I told him the early morrow,
for he was oft away in the afternoon. And then--"
"Well, my lass?" saith _Mother_, for _Edith_ was at a point.
"Well, _Mother_, methinks I had better tell you," saith she, a-looking
up, "for I cannot be easy till I have so done, and I wis well you will
not lay to my charge a thing that was no blame of mine. So--then he
'gan to speak of a fashion that little liked me, and I am assured should
have liked you no better: commending my drawing, and mine hair, and mine
eyes, and all such matter as that: till at the last I said unto him,
`Sir, I pray you of pardon, but I am not used to such like talk, and in
truth I know not what to answer. If your aim be to find favour with me,
you were best hold your peace from such words.' For, see you, _Mother_,
I thought he might have some petition unto _Father_, and might take a
fantasy that I could win _Father_ to grant him, and so would the rather
if he talked such matter as should flatter my foolish vanity. As though
_Father_ should be one to be swayed by such a fantasy as that! But
then, of course, he did not know _Father_. I trust I did not aught to
your displeasance, _Mother_?"
"So far as I can judge, dear child, thou didst very well," saith
_Mother_: "and I am right glad thou wert thus discreet for thy years.
But what said he in answer?"
"Oh, he tarried not after that," quoth she: "he did only mutter somewhat
that methought should be to ask pardon, and then went off in another
minute."
_Mother_ laid down her work with a glow in her eyes.
"O _Edith_!" saith she: "I am so thankful thou art not,"--but all
suddenly she shut up tight, and the glow went out of her _eyes_ and into
her cheeks. I never know what that signifieth: and I have seen it to
hap aforetime. But she took up her sewing again, and said no more, till
she saith all at once right the thing which I desired her not to say.
"Did this gentleman speak with thee, _Milly_?"