CONFIDENTIAL IN A CAVE.
THE SAME.
June 23. Wednesday.
HERE we are again in the dear old Dale, far-away from London's busy
roar.
The mountainous heights stand all around, as they have stood for
ages past; and the torrent-river brawls over its rocky bed from the
Dale-Head, a golden stream fast widening. The streamlets streaking
the side of our beautiful Fell are slender lines of silver this dry
weather. And oh, the clear sweetness of the air, after Metropolitan
murkiness!
I do not undervalue our mighty City, with its wonders of intellect and
thought, its heroes and sages alive and dead, its grand historical
past, and I hope grander historical future, its "wealth of soul that
is there." And I know well that God is as near in the most crowded
City street, as in this lonely wilderness. But I think it is sometimes
easier to realise His Presence here than there.
My seven weeks in Town might be seven months,—I have gone through so
much in them. Now I am striving hard to live just by the day; letting
a "dead past bury its dead;" not looking forward at all, except to
the great Beyond; only willing hour by hour to accept what my Master
gives me. Life at present does and must wear a grey hue. That I have to
expect. But there are many to love and be loved by me. The more I can
throw myself into others' interests, the better.
The affection of all these dear girls is very comforting. Yes;—even
sweet changeable Maggie, though I cannot trust her love, as I trust
Thyrza's love,—even Maggie I like to have clinging about me, with her
grey eyes looking up and her soft lips pressing mine. For I am sure
she means it all, just at the moment. And one must not expect to find
lake-depths in a tea-cup.
How different things might have been last year: but for "Millie!"
The contrast between Millie and Nellie is extraordinary. For Millie
scents to go through life, making difficulties; Nellie goes through
life, smoothing difficulties away. Millie is never happy unless she
finds herself a centre of attention: Nellie is never so happy as in the
background.
July 1. Thursday.—A few lines of shy and warm gratitude from Jeannie
Millington have reached me. She says, "I can't persuade my sister to
write, so I must, though of course she ought. We do really hope our
dear Mother is better."
Millie will write yet—some day. I cannot but feel that she will.
July 19. Monday.—Why on earth a man does not speak out, when he has
made up his mind, is a mystery to me. Here are Sir Keith and his
mother, still at the Farm, staying on week after week. It is perfectly
evident that Sir Keith has only one idea in life just now; that idea
being Thyrza. It is almost equally evident that Thyrza, though she does
her best womanfully to veil her feelings under a surpassing interest in
Political Economy, has also only one idea in life, that idea being Sir
Keith. Yet nothing definite comes of it all.
I thought he must surely have spoken to Mr. and Mrs. Romilly; but Mrs.
Romilly says he has not. "Oh no, he will do nothing in a hurry," she
said yesterday, when I at last questioned her. "He is a very cautious
man. I don't suppose he has the least doubt about our consent, but he
will not speak to Thyrza until he is perfectly certain of no rebuff."
Pride, no doubt. Well, caution is admirable enough at times, where it
does not degenerate into faintheartedness. But I think I like better
the impetuous outspokenness of—I mean, which does not calculate in
quite a style its certainties or uncertainties.
Still, he is a delightful man. I have not a word to say against him.
July 21. Wednesday.—Nellie, Maggie, and Thyrza having a tennis party
engagement at Beckbergh to-day,—not for the afternoon only, but for the
greater part of the day,—Sir Keith kindly arranged to take the twins
and me for a long drive in t' trap. Sir Keith of course ousted the dear
old farmer, undertaking himself to drive.
It did not occur to me, when this plan was proposed, that he had any
particular object in it, beyond giving us pleasure.
When Thyrza heard what was to take place, she said brightly, "Wise man!
He knows the delight that it is to get Miss Con all to oneself!"
"My dear," I said, "you don't call it exactly 'all to oneself,' with
the twins there as well."
"Oh yes, I do! I understand," she retorted, laughing. But of course she
did not understand, any more than I did myself.
We started early, and went through one dale after another, each
differing from the rest. The twins, sitting behind, back to back with
Sir Keith and me, chattered incessantly; but Sir Keith was unwontedly
silent. He tried to get up talk from time to time, without much
success. I wished nothing better than to be let alone, that eye and
mind might feast on the scenery undisturbed. Still I had to respond to
his efforts.
After nearly two hours of quick driving we entered a singular valley,
unlike most of the dales in our neighbourhood. It was wide, wild, and
bare, with extraordinary terraced cliffs on either side, rising tier
above tier in perpendicular stone or rather rock walls, each divided
from the next by a narrow sloping band of grass. As seen from the road
below, the general appearance was like some mighty old Roman fortress.
Countless boulders, large and small, lay scattered on the flat
valley-bottom. Shrubs grew here or there, but few trees were to be seen.
"If Thyrza were but with us!" I said involuntarily, and Sir Keith
turned his head quickly to me.
"She must come too another day," he said, "if—" and a long pause
followed. I waited in vain for more. He seemed to relapse into troubled
thought.
Near the upper end of the dale we turned into a side-valley, and there
dismounted. A certain famous cave had to be inspected. This part of
the world seems to abound in caves. There were awkward steps inside,
Sir Keith said,—would I allow him to take the twins down first, and
to escort me afterwards? I did not see the need for such excessive
caution, but his desire was so very evident that I gave way at once,
and remained outside, chatting with the old man who has charge of the
place, and with him keeping guard over our tethered steed.
The twins presently reappeared in a state of high delight, and I,
following Sir Keith's guidance, found myself in a singular spot.
A sharp descent led to the actual entrance of the cave, and then many
steep wet rocky steps conducted to the lower depths of a huge hollow.
Enormous masses of rock were piled by Nature's hand, beneath, around,
and overhead. Some of those overhead seemed suspended in readiness to
fall. The steps themselves were roughly shaped out of the natural rock.
At the farther end was a fine waterfall,—a whole river, suddenly
appearing, after a mile or so of underground coursing, to take one
grand leap of seventy or eighty feet into a dull black pool, with crash
and roar and perpetual splash of foam, thence vanishing underground
once more for at least another mile. A gleam of light seemed to come
down from above the fall, obviating entire darkness.
Sir Keith guided me carefully down the lower rocky steps, till we
reached a platform near the fall,—not quite the nearest possible. There
we stood in silence. It was very solemn, very impressive. The air was
full of reeking moisture from the incessant rebound of spray; and the
steady roar never faltered. The dim light too, and the whiteness of the
rushing water, in contrast with the piled-up massive dark rocks around,
were not to be soon forgotten.
I heard Sir Keith say suddenly—
"Yes,—Thyrza ought to see this."
"She would appreciate it," I replied.
"She has learnt to appreciate—from you," he said; and before I could
answer, he added—"She owes much to you. Thyrza herself says so."
"Thyrza is a dear girl," I said, rather absently, I am afraid. My
attention was riveted on the fall.
"Miss Conway, will you give me your advice?" came next in distinct
tones.
"You, Sir Keith!" I glanced at him involuntarily.
"Yes, I—myself," he answered; and to my astonishment I saw that the
falling foam was scarcely whiter than his face. "I can never get a word
alone with you for three minutes."
"So you have made this opportunity," I said, hardly able to help
smiling; and yet it was no place to smile in. Weird grandeur does not
make one lighthearted.
"Can you guess what I wish to ask?" he inquired.
I said at once, "Perhaps—yes."
"About—" and he faltered.
"About Thyrza," I said. I could listen, but I could not look at him.
The continuous heavy flood in its underground leap enchained my eyes.
"About Thyrza," he echoed. "Then you have seen—"
"It did not need a magnifying-glass," I answered. "So far as you are
concerned, Sir Keith."
I knew how his face fell, though I was not looking in his direction.
"Yes,—yes,—but as to Thyrza," he said hurriedly.
"Thyrza must speak for herself," I replied.
"And you will not even give me a word of advice! You understand her so
well,—better than any of her own people. Shall I risk all by speaking
now? Or shall I wait? Is it too soon? I am depending on what you say."
Half-a-minute's thought I allowed myself, then asked, "Have you spoken
to Mr. and Mrs. Romilly?"
"No. I have come to you first. But I have no fear in that direction.
Mr. Romilly has more than once intimated his willingness to have me for
a son-in-law." This sounded very like Mr. Romilly.
"Then—" I said, "perhaps—the sooner you speak to Thyrza, the better. I
only say perhaps.'"
"You do not think I am in too much haste?"
I heard my own laugh ring softly through the cave, mingling with the
perpetual roar. Sir Keith smiled, and grasped my hand.
"Thanks—thanks," he said. "I knew I might venture to put the question.
You are her best and truest friend."
And he allowed me three minutes' undisturbed enjoyment of the fall.
Strange—how the face of Arthur Lenox seemed to rise and mingle with the
spray. I cannot always banish it yet.