And so it proved. Around the tea-table the purpose was unfolded; for
the warm-hearted mistress of the Hall _had_ come to ask to carry
off her favourite. 'Mr Melton and I have been thinking lately,' she
explained, 'that if we put it off much longer we shall not care to
undertake such a journey; and we should like to take Juliet to see
London: it is an old promise; and we like to have young folks about us.'
A slight sigh escaped the speaker, and it found an echo in the gentle
hearts round her. They knew that easy and comfortable as her lot was,
it did not lack its sad memories, and in three little graves in the
churchyard on the side of the hill were buried the dearest hopes of the
Squire and his wife.
Juliet took her godmother's hand and kissed it gratefully. 'How good
you are to me!' she whispered. The hand was passed softly over the fair
cheek, and then the broken thread of talk was taken up.
'We have another reason also. We think' (they were always one, the
Squire and his wife) 'that we ought not to remain strangers to the
next heir, who you know is my husband's great-nephew' (here the voice
trembled slightly); 'so we have arranged to meet him in London, and
hope to bring him back. We should like him to make acquaintance with
the old Hall before going abroad, as he talks of doing.'
We will not follow the ladies in all the plans that were necessary to
prepare for so great an event; female requirements were much the same
then as now, only the journey was a more considerable undertaking,
occupying several days, as they were to post. Presently they were
joined by the Rector, who gave a pleased adherence to the whole scheme.
'But,' he added, looking fondly at his younger daughter, 'will this
small head bear the weight of so much dissipation? She has never left
the nest before.' The thought of the separation brought a cloud over
Juliet's brow; but Madam said in her sweet way: 'Such birds will always
wing their way back;' and the shadows beginning to lengthen, she rose
to go. It was but a short walk across the fields, the houses being
within sight of each other, and the Rector accompanied her back to the
Hall.
Before the chestnut blossoms had faded, Dorothy found herself at home
alone; but time did not hang heavily; more little services fell upon
her, and there were little surprises to prepare, like small flints
with which to strike light even out of a loved one's absence; and the
parent hearts fearing she might be dull without her sister, devised
many little pleasures. There were long rounds with her father, and
kindly welcomes in many lowly homes; then came the sweet hay-time, and
hospitable teas in comfortable farm-houses; two or three visits were
even made to the nearest town, a two hours' drive, and there she found
many who claimed and valued the Rector's friendship. She always looked
back upon it as a time of peace. How often we are allowed to find an
Elim before resuming the weary desert march!
Letters then did not appear at the breakfast-table on the wings of the
penny postage, but waited for the cover of a friendly frank; and the
absence not being a long one, those from our travellers were few and
far between. Juliet spoke of the great city and the sights she had
seen; but the streets seemed dark and dull; people too did not seem
so cheerful as at home; and the Squire and his friends in their talks
often shook their heads and said: 'The times were so bad,' that it
sometimes gave her a frightened feeling as they drove slowly home at
night through the dark streets with flaring links. She liked best when
they went a day in the fine Park at Bushy, and Stafford Melton had
taken them upon the river. Yes; they had met the future heir of Melton
Hall, and he was to return with them.
Swiftly the days flew by, till one evening the Squire's carriage waited
at the Rectory gate to take them to meet the newly arrived travellers,
and father, mother, and Dorothy gladly obeyed the summons.
In the joy of the sisters' meeting, Dorothy was scarcely conscious
of the presence of a stranger, until she heard the Squire's voice
addressing her father: 'Our newly found nephew, Stafford Melton; we
want him to come and be at home among us; and as the Rectory and the
Hall have always been such old friends, we trust he will follow suit.'
The two gentlemen shook hands cordially; and then Dorothy in turn found
herself face to face with the new guest: 'Another young friend--Miss
Dorothy Olive Linley.' (The Squire, like the Vicar of Wakefield, loved
a full sounding name.)
So they all sat down to supper in the old wainscoted parlour, Mr and
Mrs Melton declaring there was no place like home. Dorothy found
herself wondering a little at Juliet's merry flow of talk with the
grave-looking stranger; but there was not time for reflection; indeed
there was so much to hear and tell, that when the sisters were once
more together in their own room, it was not until Juliet's pretty head
sank on the pillow for very weariness that the eager strains ceased;
they died away in a last question: 'Dorothy, what do you think of
Stafford Melton?'
'He has a good face,' replied Dorothy, musingly recalling it.
'Yes; but you should see his friend, Gilbert Strange.'