THE WOOD HOUSE
Without love there is no interior pleasantness of life.
--SWEDENBORG.
It was a lovely July afternoon when Malcolm Herrick and his friend
arrived at Earlsfield. A smart dog-cart, Cedric's own especial
property, was waiting for them at the station. As they mounted to their
places, and Cedric took the reins from the groom, he pointed out the
good points of the mare with an air of complacency and satisfaction
that somewhat amused Malcolm; but the next moment he said in a boyish
manner, "You see, Herrick, I have not got quite used to my new toy. My
sisters gave me the trap on my last birthday. I have had Brown Becky
for two years. She is good for either driving or riding; but I dropped
a hint once, in Dinah's hearing, that I longed for a dog-cart, and
though she said nothing at the time, she and Elizabeth put their heads
together, and they got Mr. Brodrick, a neighbour of ours, to choose it."
"Your sisters are very good to you," observed Malcolm in rather a
patronising manner. He even smiled to himself furtively at the thought
of the two gentle spinsters. "A good-looking boy like Cedric is always
spoilt by his womankind," he said to himself. "If I ever get on
intimate terms with them, which is very unlikely, I shall tell them
that all this petting and spoiling is not good for the lad, and will
only unfit him for his work in life. Women have no sense of
proportion," he continued rather irritably; "they either do too much or
too little, and the Misses Templeton seem to be no exceptions to the
rule."
They had left Earlsfield behind them, and were now climbing the long,
winding ascent that led to Staplegrove. As the road grew steeper, Brown
Becky slackened her pace.
The heavy storms had tempered the great heat, and though the sky was
cloudless and the sunshine brilliant, the trees meeting overhead gave
them a pleasant shade, and a soft, refreshing breeze blew in their
faces. Malcolm drew a long breath of delight.
"There is nothing like the country after all," he observed. "When I
have made my pile, I shall pitch my tent or build myself a hut far from
the madding crowd, and bid good-bye to Lincoln's Inn, and Piccadilly,
and club-land, and all the delights of modern civilisation."
"Not you, old fellow," returned Cedric sagaciously. "Why, you would be
bored to death in no time." But Malcolm shook his head.
"Am I not a lover of the picturesque, my dear boy? Nature intended me
for a country gentleman." Malcolm so dearly loved argument for its own
sake that he did not always consider it necessary to weigh the accurate
truth of his words. He liked to take different views of the same
subject. On more than one occasion in Cedric's hearing he had compared
himself with Charles Lamb.
Custom had made the presence of society, streets and crowds, the
theatre and the picture-gallery, an absolute necessity. Why, in some
moods he would take this as his text, and discourse most eloquently on
what he called the spectacle of the streets. "There are few days when
there are not groups of Hogarth-like figures," he would say--"sketches
from the life, abounding in humour or infinite pathos. There is a blind
beggar and his dog over in a corner by the Temple station," he
continued, "that I never can pass without putting a penny in the box.
The dog's face is perfectly human in its expression. The eyes speak. I
gave him a bone once--a meaty bone it was, too"--and here Malcolm
looked a little ashamed of himself--"in fact, it was a mutton chop, and
I stole it off the luncheon table. I kept the beggar in conversation
while he ate it. Sir," for he was addressing Amias Keston at that
moment, "that dog positively grovelled at my feet with affection and
gratitude."
"How many mutton chops has he had since?" asked his friend.
"He never had another," responded Malcolm sadly. "The carriage of a
greasy paper full of meat is too much even for my philanthropy; but I
take him dry biscuits--sometimes Spratt's meat biscuits--and tobacco
for the beggar. He is an old soldier and wears his medal; and the
dog--Boxer is his name--is like Nathan's ewe lamb to him. He has got a
crippled son--a natural he calls him--who fetches him home in the
evening. I saw him once," went on Malcolm, puffing slowly at his
cigarette, "an uncouth sort of chap on crutches; and when Boxer saw him
he nearly knocked him down, jumping on him for joy; and they all went
home together, quite a cheerful family party."
"You would not be happy away from town, Herrick," persisted Cedric;
"that's such a jolly crib of yours at Cheyne Walk;" for he had been
greatly struck by the Keston menage, and had quite fallen in love with
his quaint little hostess; while Verity, on her side, had taken very
kindly to the handsome lad, and made much of him for Malcolm's sake.
"Oh, I am comfortable enough," returned Malcolm. "Chelsea is sacred
ground to me. Did not Carlyle live and die there! Besides, there is the
river and the bridges, and Battersea Park in the distance, and the
house where Gabriel Dante Rossetti lived, and an old historical church,
and the grand old Hospital, and all sorts of gray secluded old nooks
and corners over which I can gloat when I take my walks abroad."
"What a queer chap you are, Herrick," Cedric returned in a puzzled
tone. He felt rather like the bewildered Satyr when the traveller blew
hot and cold. But Malcolm was perfectly sincere. No man loved the
country more truly and sincerely. Nevertheless, the town was equally
necessary to him; and if he had been compelled to choose between them,
his casting vote would have been for town.
"We are at the top of the hill now," observed Cedric presently, with a
jerk of the reins to remind Brown Becky that she must not go to sleep,
and then they bowled swiftly down a wide-open road. They had just
passed a cross-road, which, as Cedric informed Malcolm, led to
Rotherwood, where the nearest church and shops were, when Malcolm's
attention was attracted by a house they were passing. It was a small
gray house, standing rather back from the road, with a garden at the
side full of gay flower-borders.
"Oh, that's the Crow's Nest," observed Cedric, "where the Logans live;
that is where your friends the Kestons are coming. Oh, there is no need
of looking at it now," as Malcolm craned his neck in his effort to see
more of it;, "we can go over it any day we like. Here we are at the
Wood House," and Cedric drove in at an open gate.
Malcolm looked round in pleased surprise. At that moment the house was
not visible. They seemed driving through a little wood--only the
carriage road winding between the fir trees was beautifully kept. Now
and then there was an open glade, but the greater part was thickly
fringed with heather, bracken, and whortleberry bushes.
The next moment Cedric turned a corner sharply, and a low gray house
and a well-kept tennis lawn were before them.
"What a charming place!" exclaimed Malcolm. "It certainly merits its
name--it is indeed a Wood House."
"Dinah is going to build a lodge next year," returned Cedric. "Lots of
people refuse to believe there is a house in the wood, and lose
themselves a dozen times before they find it. Ah, there's Dinah on the
look-out for us. Jump down, Herrick; I will follow you directly. I want
to speak to Forbes about the mare."
Malcolm did as he was told, and entered the long, softly-lighted hall.
Perhaps the sunshine had dazzled his eyes a little, but at that instant
he thought it was a young girl who was advancing to meet him. The
figure was so rounded and graceful, and there was such alertness and
youthfulness in the bearing; but as she came closer to him he saw that
her hair was quite gray.
"I am very pleased indeed to see you, Mr. Herrick," she observed in a
pleasant voice. "We have heard so much of you from Cedric that you seem
quite an old friend. I am afraid you will find us very quiet, homely
people; but I daresay Cedric will have prepared you for that. He
grumbles dreadfully, poor boy, at our old-fashioned, humdrum ways."
"I can assure you, Miss Templeton, that the quiet will be very restful
after the turmoil of town," returned Malcolm seriously; "and, as far as
I can judge at present, Staplegrove seems a perfect paradise;" and then
Miss Templeton smiled and led the way into a pleasant, cosy-looking
drawing-room, with three windows opening on to a terrace, below which
lay a charming garden. On this side of the house the wood ended
abruptly; but in the distance, beyond a rose arch, Malcolm caught sight
of a little rustic bridge which seemed to span a sort of green ravine.
Miss Templeton had taken her place at the tea-table; but Malcolm did
not at once follow her. "After all, town has its drawbacks," he said
half to himself; but Miss Templeton understood him.
"You mean one has to do without gardens there," she returned. "That
would never suit either my sister or myself; our garden is very dear to
us. You have not seen all its beauties yet, Mr. Herrick," she continued
brightly; "it is full of surprises. When I have given you some tea we
will go in search of my sister. She is sure to be down at the Pool--we
call it Ophelia's Pool, because it reminds us so of a picture we have
seen in the Royal Academy. It is our favourite haunt on a hot summer's
afternoon."
Malcolm made an appropriate reply, and for the next few minutes they
talked pleasantly of Staplegrove, and the short cut that led to
Rotherwood church and village; and then Cedric joined them, and began
chatting volubly to his sister; and Malcolm drank his tea and watched
them both. He owned to Anna afterwards that Dinah Templeton was a
revelation to him, and that all his preconceived notions of her fell as
flat as a pack of cards.
The demure and somewhat stately spinster he was expecting to see was
certainly not en evidence in this gray-haired, radiant-looking woman;
the soft, girlish bloom and the silvery hair were wonderfully
attractive; and yet what struck him most, with a sort of indefinable
surprise, was the mingled gentleness and brightness of expression;
there was such a wonderful clearness in the eyes--it somehow reminded
him of the innocent look of a happy child.
And it was to this sweet woman that Cedric was talking in that cavalier
fashion--with much affection certainly, but little reverence, after the
manner of the nineteenth-century youth. More than once Malcolm muttered
"Jackanapes" under his breath, and once he interposed.
"Our young friend is too modern in his notions, Miss Templeton," he
observed. "Young Oxford is so cock-sure of everything under the sun--it
is a fault of the age."
"Oh, do you think so?" and Miss Templeton looked relieved; for the
moment her serenity had seemed slightly clouded with what her sister
always called her "hen and duckling look."
"Oh, you may laugh, Cedric," looking at him fondly, "but I intend to
believe Mr. Herrick, he is older and more experienced. Oh, we have such
arguments sometimes," turning to Malcolm. "Cedric will have it that we
are not sufficiently up-to-date. We are mediaeval or in the Dark Ages,
according to him, but how is one to alter one's nature or to talk
unknown languages? My sister and I are very conservative, and we cling
to the beliefs and loves of the past."
"I don't believe Cedric wants to change you in the least, Miss
Templeton; he is only posing a bit for your edification, and trying to
make you think that he is as clever as he looks."
"Come now, draw it mild," growled Cedric. And then he looked
discontentedly round the room. "Where's Dick and the rest of the
fellows? I bet you anything you like, Die, that they are down with
Elizabeth at the Pool."
Dinah smiled as she rose from the table. "You are right, dear," she
returned composedly, "I saw the whole train following her as usual.
Dick wanted to go with the dog-cart,--he knew his master was expected,
but Forbes said it was too hot for the run. If you are ready, Cedric,
we might go down to the Pool now." And as Cedric graciously intimated
his readiness, Dinah led the way through the flower-garden, only
pausing on the rustic bridge to let Malcolm lean over and admire the
hanging gardens below, the sides of the little ravine being clothed
from the top to the bottom with wild-flowers and plants of every
description. The traveller's joy had even gained a footing on the
bridge itself. To add to the beauty, a tiny rivulet, which seemed to
take its rise from some invisible source, flowed through the flowery
ravine like a silver thread.
"What a charming spot!" observed Malcolm in a tone of such sincere
admiration that Miss Templeton looked quite gratified.
"It was my sister's idea," she said softly; "she originates most of our
improvements. Now, as you see, we have come to the end of our garden
and are going down that little woodland path. We are both passionately
fond of flowers, and like to see them from the house, but in our hearts
I believe we love our wild garden best."
"And you are right--one could never be tired of this," and Malcolm
glanced at the slender sterns of the firs and the soft green light
between the tree-boles. Just here the ground was bare except for the
carpet of brown needles, but the next moment the path became more
tangled and sloped rather steeply. They could distinctly hear a dog
bark. "Take him to the peep-hole," whispered Cedric in his sister's
ear, and Miss Templeton nodded and stepped off the path; then she
beckoned Malcolm to look through some interlacing branches which formed
a natural arch.
It was a charming little sylvan scene that met his eyes. The spot had
been fitly called Ophelia's Pool. The small pond was shut in with
rowans and thickets of alder and blackberry bushes, and on the pond
itself some water-lilies and other aquatic plants were growing. Two or
three rough boulders, cushioned with moss, made comfortable seats, and
were at the present moment occupied by two people--one of them
evidently the second Miss Templeton, and the other a young man in a
rough serge suit, whom at first sight Malcolm certainly did not take
for a clergyman; and round them, in various attitudes of waiting and
expectancy, dogs of all sorts and conditions--from a handsome brown
retriever to Cedric's little fox-terrier, Dick.
"My word, there's Carlyon," observed Cedric in rather an aggrieved
tone; "why, the fellow lives here;" and then he put his hands to his
mouth and gave a view-hallo so lustily that all the dogs began barking
like mad. Only Dick--who was a knowing fellow and up to tricks--rushed
up the path and began dancing excitedly round his master.
"What barbarians boys are!" observed the other Miss Templeton somewhat
coolly to her companion, and then she rose from the boulder and walked
rather majestically towards her sister and their guest.
Her manner was friendly, and she greeted Malcolm kindly enough, but it
was less soft and winning than her sister's, and did not impress him so
favourably. Then she introduced Mr. Carlyon, and the two young men
shook hands; and afterwards the dogs passed in review, and Elizabeth
gravely named each one, ending up with her sister's little dachshund
Mike.
Malcolm, who was a dog-lover, although he had none of his own, was soon
making friends with all the animals; but as he praised and caressed
them, he was telling himself over and over again that the second Miss
Templeton could not hold a candle to her sister.
Malcolm was terribly critical with regard to women; Anna had often
blamed him for his severity.
"It is a mistake to expect perfection," she would say; "it is so easy
to find fault and pick holes in people;" but though Malcolm agreed with
her, he still remained fastidious and hard to please. So he at once
decided that Miss Elizabeth Templeton was not to his taste. In the
first place, he did not admire big women--and she was tall, and
decidedly massive. Her dress, too, was singularly unbecoming--a big
woman in a cotton blouse and a battered old hat was a spectacle to make
him shudder. Miss Templeton's blue muslin and dainty ruffles were a
pleasing contrast.
"It is a woman's duty to set herself off as much as possible," he would
say to the long-suffering Anna, and then he transposed a certain
saying, "If you can't be handsome, be as handsome as you can;" and he
would hold forth on the immorality of slovenliness.
"I daresay Miss Elizabeth Templeton would not be bad-looking if she
only took a little pains with herself," he thought, as they all grouped
themselves comfortably on the boulders. After a moment's hesitation,
Elizabeth placed herself beside him and begun to talk to him. Somehow
her voice pleased him. It was not so sweet as her sister's, and there
was a sort of burr in it, and when he knew her better he discovered
that when she was eager or excited about anything there was a slight
hesitation, as though her words tripped each other up; but with all its
defects it was a voice to linger in the memory. She was so close to him
now that he could judge of her better. She was certainly not handsome,
her features were irregular and her mouth decidedly too wide for
beauty; but the gleam of faultlessly white teeth and a certain
brightness in the dark Irish-gray eyes redeemed her face from
plainness; her skin, too, was clear and naturally fair, but was
evidently embrowned by air and sunshine.
Nature had formed her in a generous mould, for even her hands and feet
were large; and then Malcolm thought of Anna's pretty little hands, and
again he said to himself that in his opinion Elizabeth Templeton was
not an attractive woman.