Mrs. Ashford was glad it was so good a connection, and obtained all the intelligence she could from James Thorndale, who spoke warmly of the Hollywell family in general; and, in particular, said that the young ladies looked after schools and poor people,--that Miss Edmonstone was very handsome and clever--a very superior person; but as to Miss Amabel, he did not know that there was anything to say about her. She was just like other young ladies, and very attentive to her invalid brother.

Markham"s enmity to Mr. Ashford had subsided at the bidding of his master; and he informed him one day, with great cordiality, that Sir Guy would be at home the next. He was to sleep that night at Coombe Prior, and ride to Redclyffe in the morning; and, to the great delight of the boys, it was at the parsonage door that he dismounted.

Mrs. Ashford looked up in his bright face, and saw no more of the shade that had perplexed her last winter. His cheeks were deeper red as she warmly shook hands with him; and then the children sprung upon him for their old games,--the boys claiming his promise, with all their might, to take them out to the s.h.a.g. She wondered when she should venture to talk to him about Miss Amabel. He next went to find Markham, and met him before he reached his house. Markham was too happy not to grant and grumble more than ever.

"Well, Sir Guy; so here you are! You"ve lost no time about it, however.

A fine pair of young housekeepers, and a pretty example of early marriages for the parish!"

Guy laughed. "You must come and see the example, Markham. I have a message from Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone, to ask you to come to Hollywell at Whitsuntide."

Grunt! "You are making a fool of me, Sir Guy. What"s a plain old man like me to do among all your lords and ladies, and finery and flummery?

I"ll do no such thing."

"Not to oblige me?"

"Oblige you? Nonsense! Much you"ll care for me!"

"Nay, Markham, you must not stay away. You, my oldest and best friend,--my only home friend. I owe all my present happiness to you, and it would really be a great disappointment to me if you did not come. She wishes it, too."

"Well, Sir Guy," and the grunt was of softer tone, "if you do choose to make a fool of me, I can"t help it. You must have your own way; though you might have found a friend that would do you more credit."

"Then I may say that you will come?"

"Say I am very much obliged to Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone for their invitation. It is very handsome of them."

"Then you will have the settlements ready by that time. You must, Markham."

"I"ll see about it."

"And the house must be ready to come home to at once."

"You don"t know what you are talking of, Sir Guy!" exclaimed Markham, at once aghast and angry.

"Yes, I do. We don"t intend to turn the house upside down with new furniture."

"You may talk as you please, Sir Guy, but I know what"s what; and it is mere nonsense to talk of bringing a lady to a house in this condition.

A pretty notion you have of what is fit for your bride! I hope she knows what sort of care you mean to take of her!"

"She will be satisfied," said Guy. "She particularly wishes not to have everything disarranged, I only must have two rooms furnished for her."

"But the place wants painting from head to foot, and the roof is in such a state--"

"The roof? That"s serious!"

"Serious; I believe so. You"ll have it about your ears in no time, if you don"t look sharp."

"I"ll look this minute," said Guy, jumping up. "Will you come with me?"

Up he went, climbing about in the forest of ancient timbers, where he could not but be convinced that there was more reason than he could wish in what Markham said, and that his roof was in no condition to bring his bride to. Indeed it was probable that it had never been thoroughly repaired since the time of old Sir Hugh, for the Morvilles had not been wont to lay out money on what did not make a display. Guy was in dismay, he sent for the builder from Moorworth; calculated times and costs; but, do what he would, he could not persuade himself that when once the workmen were in Redclyffe, they would be out again before the autumn.

Guy was very busy during the fortnight he spent at home. There were the builder and his plans, and Markham and the marriage settlements, and there were orders to be given about the furniture. He came to Mrs.

Ashford about this, conducted her to the park, and begged her to be so kind as to be his counsellor, and to superintend the arrangement. He showed her what was to be Amy"s morning-room--now bare and empty, but with the advantages of a window looking south, upon the green wooded slope of the park, with a view of the church tower, and of the moors, which were of very fine form. He owned himself to be profoundly ignorant about upholstery matters, and his ideas of furniture seemed to consist in prints for the walls, a piano, a bookcase, and a couch for Charles.

"You have heard about Charles?" said he, raising his bright face from the list of needful articles which he was writing, using the window-seat as a table.

"Not much," said Mrs. Ashford. "Is he entirely confined to the sofa?"

"He cannot move without crutches; but no one could guess what he is without seeing him. He is so patient, his spirits never flag; and it is beautiful to see how considerate he is, and what interest he takes in all the things he never can share, poor fellow. I don"t know what Hollywell would be without Charlie! I wonder how soon he will be able to come here! Hardly this year, I am afraid, for things must be comfortable for him, and I shall never get them so without Amy, and then it will be autumn. Well, what next? Oh, you said window-curtains. Some blue sort of stuff, I suppose, like the drawing-room ones at Hollywell. What"s the name of it?"

In fact, Mrs. Ashford was much of his opinion, that he never would make things comfortable without Amy, though he gave his best attention to the inquiries that were continually made of him; and where he had an idea, carried it out to the utmost. He knew much better what he was about in the arrangements for Coombe Prior, where he had installed his friend, Mr. Wellwood, and set on foot many plans for improvements, giving them as much attention as if he had nothing else to occupy his mind. Both the curate and Markham were surprised that he did not leave these details till his return home; but he answered,--

"Better do things while we may. The thought of this unhappy place is enough to poison everything; and I don"t think I could rest without knowing that the utmost was being done for it."

He was very happy making arrangements for a village feast on the wedding-day. The Ashfords asked if he would not put it off till his return, and preside himself.

"It won"t hurt them to have one first. Let them make sure of all the fun they can," he answered; and the sentiment was greatly applauded by Edward and Robert, who followed him about more than ever, and grew so fond of him, that it made them very angry to be reminded of the spirit of defiance in which their acquaintance had begun. Nevertheless they seemed to be preparing the same spirit for his wife, for when their mother told them they must not expect to monopolize him thus when he was married, they declared, that they did not want a Lady Morville at all, and could not think why he was so stupid as to want a wife.

Their father predicted that he would never have time to fulfil his old engagement of taking them out to the s.h.a.g Rock, but the prediction was not verified, for he rowed both them and Mr. Ashford thither one fine May afternoon, showed them all they wanted to see, and let them scramble to their heart"s content. He laughed at their h.o.a.rd of sc.r.a.ps of the wood of the wreck, which they said their mamma had desired them to fetch for her.

So many avocations came upon Guy at once,--so many of the neighbours came to call on him,--such varieties of people wanted to speak to him,--the boys followed him so constantly,--and he had so many invitations from Mr. Wellwood and the Ashfords, that he never had any time for himself, except what must be spent in writing to Amabel. There was a feeling upon him, that he must have time to commune with himself, and rest from this turmoil of occupation, in the solitude of which Redclyffe had hitherto been so full. He wanted to be alone with his old home, and take leave of it, and of the feelings of his boyhood, before beginning on this new era of his life; but whenever he set out for a solitary walk, before he could even get to the top of the crag, either Markham marched up to talk over some important question,--a farmer waylaid him to make some request,--some cottager met him, to tell of a grievance,--Mr. Wellwood rode over,--or the Ashford boys rushed up, and followed like his shadow.

At length, on Ascension day, the last before he was to leave Redclyffe, with a determination that he would escape for once from his pursuers, he walked to the Cove as soon as he returned from morning service, launched his little boat and pushed off into the rippling whispering waters. It was a resumption of the ways of his boyhood; it seemed like a holiday to have left all these cares behind him, just as it used to be when all his lessons were prepared, and he had leave to disport himself, by land or water, the whole afternoon, provided he did not go out beyond the s.h.a.g Rock. He took up his sculls and rowed merrily, singing and whistling to keep time with their dash, the return to the old pleasure quite enough at first, the salt breeze, the dashing waves, the motion of the boat.

So he went on till he had come as far as his former boundary, then he turned and gazed back on the precipitous rocks, cleft with deep fissures, marbled with veins of different shades of red, and tufted here and therewith clumps of samphire, gra.s.s, and a little brushwood, bright with the early green of spring. The white foam and spray were leaping against their base, and roaring in their hollows; the tract of wavelets between glittered in light, or heaved green under the shadow of the pa.s.sing clouds; the sea-birds floated smoothly in sweeping undulating lines,

As though life"s only call and care Were graceful motion;

the hawks poised themselves high in air near the rocks. The Cove lay in sunshine, its rough stone chimneys and rude slate roofs overgrown with moss and fern, rising rapidly, one above the other, in the fast descending hollow, through which a little stream rushed to the sea,--more quietly than its brother, which, at some s.p.a.ce distant, fell sheer down over the crag in a white line of foam, brawling with a tone of its own, distinguishable among all the voices of the sea contending with the rocks. Above the village, in the s.p.a.ce where the outline of two hills met and crossed, rose the pinnacled tower of the village church, the unusual height of which was explained by the old custom of lighting a beacon-fire on its summit, to serve as a guide to the boats at sea.

Still higher, apparently on the very brow of the beetling crag that frowned above, stood the old Gothic hall, crumbling and lofty, a fit eyrie for the eagles of Morville. The sunshine was indeed full upon it; but it served to show how many of the dark windows were without the lining of blinds and curtains, that alone gives the look of life and habitation to a house. How crumbled by sea-wind were the old walls, and the aspect altogether full of a dreary haughtiness, suiting with the whole of the stories connected with its name, from the time when it was said the very dogs crouched and fled from the presence of the sacrilegious murderer of the Archbishop, to the evening when the heir of the line lay stretched a corpse before his father"s gate.

Guy sat resting on his oars, gazing at the scene, full of happiness, yet with a sense that it might be too bright to last, as if it scarcely befitted one like himself. The bliss before him, though it was surely a beam from heaven, was so much above him, that he hardly dared to believe it real: like a child repeating, "Is it my own, my very own?" and pausing before it will venture to grasp at a prize beyond its hopes. He feared to trust himself fully, lest it should carry him away from his self-discipline, and dazzle him too much to let him keep his gaze on the light beyond; and he rejoiced in this time of quiet, to enable him to strive for power over his mind, to prevent himself from losing in gladness the balance he had gained in adversity.

It was such a check as he might have wished for, to look at that grim old castle, recollect who he was, and think of the frail tenure of all earthly joy, especially for one of the house of Morville. Could that abode ever be a home for a creature like Amy, with the bright innocent mirth that seemed too soft and sweet ever to be overshadowed by gloom and sorrow? Perhaps she might be early taken from him in the undimmed beauty of her happiness and innocence, and he might have to struggle through a long lonely life with only the remembrance of a short-lived joy to lighten it; and when he reflected that this was only a melancholy fancy, the answer came from within, that there was nothing peculiar to him in the perception that earthly happiness was fleeting. It was best that so it should be, and that he should rest in the trust that brightened on him through all,--that neither life nor death, sorrow nor pain, could separate, for ever, him and his Amy.

And he looked up into the deep blue sky overhead, murmuring to himself, "In heart and mind thither ascend, and with Him continually dwell," and gazed long and intently as he rocked on the green waters, till he again spoke to himself,--"Why stand ye here gazing up into heaven?" then pulled vigorously back to the sh.o.r.e, leaving a shining wake far behind him.

CHAPTER 29

Hark, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring!

All creatures have their joy, and man hath his; Yet if we rightly measure, Man"s joy and pleasure Rather hereafter than in present is:

Not that he may not here Taste of the cheer, But as birds drink and straight lift up the head, So must he sip and think Of better drink He may attain to after he is dead.

--HERBERT