ROBERT
ELSMERE
BY
MRS.
HUMPHRY
WARD
AUTHOR
OF
'
MISS
BRETHERTON
'
London
MACMILLAN
AND
CO.
AND
NEW
YORK
1888
Printed
by
R
.
+
R
.
Clark
,
Edinburgh
.
Dedicated
to
the
Memory
of
MY
TWO
FRIENDS
,
SEPARATED
,
IN
MY
THOUGHT
OF
THEM
,
BY
MUCH
DIVERSITY
OF
CIRCUMSTANCE
AND
OPINION
;
LINKED
,
IN
MY
FAITH
ABOUT
THEM
,
TO
EACH
OTHER
,
AND
TO
ALL
THE
SHINING
ONES
OF
THE
PAST
,
BY
THE
LOVE
OF
GOD
AND
THE
SERVICE
OF
MAN
:
THOMAS
HILL
GREEN
(
LATE
PROFESSOR
OF
MORAL
PHILOSOPHY
IN
THE
UNIVERSITY
OF
OXFORD
)
,
Died
26th
March
1882
;
AND
LAURA
OCTAVIA
MARY
LYTTELTON
,
Died
Easter
Eve
1886
.
NOTE
The
quotations
given
in
the
present
book
on
pp.
58
,
330
,
and
536
,
are
either
literally
or
substantially
taken
from
a
volume
of
Lay
Sermons
,
called
The
Witness
of
God
,
by
the
late
Professor
T
.
H
.
Green
.
BOOK
I
WESTMORELAND
CHAPTER
I
It
was
a
brilliant
afternoon
towards
the
end
of
May
.
The
spring
had
been
unusually
cold
and
late
,
and
it
was
evident
from
the
general
aspect
of
the
lonely
Westmoreland
valley
of
Long
Whindale
that
warmth
and
sunshine
had
only
just
penetrated
to
its
bare
green
recesses
,
where
the
few
scattered
trees
were
fast
rushing
into
their
full
summer
dress
,
while
at
their
feet
,
and
along
the
bank
of
the
stream
,
the
flowers
of
March
and
April
still
lingered
,
as
though
they
found
it
impossible
to
believe
that
their
rough
brother
,
the
east
wind
,
had
at
last
deserted
them
.
The
narrow
road
,
which
was
the
only
link
between
the
farmhouses
sheltered
by
the
crags
at
the
head
of
the
valley
and
those
far-away
regions
of
town
and
civilisation
suggested
by
the
smoke
wreaths
of
Whinborough
on
the
southern
horizon
,
was
lined
with
masses
of
the
white
heckberry
or
bird-cherry
,
and
ran
,
an
arrowy
line
of
white
,
through
the
greenness
of
the
sloping
pastures
.
The
sides
of
some
of
the
little
becks
running
down
into
the
main
river
and
many
of
the
plantations
round
the
farms
were
gay
with
the
same
tree
,
so
that
the
farmhouses
,
gray-roofed
and
gray-walled
,
standing
in
the
hollows
of
the
fells
,
seemed
here
and
there
to
have
been
robbed
of
all
their
natural
austerity
of
aspect
,
and
to
be
masquerading
in
a
dainty
garb
of
white
and
green
imposed
upon
them
by
the
caprice
of
the
spring
.
During
the
greater
part
of
its
course
the
valley
of
Long
Whindale
is
tame
and
featureless
.
The
hills
at
the
lower
part
are
low
and
rounded
,
and
the
sheep
and
cattle
pasture
over
slopes
unbroken
either
by
wood
or
rock
.
The
fields
are
bare
and
close
shaven
by
the
flocks
which
feed
on
them
;
the
walls
run
either
perpendicularly
in
many
places
up
the
fells
or
horizontally
along
them
,
so
that
,
save
for
the
wooded
course
of
the
tumbling
river
and
the
bush-grown
hedges
of
the
road
,
the
whole
valley
looks
like
a
green
map
divided
by
regular
lines
of
grayish
black
.
But
as
the
walker
penetrates
farther
,
beyond
a
certain
bend
which
the
stream
makes
half
way
from
the
head
of
the
dale
,
the
hills
grow
steeper
,
the
breadth
between
them
contracts
,
the
enclosure
lines
are
broken
and
deflected
by
rocks
and
patches
of
plantation
,
and
the
few
farms
stand
more
boldly
and
conspicuously
forward
,
each
on
its
spur
of
land
,
looking
up
to
or
away
from
the
great
masses
of
frowning
crag
which
close
in
the
head
of
the
valley
,
and
which
from
the
moment
they
come
into
sight
give
it
dignity
and
a
wild
beauty
.
On
one
of
these
solitary
houses
,
the
afternoon
sun
,
about
to
descend
before
very
long
behind
the
hills
dividing
Long
Whindale
from
Shanmoor
,
was
still
lingering
on
this
May
afternoon
we
are
describing
,
bringing
out
the
whitewashed
porch
and
the
broad
bands
of
white
edging
the
windows
into
relief
against
the
gray
stone
of
the
main
fabric
,
the
gray
roof
overhanging
it
,
and
the
group
of
sycamores
and
Scotch
firs
which
protected
it
from
the
cold
east
and
north
.
The
western
light
struck
full
on
a
copper
beech
,
which
made
a
welcome
patch
of
warm
colour
in
front
of
a
long
gray
line
of
outhouses
standing
level
with
the
house
,
and
touched
the
heckberry
blossom
which
marked
the
upward
course
of
the
little
lane
connecting
the
old
farm
with
the
road
;
above
it
rose
the
green
fell
,
broken
here
and
there
by
jutting
crags
,
and
below
it
the
ground
sank
rapidly
through
a
piece
of
young
hazel
plantation
,
at
this
present
moment
a
sheet
of
bluebells
,
towards
the
level
of
the
river
.
There
was
a
dainty
and
yet
sober
brightness
about
the
whole
picture
.
Summer
in
the
North
is
for
Nature
a
time
of
expansion
and
of
joy
as
it
is
elsewhere
,
but
there
is
none
of
that
opulence
,
that
sudden
splendour
and
superabundance
,
which
mark
it
in
the
South
.
In
these
bare
green
valleys
there
is
a
sort
of
delicate
austerity
even
in
the
summer
;
the
memory
of
winter
seems
to
be
still
lingering
about
these
wind-swept
fells
,
about
the
farmhouses
,
with
their
rough
serviceable
walls
,
of
the
same
stone
as
the
crags
behind
them
,
and
the
ravines
,
in
which
the
shrunken
becks
trickle
musically
down
through
the
débris
of
innumerable
Decembers
.
The
country
is
blithe
,
but
soberly
blithe
.
Nature
shows
herself
delightful
to
man
,
but
there
is
nothing
absorbing
or
intoxicating
about
her
.
Man
is
still
well
able
to
defend
himself
against
her
,
to
live
his
own
independent
life
of
labour
and
of
will
,
and
to
develop
the
tenacity
of
hidden
feeling
,
that
slowly
growing
intensity
of
purpose
,
which
is
so
often
wiled
out
of
him
by
the
spells
of
the
South
.
The
distant
aspect
of
Burwood
Farm
differed
in
nothing
from
that
of
the
few
other
farmhouses
which
dotted
the
fells
or
clustered
beside
the
river
between
it
and
the
rocky
end
of
the
valley
.
But
as
one
came
nearer
,
certain
signs
of
difference
became
visible
.
The
garden
,
instead
of
being
the
old-fashioned
medley
of
phloxes
,
lavender
bushes
,
monthly
roses
,
gooseberry
trees
,
herbs
,
and
pampas
grass
,
with
which
the
farmers
'
wives
of
Long
Whindale
loved
to
fill
their
little
front
enclosures
,
was
trimly
laid
down
in
turf
dotted
with
neat
flower-beds
,
full
at
the
moment
we
are
writing
of
with
orderly
patches
of
scarlet
and
purple
anemones
,
wallflowers
,
and
pansies
.
At
the
side
of
the
house
a
new
bow
window
,
modest
enough
in
dimensions
and
make
,
had
been
thrown
out
on
to
another
close-shaven
piece
of
lawn
,
and
by
its
suggestion
of
a
distant
sophisticated
order
of
things
disturbed
the
homely
impression
left
by
the
untouched
ivy-grown
walls
,
the
unpretending
porch
,
and
wide
slate
window-sills
of
the
front
.
And
evidently
the
line
of
sheds
standing
level
with
the
dwelling-house
no
longer
sheltered
the
animals
,
the
carts
,
or
the
tools
which
make
the
small
capital
of
a
Westmoreland
farmer
.
The
windows
in
them
were
new
,
the
doors
fresh
painted
and
closely
shut
;
curtains
of
some
soft
outlandish
make
showed
themselves
in
what
had
once
been
a
stable
,
and
the
turf
stretched
smoothly
up
to
a
narrow
gravelled
path
in
front
of
them
,
unbroken
by
a
single
footmark
.
No
,
evidently
the
old
farm
,
for
such
it
undoubtedly
was
,
had
been
but
lately
,
or
comparatively
lately
,
transformed
to
new
and
softer
uses
;
that
rough
patriarchal
life
of
which
it
had
once
been
a
symbol
and
centre
no
longer
bustled
and
clattered
through
it
.
It
had
become
the
shelter
of
new
ideals
,
the
home
of
another
and
a
milder
race
than
once
possessed
it
.
In
a
stranger
coming
upon
the
house
for
the
first
time
,
on
this
particular
evening
,
the
sense
of
a
changing
social
order
and
a
vanishing
past
produced
by
the
slight
but
significant
modifications
it
had
undergone
,
would
have
been
greatly
quickened
by
certain
sounds
which
were
streaming
out
on
to
the
evening
air
from
one
of
the
divisions
of
that
long
one-storied
addition
to
the
main
dwelling
we
have
already
described
.
Some
indefatigable
musician
inside
was
practising
the
violin
with
surprising
energy
and
vigour
,
and
within
the
little
garden
the
distant
murmur
of
the
river
and
the
gentle
breathing
of
the
west
wind
round
the
fell
were
entirely
conquered
and
banished
by
these
triumphant
shakes
and
turns
,
or
by
the
flourishes
and
the
broad
cantabile
passages
of
one
of
Spohr
's
Andantes
.
For
a
while
,
as
the
sun
sank
lower
and
lower
towards
the
Shanmoor
hills
,
the
hidden
artist
had
it
all
his
,
or
her
,
own
way
;
the
valley
and
its
green
spaces
seemed
to
be
possessed
by
this
stream
of
eddying
sound
,
and
no
other
sign
of
life
broke
the
gray
quiet
of
the
house
.
But
at
last
,
just
as
the
golden
ball
touched
the
summit
of
the
craggy
fell
,
which
makes
the
western
boundary
of
the
dale
at
its
higher
end
,
the
house
door
opened
,
and
a
young
girl
,
shawled
and
holding
some
soft
burden
in
her
arms
,
appeared
on
the
threshold
,
and
stood
there
for
a
moment
,
as
though
trying
the
quality
of
the
air
outside
.
Her
pause
of
inspection
seemed
to
satisfy
her
,
for
she
moved
forward
,
leaving
the
door
open
behind
her
,
and
,
stepping
across
the
lawn
,
settled
herself
in
a
wicker
chair
under
an
apple-tree
,
which
had
only
just
shed
its
blossoms
on
the
turf
below
.
She
had
hardly
done
so
when
one
of
the
distant
doors
opening
on
the
gravel
path
flew
open
,
and
another
maiden
,
a
slim
creature
garbed
in
æsthetic
blue
,
a
mass
of
reddish
brown
hair
flying
back
from
her
face
,
also
stepped
out
into
the
garden
.
'
Agnes
!
'
cried
the
new-comer
,
who
had
the
strenuous
and
dishevelled
air
natural
to
one
just
emerged
from
a
long
violin
practice
.
'
Has
Catherine
come
back
yet
?
'
'
Not
that
I
know
of
.
Do
come
here
and
look
at
pussie
;
did
you
ever
see
anything
so
comfortable
?
'
'
You
and
she
look
about
equally
lazy
.
What
have
you
been
doing
all
the
afternoon
?
'
'
We
look
what
we
are
,
my
dear
.
Doing
?
Why
,
I
have
been
attending
to
my
domestic
duties
,
arranging
the
flowers
,
mending
my
pink
dress
for
to-morrow
night
,
and
helping
to
keep
mamma
in
good
spirits
;
she
is
depressed
because
she
has
been
finding
Elizabeth
out
in
some
waste
or
other
,
and
I
have
been
preaching
to
her
to
make
Elizabeth
uncomfortable
if
she
likes
,
but
not
to
worrit
herself
.
And
after
all
,
pussie
and
I
have
come
out
for
a
rest
.
We
've
earned
it
,
have
n't
we
,
Chattie
?
And
,
as
for
you
,
Miss
Artistic
,
I
should
like
to
know
what
you
've
been
doing
for
the
good
of
your
kind
since
dinner
.
I
suppose
you
had
tea
at
the
vicarage
?
'
The
speaker
lifted
inquiring
eyes
to
her
sister
as
she
spoke
,
her
cheek
plunged
in
the
warm
fur
of
a
splendid
Persian
cat
,
her
whole
look
and
voice
expressing
the
very
highest
degree
of
quiet
,
comfort
,
and
self-possession
.
Agnes
Leyburn
was
not
pretty
;
the
lower
part
of
the
face
was
a
little
heavy
in
outline
and
moulding
;
the
teeth
were
not
as
they
should
have
been
,
and
the
nose
was
unsatisfactory
.
But
the
eyes
under
their
long
lashes
were
shrewdness
itself
,
and
there
was
an
individuality
in
the
voice
,
a
cheery
even-temperedness
in
look
and
tone
,
which
had
a
pleasing
effect
on
the
bystander
.
Her
dress
was
neat
and
dainty
;
every
detail
of
it
bespoke
a
young
woman
who
respected
both
herself
and
the
fashion
.
Her
sister
,
on
the
other
hand
,
was
guiltless
of
the
smallest
trace
of
fashion
.
Her
skirts
were
cut
with
the
most
engaging
naïveté
,
she
was
much
adorned
with
amber
beads
,
and
her
red
brown
hair
had
been
tortured
and
frizzled
to
look
as
much
like
an
aureole
as
possible
.
But
,
on
the
other
hand
,
she
was
a
beauty
,
though
at
present
you
felt
her
a
beauty
in
disguise
,
a
stage
Cinderella
as
it
were
,
in
very
becoming
rags
,
waiting
for
the
godmother
.
'
Yes
,
I
had
tea
at
the
vicarage
,
'
said
this
young
person
,
throwing
herself
on
the
grass
in
spite
of
a
murmured
protest
from
Agnes
,
who
had
an
inherent
dislike
of
anything
physically
rash
,
'
and
I
had
the
greatest
difficulty
to
get
away
.
Mrs.
Thornburgh
is
in
such
a
flutter
about
this
visit
!
One
would
think
it
was
the
Bishop
and
all
his
Canons
,
and
promotion
depending
on
it
,
she
has
baked
so
many
cakes
and
put
out
so
many
dinner
napkins
!
I
do
n't
envy
the
young
man
.
She
will
have
no
wits
left
at
all
to
entertain
him
with
.
I
actually
wound
up
by
administering
some
sal-volatile
to
her
.
'
'
Well
,
and
after
the
sal-volatile
did
you
get
anything
coherent
out
of
her
on
the
subject
of
the
young
man
?
'
'
By
degrees
,
'
said
the
girl
,
her
eyes
twinkling
;
'
if
one
can
only
remember
the
thread
between
whiles
one
gets
at
the
facts
somehow
.
In
between
the
death
of
Mr.
Elsmere
's
father
and
his
going
to
college
,
we
had
,
let
me
see
,
—
the
spare
room
curtains
,
the
making
of
them
and
the
cleaning
of
them
,
Sarah
's
idiocy
in
sticking
to
her
black
sheep
of
a
young
man
,
the
price
of
tea
when
she
married
,
Mr.
Thornburgh
's
singular
preference
of
boiled
mutton
to
roast
,
the
poems
she
had
written
to
her
when
she
was
eighteen
,
and
I
ca
n't
tell
you
what
else
besides
.
But
I
held
fast
,
and
every
now
and
then
I
brought
her
up
to
the
point
again
,
gently
,
but
firmly
,
and
now
I
think
I
know
all
I
want
to
know
about
the
interesting
stranger
.
'
'
My
ideas
about
him
are
not
many
,
'
said
Agnes
,
rubbing
her
cheek
gently
up
and
down
the
purring
cat
,
'
and
there
does
n't
seem
to
be
much
order
in
them
.
He
is
very
accomplished
—
a
teetotaller
—
he
has
been
to
the
Holy
Land
,
and
his
hair
has
been
cut
close
after
a
fever
.
It
sounds
odd
,
but
I
am
not
curious
.
I
can
very
well
wait
till
to-morrow
evening
.
'
'
Oh
,
well
,
as
to
ideas
about
a
person
,
one
does
n't
get
that
sort
of
thing
from
Mrs.
Thornburgh
.
But
I
know
how
old
he
is
,
where
he
went
to
college
,
where
his
mother
lives
,
a
certain
number
of
his
mother
's
peculiarities
,
which
seem
to
be
Irish
and
curious
,
where
his
living
is
,
how
much
it
is
worth
,
likewise
the
colour
of
his
eyes
,
as
near
as
Mrs.
Thornburgh
can
get
.
'
'
What
a
start
you
have
been
getting
!
'
said
Agnes
lazily
.
'
But
what
is
it
makes
the
poor
old
thing
so
excited
?
'
Rose
sat
up
and
began
to
fling
the
fir
cones
lying
about
her
at
a
distant
mark
with
an
energy
worthy
of
her
physical
perfections
and
the
æsthetic
freedom
of
her
attire
.
'
Because
,
my
dear
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
at
the
present
moment
is
always
seeing
herself
as
the
conspirator
sitting
match
in
hand
before
a
mine
.
Mr.
Elsmere
is
the
match
—
we
are
the
mine
!
'
Agnes
looked
at
her
sister
,
and
they
both
laughed
,
the
bright
rippling
laugh
of
young
women
perfectly
aware
of
their
own
value
,
and
in
no
hurry
to
force
an
estimate
of
it
on
the
male
world
.
'
Well
,
'
said
Rose
deliberately
,
her
delicate
cheek
flushed
with
her
gymnastics
,
her
eyes
sparkling
,
'
there
is
no
saying
.
"
Propinquity
does
it
"
—
as
Mrs.
Thornburgh
is
always
reminding
us
.
—
But
where
can
Catherine
be
?
She
went
out
directly
after
lunch
.
'
'
She
has
gone
out
to
see
that
youth
who
hurt
his
back
at
the
Tysons
—
at
least
I
heard
her
talking
to
mamma
about
him
,
and
she
went
out
with
a
basket
that
looked
like
beef-tea
.
'
Rose
frowned
a
little
.
'
And
I
suppose
I
ought
to
have
been
to
the
school
or
to
see
Mrs.
Robson
,
instead
of
fiddling
all
the
afternoon
.
I
daresay
I
ought
—
only
,
unfortunately
,
I
like
my
fiddle
,
and
I
do
n't
like
stuffy
cottages
;
and
as
for
the
goody
books
,
I
read
them
so
badly
that
the
old
women
themselves
come
down
upon
me
.
'
'
I
seem
to
have
been
making
the
best
of
both
worlds
,
'
said
Agnes
placidly
.
'
I
have
n't
been
doing
anything
I
do
n't
like
,
but
I
got
hold
of
that
dress
she
brought
home
to
make
for
little
Emma
Payne
and
nearly
finished
the
skirt
,
so
that
I
feel
as
good
as
one
when
one
has
been
twice
to
church
on
a
wet
Sunday
.
Ah
,
there
is
Catherine
.
I
heard
the
gate
.
'
As
she
spoke
steps
were
heard
approaching
through
the
clump
of
trees
which
sheltered
the
little
entrance
gate
,
and
as
Rose
sprang
to
her
feet
a
tall
figure
in
white
and
gray
appeared
against
the
background
of
the
sycamores
,
and
came
quickly
towards
the
sisters
.
'
Dears
,
I
am
so
sorry
;
I
am
afraid
you
have
been
waiting
for
me
.
But
poor
Mrs.
Tyson
wanted
me
so
badly
that
I
could
not
leave
her
.
She
had
no
one
else
to
help
her
or
to
be
with
her
till
that
eldest
girl
of
hers
came
home
from
work
.
'
'
It
does
n't
matter
,
'
said
Rose
,
as
Catherine
put
her
arm
round
her
shoulder
;
'
mamma
has
n't
been
fidgeting
,
and
as
for
Agnes
,
she
looks
as
if
she
never
wanted
to
move
again
.
'
Catherine
's
clear
eyes
,
which
at
the
moment
seemed
to
be
full
of
inward
light
,
kindled
in
them
by
some
foregoing
experience
,
rested
kindly
,
but
only
half
consciously
,
on
her
younger
sister
,
as
Agnes
softly
nodded
and
smiled
to
her
.
Evidently
she
was
a
good
deal
older
than
the
other
two
—
she
looked
about
six-and-twenty
,
a
young
and
vigorous
woman
in
the
prime
of
health
and
strength
.
The
lines
of
the
form
were
rather
thin
and
spare
,
but
they
were
softened
by
the
loose
bodice
and
long
full
skirt
of
her
dress
,
and
by
the
folds
of
a
large
white
muslin
handkerchief
which
was
crossed
over
her
breast
.
The
face
,
sheltered
by
the
plain
shady
hat
,
was
also
a
little
spoilt
from
the
point
of
view
of
beauty
by
the
sharpness
of
the
lines
about
the
chin
and
mouth
,
and
by
a
slight
prominence
of
the
cheekbones
,
but
the
eyes
,
of
a
dark
bluish
gray
,
were
fine
,
the
nose
delicately
cut
,
the
brow
smooth
and
beautiful
,
while
the
complexion
had
caught
the
freshness
and
purity
of
Westmoreland
air
and
Westmoreland
streams
.
About
face
and
figure
there
was
a
delicate
austere
charm
,
something
which
harmonised
with
the
bare
stretches
and
lonely
crags
of
the
fells
,
something
which
seemed
to
make
her
a
true
daughter
of
the
mountains
,
partaker
at
once
of
their
gentleness
and
their
severity
.
She
was
in
her
place
here
,
beside
the
homely
Westmoreland
house
and
under
the
shelter
of
the
fells
.
When
you
first
saw
the
other
sisters
you
wondered
what
strange
chance
had
brought
them
into
that
remote
sparely-peopled
valley
;
they
were
plainly
exiles
,
and
conscious
exiles
,
from
the
movement
and
exhilarations
of
a
fuller
social
life
.
But
Catherine
impressed
you
as
only
a
refined
variety
of
the
local
type
;
you
could
have
found
many
like
her
,
in
a
sense
,
among
the
sweet-faced
serious
women
of
the
neighbouring
farms
.
Now
,
as
she
and
Rose
stood
together
,
her
hand
still
resting
lightly
on
the
other
's
shoulder
,
a
question
from
Agnes
banished
the
faint
smile
on
her
lips
,
and
left
only
the
look
of
inward
illumination
,
the
expression
of
one
who
had
just
passed
,
as
it
were
,
through
a
strenuous
and
heroic
moment
of
life
,
and
was
still
living
in
the
exaltation
of
memory
.
'
So
the
poor
fellow
is
worse
?
'
'
Yes
.
Doctor
Baker
,
whom
they
have
got
to-day
,
says
the
spine
is
hopelessly
injured
.
He
may
live
on
paralysed
for
a
few
months
or
longer
,
but
there
is
no
hope
of
cure
.
'
Both
girls
uttered
a
shocked
exclamation
.
'
That
fine
strong
young
man
!
'
said
Rose
under
her
breath
.
'
Does
he
know
?
'
'
Yes
;
when
I
got
there
the
doctor
had
just
gone
,
and
Mrs.
Tyson
,
who
was
quite
unprepared
for
anything
so
dreadful
,
seemed
to
have
almost
lost
her
wits
,
poor
thing
!
I
found
her
in
the
front
kitchen
with
her
apron
over
her
head
,
rocking
to
and
fro
,
and
poor
Arthur
in
the
inner
room
—
all
alone
—
waiting
in
suspense
.
'
'
And
who
told
him
?
He
has
been
so
hopeful
.
'
'
I
did
,
'
said
Catherine
gently
;
'
they
made
me
.
He
would
know
,
and
she
could
n't
—
she
ran
out
of
the
room
.
I
never
saw
anything
so
pitiful
.
'
'
Oh
,
Catherine
!
'
exclaimed
Rose
's
moved
voice
,
while
Agnes
got
up
,
and
Chattie
jumped
softly
down
from
her
lap
,
unheeded
.
'
How
did
he
bear
it
?
'
'
Do
n't
ask
me
,
'
said
Catherine
,
while
the
quiet
tears
filled
her
eyes
and
her
voice
broke
,
as
the
hidden
feeling
would
have
its
way
.
'
It
was
terrible
!
I
do
n't
know
how
we
got
through
that
half-hour
—
his
mother
and
I
.
It
was
like
wrestling
with
some
one
in
agony
.
At
last
he
was
exhausted
—
he
let
me
say
the
Lord
's
Prayer
;
I
think
it
soothed
him
,
but
one
could
n't
tell
.
He
seemed
half
asleep
when
I
left
.
Oh
!
'
she
cried
,
laying
her
hand
in
a
close
grasp
on
Rose
's
arm
,
'
if
you
had
seen
his
eyes
,
and
his
poor
hands
—
there
was
such
despair
in
them
!
They
say
,
though
he
was
so
young
,
he
was
thinking
of
getting
married
;
and
he
was
so
steady
,
such
a
good
son
!
'
A
silence
fell
upon
the
three
.
Catherine
stood
looking
out
across
the
valley
towards
the
sunset
.
Now
that
the
demand
upon
her
for
calmness
and
fortitude
was
removed
,
and
that
the
religious
exaltation
in
which
she
had
gone
through
the
last
three
hours
was
becoming
less
intense
,
the
pure
human
pity
of
the
scene
she
had
just
witnessed
seemed
to
be
gaining
upon
her
.
Her
lip
trembled
,
and
two
or
three
tears
silently
overflowed
.
Rose
turned
and
gently
kissed
her
cheek
,
and
Agnes
touched
her
hand
caressingly
.
She
smiled
at
them
,
for
it
was
not
in
her
nature
to
let
any
sign
of
love
pass
unheeded
,
and
in
a
few
more
seconds
she
had
mastered
herself
.
'
Dears
,
we
must
go
in
.
Is
mother
in
her
room
?
Oh
,
Rose
!
in
that
thin
dress
on
the
grass
;
I
ought
n't
to
have
kept
you
out
.
It
is
quite
cold
by
now
.
'
And
she
hurried
them
in
,
leaving
them
to
superintend
the
preparations
for
supper
downstairs
while
she
ran
up
to
her
mother
.
A
quarter
of
an
hour
afterwards
they
were
all
gathered
round
the
supper-table
,
the
windows
open
to
the
garden
and
the
May
twilight
.
At
Catherine
's
right
hand
sat
Mrs.
Leyburn
,
a
tall
delicate-looking
woman
,
wrapped
in
a
white
shawl
,
about
whom
there
were
only
three
things
to
be
noticed
—
an
amiable
temper
,
a
sufficient
amount
of
weak
health
to
excuse
her
all
the
more
tiresome
duties
of
life
,
and
an
incorrigible
tendency
to
sing
the
praises
of
her
daughters
at
all
times
and
to
all
people
.
The
daughters
winced
under
it
:
Catherine
,
because
it
was
a
positive
pain
to
her
to
hear
herself
brought
forward
and
talked
about
;
the
others
,
because
youth
infinitely
prefers
to
make
its
own
points
in
its
own
way
.
Nothing
,
however
,
could
mend
this
defect
of
Mrs.
Leyburn
's
.
Catherine
's
strength
of
will
could
keep
it
in
check
sometimes
,
but
in
general
it
had
to
be
borne
with
.
A
sharp
word
would
have
silenced
the
mother
's
well-meant
chatter
at
any
time
—
for
she
was
a
fragile
,
nervous
woman
,
entirely
dependent
on
her
surroundings
—
but
none
of
them
were
capable
of
it
,
and
their
mere
refractoriness
counted
for
nothing
.
The
dining-room
in
which
they
were
gathered
had
a
good
deal
of
homely
dignity
,
and
was
to
the
Leyburns
full
of
associations
.
The
oak
settle
near
the
fire
,
the
oak
sideboard
running
along
one
side
of
the
room
,
the
black
oak
table
with
carved
legs
at
which
they
sat
,
were
genuine
pieces
of
old
Westmoreland
work
,
which
had
belonged
to
their
grandfather
.
The
heavy
carpet
covering
the
stone
floor
of
what
twenty
years
before
had
been
the
kitchen
of
the
farmhouse
was
a
survival
from
a
south-country
home
,
which
had
sheltered
their
lives
for
eight
happy
years
.
Over
the
mantelpiece
hung
the
portrait
of
the
girls
'
father
,
a
long
serious
face
,
not
unlike
Wordsworth
's
face
in
outline
,
and
bearing
a
strong
resemblance
to
Catherine
;
a
line
of
silhouettes
adorned
the
mantelpiece
;
on
the
walls
were
prints
of
Winchester
and
Worcester
Cathedrals
,
photographs
of
Greece
,
and
two
old-fashioned
engravings
of
Dante
and
Milton
;
while
a
bookcase
,
filled
apparently
with
the
father
's
college
books
and
college
prizes
and
the
favourite
authors
—
mostly
poets
,
philosophers
,
and
theologians
—
of
his
later
years
,
gave
a
final
touch
of
habitableness
to
the
room
.
The
little
meal
and
its
appointments
—
the
eggs
,
the
home-made
bread
and
preserves
,
the
tempting
butter
and
old-fashioned
silver
gleaming
among
the
flowers
which
Rose
arranged
with
fanciful
skill
in
Japanese
pots
of
her
own
providing
—
suggested
the
same
family
qualities
as
the
room
.
Frugality
,
a
dainty
personal
self-respect
,
a
family
consciousness
,
tenacious
of
its
memories
and
tenderly
careful
of
all
the
little
material
objects
which
were
to
it
the
symbols
of
those
memories
—
clearly
all
these
elements
entered
into
the
Leyburn
tradition
.
And
of
this
tradition
,
with
its
implied
assertions
and
denials
,
clearly
Catherine
Leyburn
,
the
elder
sister
,
was
,
of
all
the
persons
gathered
in
this
little
room
,
the
most
pronounced
embodiment
.
She
sat
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
the
little
basket
of
her
own
and
her
mother
's
keys
beside
her
.
Her
dress
was
a
soft
black
brocade
,
with
lace
collar
and
cuff
,
which
had
once
belonged
to
an
aunt
of
her
mother
's
.
It
was
too
old
for
her
both
in
fashion
and
material
,
but
it
gave
her
a
gentle
,
almost
matronly
dignity
,
which
became
her
.
Her
long
thin
hands
,
full
of
character
and
delicacy
,
moved
nimbly
among
the
cups
;
all
her
ways
were
quiet
and
yet
decided
.
It
was
evident
that
among
this
little
party
she
,
and
not
the
plaintive
mother
,
was
really
in
authority
.
To-night
,
however
,
her
looks
were
specially
soft
.
The
scene
she
had
gone
through
in
the
afternoon
had
left
her
pale
,
with
traces
of
patient
fatigue
round
the
eyes
and
mouth
,
but
all
her
emotion
was
gone
,
and
she
was
devoting
herself
to
the
others
,
responding
with
quick
interest
and
ready
smiles
to
all
they
had
to
say
,
and
contributing
the
little
experiences
of
her
own
day
in
return
.
Rose
sat
on
her
left
hand
in
yet
another
gown
of
strange
tint
and
archaic
outline
.
Rose
's
gowns
were
legion
.
They
were
manufactured
by
a
farmer
's
daughter
across
the
valley
,
under
her
strict
and
precise
supervision
.
She
was
accustomed
,
as
she
boldly
avowed
,
to
shut
herself
up
at
the
beginning
of
each
season
of
the
year
for
two
days
'
meditation
on
the
subject
.
And
now
,
thanks
to
the
spring
warmth
,
she
was
entering
at
last
with
infinite
zest
on
the
results
of
her
April
vigils
.
Catherine
had
surveyed
her
as
she
entered
the
room
with
a
smile
,
but
a
smile
not
altogether
to
Rose
's
taste
.
'
What
,
another
,
Röschen
?
'
she
had
said
,
with
the
slightest
lifting
of
the
eyebrows
.
'
You
never
confided
that
to
me
.
Did
you
think
I
was
unworthy
of
anything
so
artistic
?
'
'
Not
at
all
,
'
said
Rose
calmly
,
seating
herself
.
'
I
thought
you
were
better
employed
.
'
But
a
flush
flew
over
her
transparent
cheek
,
and
she
presently
threw
an
irritated
look
at
Agnes
,
who
had
been
looking
from
her
to
Catherine
with
amused
eyes
.
'
I
met
Mr.
Thornburgh
and
Mr.
Elsmere
driving
from
the
station
,
'
Catherine
announced
presently
;
'
at
least
there
was
a
gentleman
in
a
clerical
wideawake
,
with
a
portmanteau
behind
,
so
I
imagine
it
must
have
been
he
.
'
'
Did
he
look
promising
?
'
inquired
Agnes
.
'
I
do
n't
think
I
noticed
,
'
said
Catherine
simply
,
but
with
a
momentary
change
of
expression
.
The
sisters
,
remembering
how
she
had
come
in
upon
them
with
that
look
of
one
'
lifted
up
,
'
understood
why
she
had
not
noticed
,
and
refrained
from
further
questions
.
'
Well
,
it
is
to
be
hoped
the
young
man
is
recovered
enough
to
stand
Long
Whindale
festivities
,
'
said
Rose
.
'
Mrs
.
Thornburgh
means
to
let
them
loose
on
his
devoted
head
to-morrow
night
.
'
'
Who
are
coming
?
'
asked
Mrs.
Leyburn
eagerly
.
The
occasional
tea
parties
of
the
neighbourhood
were
an
unfailing
excite
ment
to
her
,
simply
because
,
by
dint
of
the
small
adornings
,
natural
to
the
occasion
,
they
showed
her
daughters
to
her
under
slightly
new
aspects
.
To
see
Catherine
,
who
never
took
any
thought
for
her
appearance
,
forced
to
submit
to
a
white
dress
,
a
line
of
pearls
round
the
shapely
throat
,
a
flower
in
the
brown
hair
,
put
there
by
Rose
's
imperious
fingers
;
to
sit
in
a
corner
well
out
of
draughts
,
watching
the
effect
of
Rose
's
half-fledged
beauty
,
and
drinking
in
the
compliments
of
the
neighbourhood
on
Rose
's
playing
or
Agnes
's
conversation
,
or
Catherine
's
practical
ability
—
these
were
Mrs.
Leyburn
's
passions
,
and
a
tea
party
always
gratified
them
to
the
full
.
'
Mamma
asks
as
if
really
she
wanted
an
answer
,
'
remarked
Agnes
drily
.
'
Dear
mother
,
ca
n't
you
by
now
make
up
a
tea
party
at
the
Thornburghs
out
of
your
head
?
'
'
The
Seatons
?
'
inquired
Mrs.
Leyburn
.
'
Mrs.
Seaton
and
Miss
Barks
,
'
replied
Rose
.
'
The
rector
wo
n't
come
.
And
I
need
n't
say
that
,
having
moved
heaven
and
earth
to
get
Mrs.
Seaton
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
is
now
miserable
because
she
has
got
her
.
Her
ambition
is
gratified
,
but
she
knows
that
she
has
spoilt
the
party
.
Well
,
then
,
Mr.
Mayhew
,
of
course
,
his
son
,
and
his
flute
.
'
'
You
to
play
his
accompaniments
?
'
put
in
Agnes
slily
.
Rose
's
lip
curled
.
'
Not
if
Miss
Barks
knows
it
,
'
she
said
emphatically
,
'
nor
if
I
know
it
.
The
Bakers
,
of
course
,
ourselves
,
and
the
unknown
.
'
'
Dr
.
Baker
is
always
pleasant
,
'
said
Mrs.
Leyburn
,
leaning
back
and
drawing
her
white
shawl
languidly
round
her
.
'
He
told
me
the
other
day
,
Catherine
,
that
if
it
were
n't
for
you
he
should
have
to
retire
.
He
regards
you
as
his
junior
partner
.
"
Marvellous
nursing
gift
your
eldest
daughter
has
,
Mrs.
Leyburn
,
"
he
said
to
me
the
other
day
.
A
most
agreeable
man
.
'
'
I
wonder
if
I
shall
be
able
to
get
any
candid
opinions
out
of
Mr.
Elsmere
the
day
after
to-morrow
?
'
said
Rose
,
musing
.
'
It
is
difficult
to
avoid
having
an
opinion
of
some
sort
about
Mrs.
Seaton
.
'
'
Oxford
dons
do
n't
gossip
and
are
never
candid
,
'
remarked
Agnes
severely
.
'
Then
Oxford
dons
must
be
very
dull
,
'
cried
Rose
.
'
However
,
'
and
her
countenance
brightened
,
'
if
he
stays
here
four
weeks
we
can
teach
him
.
'
Catherine
,
meanwhile
,
sat
watching
the
two
girls
with
a
soft
elder
sister
's
indulgence
.
Was
it
in
connection
with
their
bright
attractive
looks
that
the
thought
flitted
through
her
head
,
'
I
wonder
what
the
young
man
will
be
like
?
'
'
Oh
,
by
the
way
,
'
said
Rose
presently
,
'
I
had
nearly
forgotten
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
two
messages
.
I
informed
her
,
Agnes
,
that
you
had
given
up
water-colour
and
meant
to
try
oils
,
and
she
told
me
to
implore
you
not
to
,
because
"
water-colour
is
so
much
more
lady-like
than
oils
.
"
And
as
for
you
,
Catherine
,
she
sent
you
a
most
special
message
.
I
was
to
tell
you
that
she
just
loved
the
way
you
had
taken
to
plaiting
your
hair
lately
—
that
it
was
exactly
like
the
picture
of
Jeanie
Deans
she
has
in
the
drawing-room
,
and
that
she
would
never
forgive
you
if
you
did
n't
plait
it
so
to-morrow
night
.
'
Catherine
flushed
faintly
as
she
got
up
from
the
table
.
'
Mrs
.
Thornburgh
has
eagle-eyes
,
'
she
said
,
moving
away
to
give
her
arm
to
her
mother
,
who
looked
fondly
at
her
,
making
some
remark
in
praise
of
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
taste
.
'
Rose
!
'
cried
Agnes
indignantly
,
when
the
other
two
had
disappeared
,
'
you
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
have
not
the
sense
you
were
born
with
.
What
on
earth
did
you
say
that
to
Catherine
for
?
'
Rose
stared
;
then
her
face
fell
a
little
.
'
I
suppose
it
was
foolish
,
'
she
admitted
.
Then
she
leant
her
head
on
one
hand
and
drew
meditative
patterns
on
the
table-cloth
with
the
other
.
'
You
know
,
Agnes
,
'
she
said
presently
,
looking
up
,
'
there
are
drawbacks
to
having
a
St.
Elizabeth
for
a
sister
.
'
Agnes
discreetly
made
no
reply
,
and
Rose
was
left
alone
.
She
sat
dreaming
a
few
minutes
,
the
corners
of
the
red
mouth
drooping
.
Then
she
sprang
up
with
a
long
sigh
.
'
A
little
life
!
'
she
said
half-aloud
,
'
a
little
wickedness
!
'
and
she
shook
her
curly
head
defiantly
.
A
few
minutes
later
,
in
the
little
drawing-room
on
the
other
side
of
the
hall
,
Catherine
and
Rose
stood
together
by
the
open
window
.
For
the
first
time
in
a
lingering
spring
,
the
air
was
soft
and
balmy
;
a
tender
grayness
lay
over
the
valley
;
it
was
not
night
,
though
above
the
clear
outlines
of
the
fell
the
stars
were
just
twinkling
in
the
pale
blue
.
Far
away
under
the
crag
on
the
farther
side
of
High
Fell
a
light
was
shining
.
As
Catherine
's
eyes
caught
it
there
was
a
quick
response
in
the
fine
Madonna-like
face
.
'
Any
news
for
me
from
the
Backhouses
this
afternoon
?
'
she
asked
Rose
.
'
No
,
I
heard
of
none
.
How
is
she
?
'
'
Dying
,
'
said
Catherine
simply
,
and
stood
a
moment
looking
out
.
Rose
did
not
interrupt
her
.
She
knew
that
the
house
from
which
the
light
was
shining
sheltered
a
tragedy
;
she
guessed
with
the
vagueness
of
nineteen
that
it
was
a
tragedy
of
passion
and
sin
;
but
Catherine
had
not
been
communicative
on
the
subject
,
and
Rose
had
for
some
time
past
set
up
a
dumb
resistance
to
her
sister
's
most
characteristic
ways
of
life
and
thought
,
which
prevented
her
now
from
asking
questions
.
She
wished
nervously
to
give
Catherine
's
extraordinary
moral
strength
no
greater
advantage
over
her
than
she
could
help
.
Presently
,
however
,
Catherine
threw
her
arm
round
her
with
a
tender
protectingness
.
'
What
did
you
do
with
yourself
all
the
afternoon
,
Röschen
?
'
'
I
practised
for
two
hours
,
'
said
the
girl
shortly
,
'
and
two
hours
this
morning
.
My
Spohr
is
nearly
perfect
.
'
'
And
you
did
n't
look
into
the
school
?
'
asked
Catherine
,
hesitating
;
'
I
know
Miss
Merry
expected
you
.
'
'
No
,
I
did
n't
.
When
one
can
play
the
violin
and
ca
n't
teach
,
any
more
than
a
cockatoo
,
what
's
the
good
of
wasting
one
's
time
in
teaching
?
'
Catherine
did
not
reply
.
A
minute
after
Mrs.
Leyburn
called
her
,
and
she
went
to
sit
on
a
stool
at
her
mother
's
feet
,
her
hands
resting
on
the
elder
woman
's
lap
,
the
whole
attitude
of
the
tall
active
figure
one
of
beautiful
and
childlike
abandonment
.
Mrs.
Leyburn
wanted
to
confide
in
her
about
a
new
cap
,
and
Catherine
took
up
the
subject
with
a
zest
which
kept
her
mother
happy
till
bedtime
.
'
Why
could
n't
she
take
as
much
interest
in
my
Spohr
?
'
thought
Rose
.
Late
that
night
,
long
after
she
had
performed
all
a
maid
's
offices
for
her
mother
,
Catherine
Leyburn
was
busy
in
her
own
room
arranging
a
large
cupboard
containing
medicines
and
ordinary
medical
necessaries
,
a
storehouse
whence
all
the
simpler
emergencies
of
their
end
of
the
valley
were
supplied
.
She
had
put
on
a
white
flannel
dressing-gown
and
moved
noiselessly
about
in
it
,
the
very
embodiment
of
order
,
of
purity
,
of
quiet
energy
.
The
little
white-curtained
room
was
bareness
and
neatness
itself
.
There
were
a
few
book-shelves
along
the
walls
,
holding
the
books
which
her
father
had
given
her
.
Over
the
bed
were
two
enlarged
portraits
of
her
parents
,
and
a
line
of
queer
little
faded
monstrosities
,
representing
Rose
and
Agnes
in
different
stages
of
childhood
.
On
the
table
beside
the
bed
was
a
pile
of
well-worn
books
—
Keble
,
Jeremy
Taylor
,
the
Bible
—
connected
in
the
mind
of
the
mistress
of
the
room
with
the
intensest
moments
of
the
spiritual
life
.
There
was
a
strip
of
carpet
by
the
bed
,
a
plain
chair
or
two
,
a
large
press
;
otherwise
no
furniture
that
was
not
absolutely
necessary
,
and
no
ornaments
.
And
yet
,
for
all
its
emptiness
,
the
little
room
in
its
order
and
spotlessness
had
the
look
and
spell
of
a
sanctuary
.
When
her
task
was
finished
Catherine
came
forward
to
the
infinitesimal
dressing-table
,
and
stood
a
moment
before
the
common
cottage
looking-glass
upon
it
.
The
candle
behind
her
showed
her
the
outlines
of
her
head
and
face
in
shadow
against
the
white
ceiling
.
Her
soft
brown
hair
was
plaited
high
above
the
broad
white
brow
,
giving
to
it
an
added
stateliness
,
while
it
left
unmasked
the
pure
lines
of
the
neck
.
Mrs.
Thornburgh
and
her
mother
were
quite
right
.
Simple
as
the
new
arrangement
was
,
it
could
hardly
have
been
more
effective
.
But
the
looking-glass
got
no
smile
in
return
for
its
information
.
Catherine
Leyburn
was
young
;
she
was
alone
;
she
was
being
very
plainly
told
that
,
taken
as
a
whole
,
she
was
,
or
might
be
at
any
moment
,
a
beautiful
woman
.
And
all
her
answer
was
a
frown
and
a
quick
movement
away
from
the
glass
.
Putting
up
her
hands
she
began
to
undo
the
plaits
with
haste
,
almost
with
impatience
;
she
smoothed
the
whole
mass
then
set
free
into
the
severest
order
,
plaited
it
closely
together
,
and
then
,
putting
out
her
light
,
threw
herself
on
her
knees
beside
the
window
,
which
was
partly
open
to
the
starlight
and
the
mountains
.
The
voice
of
the
river
far
away
,
wafted
from
the
mist-covered
depths
of
the
valley
,
and
the
faint
rustling
of
the
trees
just
outside
,
were
for
long
after
the
only
sounds
which
broke
the
silence
.
When
Catherine
appeared
at
breakfast
next
morning
her
hair
was
plainly
gathered
into
a
close
knot
behind
,
which
had
been
her
way
or
dressing
it
since
she
was
thirteen
.
Agnes
threw
a
quick
look
at
Rose
;
Mrs.
Leyburn
,
as
soon
as
she
had
made
out
through
her
spectacles
what
was
the
matter
,
broke
into
warm
expostulations
.
'
It
is
more
comfortable
,
dear
mother
,
and
takes
much
less
time
,
'
said
Catherine
,
reddening
.
'
Poor
Mrs.
Thornburgh
!
'
remarked
Agnes
drily
.
'
Oh
,
Rose
will
make
up
!
'
said
Catherine
,
glancing
,
not
without
a
spark
of
mischief
in
her
gray
eyes
,
at
Rose
's
tortured
locks
;
'
and
mamma
's
new
cap
,
which
will
be
superb
!
'
CHAPTER
II
About
four
o'clock
on
the
afternoon
of
the
day
which
was
to
be
marked
in
the
annals
of
Long
Whindale
as
that
of
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
'
high
tea
,
'
that
lady
was
seated
in
the
vicarage
garden
,
her
spectacles
on
her
nose
,
a
large
couvre-pied
over
her
knees
,
and
the
Whinborough
newspaper
on
her
lap
.
The
neighbourhood
of
this
last
enabled
her
to
make
an
intermittent
pretence
of
reading
;
but
in
reality
the
energies
of
her
housewifely
mind
were
taken
up
with
quite
other
things
.
The
vicar
's
wife
was
plunged
in
a
housekeeping
experiment
of
absorbing
interest
.
All
her
solid
preparations
for
the
evening
were
over
,
and
in
her
own
mind
she
decided
that
with
them
there
was
no
possible
fault
to
be
found
.
The
cook
,
Sarah
,
had
gone
about
her
work
in
a
spirit
at
once
lavish
and
fastidious
,
breathed
into
her
by
her
mistress
.
No
better
tongue
,
no
plumper
chickens
,
than
those
which
would
grace
her
board
to-night
were
to
be
found
,
so
Mrs.
Thornburgh
was
persuaded
,
in
the
district
.
And
so
with
everything
else
of
a
substantial
kind
.
On
this
head
the
hostess
felt
no
anxieties
.
But
a
'
tea
'
in
the
north
country
depends
for
distinction
,
not
on
its
solids
or
its
savouries
,
but
on
its
sweets
.
A
rural
hostess
earns
her
reputation
,
not
by
a
discriminating
eye
for
butcher's-meat
,
but
by
her
inventiveness
in
cakes
and
custards
.
And
it
was
just
here
,
with
regard
to
this
'
bubble
reputation
,
'
that
the
vicar
's
wife
of
Long
Whindale
was
particularly
sensitive
.
Was
she
not
expecting
Mrs.
Seaton
,
the
wife
of
the
Rector
of
Whinborough
—
odious
woman
—
to
tea
?
Was
it
not
incumbent
on
her
to
do
well
,
nay
,
to
do
brilliantly
,
in
the
eyes
of
this
local
magnate
?
And
how
was
it
possible
to
do
brilliantly
in
this
matter
with
a
cook
whose
recipes
were
hopelessly
old-fashioned
,
and
who
had
an
exasperating
belief
in
the
sufficiency
of
buttered
'
whigs
'
and
home-made
marmalade
for
all
requirements
?
Stung
by
these
thoughts
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
had
gone
prowling
about
the
neighbouring
town
of
Whinborough
till
the
shop
window
of
a
certain
newly-arrived
confectioner
had
been
revealed
to
her
,
stored
with
the
most
airy
and
appetising
trifles
—
of
a
make
and
colouring
quite
metropolitan
.
She
had
flattened
her
gray
curls
against
the
window
for
one
deliberative
moment
;
had
then
rushed
in
;
and
as
soon
as
the
carrier
's
cart
of
Long
Whindale
,
which
she
was
now
anxiously
awaiting
,
should
have
arrived
,
bearing
with
it
the
produce
of
that
adventure
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
would
be
a
proud
woman
,
prepared
to
meet
a
legion
of
rectors
'
wives
without
flinching
.
Not
,
indeed
,
in
all
respects
a
woman
at
peace
with
herself
and
the
world
.
In
the
country
,
where
every
household
should
be
self-contained
,
a
certain
discredit
attaches
in
every
well-regulated
mind
to
'
getting
things
in
.
'
Mrs.
Thornburgh
was
also
nervous
at
the
thought
of
the
bill
.
It
would
have
to
be
met
gradually
out
of
the
weekly
money
.
For
'
William
'
was
to
know
nothing
of
the
matter
,
except
so
far
as
a
few
magnificent
generalities
and
the
testimony
of
his
own
dazzled
eyes
might
inform
him
.
But
after
all
,
in
this
as
in
everything
else
,
one
must
suffer
to
be
distinguished
.
The
carrier
,
however
,
lingered
.
And
at
last
the
drowsiness
of
the
afternoon
overcame
even
those
pleasing
expectations
we
have
described
,
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
newspaper
dropped
unheeded
to
her
feet
.
The
vicarage
,
under
the
shade
of
which
she
was
sitting
,
was
a
new
gray
stone
building
with
wooden
gables
,
occupying
the
site
of
what
had
once
been
the
earlier
vicarage
house
of
Long
Whindale
,
the
primitive
dwelling-house
of
an
incumbent
,
whose
chapelry
,
after
sundry
augmentations
,
amounted
to
just
twenty-seven
pounds
a
year
.
The
modern
house
,
though
it
only
contained
sufficient
accommodation
for
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
,
one
guest
,
and
two
maids
,
would
have
seemed
palatial
to
those
rustic
clerics
of
the
past
from
whose
ministrations
the
lonely
valley
had
drawn
its
spiritual
sustenance
in
times
gone
by
.
They
,
indeed
,
had
belonged
to
another
race
—
a
race
sprung
from
the
soil
and
content
to
spend
the
whole
of
life
in
very
close
contact
and
very
homely
intercourse
with
their
mother
earth
.
Mr.
Thornburgh
,
who
had
come
to
the
valley
only
a
few
years
before
from
a
parish
in
one
of
the
large
manufacturing
towns
,
and
who
had
no
inherited
interest
in
the
Cumbrian
folk
and
their
ways
,
had
only
a
very
faint
idea
,
and
that
a
distinctly
depreciatory
one
,
of
what
these
mythical
predecessors
of
his
,
with
their
strange
social
status
and
unbecoming
occupations
,
might
be
like
.
But
there
were
one
or
two
old
men
still
lingering
in
the
dale
who
could
have
told
him
a
great
deal
about
them
,
whose
memory
went
back
to
the
days
when
the
relative
social
importance
of
the
dale
parsons
was
exactly
expressed
by
the
characteristic
Westmoreland
saying
:
'
Ef
ye
'll
nobbut
send
us
a
gude
schulemeaster
,
a
verra
'
moderate
parson
'
ull
dea
!
'
and
whose
slow
minds
,
therefore
,
were
filled
with
a
strong
inarticulate
sense
of
difference
as
they
saw
him
pass
along
the
road
,
and
recalled
the
incumbent
of
their
childhood
,
dropping
in
for
his
'
crack
'
and
his
glass
of
'
yale
'
at
this
or
that
farmhouse
on
any
occasion
of
local
festivity
,
or
driving
his
sheep
to
Whinborough
market
with
his
own
hands
like
any
other
peasant
of
the
dale
.
Within
the
last
twenty
years
,
however
,
the
few
remaining
survivors
of
this
primitive
clerical
order
in
the
Westmoreland
and
Cumberland
valleys
have
dropped
into
their
quiet
unremembered
graves
,
and
new
men
of
other
ways
and
other
modes
of
speech
reign
in
their
stead
.
And
as
at
Long
Whindale
,
so
almost
everywhere
,
the
change
has
been
emphasised
by
the
disappearance
of
the
old
parsonage
houses
with
their
stone
floors
,
their
parlours
lustrous
with
oak
carving
on
chest
or
dresser
,
and
their
encircling
farm-buildings
and
meadows
,
in
favour
of
an
upgrowth
of
new
trim
mansions
designed
to
meet
the
needs
,
not
of
peasants
,
but
of
gentlefolks
.
And
naturally
the
churches
too
have
shared
in
the
process
of
transformation
.
The
ecclesiastical
revival
of
the
last
half-century
has
worked
its
will
even
in
the
remotest
corners
of
the
Cumbrian
country
,
and
soon
not
a
vestige
of
the
homely
worshipping-places
of
an
earlier
day
will
remain
.
Across
the
road
,
in
front
of
the
Long
Whindale
parsonage
,
for
instance
,
rose
a
freshly
built
church
,
also
peaked
and
gabled
,
with
a
spire
and
two
bells
,
and
a
painted
east
window
,
and
Heaven
knows
what
novelties
besides
.
The
primitive
whitewashed
structure
it
replaced
had
lasted
long
,
and
in
the
course
of
many
generations
time
had
clothed
its
moss-grown
walls
,
its
slated
porch
,
and
tombstones
worn
with
rain
in
a
certain
beauty
of
congruity
and
association
,
linking
it
with
the
purple
distances
of
the
fells
,
and
the
brawling
river
bending
round
the
gray
enclosure
.
But
finally
,
after
a
period
of
quiet
and
gradual
decay
,
the
ruin
of
Long
Whindale
chapel
had
become
a
quick
and
hurrying
ruin
that
would
not
be
arrested
.
When
the
rotten
timbers
of
the
roof
came
dropping
on
the
farmers
'
heads
,
and
the
oak
benches
beneath
offered
gaps
,
the
geography
of
which
had
to
be
carefully
learnt
by
the
substantial
persons
who
sat
on
them
,
lest
they
should
be
overtaken
by
undignified
disaster
;
when
the
rain
poured
in
on
the
Communion
Table
and
the
wind
raged
through
innumerable
mortarless
chinks
,
even
the
slowly-moving
folk
of
the
valley
came
to
the
conclusion
that
'
summat
'
ull
hev
to
be
deun
.
'
And
by
the
help
of
the
Bishop
,
and
Queen
Anne
's
Bounty
,
and
what
not
,
aided
by
just
as
many
half-crowns
as
the
valley
found
itself
unable
to
defend
against
the
encroachments
of
a
new
and
'
moiderin
'
parson
,
'
summat
'
was
done
,
whereof
the
results
—
namely
,
the
new
church
,
vicarage
,
and
schoolhouse
—
were
now
conspicuous
.
This
radical
change
,
however
,
had
not
been
the
work
of
Mr.
Thornburgh
but
of
his
predecessor
,
a
much
more
pushing
and
enterprising
man
,
whose
successful
efforts
to
improve
the
church
accommodation
in
Long
Whindale
had
moved
such
deep
and
lasting
astonishment
in
the
mind
of
a
somewhat
lethargic
bishop
,
that
promotion
had
been
readily
found
for
him
.
Mr.
Thornburgh
was
neither
capable
of
the
sturdy
begging
which
had
raised
the
church
,
nor
was
he
likely
on
other
lines
to
reach
preferment
.
He
and
his
wife
,
who
possessed
much
more
salience
of
character
than
he
,
were
accepted
in
the
dale
as
belonging
to
the
established
order
of
things
.
Nobody
wished
them
any
harm
,
and
the
few
people
they
had
specially
befriended
,
naturally
,
thought
well
of
them
.
But
the
old
intimacy
of
relation
which
had
once
subsisted
between
the
clergyman
of
Long
Whindale
and
his
parishioners
was
wholly
gone
.
They
had
sunk
in
the
scale
;
the
parson
had
risen
.
The
old
statesmen
or
peasant
proprietors
of
the
valley
had
for
the
most
part
succumbed
to
various
destructive
influences
,
some
social
,
some
economical
,
added
to
a
certain
amount
of
corrosion
from
within
;
and
their
place
had
been
taken
by
leaseholders
,
less
drunken
perhaps
,
and
better
educated
,
but
also
far
less
shrewd
and
individual
,
and
lacking
in
the
rude
dignity
of
their
predecessors
.
And
as
the
land
had
lost
,
the
church
had
gained
.
The
place
of
the
dalesmen
knew
them
no
more
,
but
the
church
and
parsonage
had
got
themselves
rebuilt
,
the
parson
had
had
his
income
raised
,
had
let
off
his
glebe
to
a
neighbouring
farmer
,
kept
two
maids
,
and
drank
claret
when
he
drank
anything
.
His
flock
were
friendly
enough
,
and
paid
their
commuted
tithes
without
grumbling
.
But
between
them
and
a
perfectly
well-meaning
but
rather
dull
man
,
who
stood
on
his
dignity
and
wore
a
black
coat
all
the
week
,
there
was
no
real
community
.
Rejoice
in
it
as
we
may
,
in
this
final
passage
of
Parson
Primrose
to
social
regions
beyond
the
ken
of
Farmer
Flamborough
,
there
are
some
elements
of
loss
as
there
are
in
all
changes
.
Wheels
on
the
road
!
Mrs.
Thornburgh
woke
up
with
a
start
,
and
stumbling
over
newspaper
and
couvre-pied
,
hurried
across
the
lawn
as
fast
as
her
short
squat
figure
would
allow
,
gray
curls
and
cap-strings
flying
behind
her
.
She
heard
a
colloquy
in
the
distance
in
broad
Westmoreland
dialect
,
and
as
she
turned
the
corner
of
the
house
she
nearly
ran
into
her
tall
cook
,
Sarah
,
whose
impassive
and
saturnine
countenance
bore
traces
of
unusual
excitement
.
'
Missis
,
there
's
naw
cakes
.
They
're
all
left
behind
on
t
'
counter
at
Randall
's
.
Mr.
Backhouse
says
as
how
he
told
old
Jim
to
go
fur
'
em
,
and
he
niver
went
,
and
Mr.
Backhouse
he
niver
found
oot
till
he
'd
got
past
t
'
bridge
,
and
than
it
wur
too
late
to
go
back
.
'
Mrs.
Thornburgh
stood
transfixed
,
something
of
her
fresh
pink
colour
slowly
deserting
her
face
as
she
realised
the
enormity
of
the
catastrophe
.
And
was
it
possible
that
there
was
the
faintest
twinkle
of
grim
satisfaction
on
the
face
of
that
elderly
minx
,
Sarah
?
Mrs.
Thornburgh
,
however
,
did
not
stay
to
explore
the
recesses
of
Sarah
's
mind
,
but
ran
with
little
pattering
,
undignified
steps
across
the
front
garden
and
down
the
steps
to
where
Mr.
Backhouse
the
carrier
stood
,
bracing
himself
for
self-defence
.
'
Ya
may
weel
fret
,
mum
,
'
said
Mr.
Backhouse
,
interrupting
the
flood
of
her
reproaches
,
with
the
comparative
sang-froid
of
one
who
knew
that
,
after
all
,
he
was
the
only
carrier
on
the
road
,
and
that
the
vicarage
was
five
miles
from
the
necessaries
of
life
;
'
it
's
a
bad
job
,
and
I
's
not
goin
'
to
say
it
is
n't
.
But
ya
jest
look
'
ere
,
mum
,
what
's
a
man
to
du
wi
'
a
daft
thingamy
like
that
,
as
caa
n't
tëak
a
plain
order
,
and
spiles
a
poor
man
's
business
as
caa
n't
help
hissel
'
?
'
And
Mr.
Backhouse
pointed
with
withering
scorn
to
a
small
,
shrunken
old
man
,
who
sat
dangling
his
legs
on
the
shaft
of
the
cart
,
and
whose
countenance
wore
a
singular
expression
of
mingled
meekness
and
composure
,
as
his
partner
flourished
an
indignant
finger
towards
him
.
'
Jim
,
'
cried
Mrs.
Thornburgh
reproachfully
,
'
I
did
think
you
would
have
taken
more
pains
about
my
order
!
'
'
Yis
,
mum
,
'
said
the
old
man
placidly
,
'
ya
might
'
a
'
thowt
it
.
I
's
reet
sorry
,
bit
ya
caa
n't
help
these
things
sum
times
—
an
'
it
's
naw
gud
,
a
hollerin
'
ower
'
em
like
a
mad
bull
.
Aa
tuke
yur
bit
paper
to
Randall
's
and
aa
laft
it
wi
'
'
em
to
mek
up
,
an
'
than
,
aa
,
weel
,
aa
went
to
a
frind
,
an
'
ee
may
hev
giv
'
me
a
glass
of
yale
,
aa
doo
n't
say
ee
dud
—
but
ee
may
,
I
wee
n't
sweer
.
Hawsomiver
,
aa
niver
thowt
naw
mair
aboot
it
,
nor
mair
did
John
,
so
ee
need
n't
taak
—
till
we
wur
jest
two
mile
from
'
ere
.
An
'
ee
's
a
gon
'
on
sence
!
My
!
an
'
a
larroping
the
poor
beeast
like
onything
!
'
Mrs.
Thornburgh
stood
aghast
at
the
calmness
of
this
audacious
recital
.
As
for
John
,
he
looked
on
surveying
his
brother
's
philosophical
demeanour
at
first
with
speechless
wrath
,
and
then
with
an
inscrutable
mixture
of
expressions
,
in
which
,
however
,
any
one
accustomed
to
his
weather-beaten
countenance
would
have
probably
read
a
hidden
admiration
.
'
Weel
,
aa
niver
!
'
he
exclaimed
,
when
Jim
's
explanatory
remarks
had
come
to
an
end
,
swinging
himself
up
on
to
his
seat
and
gathering
up
the
reins
.
'
Yur
a
boald
'
un
to
tell
the
missus
theer
to
hur
feeace
as
how
