toShanmoor
after
all
,
and
if
we
do
n't
,
and
if
—
if
—
'
her
cheek
flushed
with
a
sudden
excitement
—
'
if
Mr.
Elsmere
does
n't
propose
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
will
be
unmanageable
.
It
is
all
Agnes
and
I
can
do
to
keep
her
in
bounds
as
it
is
,
and
if
something
does
n't
come
off
to-day
,
she
'll
be
for
reversing
the
usual
proceeding
,
and
asking
Catherine
her
intentions
,
which
would
ruin
everything
.
'
Then
raising
her
head
she
swept
her
eyes
round
the
sky
.
The
wind
was
freshening
,
the
clouds
were
coming
up
fast
from
the
westward
;
over
the
summit
of
High
Fell
and
the
crags
on
either
side
,
a
gray
straight-edged
curtain
was
already
lowering
.
'
It
will
hold
up
yet
awhile
,
'
she
thought
,
'
and
if
it
rains
later
we
can
get
a
carriage
at
Shanmoor
and
come
back
by
the
road
.
'
And
she
walked
on
homewards
meditating
,
her
thin
fingers
clasped
before
her
,
the
wind
blowing
her
skirts
,
the
blue
ribbons
on
her
hat
,
the
little
gold
curls
on
her
temples
,
in
a
pretty
many-coloured
turmoil
about
her
.
When
she
got
to
Burwood
she
shut
herself
into
the
room
which
was
peculiarly
hers
,
the
room
which
had
been
a
stable
.
Now
it
was
full
of
artistic
odds
and
ends
—
her
fiddle
,
of
course
,
and
piles
of
music
,
her
violin
stand
,
a
few
deal
tables
and
cane
chairs
beautified
by
a
number
of
chiffons
,
bits
of
Liberty
stuffs
with
the
edges
still
ragged
,
or
cheap
morsels
of
Syrian
embroidery
.
On
the
tables
stood
photographs
of
musicians
and
friends
—
the
spoils
of
her
visits
to
Manchester
,
and
of
two
visits
to
London
which
gleamed
like
golden
points
in
the
girl
's
memory
.
The
plastered
walls
were
covered
with
an
odd
medley
.
Here
was
a
round
mirror
,
of
which
Rose
was
enormously
proud
.
She
had
extracted
it
from
a
farmhouse
of
the
neighbourhood
,
and
paid
for
it
with
her
own
money
.
There
a
group
of
unfinished
headlong
sketches
of
the
most
fiercely
impressionist
description
—
the
work
and
the
gift
of
a
knot
of
Manchester
artists
,
who
had
fêted
and
flattered
the
beautiful
little
Westmoreland
girl
,
when
she
was
staying
among
them
,
to
her
heart
's
content
.
Manchester
,
almost
alone
among
our
great
towns
of
the
present
day
,
has
not
only
a
musical
,
but
a
pictorial
life
of
its
own
;
its
young
artists
dub
themselves
'
a
school
,
'
study
in
Paris
,
and
when
they
come
home
scout
the
Academy
and
its
methods
,
and
pine
to
set
up
a
rival
art-centre
,
skilled
in
all
the
methods
of
the
Salon
,
in
the
murky
north
.
Rose
's
uncle
,
originally
a
clerk
in
a
warehouse
,
and
a
rough
diamond
enough
,
had
more
or
less
moved
with
the
times
,
like
his
brother
Richard
;
at
any
rate
he
had
grown
rich
,
had
married
a
decent
wife
,
and
was
glad
enough
to
befriend
his
dead
brother
's
children
,
who
wanted
nothing
of
him
,
and
did
their
uncle
a
credit
of
which
he
was
sensible
,
by
their
good
manners
and
good
looks
.
Music
was
the
only
point
at
which
he
touched
the
culture
of
the
times
,
like
so
many
business
men
;
but
it
pleased
him
also
to
pose
as
a
patron
of
local
art
;
so
that
when
Rose
went
to
stay
with
her
childless
uncle
and
aunt
,
she
found
long-haired
artists
and
fiery
musicians
about
the
place
,
who
excited
and
encouraged
her
musical
gift
,
who
sketched
her
while
she
played
,
and
talked
to
the
pretty
,
clever
,
unformed
creature
of
London
and
Paris
and
Italy
,
and
set
her
pining
for
that
golden
vie
de
Bohème
which
she
alone
apparently
of
all
artists
was
destined
never
to
know
.
For
she
was
an
artist
—
she
would
be
an
artist
—
let
Catherine
say
what
she
would
!
She
came
back
from
Manchester
restless
for
she
knew
not
what
,
thirsty
for
the
joys
and
emotions
of
art
,
determined
to
be
free
,
reckless
,
passionate
;
with
Wagner
and
Brahms
in
her
young
blood
;
and
found
Burwood
waiting
for
her
—
Burwood
,
the
lonely
house
in
the
lonely
valley
,
of
which
Catherine
was
the
presiding
genius
.
Catherine
!
For
Rose
,
what
a
multitude
of
associations
clustered
round
the
name
!
To
her
it
meant
everything
at
this
moment
against
which
her
soul
rebelled
—
the
most
scrupulous
order
,
the
most
rigid
self-repression
,
the
most
determined
sacrificing
of
'
this
warm
kind
world
,
'
with
all
its
indefensible
delights
,
to
a
cold
other-world
with
its
torturing
inadmissible
claims
.
Even
in
the
midst
of
her
stolen
joys
at
Manchester
or
London
,
this
mere
name
,
the
mere
mental
image
of
Catherine
moving
through
life
,
wrapped
in
a
religious
peace
and
certainty
as
austere
as
they
were
beautiful
,
and
asking
of
all
about
her
the
same
absolute
surrender
to
an
awful
Master
she
gave
so
easily
herself
,
was
enough
to
chill
the
wayward
Rose
,
and
fill
her
with
a
kind
of
restless
despair
.
And
at
home
,
as
the
vicar
said
,
the
two
sisters
were
always
on
the
verge
of
conflict
.
Rose
had
enough
of
her
father
in
her
to
suffer
in
resisting
,
but
resist
she
must
by
the
law
of
her
nature
.
Now
,
as
she
threw
off
her
walking
things
,
she
fell
first
upon
her
violin
,
and
rushed
through
a
Brahms
's
'
Liebeslied
,
'
her
eyes
dancing
,
her
whole
light
form
thrilling
with
the
joy
of
it
;
and
then
with
a
sudden
revulsion
she
stopped
playing
,
and
threw
herself
down
listlessly
by
the
open
window
.
Close
by
against
the
wall
was
a
little
looking-glass
,
by
which
she
often
arranged
her
ruffled
locks
;
she
glanced
at
it
now
,
it
showed
her
a
brilliant
face
enough
,
but
drooping
lips
,
and
eyes
darkened
with
the
extravagant
melancholy
of
eighteen
.
'
It
is
come
to
a
pretty
pass
,
'
she
said
to
herself
,
'
that
I
should
be
able
to
think
of
nothing
but
schemes
for
getting
Catherine
married
and
out
of
my
way
!
Considering
what
she
is
and
what
I
am
,
and
how
she
has
slaved
for
us
all
her
life
,
I
seem
to
have
descended
pretty
low
.
Heigh
ho
!
'
And
with
a
portentous
sigh
she
dropped
her
chin
on
her
hand
.
She
was
half
acting
,
acting
to
herself
.
Life
was
not
really
quite
unbearable
,
and
she
knew
it
.
But
it
relieved
her
to
overdo
it
.
'
I
wonder
how
much
chance
there
is
,
'
she
mused
presently
.
'
Mr
.
Elsmere
will
soon
be
ridiculous
.
Why
,
I
saw
him
gather
up
those
violets
she
threw
away
yesterday
on
Moor
Crag
.
And
as
for
her
,
I
do
n't
believe
she
has
realised
the
situation
a
bit
.
At
least
,
if
she
has
,
she
is
as
unlike
other
mortals
in
this
as
in
everything
else
.
But
when
she
does
—
—
'
She
frowned
and
meditated
,
but
got
no
light
on
the
problem
.
Chattie
jumped
up
on
the
window-sill
,
with
her
usual
stealthy
aplomb
,
and
rubbed
herself
against
the
girl
's
face
.
'
Oh
,
Chattie
!
'
cried
Rose
,
throwing
her
arms
round
the
cat
,
'
if
Catherine
'
ll
only
marry
Mr.
Elsmere
,
my
dear
,
and
be
happy
ever
afterwards
,
and
set
me
free
to
live
my
own
life
a
bit
,
I
'll
be
so
good
,
you
wo
n't
know
me
,
Chattie
.
And
you
shall
have
a
new
collar
,
my
beauty
,
and
cream
till
you
die
of
it
!
'
And
springing
up
she
dragged
in
the
cat
,
and
snatching
a
scarlet
anemone
from
a
bunch
on
the
table
,
stood
opposite
Chattie
,
who
stood
slowly
waving
her
magnificent
tail
from
side
to
side
,
and
glaring
as
though
it
were
not
at
all
to
her
taste
to
be
hustled
and
bustled
in
this
way
.
'
Now
,
Chattie
,
listen
!
Will
she
?
'
A
leaf
of
the
flower
dropped
on
Chattie
's
nose
.
'
Wo
n't
she
?
Will
she
?
Wo
n't
she
?
Will
—
—
Tiresome
flower
,
why
did
Nature
give
it
such
a
beggarly
few
petals
?
If
I
'd
had
a
daisy
it
would
have
all
come
right
.
Come
,
Chattie
,
waltz
;
and
let
's
forget
this
wicked
world
!
'
And
,
snatching
up
her
violin
,
the
girl
broke
into
a
Strauss
waltz
,
dancing
to
it
the
while
,
her
cotton
skirts
flying
,
her
pretty
feet
twinkling
,
till
her
eyes
glowed
,
and
her
cheeks
blazed
with
a
double
intoxication
—
the
intoxication
of
movement
,
and
the
intoxication
of
sound
—
the
cat
meanwhile
following
her
with
little
mincing
perplexed
steps
,
as
though
not
knowing
what
to
make
of
her
.
'
Rose
,
you
madcap
!
'
cried
Agnes
,
opening
the
door
.
'
Not
at
all
,
my
dear
,
'
said
Rose
calmly
,
stopping
to
take
breath
.
'
Excellent
practice
and
uncommonly
difficult
.
Try
if
you
can
do
it
,
and
see
!
'
The
weather
held
up
in
a
gray
grudging
sort
of
way
,
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
especially
was
all
for
braving
the
clouds
and
going
on
with
the
expedition
.
It
was
galling
to
her
that
she
herself
would
have
to
be
driven
to
Shanmoor
behind
the
fat
vicarage
pony
,
while
the
others
would
be
climbing
the
fells
,
and
all
sorts
of
exciting
things
might
be
happening
.
Still
it
was
infinitely
better
to
be
half
in
it
than
not
in
it
at
all
,
and
she
started
by
the
side
of
the
vicarage
'
man
'
in
a
most
delicious
flutter
.
The
skies
might
fall
any
day
now
.
Elsmere
had
not
confided
in
her
,
though
she
was
unable
to
count
the
openings
she
had
given
him
thereto
.
For
one
of
the
frankest
of
men
he
had
kept
his
secret
,
so
far
as
words
went
,
with
a
remarkable
tenacity
.
Probably
the
neighbourhood
of
Mrs.
Thornburgh
was
enough
to
make
the
veriest
chatterbox
secretive
.
But
notwithstanding
,
no
one
possessing
the
clue
could
live
in
the
same
house
with
him
these
June
days
without
seeing
that
the
whole
man
was
absorbed
,
transformed
,
and
that
the
crisis
might
be
reached
at
any
moment
.
Even
the
vicar
was
eager
and
watchful
,
and
playing
up
to
his
wife
in
fine
style
,
and
if
the
situation
had
so
worked
on
the
vicar
,
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
state
is
easier
imagined
than
described
.
The
walk
to
Shanmoor
need
not
be
chronicled
.
The
party
kept
together
.
Robert
fancied
sometimes
that
there
was
a
certain
note
of
purpose
in
the
way
in
which
Catherine
clung
to
the
vicar
.
If
so
it
did
not
disquiet
him
.
Never
had
she
been
kinder
,
more
gentle
.
Nay
,
as
the
walk
went
on
a
lovely
gaiety
broke
through
her
tranquil
manner
,
as
though
she
,
like
the
others
,
had
caught
exhilaration
from
the
sharpened
breeze
and
the
towering
mountains
,
restored
to
all
their
grandeur
by
the
storm
clouds
.
And
yet
she
had
started
in
some
little
inward
trouble
.
She
had
promised
to
join
this
walk
to
Shanmoor
,
she
had
promised
to
go
with
the
others
on
a
picnic
the
following
day
,
but
her
conscience
was
pricking
her
.
Twice
this
last
fortnight
had
she
been
forced
to
give
up
a
night-school
she
held
in
a
little
lonely
hamlet
among
the
fells
,
because
even
she
had
been
too
tired
to
walk
there
and
back
after
a
day
of
physical
exertion
.
Were
not
the
world
and
the
flesh
encroaching
?
She
had
been
conscious
of
a
strange
inner
restlessness
as
they
all
stood
waiting
in
the
road
for
the
vicar
and
Elsmere
.
Agnes
had
thought
her
looking
depressed
and
pale
,
and
even
dreamt
for
a
moment
of
suggesting
to
her
to
stay
at
home
.
And
then
ten
minutes
after
they
had
started
it
had
all
gone
,
her
depression
,
blown
away
by
the
winds
,
—
or
charmed
away
by
a
happy
voice
,
a
manly
presence
,
a
keen
responsive
eye
?
Elsmere
,
indeed
,
was
gaiety
itself
.
He
kept
up
an
incessant
war
with
Rose
;
he
had
a
number
of
little
jokes
going
at
the
vicar
's
expense
,
which
kept
that
good
man
in
a
half-protesting
chuckle
most
of
the
way
;
he
cleared
every
gate
that
presented
itself
in
first-rate
Oxford
form
,
and
climbed
every
point
of
rock
with
a
cat-like
agility
that
set
the
girls
scoffing
at
the
pretence
of
invalidism
under
which
he
had
foisted
himself
on
Whindale
.
'
How
fine
all
this
black
purple
is
!
'
he
cried
,
as
they
topped
the
ridge
,
and
the
Shanmoor
valley
lay
before
them
,
bounded
on
the
other
side
by
line
after
line
of
mountain
,
Wetherlam
and
the
Pikes
and
Fairfield
in
the
far
distance
,
piled
sombrely
under
a
sombre
sky
.
'
I
had
grown
quite
tired
of
the
sun
.
He
had
done
his
best
to
make
you
commonplace
.
'
'
Tired
of
the
sun
in
Westmoreland
?
'
said
Catherine
,
with
a
little
mocking
wonder
.
'
How
wanton
,
how
prodigal
!
'
'
Does
it
deserve
a
Nemesis
?
'
he
said
,
laughing
.
'
Drowning
from
now
till
I
depart
?
No
matter
.
I
can
bear
a
second
deluge
with
an
even
mind
.
On
this
enchanted
soil
all
things
are
welcome
!
'
She
looked
up
,
smiling
,
at
his
vehemence
,
taking
it
all
as
a
tribute
to
the
country
,
or
to
his
own
recovered
health
.
He
stood
leaning
on
his
stick
,
gazing
,
however
,
not
at
the
view
but
at
her
.
The
others
stood
a
little
way
off
laughing
and
chatter
ing
.
As
their
eyes
met
,
a
strange
new
pulse
leapt
up
in
Catherine
.
'
The
wind
is
very
boisterous
here
,
'
she
said
,
with
a
shiver
.
'
I
think
we
ought
to
be
going
on
.
'
And
she
hurried
up
to
the
others
,
nor
did
she
leave
their
shelter
till
they
were
in
sight
of
the
little
Shanmoor
inn
,
where
they
were
to
have
tea
.
The
pony
carriage
was
already
standing
in
front
of
the
inn
,
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
gray
curls
shaking
at
the
window
.
'
William
!
'
she
shouted
,
'
bring
them
in
.
Tea
is
just
ready
,
and
Mr.
Ruskin
was
here
last
week
,
and
there
are
ever
so
many
new
names
in
the
visitors
'
book
!
'
While
the
girls
went
in
Elsmere
stood
looking
a
moment
at
the
inn
,
the
bridge
,
and
the
village
.
It
was
a
characteristic
Westmoreland
scene
.
The
low
whitewashed
inn
,
with
its
newly
painted
signboard
,
was
to
his
right
,
the
pony
at
the
door
lazily
flicking
off
the
flies
and
dropping
its
greedy
nose
in
search
of
the
grains
of
corn
among
the
cobbles
;
to
his
left
a
gray
stone
bridge
over
a
broad
light-filled
river
;
beyond
,
a
little
huddled
village
backed
by
and
apparently
built
out
of
the
great
slate
quarry
which
represented
the
only
industry
of
the
neighbourhood
,
and
a
tiny
towered
church
—
the
scene
on
the
Sabbath
of
Mr.
Mayhew
's
ministrations
.
Beyond
the
village
,
shoulders
of
purple
fell
,
and
behind
the
inn
masses
of
broken
crag
rising
at
the
very
head
of
the
valley
into
a
fine
pike
,
along
whose
jagged
edges
the
rain-clouds
were
trailing
.
There
was
a
little
lurid
storm-light
on
the
river
,
but
,
in
general
,
the
colour
was
all
dark
and
rich
,
the
white
inn
gleaming
on
a
green
and
purple
background
.
He
took
it
all
into
his
heart
,
covetously
,
greedily
,
trying
to
fix
it
there
for
ever
.
Presently
he
was
called
in
by
the
vicar
,
and
found
a
tempting
tea
spread
in
a
light
upper
room
,
where
Agnes
and
Rose
were
already
making
fun
of
the
chromo-lithographs
and
rummaging
the
visitors
'
book
.
The
scrambling
,
chattering
meal
passed
like
a
flash
.
At
the
beginning
of
it
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
small
gray
eyes
had
travelled
restlessly
from
face
to
face
,
as
though
to
say
,
'
What
—
no
news
yet
?
Nothing
happened
?
'
As
for
Elsmere
,
though
it
seemed
to
him
at
the
time
one
of
the
brightest
moments
of
existence
,
he
remembered
little
afterwards
but
the
scene
:
the
peculiar
clean
mustiness
of
the
room
only
just
opened
for
the
summer
season
,
a
print
of
the
Princess
of
Wales
on
the
wall
opposite
him
,
a
stuffed
fox
over
the
mantelpiece
,
Rose
's
golden
head
and
heavy
amber
necklace
,
and
the
figure
at
the
vicar
's
right
,
in
a
gown
of
a
little
dark
blue
check
,
the
broad
hat
shading
the
white
brow
and
luminous
eyes
.
When
tea
was
over
they
lounged
out
on
the
bridge
.
There
was
to
be
no
long
lingering
,
however
.
The
clouds
were
deepening
,
the
rain
could
not
be
far
off
.
But
if
they
started
soon
they
could
probably
reach
home
before
it
came
down
.
Elsmere
and
Rose
hung
over
the
gray
stone
parapet
,
mottled
with
the
green
and
gold
of
innumerable
mosses
,
and
looked
down
through
a
fringe
of
English
maidenhair
growing
along
the
coping
,
into
the
clear
eddies
of
the
stream
.
Suddenly
he
raised
himself
on
one
elbow
,
and
,
shading
his
eyes
,
looked
to
where
the
vicar
and
Catherine
were
standing
in
front
of
the
inn
,
touched
for
an
instant
by
a
beam
of
fitful
light
slipping
between
two
great
rain-clouds
.
'
How
well
that
hat
and
dress
become
your
sister
!
'
he
said
,
the
words
breaking
,
as
it
were
,
from
his
lips
.
'
Do
you
think
Catherine
pretty
?
'
said
Rose
with
an
excellent
pretence
of
innocence
,
detaching
a
little
pebble
and
flinging
it
harmlessly
at
a
water-wagtail
balancing
on
a
stone
below
.
He
flushed
.
'
Pretty
!
You
might
as
well
apply
the
word
to
your
mountains
,
to
the
exquisite
river
,
to
that
great
purple
peak
!
'
'
Yes
,
'
thought
Rose
,
'
she
is
not
unlike
that
high
cold
peak
!
'
But
her
girlish
sympathy
conquered
her
;
it
was
very
exciting
,
and
she
liked
Elsmere
.
She
turned
back
to
him
,
her
face
overspread
with
a
quite
irrepressible
smile
.
He
reddened
still
more
,
then
they
stared
into
each
other
's
eyes
,
and
without
a
word
more
understood
each
other
perfectly
.
Rose
held
out
her
hand
to
him
with
a
little
brusque
bon
camarade
gesture
.
He
pressed
it
warmly
in
his
.
'
That
was
nice
of
you
!
'
he
cried
.
'
Very
nice
of
you
!
Friends
then
?
'
She
nodded
,
and
drew
her
hand
away
just
as
Agnes
and
the
vicar
disturbed
them
.
Meanwhile
Catherine
was
standing
by
the
side
of
the
pony
carriage
,
watching
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
preparations
.
'
You
're
sure
you
do
n't
mind
driving
home
alone
?
'
she
said
in
a
troubled
voice
.
'
May
n't
I
go
with
you
?
'
'
My
dear
,
certainly
not
!
As
if
I
was
n't
accustomed
to
going
about
alone
at
my
time
of
life
!
No
,
no
,
my
dear
,
you
go
and
have
your
walk
;
you
'll
get
home
before
the
rain
.
Ready
,
James
.
'
The
old
vicarage
factotum
could
not
imagine
what
made
his
charge
so
anxious
to
be
off
.
She
actually
took
the
whip
out
of
his
hand
and
gave
a
flick
to
the
pony
,
who
swerved
and
started
off
in
a
way
which
would
have
made
his
mistress
clamorously
nervous
under
any
other
circumstances
.
Catherine
stood
looking
after
her
.
'
Now
,
then
,
right
about
face
and
quick
march
!
'
exclaimed
the
vicar
.
'
We
've
got
to
race
that
cloud
over
the
Pike
.
It
'll
be
up
with
us
in
no
time
.
'
Off
they
started
,
and
were
soon
climbing
the
slippery
green
slopes
,
or
crushing
through
the
fern
of
the
fell
they
had
descended
earlier
in
the
afternoon
.
Catherine
for
some
little
way
walked
last
of
the
party
,
the
vicar
in
front
of
her
.
Then
Elsmere
picked
a
stonecrop
,
quarrelled
over
its
precise
name
with
Rose
,
and
waited
for
Catherine
,
who
had
a
very
close
and
familiar
knowledge
of
the
botany
of
the
district
.
'
You
have
crushed
me
,
'
he
said
,
laughing
,
as
he
put
the
flower
carefully
into
his
pocket-book
;
'
but
it
is
worth
while
to
be
crushed
by
any
one
who
can
give
so
much
ground
for
their
knowledge
.
How
you
do
know
your
mountains
—
from
their
peasants
to
their
plants
!
'
'
I
have
had
more
than
ten
able-bodied
years
living
and
scrambling
among
them
,
'
she
said
,
smiling
.
'
Do
you
keep
up
all
your
visits
and
teaching
in
the
winter
?
'
'
Oh
,
not
so
much
,
of
course
!
But
people
must
be
helped
and
taught
in
the
winter
.
And
our
winter
is
often
not
as
hard
as
yours
down
south
.
'
'
Do
you
go
on
with
that
night-school
in
Poll
Ghyll
,
for
instance
?
'
he
said
,
with
another
note
in
his
voice
.
Catherine
looked
at
him
and
coloured
.
'
Rose
has
been
telling
tales
,
'
she
said
.
'
I
wish
she
would
leave
my
proceedings
alone
.
Poll
Ghyll
is
the
family
bone
of
contention
at
present
.
Yes
,
I
go
on
with
it
.
I
always
take
a
lantern
when
the
night
is
dark
,
and
I
know
every
inch
of
the
ground
,
and
Bob
is
always
with
me
;
are
n't
you
,
Bob
?
'
And
she
stooped
down
to
pat
the
collie
beside
her
.
Bob
looked
up
at
her
,
blinking
with
a
proudly
confidential
air
as
though
to
remind
her
that
there
were
a
good
many
such
secrets
between
them
.
'
I
like
to
fancy
you
with
your
lantern
in
the
dark
,
'
he
cried
,
the
hidden
emotion
piercing
through
,
'
the
night
wind
blowing
about
you
,
the
black
mountains
to
right
and
left
of
you
,
some
little
stream
,
perhaps
,
running
beside
you
for
company
,
your
dog
guarding
you
,
and
all
good
angels
going
with
you
.
'
She
flushed
still
more
deeply
;
the
impetuous
words
affected
her
strangely
.
'
Do
n't
fancy
it
at
all
,
'
she
said
,
laughing
.
'
It
is
a
very
small
and
very
natural
incident
of
one
's
life
here
.
Look
back
,
Mr.
Elsmere
;
the
rain
has
beaten
us
!
'
He
looked
back
and
saw
the
great
Pike
over
Shanmoor
village
blotted
out
in
a
moving
deluge
of
rain
.
The
quarry
opposite
on
the
mountain
side
gleamed
green
and
vivid
against
the
ink-black
fell
;
some
clothes
hanging
out
in
the
field
below
the
church
flapped
wildly
hither
and
thither
in
the
sudden
gale
,
the
only
spot
of
white
in
the
prevailing
blackness
;
children
with
their
petticoats
over
their
heads
ran
homewards
along
the
road
the
walking
party
had
just
quitted
;
the
stream
beneath
,
spreading
broadly
through
the
fields
,
shivered
and
wrinkled
under
the
blast
.
Up
it
came
,
and
the
rain
mists
with
it
.
In
another
minute
the
storm
was
beating
in
their
faces
.
'
Caught
!
'
cried
Elsmere
,
in
a
voice
almost
of
jubilation
.
'
Let
me
help
you
into
your
cloak
,
Miss
Leyburn
.
'
He
flung
it
round
her
,
and
struggled
into
his
own
mackintosh
.
The
vicar
in
front
of
them
turned
and
waved
his
hand
to
them
in
laughing
despair
,
then
hurried
after
the
others
,
evidently
with
the
view
of
performing
for
them
the
same
office
Elsmere
had
just
performed
for
Catherine
.
Robert
and
his
companion
struggled
on
for
a
while
in
a
breathless
silence
against
the
deluge
,
which
seemed
to
beat
on
them
from
all
sides
.
He
walked
behind
her
,
sheltering
her
by
his
tall
form
and
his
big
umbrella
as
much
as
he
could
.
His
pulses
were
all
aglow
with
the
joy
of
the
storm
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
he
rejoiced
with
the
thirsty
grass
over
which
the
rain
streams
were
running
,
that
his
heart
filled
with
the
shrunken
becks
as
the
flood
leapt
along
them
.
Let
the
elements
thunder
and
rave
as
they
pleased
.
Could
he
not
at
a
word
bring
the
light
of
that
face
,
those
eyes
,
upon
him
?
Was
she
not
his
for
a
moment
in
the
rain
and
the
solitude
,
as
she
had
never
been
in
the
commonplace
sunshine
of
their
valley
life
?
Suddenly
he
heard
an
exclamation
,
and
saw
her
run
on
in
front
of
him
.
What
was
the
matter
?
Then
he
noticed
for
the
first
time
that
Rose
,
far
ahead
,
was
still
walking
in
her
cotton
dress
.
The
little
scatterbrain
had
,
of
course
,
forgotten
her
cloak
.
But
,
monstrous
!
There
was
Catherine
stripping
off
her
own
,
Rose
refusing
it
.
In
vain
.
The
sister
's
determined
arms
put
it
round
her
.
Rose
is
enwrapped
,
buttoned
up
before
she
knows
where
she
is
,
and
Catherine
falls
back
,
pursued
by
some
shaft
from
Rose
,
more
sarcastic
than
grateful
,
to
judge
by
the
tone
of
it
.
'
Miss
Leyburn
,
what
have
you
been
doing
?
'
'
Rose
had
forgotten
her
cloak
,
'
she
said
briefly
.
'
She
has
a
very
thin
dress
on
,
and
she
is
the
only
one
of
us
that
takes
cold
easily
.
'
'
You
must
take
my
mackintosh
,
'
he
said
at
once
.
She
laughed
in
his
face
.
'
As
if
I
should
do
anything
of
the
sort
!
'
'
You
must
,
'
he
said
,
quietly
stripping
it
off
.
'
Do
you
think
that
you
are
always
to
be
allowed
to
go
through
the
world
taking
thought
of
other
people
and
allowing
no
one
to
take
thought
for
you
?
'
He
held
it
out
to
her
.
'
No
,
no
!
This
is
absurd
,
Mr.
Elsmere
.
You
are
not
strong
yet
.
And
I
have
often
told
you
that
nothing
hurts
me
.
'
He
hung
it
deliberately
over
his
arm
.
'
Very
well
,
then
,
there
it
stays
!
'
And
they
hurried
on
again
,
she
biting
her
lip
and
on
the
point
of
laughter
.
'
Mr
.
Elsmere
,
be
sensible
!
'
she
said
presently
,
her
look
changing
to
one
of
real
distress
.
'
I
should
never
forgive
myself
if
you
got
a
chill
after
your
illness
!
'
'
You
will
not
be
called
upon
,
'
he
said
in
the
most
matter-of-fact
tone
.
'
Men
's
coats
are
made
to
keep
out
weather
,
'
and
he
pointed
to
his
own
,
closely
buttoned
up
.
'
Your
dress
—
I
ca
n't
help
being
disrespectful
under
the
circumstances
—
will
be
wet
through
in
ten
minutes
.
'
Another
silence
.
Then
he
overtook
her
.
'
Please
,
Miss
Leyburn
,
'
he
said
,
stopping
her
.
There
was
an
instant
's
mute
contest
between
them
.
The
rain
splashed
on
the
umbrellas
.
She
could
not
help
it
,
she
broke
down
into
the
merriest
,
most
musical
laugh
of
a
child
that
can
hardly
stop
itself
,
and
he
joined
.
'
Mr
.
Elsmere
,
you
are
ridiculous
!
'
But
she
submitted
.
He
put
the
mackintosh
round
her
,
thinking
,
bold
man
,
as
she
turned
her
rosy
rain-dewed
face
to
him
,
of
Wordsworth
's
'
Louisa
,
'
and
the
poet
's
cry
of
longing
.
And
yet
he
was
not
so
bold
either
.
Even
at
this
moment
of
exhilaration
he
was
conscious
of
a
bar
that
checked
and
arrested
.
Something
—
what
was
it
?
—
drew
invisible
lines
of
defence
about
her
.
A
sort
of
divine
fear
of
her
mingled
with
his
rising
passion
.
Let
him
not
risk
too
much
too
soon
.
They
walked
on
briskly
,
and
were
soon
on
the
Whindale
side
of
the
pass
.
To
the
left
of
them
the
great
hollow
of
High
Fell
unfolded
,
storm-beaten
and
dark
,
the
river
issuing
from
the
heart
of
it
like
an
angry
voice
.
'
What
a
change
!
'
he
said
,
coming
up
with
her
as
the
path
widened
.
'
How
impossible
that
it
should
have
been
only
yesterday
afternoon
I
was
lounging
up
here
in
the
heat
,
by
the
pool
where
the
stream
rises
,
watching
the
white
butterflies
on
the
turf
,
and
reading
"
Laodamia
"
!
'
'
"
Laodamia
"
!
'
she
said
,
half
sighing
as
she
caught
the
name
.
'
Is
it
one
of
those
you
like
best
?
'
'
Yes
,
'
he
said
,
bending
forward
that
he
might
see
her
in
spite
of
the
umbrella
.
'
How
superb
it
is
—
the
roll
,
the
majesty
of
it
;
the
severe
chastened
beauty
of
the
main
feeling
,
the
individual
lines
!
'
And
he
quoted
line
after
line
,
lingering
over
the
cadences
.
'
It
was
my
father
's
favourite
of
all
,
'
she
said
,
in
the
low
vibrating
voice
of
memory
.
'
He
said
the
last
verse
to
me
the
day
before
he
died
.
'
Robert
recalled
it
—
'
Yet
tears
to
human
suffering
are
due
,
And
mortal
hopes
defeated
and
o'erthrown
Are
mourned
by
man
,
and
not
by
man
alone
As
fondly
we
believe
.
'
Poor
Richard
Leyburn
!
Yet
where
had
the
defeat
lain
?
'
Was
he
happy
in
his
school
life
?
'
he
asked
gently
.
'
Was
teaching
what
he
liked
?
'
'
Oh
yes
—
only
—
'
Catherine
paused
and
then
added
hurriedly
,
as
though
drawn
on
in
spite
of
herself
by
the
grave
sympathy
of
his
look
,
'
I
never
knew
anybody
so
good
who
thought
himself
of
so
little
account
.
He
always
believed
that
he
had
missed
everything
,
wasted
everything
,
and
that
anybody
else
would
have
made
infinitely
more
out
of
his
life
.
He
was
always
blaming
,
scourging
himself
.
And
all
the
time
he
was
the
noblest
,
purest
,
most
devoted
—
—
'
She
stopped
.
Her
voice
had
passed
beyond
her
control
.
Elsmere
was
startled
by
the
feeling
she
showed
.
Evidently
he
had
touched
one
of
the
few
sore
places
in
this
pure
heart
.
It
was
as
though
her
memory
of
her
father
had
in
it
elements
of
almost
intolerable
pathos
,
as
though
the
child
's
brooding
love
and
loyalty
were
in
perpetual
protest
,
even
now
after
this
lapse
of
years
,
against
the
verdict
which
an
over-scrupulous
,
despondent
soul
had
pronounced
upon
itself
.
Did
she
feel
that
he
had
gone
uncomforted
out
of
life
—
even
by
her
—
even
by
religion
?
—
was
that
the
sting
?
'
Oh
,
I
can
understand
!
'
he
said
reverently
—
'
I
can
understand
.
I
have
come
across
it
once
or
twice
,
that
fierce
self-judgment
of
the
good
.
It
is
the
most
stirring
and
humbling
thing
in
life
.
'
Then
his
voice
dropped
.
'
And
after
the
last
conflict
—
the
last
"
quailing
breath
"
—
the
last
onslaughts
of
doubt
or
fear
—
think
of
the
Vision
waiting
—
the
Eternal
Comfort
—
'
"
Oh
,
my
only
Light
!
It
cannot
be
That
I
am
he
On
whom
Thy
tempests
fell
all
night
!
"
'
The
words
fell
from
the
softened
voice
like
noble
music
.
There
was
a
pause
.
Then
Catherine
raised
her
eyes
to
his
.
They
swam
in
tears
,
and
yet
the
unspoken
thanks
in
them
were
radiance
itself
.
It
seemed
to
him
as
though
she
came
closer
to
him
like
a
child
to
an
elder
who
has
soothed
and
satisfied
an
inward
smart
.
They
walked
on
in
silence
.
They
were
just
nearing
the
swollen
river
which
roared
below
them
.
On
the
opposite
bank
two
umbrellas
were
vanishing
through
the
field
gate
into
the
road
,
but
the
vicar
had
turned
and
was
waiting
for
them
.
They
could
see
his
becloaked
figure
leaning
on
his
stick
through
the
light
wreaths
of
mist
that
floated
above
the
tumbling
stream
.
The
abnormally
heavy
rain
had
ceased
,
but
the
clouds
seemed
to
be
dragging
along
the
very
floor
of
the
valley
.
The
stepping-stones
came
into
sight
.
He
leaped
on
the
first
and
held
out
his
hand
to
her
.
When
they
started
she
would
have
refused
his
help
with
scorn
.
Now
,
after
a
moment
's
hesitation
she
yielded
,
and
he
felt
her
dear
weight
on
him
as
he
guided
her
carefully
from
stone
to
stone
.
In
reality
it
is
both
difficult
and
risky
to
be
helped
over
stepping-stones
.
You
had
much
better
manage
for
yourself
;
and
half
way
through
Catherine
had
a
mind
to
tell
him
so
.
But
the
words
died
on
her
lips
which
smiled
instead
.
He
could
have
wished
that
passage
from
stone
to
stone
could
have
lasted
for
ever
.
She
was
wrapped
up
grotesquely
in
his
mackintosh
;
her
hat
was
all
bedraggled
;
her
gloves
dripped
in
his
;
and
in
spite
of
all
he
could
have
vowed
that
anything
so
lovely
as
that
delicately
cut
,
gravely
smiling
face
,
swaying
above
the
rushing
brown
water
,
was
never
seen
in
Westmoreland
wilds
before
.
'
It
is
clearing
,
'
he
cried
,
with
ready
optimism
,
as
they
reached
the
bank
.
'
We
shall
get
our
picnic
to-morrow
after
all
—
we
must
get
it
!
Promise
me
it
shall
be
fine
—
and
you
will
be
there
!
'
The
vicar
was
only
fifty
yards
away
waiting
for
them
against
the
field
gate
.
But
Robert
held
her
eagerly
,
imperiously
,
—
and
it
seemed
to
her
,
her
head
was
still
dizzy
with
the
water
.
'
Promise
!
'
he
repeated
,
his
voice
dropping
.
She
could
not
stop
to
think
of
the
absurdity
of
promising
for
Westmoreland
weather
.
She
could
only
say
faintly
'
Yes
!
'
and
so
release
her
hand
.
'
You
are
pretty
wet
!
'
said
the
vicar
,
looking
from
one
to
the
other
with
a
curiosity
which
Robert
's
quick
sense
divined
at
once
was
directed
to
something
else
than
the
mere
condition
of
their
garments
.
But
Catherine
noticed
nothing
;
she
walked
on
wrestling
blindly
with
she
knew
not
what
till
they
reached
the
vicarage
gate
.
There
stood
Mrs.
Thornburgh
,
the
light
drizzle
into
which
the
rain
had
declined
beating
unheeded
on
her
curls
and
ample
shoulders
.
She
stared
at
Robert
's
drenched
condition
,
but
he
gave
her
no
time
to
make
remarks
.
'
Do
n't
take
it
off
,
'
he
said
with
a
laughing
wave
of
the
hand
to
Catherine
;
'
I
will
come
for
it
to-morrow
morning
.
'
And
he
ran
up
the
drive
,
conscious
at
last
that
it
might
be
prudent
to
get
himself
into
something
less
spongelike
than
his
present
attire
as
quickly
as
possible
.
The
vicar
followed
him
.
'
Do
n't
keep
Catherine
,
my
dear
.
There
's
nothing
to
tell
.
Nobody
's
the
worse
.
'
Mrs.
Thornburgh
took
no
heed
.
Opening
the
iron
gate
she
went
through
it
on
to
the
deserted
rain-beaten
road
,
laid
both
her
hands
on
Catherine
's
shoulders
,
and
looked
her
straight
in
the
eyes
.
The
vicar
's
anxious
hint
was
useless
.
She
could
contain
herself
no
longer
.
She
had
watched
them
from
the
vicarage
come
down
the
fell
together
,
had
seen
them
cross
the
stepping
stones
,
lingeringly
,
hand
in
hand
.
'
My
dear
Catherine
!
'
she
cried
,
effusively
kissing
Catherine
's
glowing
cheek
under
the
shelter
of
the
laurustinus
that
made
a
bower
of
the
gate
.
'
My
dear
Catherine
!
'
Catherine
gazed
at
her
in
astonishment
.
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
eyes
were
all
alive
,
and
swarming
with
questions
.
If
it
had
been
Rose
she
would
have
let
them
out
in
one
fell
flight
.
But
Catherine
's
personality
kept
her
in
awe
.
And
after
a
second
,
as
the
two
stood
together
,
a
deep
flush
rose
on
Catherine
's
face
,
and
an
expression
of
half-frightened
apology
dawned
in
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
.
Catherine
drew
herself
away
.
'
Will
you
please
give
Mr.
Elsmere
his
mackintosh
?
'
she
said
,
taking
it
off
;
'
I
sha
n't
want
it
this
little
way
.
'
And
putting
it
on
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
arm
she
turned
away
,
walking
quickly
round
the
bend
of
the
road
.
Mrs.
Thornburgh
watched
her
open-mouthed
,
and
moved
slowly
back
to
the
house
in
a
state
of
complete
collapse
.
'
I
always
knew
'
—
she
said
with
a
groan
—
'
I
always
knew
it
would
never
go
right
if
it
was
Catherine
!
Why
was
it
Catherine
?
'
And
she
went
in
,
still
hurling
at
Providence
the
same
vindictive
query
.
Meanwhile
Catherine
,
hurrying
home
,
the
receding
flush
leaving
a
sudden
pallor
behind
it
,
was
twisting
her
hands
before
her
in
a
kind
of
agony
.
'
What
have
I
been
doing
?
'
she
said
to
herself
.
'
What
have
I
been
doing
?
'
At
the
gate
of
Burwood
something
made
her
look
up
.
She
saw
the
girls
in
their
own
room
—
Agnes
was
standing
behind
,
Rose
had
evidently
rushed
forward
to
see
Catherine
come
in
,
and
now
retreated
as
suddenly
when
she
saw
her
sister
look
up
.
Catherine
understood
it
all
in
an
instant
.
'
They
,
too
,
are
on
the
watch
,
'
she
thought
to
herself
bitterly
.
The
strong
reticent
nature
was
outraged
by
the
perception
that
she
had
been
for
days
the
unconscious
actor
in
a
drama
of
which
her
sisters
and
Mrs.
Thornburgh
had
been
the
silent
and
intelligent
spectators
.
She
came
down
presently
from
her
room
very
white
and
quiet
,
admitted
that
she
was
tired
,
and
said
nothing
to
anybody
.
Agnes
and
Rose
noticed
the
change
at
once
,
whispered
to
each
other
when
they
found
an
opportunity
,
and
foreboded
ill.
After
their
tea-supper
,
Catherine
,
unperceived
,
slipped
out
of
the
little
lane
gate
,
and
climbed
the
stony
path
above
the
house
leading
on
to
the
fell
.
The
rain
had
ceased
,
but
the
clouds
hung
low
and
threatening
,
and
the
close
air
was
saturated
with
moisture
.
As
she
gained
the
bare
fell
,
sounds
of
water
met
her
on
all
sides
.
The
river
cried
hoarsely
to
her
from
below
,
the
becks
in
the
little
ghylls
were
full
and
thunderous
;
and
beside
her
over
the
smooth
grass
slid
many
a
new-born
rivulet
,
the
child
of
the
storm
,
and
destined
to
vanish
with
the
night
.
Catherine
's
soul
went
out
to
welcome
the
gray
damp
of
the
hills
.
She
knew
them
best
in
this
mood
.
They
were
thus
most
her
own
.
She
climbed
on
till
at
last
she
reached
the
crest
of
the
ridge
.
Behind
her
lay
the
valley
,
and
on
its
further
side
the
fells
she
had
crossed
in
the
afternoon
.
Before
her
spread
a
long
green
vale
,
compared
to
which
Whindale
with
its
white
road
,
its
church
,
and
parsonage
,
and
scattered
houses
,
was
the
great
world
itself
.
Marrisdale
had
no
road
and
not
a
single
house
.
As
Catherine
descended
into
it
she
saw
not
a
sign
of
human
life
.
There
were
sheep
grazing
in
the
silence
of
the
long
June
twilight
;
the
blackish
walls
ran
down
and
up
again
,
dividing
the
green
hollow
with
melancholy
uniformity
.
Here
and
there
was
a
sheepfold
,
suggesting
the
bleakness
of
winter
nights
;
and
here
and
there
a
rough
stone
barn
for
storing
fodder
.
And
beyond
the
vale
,
eastwards
and
northwards
,
Catherine
looked
out
upon
a
wild
sea
of
moors
wrapped
in
mists
,
sullen
and
storm-beaten
,
while
to
the
left
the
clouds
hung
deepest
and
inkiest
over
the
high
points
of
the
Ullswater
mountains
.
When
she
was
once
below
the
pass
,
man
and
his
world
were
shut
out
.
The
girl
figure
in
the
blue
cloak
and
hood
was
absolutely
alone
.
She
descended
till
she
reached
a
point
where
a
little
stream
had
been
turned
into
a
stone
trough
for
cattle
.
Above
it
stood
a
gnarled
and
solitary
thorn
.
Catherine
sank
down
on
a
rock
at
the
foot
of
the
tree
.
It
was
a
seat
she
knew
well
;
she
had
lingered
there
with
her
father
;
she
had
thought
and
prayed
there
as
girl
and
woman
;
she
had
wrestled
there
often
with
despondency
or
grief
,
or
some
of
those
subtle
spiritual
temptations
which
were
all
her
pure
youth
had
known
,
till
the
inner
light
had
dawned
again
,
and
the
humble
enraptured
soul
could
almost
have
traced
amid
the
shadows
of
that
dappled
moorland
world
,
between
her
and
the
clouds
,
the
white
stoles
and
'
sleeping
wings
'
of
ministering
spirits
.
But
no
wrestle
had
ever
been
so
hard
as
this
.
And
with
what
fierce
suddenness
had
it
come
upon
her
!
She
looked
back
over
the
day
with
bewilderment
.
She
could
see
dimly
that
the
Catherine
who
had
started
on
that
Shanmoor
walk
had
been
full
of
vague
misgivings
other
than
those
concerned
with
a
few
neglected
duties
.
There
had
been
an
undefined
sense
of
unrest
,
of
difference
,
of
broken
equilibrium
.
She
had
shown
it
in
the
way
in
which
at
first
she
had
tried
to
keep
herself
and
Robert
Elsmere
apart
.
And
then
;
beyond
the
departure
from
Shanmoor
she
seemed
to
lose
the
thread
of
her
own
history
.
Memory
was
drowned
in
a
feeling
to
which
the
resisting
soul
as
yet
would
give
no
name
.
She
laid
her
head
on
her
knees
trembling
.
She
heard
again
the
sweet
imperious
tones
with
which
he
broke
down
her
opposition
about
the
cloak
;
she
felt
again
the
grasp
of
his
steadying
hand
on
hers
.
But
it
was
only
for
a
very
few
minutes
that
she
drifted
thus
.
She
raised
her
head
again
,
scourging
herself
in
shame
and
self-reproach
,
recapturing
the
empire
of
the
soul
with
a
strong
effort
.
She
set
herself
to
a
stern
analysis
of
the
whole
situation
.
Clearly
Mrs.
Thornburgh
and
her
sisters
had
been
aware
for
some
indefinite
time
that
Mr.
Elsmere
had
been
showing
a
peculiar
interest
in
her
.
Their
eyes
had
been
open
.
She
realised
now
with
hot
cheeks
how
many
meetings
and
tête-à-têtes
had
been
managed
for
her
and
Elsmere
,
and
how
complacently
she
had
fallen
into
Mrs.
Thornburgh
's
snares
.
'
Have
I
encouraged
him
?
'
she
asked
herself
sternly
.
'
Yes
,
'
cried
the
smarting
conscience
.
'
Can
I
marry
him
?
'
'
No
,
'
said
conscience
again
;
'
not
without
deserting
your
post
,
not
without
betraying
your
trust
.
'
What
post
?
What
trust
?
Ah
,
conscience
was
ready
enough
with
the
answer
.
Was
it
not
just
ten
years
since
,
as
a
girl
of
sixteen
,
prematurely
old
and
thoughtful
,
she
had
sat
beside
her
father
's
deathbed
,
while
her
delicate
hysterical
mother
,
in
a
state
of
utter
collapse
,
was
kept
away
from
him
by
the
doctors
?
She
could
see
the
drawn
face
,
the
restless
melancholy
eyes
.
'
Catherine
,
my
darling
,
you
are
the
strong
one
.
They
will
look
to
you
.
Support
them
.
'
And
she
could
see
in
imagination
her
own
young
face
pressed
against
the
pillows
.
'
Yes
,
father
,
always
—
always
!
'
—
'
Catherine
,
life
is
harder
,
the
narrow
way
narrower
than
ever
.
I
die
'
—
and
memory
caught
still
the
piteous
,
long-drawn
breath
by
which
the
voice
was
broken
—
'
in
much
—
much
perplexity
about
many
things
.
You
have
a
clear
soul
,
an
iron
will
.
Strengthen
the
others
.
Bring
them
safe
to
the
day
of
account
.
'
—
'
Yes
,
father
,
with
God
's
help
.
Oh
,
with
God
's
help
!
'
That
long-past
dialogue
is
clear
and
sharp
to
her
now
,
as
though
it
were
spoken
afresh
in
her
ears
.
And
how
has
she
kept
her
pledge
?
She
looks
back
humbly
on
her
life
of
incessant
devotion
,
on
the
tie
of
long
dependence
which
has
bound
to
her
her
weak
and
widowed
mother
,
on
her
relations
to
her
sisters
,
the
efforts
she
has
made
to
train
them
in
the
spirit
of
her
father
's
life
and
beliefs
.
Have
those
efforts
reached
their
term
?
Can
it
be
said
in
any
sense
that
her
work
is
done
,
her
promise
kept
?
Oh
,
no
—
no
!
she
cries
to
herself
with
vehemence
.
Her
mother
depends
on
her
every
day
and
hour
for
protection
,
comfort
,
enjoyment
.
The
girls
are
at
the
opening
of
life
,
—
Agnes
twenty
,
Rose
eighteen
,
with
all
experience
to
come
.
And
Rose
—
—
Ah
!
at
the
thought
of
Rose
,
Catherine
's
heart
sinks
deeper
and
deeper
—
she
feels
a
culprit
before
her
father
's
memory
.
What
is
it
has
gone
so
desperately
wrong
with
her
training
of
the
child
?
Surely
she
has
given
love
enough
,
anxious
thought
enough
,
and
here
is
Rose
only
fighting
to
be
free
from
the
yoke
of
her
father
's
wishes
,
from
the
galling
pressure
of
the
family
tradition
!
No.
Her
task
has
just
now
reached
its
most
difficult
,
its
most
critical
,
moment
.
How
can
she
leave
it
?
Impossible
.
What
claim
can
she
put
against
these
supreme
claims
—
of
her
promise
,
her
mother
's
and
sisters
'
need
?
His
claim
?
Oh
,
no
—
no
!
She
admits
with
soreness
and
humiliation
unspeakable
that
she
has
done
him
wrong
.
If
he
loves
her
she
has
opened
the
way
thereto
;
she
confesses
in
her
scrupulous
honesty
that
when
the
inevitable
withdrawal
comes
she
will
have
given
him
cause
to
think
of
her
hardly
,
slightingly
.
She
flinches
painfully
under
the
thought
.
But
it
does
not
alter
the
matter
.
This
girl
,
brought
up
in
the
austerest
school
of
Christian
self-government
,
knows
nothing
of
the
divine
rights
of
passion
.
Half
modern
literature
is
based
upon
them
.
Catherine
Leyburn
knew
of
no
supreme
right
but
the
right
of
God
to
the
obedience
of
man
.
Oh
,
and
besides
—
besides
—
it
is
impossible
that
he
should
care
so
very
much
.
The
time
is
so
short
—
there
is
so
little
in
her
,
comparatively
,
to
attract
a
man
of
such
resource
,
such
attainments
,
such
access
to
the
best
things
of
life
.
She
cannot
—
in
a
kind
of
terror
—
she
will
not
,
believe
in
her
own
love-worthiness
,
in
her
own
power
to
deal
a
lasting
wound
.
Then
her
own
claim
?
Has
she
any
claim
,
has
the
poor
bounding
heart
that
she
cannot
silence
,
do
what
she
will
,
through
all
this
strenuous
debate
,
no
claim
to
satisfaction
,
to
joy
?
She
locks
her
hands
round
her
knees
,
conscious
,
poor
soul
,
that
the
worst
struggle
is
here
,
the
quickest
agony
here
.
But
she
does
not
waver
for
an
instant
.
And
her
weapons
are
all
ready
.
The
inmost
soul
of
her
is
a
fortress
well
stored
,
whence
at
any
moment
the
mere
personal
craving
of
the
natural
man
can
be
met
,
repulsed
,
slain
.
'
Man
approacheth
so
much
the
nearer
unto
God
the
farther
he
departeth
from
all
earthly
comfort
.
'
'
If
thou
couldst
perfectly
annihilate
thyself
and
empty
thyself
of
all
created
love
,
then
should
I
be
constrained
to
flow
into
thee
with
greater
abundance
of
grace
.
'
'
When
thou
lookest
unto
the
creature
the
sight
of
the
Creator
is
withdrawn
from
thee
.
'
'
Learn
in
all
things
to
overcome
thyself
for
the
love
of
thy
Creator
...
.
'
She
presses
the
sentence
she
has
so
often
meditated
in
her
long
solitary
walks
about
the
mountains
into
her
heart
.
And
one
fragment
of
George
Herbert
especially
rings
in
her
ears
,
solemnly
,
funereally
—
'
Thy
Saviour
sentenced
joy
!
'
Ay
,
sentenced
it
for
ever
—
the
personal
craving
,
the
selfish
need
,
that
must
be
filled
at
any
cost
.
In
the
silence
of
the
descending
night
Catherine
quietly
,
with
tears
,
carried
out
that
sentence
,
and
slew
her
young
new-born
joy
at
the
feet
of
the
Master
.
She
stayed
where
she
was
for
a
while
after
this
crisis
in
a
kind
of
bewilderment
and
stupor
,
but
maintaining
a
perfect
outward
tranquillity
.
Then
there
was
a
curious
little
epilogue
.
'
It
is
all
over
,
'
she
said
to
herself
tenderly
.
'
But
he
has
taught
me
so
much
—
he
has
been
so
good
to
me
—
he
is
so
good
!
Let
me
take
to
my
heart
some
counsel
—
some
word
of
his
,
and
obey
it
sacredly
—
silently
—
for
these
days
'
sake
.
'
Then
she
fell
thinking
again
,
and
she
remembered
their
talk
about
Rose
.
How
often
she
had
pondered
it
since
!
In
this
intense
trance
of
feeling
it
breaks
upon
her
finally
that
he
is
right
.
May
it
not
be
that
he
with
his
clearer
thought
,
his
wider
knowledge
of
life
,
has
laid
his
finger
on
the
weak
point
in
her
guardianship
of
her
sisters
?
'
I
have
tried
to
stifle
her
passion
,
'
she
thought
,
'
to
push
it
out
of
the
way
as
a
hindrance
.
Ought
I
not
rather
to
have
taught
her
to
make
of
it
a
step
in
the
ladder
—
to
have
moved
her
to
bring
her
gifts
to
the
altar
?
Oh
,
let
me
take
his
word
for
it
—
be
ruled
by
him
in
this
one
thing
,
once
!
'
She
bowed
her
face
on
her
knees
again
.
It
seemed
to
her
that
she
had
thrown
herself
at
Elsmere
's
feet
,
that
her
cheek
was
pressed
against
that
young
brown
hand
of
his
.
How
long
the
moment
lasted
she
never
knew
.
When
at
last
she
rose
stiff
and
weary
,
darkness
was
overtaking
even
the
lingering
northern
twilight
.
The
angry
clouds
had
dropped
lower
on
the
moors
;
a
few
sheep
beside
the
glimmering
stone
trough
showed
dimly
white
;
the
night
wind
was
sighing
through
the
untenanted
valley
and
the
scanty
branches
of
the
thorn
.
White
mists
lay
along
the
hollow
of
the
dale
;
they
moved
weirdly
under
the
breeze
.
She
could
have
fancied
them
a
troop
of
wraiths
to
whom
she
had
flung
her
warm
crushed
heart
,
and
who
were
bearing
it
away
to
burial
.
As
she
came
slowly
over
the
pass
and
down
the
Whindale
side
of
the
fell
a
clear
purpose
was
in
her
mind
.
Agnes
had
talked
to
her
only
that
morning
of
Rose
and
Rose
's
desire
,
and
she
had
received
the
news
with
her
habitual
silence
.
The
house
was
lit
up
when
she
returned
.
Her
mother
had
gone
upstairs
.
Catherine
went
to
her
,
but
even
Mrs.
Leyburn
discovered
that
she
looked
worn
out
,
and
she
was
sent
off
to
bed
.
She
went
along
the
passage
quickly
to
Rose
's
room
,
listening
a
moment
at
the
door
.
Yes
,
Rose
was
inside
,
crooning
some
German
song
,
and
apparently
alone
.
She
knocked
and
went
in
.
Rose
was
sitting
on
the
edge
of
her
bed
,
a
white
dressing-gown
over
her
shoulders
,
her
hair
in
a
glorious
confusion
all
about
her
.
She
was
swaying
backwards
and
forwards
dreamily
singing
,
and
she
started
up
when
she
saw
Catherine
.
'
Röschen
,
'
said
the
elder
sister
,
going
up
to
her
with
a
tremor
of
heart
,
and
putting
her
motherly
arms
round
the
curly
golden
hair
and
the
half-covered
shoulders
,
'
you
never
told
me
of
that
letter
from
Manchester
,
but
Agnes
did
.
Did
you
think
,
Röschen
,
I
would
never
let
you
have
your
way
?
Oh
,
I
am
not
so
hard
!
I
may
have
been
wrong
—
I
think
I
have
been
wrong
;
you
shall
do
what
you
will
,
Röschen
.
If
you
want
to
go
,
I
will
ask
mother
.
'
Rose
,
pushing
herself
away
with
one
hand
,
stood
staring
.
She
was
struck
dumb
by
this
sudden
breaking
down
of
Catherine
's
long
resistance
.
And
what
a
strange
white
Catherine
!
What
did
it
mean
?
Catherine
withdrew
her
arms
with
a
little
sigh
and
moved
away
.
'
I
just
came
to
tell
you
that
,
Röschen
,
'
she
said
,
'
but
I
am
very
tired
and
must
not
stay
.
'
Catherine
'
very
tired
'
!
Rose
thought
the
skies
must
be
falling
.
'
Cathie
!
'
she
cried
,
leaping
forward
just
as
her
sister
gained
the
door
.
'
Oh
,
Cathie
,
you
are
an
angel
,
and
I
am
a
nasty
,
odious
little
wretch
.
But
oh
,
tell
me
,
what
is
the
matter
?
'
And
she
flung
her
strong
young
arms
round
Catherine
with
a
passionate
strength
.
The
elder
sister
struggled
to
release
herself
.
'
Let
me
go
,
Rose
,
'
she
said
in
a
low
voice
.
'
Oh
,
you
must
let
me
go
!
'
And
wrenching
herself
free
,
she
drew
her
hand
over
her
eyes
as
though
trying
to
drive
away
the
mist
from
them
.
'
Good-night
!
Sleep
well
.
'
And
she
disappeared
,
shutting
the
door
noiselessly
after
her
.
Rose
stood
staring
a
moment
,
and
then
swept
off
her
feet
by
a
flood
of
many
feelings
—
remorse
,
love
,
fear
,
sympathy
—
threw
herself
face
downwards
on
her
bed
and
burst
into
a
passion
of
tears
.
CHAPTER
VIII
Catherine
was
much
perplexed
as
to
how
she
was
to
carry
out
her
resolution
;
she
pondered
over
it
through
much
of
the
night
.
She
was
painfully
anxious
to
make
Elsmere
understand
without
a
scene
,
without
a
definite
proposal
and
a
definite
rejection
.
It
was
no
use
letting
things
drift
.
Something
brusque
and
marked
there
must
be
.
She
quietly
made
her
dispositions
.
It
was
long
after
the
gray
vaporous
morning
stole
on
the
hills
before
she
fell
lightly
,
restlessly
asleep
.
To
her
healthful
youth
a
sleepless
night
was
almost
unknown
.
She
wondered
through
the
long
hours
of
it
,
whether
now
,
like
other
women
,
she
had
had
her
story
,
passed
through
her
one
supreme
moment
,
and
she
thought
of
one
or
two
worthy
old
maids
she
knew
in
the
neighbourhood
with
a
new
and
curious
pity
.
Had
any
of
them
,
too
,
gone
down
into
Marrisdale
and
come
up
widowed
indeed
?
All
through
,
no
doubt
,
there
was
a
certain
melancholy
pride
in
her
own
spiritual
strength
.
'
It
was
not
mine
,
'
she
would
have
said
with
perfect
sincerity
,
'
but
God
's
.
'
Still
,
whatever
its
source
,
it
had
been
there
at
command
,
and
the
reflection
carried
with
it
a
sad
sense
of
security
.
It
was
as
though
a
soldier
after
his
first
skirmish
should
congratulate
himself
on
being
bulletproof
.
To
be
sure
,
there
was
an
intense
trouble
and
disquiet
in
the
thought
that
she
and
Mr.
Elsmere
must
meet
again
,
probably
many
times
.
The
period
of
his
original
invitation
had
been
warmly
extended
by
the
Thornburghs
.
She
believed
he
meant
to
stay
another
week
or
ten
days
in
the
valley
.
But
in
the
spiritual
exaltation
of
the
night
she
felt
herself
equal
to
any
conflict
,
any
endurance
,
and
she
fell
asleep
,
the
hands
clasped
on
her
breast
expressing
a
kind
of
resolute
patience
,
like
those
of
some
old
sepulchral
monument
.
The
following
morning
Elsmere
examined
the
clouds
and
the
barometer
with
abnormal
interest
.
The
day
was
sunless
and
lowering
,
but
not
raining
,
and
he
represented
to
Mrs.
Thornburgh
,
with
a
hypocritical
assumption
of
the
practical
man
,
that
with
rugs
and
mackintoshes
it
was
possible
to
picnic
on
the
dampest
grass
.
But
he
could
not
make
out
the
vicar
's
wife
.
She
was
all
sighs
