CHAPTER XI.

CHURCH-STILE HOUSE.

"If we were to form an image of dignity in a man, we should give him wisdom and valor, as being essential to the character of manhood. In the like manner, if you describe a right woman in a laudable sense, she should have gentle softness, tender fear, and all those parts of life which distinguish her from the other sex; with some subordination to it, but such an infirmity that makes her still more lovely."--_Sir Richard Steele._

It was with somewhat mixed feelings that Queenie bade farewell to her old friend Caleb Runciman the next day; and even Emmie looked back regretfully at the little dark house.

"I shall never love any other quite so well: shall you, Queen? I cannot bear big houses and large halls. We shall miss Caleb and Molly dreadfully; but then we shall only be a month away."

"Hush! a month is a long time; a great deal may happen in it," returned her sister thoughtfully, a little awe mingled with her pleasure. They were going to a strange place, amidst unknown faces; they would make new friends, feel fresh interests, think new thoughts.

They, too, were standing hand in hand on the threshold of a new world--a world full of all manner of delightful possibilities; they had broken with the dreary past, and now the future lay before them. Queenie took off her pretty brown hat and bared her forehead to the breeze with a little gasp. "How nice it is to feel young and strong and free. You and I are free, Emmie; yes, free as this delicious wind," finished the young girl with a little quiver of ecstasy in her voice.

A thousand vague imaginations flitted across her mind as she sat watching the flying mile-stones, while Emmie, wearied out with excitement, slept with her head upon Queenie's shoulder. "I feel afraid of nothing to-day; I am sure I shall find work; I do not mind how humble or hard it is. I think I feel young for the first time. After all, there are only two things to fear in life--debt and unkindness. A few loving words will sweeten even a crust of bread and a cup of water. Emmie and I will not mind a little hardship if we can only be together; but how nearly I lost my treasure," with an involuntary shudder that roused Emmie. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"I think this must be Hepshaw, we are going more slowly; what a little journey, Queen! Oh, yes; there is Cathy on the platform, looking into all the carriages. She does not see us; what fun!"

"Indeed she does, Emmie; she is laughing and nodding at us. Let me help you out, dear;" but almost before she descended from the carriage she felt herself seized by a pair of arms, and Cathy's bright face confronted her.

"Oh, you dear things! to think you have really arrived! I have been here at least an hour and a half, till the station-master thought I must have taken leave of my senses. I would have it the train was due at three. Give me a kiss, Emmie. Bless me! how that child grows. My dear Queen," eyeing her with intense curiosity and satisfaction, "if you are not ashamed of walking with me in my old hat I think we will move on, as they say in London."

"Certainly, if you will lead the way," returned Queenie politely; but her friend remained still in the same attitude of delighted astonishment.

"My dear, when I have recovered a little; but whatever will Langley say? I feel I am bringing you to the house under false pretences; the victim of misfortune appears suddenly in the garb of an elegant female, with a golden pheasant's plume in her hat. You lovely old Queen! you look so nice that I quite long to hug you. Ted will be fairly overpowered when he sees us."

"Cathy, really you must not talk such nonsense," returned Queenie, blushing; "the man is waiting for our tickets, and Emmie is tired."

"Ah! now I recognize Madam Dignity, of Granite Lodge. Come along, then, through this little gate. We have to wait at the Deer-hound inn for a few minutes till Ted and the waggonette come up from Warstdale; that is where Garth's granite quarry is. Garth is so sorry that he could not meet you himself."

Queenie did not answer; she felt a little shy and silent all of a sudden. She followed Cathy down the steep little road bordered with plane trees, and cumbered with piles of neatly-hewn planks, to the grey old inn. What a quiet country corner it looked, she thought. The village, or market town as it really was, lay beyond; a long road went stretching away into the distance; across the road were granaries, and a sunny little garden; a hen with a family of yellow ducklings were scratching in the dust; dark clumps of plane trees were everywhere. The grey old landlord stood regarding them from the porch; the comely hostess came bustling out to meet them.

"Come in, Miss Clayton; the waggonette isn't here yet, and it is a bit hot in the sun. Mr. Logan passed just now on his way to the quarry and he would have it his big umbrella did not shelter him at all."

"It is sure to be full of holes," returned Cathy carelessly, as she led the way into the inn. Queenie had a glimpse as she passed of a long, low-ceiled room with cross-beams and a deep window, and then of the great stone kitchen with its long settle and wide open fireplace. As they followed the landlady up the broad staircase Emmie clapped her hands delightfully.

"What a beautiful room! I never saw a glass cupboard of china before like that; and there are two tables and rocking-chairs; and oh, dear! what a hard, slippery sofa, and what a funny, cracked piano; and, I do declare, there are at least four or five large silver tea-pots, and a great stand of wax flowers."

"This is where they have the agricultural dinners and do all the speechifying. Sit down, Queenie, do; how I wish that long laddie of ours would drive up; but it is just like Ted, to be late for everything."

"I do not mind waiting," returned her friend quietly. She was quite as much excited as Cathy and Emmie, though she did not show it as they did. She stood looking out of the small-paned window, through the screen of red geraniums, at the sunny little garden across the road.

Two buxom lasses were carrying piles of white, freshly-dried linen to the inn; the patient hen was still clucking devotedly at the heels of her foster-family; some long-necked geese waddled aimlessly across the road; a sweet odor of fresh hay came from the granary in front; the trampling of hoofs and the loud cool swishes of water, mingled with the hissing of a red-headed ostler, sounded from the stable-yard. Queenie looked out dreamily, until the noise of advancing wheels broke on her ear.

Cathy started up.

"There is Ted! look at him brandishing his whip and making up for lost time by driving furiously. What a shame to treat poor old Minnie so! she is quite covered with foam. Ted, you tiresome fellow, what do you mean by keeping my friends waiting?"

"I beg your friends' pardon; am I late? Nonsense, Cath, you are such a one to exaggerate; come, jump in. Where's the luggage? Give a hand, you fellows there, and stow in the traps; the mare's fidgetty, and won't stand."

"No wonder, when you have fretted her to a fever; you would catch it from Garth if he saw her. Now then, Ted, where are your manners? this is Miss Marriott and her little sister Emmie."

The young man took off his straw hat rather gravely, and then descended leisurely from the vehicle, and commenced stroking the mare's neck, casting furtive glances at the new-comers as he did so.

He was a mere boy, as Cathy had described him, barely twenty; his sister's name of the "long laddie" suited him perfectly, for he was certainly the tallest specimen of youthful manhood that Queenie had ever seen; his slenderness added to his height, he towered above them like a boy giant.

Queenie liked his face; it was good-looking, though somewhat freckled, with a pair of mild brown eyes; at the present it manifested nothing but an expression of obstinate good-humor.

"Now, then, Cathy, jump in; the mare won't stand, I tell you."

"I don't see why we are to hurry ourselves," replied his sister, provokingly. "Did you meet Mr. Logan on the Warstdale road, Ted?"

Ted laughed.

"Poor old Christopher? yes; there he was, trudging away, with his blue spotted handkerchief tucked under his felt hat, and the sun scorching him through the rents in his umbrella, and his boots white with dust, such a figure of fun."

"You ought to have insisted on bringing him back; he will have a sunstroke. Think of Miss Cosie's feeling," and Cathy looked a little grave. "You are such a child, Ted; you never think of anything. Now drive slowly through the town, that I may point out the various landmarks to Miss Marriott."

"Ted followed his instructions _au pied de la lettre_, by proceeding at a funeral pace, while Minnie snorted indignantly at her driver's tight hand, and whisked her tail angrily at the flies.

"Oh! do go on a little faster, Ted; every one will be staring at us if we go at this ridiculous pace," pleaded his sister, trying hard to be dignified and not to laugh. These passages in arms between her and her younger brother were not new in the household. Queenie was amused to see that he merely pushed his hand through his rough light hair and jogged on at the same pace.

Queenie had plenty of time to note the surroundings, though she persisted then, and long afterwards, in regarding Hepshaw as a village, in spite of its dignity as a market-town. She admired the game-keeper's white house, set so prettily among the sycamores, or plane trees, and the picturesque police-station, with its cottage porch and bright-bordered flower-garden.

The long broad road, with its stone cottages and small substantial houses, set so snugly in patches of garden ground, pleased her greatly; everything looked so fresh and still. By-and-bye they came to the market-place, with its few bright-looking shops, and the boys' school-house; just opposite was a curious little building with small half-moon windows, that Queenie took for the market, but which proved to be the girls' school.

"I think it was used for the market once upon a time," explained Cathy; "is it not a queer little place? those high crescent-shaped windows are so absurd. Look behind you, Queen; that is the prettiest peep of all," as she pointed to some green meadows, behind which were the church, vicarage, and another house, standing high above the town, and perfectly embosomed with trees.

The road branched into two now; further on were some still more picturesque cottages, and even a villa or two, but the mare was jogging up a steep country road now, and in another moment they were driving across a tiny moat and into a court-yard, bordered with a row of dark sycamores, with a side glimpse of a steep little house adjoining the church-yard.

"Welcome to Church-Stile House. Isn't it a gloomy old place? and yet Langley and I love it. Oh! there is Langley," as a black clad figure, taller and more erect even than Cathy's, came swiftly down the garden path towards them.

"How late you all are; I have been expecting you for an hour at least. I am so glad you have come, Miss Marriott; Cathy is never weary of talking about her friends. So this is really Emmie?" kissing the child and holding, out a cordial hand to Queenie.

The voice was sweet and pleasant, the accent singularly refined; nevertheless, the first sight of Langley Clayton gave Queenie a curious shock. The likeness between the sisters was striking, but it was a likeness that pained rather than pleased; it was Cathy's face grown prematurely old, and deprived of color and animation, a face that had sharpened and grown weary under the pressure of some carking care; the eyes were gentle, but unrestful; the long wave of hair worn over the forehead in Cathy's style was mixed with grey. The touch of the thin hot hand lingered long on Queenie's palm.

"I am so glad, so very glad, you have come," repeated Langley, with a soft flickering smile. This flickering smile was peculiar to Langley; it was all that ever broke up the subdued gravity of manner habitual to her. Queenie soon discovered that she never laughed; when pleased or excited this odd uncertain smile would play tremulously round the mouth for a moment and then fade away.

"It is so good of you to have us," returned Queenie, feeling strangely subdued all of a sudden, as she followed Langley's tall figure into the square little hall, and then into a sitting-room, pleasantly littered with books and work, and with a certain old-fashioned cosiness in its arrangements. The deep basket-work chairs, lined with chintz cushions, looked deliciously inviting, and so did the low couch and reading-table. One high narrow window commanded a view of the steep little lawn, running down to the lane; the other, to Queenie's surprise, opened full on the church-yard. Within a few feet were tall palings, and a granite obelisk; then some sparsely-scattered tombstones, and a long terrace bordered by sycamores, and known by the name of the plane-tree walk.

"I am afraid it strikes you as very dismal," said Langley, softly, as they stood together at the windows; "most people consider the obelisk a great eyesore. A few years ago there was not a single tombstone; it is only now that they have begun to use the church-yard. It was just the church, and the green, and the plane-tree walk; it was our garden then."

"I suppose one would get used to it in time," replied Queenie, somewhat evasively. Her healthy young vitality shivered a little at the incongruity between the warm cosiness of the life inside and the gleaming tombstones without, within a few feet of the fireside round which the family circle gathered. "That terrace walk is very pretty, and the old church must be nice; but--"

"But you think we ought always to be reading Hervey's 'Meditations,' and considering our latter end," broke in Cathy gaily. "Nothing of the kind, I assure you; Garth grumbles, and declares he will build a new house for himself higher up the hill, and Ted agrees with him; but I don't mind it in the least, and Langley likes it."

"Do you?" asked Queenie, fixing her large brown eyes curiously on Langley's pale face.

"I love it," was the quiet answer.

"Well, what do you think of Langley?" asked Cathy, when they had been duly installed in their large comfortable room. Miss Clayton had left them, taking Emmie with her, after having ministered to the child with her own hands. Her thoughtfulness for their comfort, and her gentle manipulation of Emmie touched Queenie's heart; they had gone off together hand in hand, Emmie chattering confidentially to her new friend, and Cathy and she had ensconced themselves cosily on the low window-seat commanding a view of the old church and church-yard. Queenie liked it better now; after all it was strangely peaceful, God's Acre, as she loved to hear it called.

"Well, what do you think of this sister of mine?" repeated her friend enquiringly.

"It is too soon to ask my opinion; I have not made up my mind. Indeed I like her," as Cathy looked a little crestfallen; "I should not wonder if I like her better the more I know her; her voice is delicious, so low and musical, with a little trill in it, and her eyes looked so kindly at one."

"You are a model of reserve and prudence, my dear Madam Dignity. I always make up my mind the first minute whether I like a person or not, and never swerve an inch from my like or dislike afterwards; that is feminine instinct, as I tell Garth. He is as tiresome as you are; one can never get at his opinion of a person till he has thoroughly sifted and weighed them in a sort of moral balance of his own."

"I must say I think that he is wise."

"He has strong prejudices though; small sins are sometimes heinous in his eyes. Garth's pride is his chief fault; he is quite absurd on some points. I have heard him say, more than once, that he would never marry a rich woman, however much he cared for her; that a man should never be beholden to his wife for anything but love. Isn't that absurd?"

"It is a fault on the right side."

"Nonsense; I am tired of arguing the point with him. What has money to do in the case? My husband might be as rich as Croesus, or as poor as a church-mouse, but if I liked him I would stick to him all the same. It is wrong pride in a man to let anything stand in the way if he likes a woman; and Langley agrees with me."

"Does she?"

"Yes; she talks on these sort of subjects so nicely; she is not a bit hard, as Garth is sometimes. He hates flirting and nonsense, and scolds me dreadfully if I make myself too amiable to any masculine individual; but Langley always takes my part, and says I am only a child; oh, she is a darling, or a saint, as Mr. Logan says."

"I am sure she is nice," returned Queenie, throwing a little enthusiasm into her voice. Cathy's frankness was embarrassing. That first evening she would have found it impossible to form any true opinion of Miss Clayton; she was attracted and yet repelled by her, fascinated oddly by her voice and manner, and yet pained by a weariness and suppression for which there seemed no words. Was she unhappy or only tired? was her life simply too monotonous for her? had she wider yearnings that stretched out further, and were still unsatisfied? had responsibility and over-much thought for others traced those worn lines, and wrinkled the smooth forehead? Queenie found herself indulging in all manner of conjectures before the evening was over. That she was a woman infinitely loved and respected was plainly evident. Langley's opinion, Langley's sympathy, were always claimed, and never in vain; the same patient attention, the same ready help, were given to all. She talked largely and well, and with a certain originality that made her an interesting companion; and there was a breadth and large-mindedness about her views that appealed strongly to Queenie's admiration.

"I do like her; I am sure I shall like her," she repeated for the third time, when Cathy had finished a long and animated harangue on her sister's merits. Cathy never stinted her praise; she spread it richly for those she loved, with a warmth of girlish hyperbole, and a generous glazing-over of manifest defects, that was rather refreshing in this censorious age.

"What was I saying? Hush! there is Garth; we must go down now," as a sudden melodious whistle sounded from below, at once deftly and sweetly answered by Cathy. "That means tea is ready, and his highness is hungry; come, we must not keep th' maister waiting."

The long low-ceiled dining-room looked snug and home-like as they entered. A tempting meal was spread for the travellers; a basket of roses and ferns garnished the table; some canaries sang in the window. Ted Clayton's long figure lounged in a rocking-chair; Emmie was standing beside him, looking like a little Puritan girl in her grey frock and close-bordered cap, making friends with a white Maltese terrier; a tall young man in a rough tweed coat leant over the back of his chair.

"Miss Marriott, this is my brother Garth," said Cathy, with an accent of pride in her voice, and Garth came forward with a pleasant smile.

What a good, thoughtful face it was; certainly Cathy had not exaggerated. He was a handsome, a very handsome, man; the chin was strongly moulded, and the mouth closed firmly, perhaps a trifle too firmly, under the dark moustache, but the blue-grey eyes had an honest kindly gleam in them; the strong brown hand grasped Queenie's with open-hearted friendliness.

Then and afterwards Queenie marvelled to herself, that Garth Clayton's face came to her as a sudden revelation--with the instinctive recognition--of God's noblest handiwork,--a really good man, good, that is, as poor human nature reads the word.

By-and-bye, when she knew him better, and all his faults were mapped out legibly before her, and she read him with the unerring light of a woman's truest instinct, she ever gave him honor as one who strove to walk nobly amongst his fellows, who stood as a Saul among men, a head and shoulders taller than they, by reason of the integrity and strength of purpose that lay within him.

"Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right, and that shall bring a man peace at the last," were the words of the wise old King, to which Garth Clayton had ever given heed, keeping his hands clean with a whiteness that scorned to sully itself; standing aloof from small petty subterfuge and conventional untruths.

And yet there were strange blemishes in Garth Clayton's nature apparent to those who loved him. There was the narrowness of a pride that chose superiority rather than equality; that would stand aloof willingly from his equals, to rule, and rule wisely, over his inferiors; a born autocrat; despotic, yet not unkindly; somewhat tyrannical, unable to brook contradiction, childishly eager for praise, sensitive to a fault, jealous of dignity, and, by one of those strange subtilties that baffle metaphysicians, ever through life painfully conscious of hidden disadvantages. For the clear intellect failed in depth and breadth, the calm common sense read itself truly; and, too proud to stoop to others for knowledge, or to own ignorance, which it would have been truly great to confess, Garth Clayton would at times wrap himself round in a silent reserve that often mystified and perplexed others.

But there was always one who understood him, and that was Langley; and by-and-bye there came another!