Page:Doctor Marigold's prescriptions, the extra Christmas number of All the year round (IA doctormarigoldsp00dickrich).pdf/42

38 (December 7, 1865.) never let me off, because, before I was taken, he somehow got to my bedside in the night, woke me, and put a rope round my neck."

 

There can hardly be seen anywhere, a prettier village than Cumner, standing on the brow of a  hill which commands one of the finest views in  England, and flanked by its broad breezy com-  mon, the air of which is notorious for clearness  and salubrity. The high road from Bring, for the most part abut in by the fences of gentle¬  men’s seats, opens out when it readies this  common, and, separating from the Tcuelms road,  ascends in a north-westerly direction till it  comes in sight of Cumner. Every step is against the collar, yet so gradual is the ascent,  that you scarcely realise it until, turning, you  behold the magnificent panorama spread around  and beneath. The village consists chiefly of one short street j of somewhat straggling houses, among which  you observe its little post-office, its police  station, its rustic public-house (the Dunslan  Arms), whose landlord also holds the general  shop across the way; and its two or three  humble lodging-houses. Facing you as you enter the street, which is a cul-de-sac, is the  quaint old church, standing not more than a  bow-shot from the Rectory. There is something primitive and almost patriarchal iu this quiet  village, where the pastor lives surrounded by his  flock, and can scarcely move from his own gate  without finding himself in the midst of them. Cumner Common is skirted on three sides by dwellings, varying in size and importance, from  the small butcher’s shop standing in its own  garden, and under the shadow of its own apple-  trees, to the pretty white house where the  curate lodges, and the more pretentious abodes  of those who are, or consider themselves,  gentry. It is bounded on the east by the low stone wall and gateway of Mr. Malcolmson’s  domain; the modest dwelling of Simon Fade,  that gentleman’s bailiff, half covered with  creepers, the autumnal hues of which might, rival  the brightest specimens of American foliage;  lastly, by the high brick wall (with its door in the  centre), which completely shuts in Mr. Gibbs’s  “ place.” On the south side runs the high road to  TeneUns, skirting the great Southangcr property,  of which Sir Oswald Uunstan is proprietor. Hardly could the pedestrian tourist, on his way from Dring, fail to pause at the rustic stile  nearly opposite the blacksmith’s forge, and,  resting upon it, gaze down on the magnificent  prospect of wood and water spread at his feet—  a prospect to which two ancient cedars form no  inappropriate foreground. That stile is not often crossed, for the footpath from it leads only to  the farm called the Plashetta; bpt it is very  constantly used as a resting-place; Many an  artist has sketched the view from it; many a    lover has whispered tender words to his mistress  beside it j many a weary tramp has rested his or  her feet on the worn stone beneath. This stile was once the favourite resort of two young lovers, inhabitants of the district,  and soon to be united. George Eade, the only son of Mr. Malcolmson’s bailiff, was a  stalwart good-looking young fellow of some six-  and-twenty, who worked for that gentleman  under his father, and was in the receipt of  liberal wages. Honest, steady, and fond of self-cultivation, he was capable, if not clever  —persevering, if not rapid—an excellent spe¬  cimen of an honest English peasant. But he had certain peculiarities of disposition and  temper, which served to render him con¬  siderably less popular than his father. lie was reserved; feeling strongly, but with difficulty  giving expression to liis feelings; susceptible  to, and not easi’y forgiving, injuries ; singu¬  larly addicted to self-accusation and remorse. His father, a straightforward open-hearted man of five-and-forty, who had raised himself by sheer  merit from the position of a labourer to that of  the trusted manager of Mr. Malcolmson’s pro¬  perty, was highly respected by that gentleman,  and by the whole country-side. His mother, feeble in health, but energetic of spirit., was one  of the most excellent of women. This couple, like many of their class, had married imprudently early, and had struggled  through many difficulties in consequence: bury¬  ing, one after another, three sickly children in  the little churchyard at Cumner where they  hoped one day themselves to lie. On the one son that, remained t,o them their affections were  centred. The mother, especially, worshipped her George with an admiring love that partook  of idolatry. She was not without some of the weaknesses of her sex. She was jealous; and when she discovered the flame which had  been kindled in the heart of her son by the soft  blue eyes of Susan Archer, her feelings to¬  wards tiiat rosy-cheeked damsel were not t hose  of perfect charity. True, the Archers were people who held themselves high, occupying  a large farm under Sir Oswald Dunslan; ana  they .were known to regard Susan’s attachment  as a decided lowering of herself and them. That attachment had sprung up, as is not, un frequently the case, in the hop-gardens. The girl had been ailing for some time, anu her  shrewd old doctor assured her father that there  was no tonic so efficacious as a fortnight’s  hop-picking in the sunny September weather. Now there were but few places to which so dis¬ tinguished a belle as Susan could be permitted  to go for such a purpose; but her family knew  and respected the Fades, and to Mr. Malcolm-  son’s hop-grounds she was accordingly sent. The tonic prescribed produced the desired effect. She lost her ailments; but she lost her heart too. George Eade was good looking, and up to that time had never cared for woman. The love he conceived for the gentle, blue-eyed  girl was of that all-absorbing character which  natures stern and eoncentratea like his, are fitted  to feel, and to feci but once in a lifetime It 