Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/85

74 and indifferent  than  she  would  if  she  had  not betrayed this  agitation.

“What! is it  you,  Master  Gerard  What  on earth  brings  you  here,  I wonder.”

“I was passing  by  and  saw  you; so  I thought I would give  you  good  day,  and  ask  after  your father.”

“My father  is  well. He will  be  here  anon.”

“Then I may  as  well  stay  till  he  comes.”

“As you  will. Good Martin,  step  into  the village and  tell  my  father  here  is  a friend  of his.”

“And not  of  yours?”

“My father’s  friends  are  mine.”

“That is  doubtful. It was  not  like  a friend  to promise  to  wait  for  me,  and  then  make  off  the moment my  back  was  turned. Cruel Margaret! you little  know  how  I searched  the  town  for  you — how for  want  of  you  nothing  was  pleasant  to me.”

“These are  idle  words; if  you  had  desired  my father’s  company,  or  mine,  you  would  have  come back. There I had  a bed  laid  for  you,  sir,  at  my cousin’s,  and  he  would  have  made  much  of  you, and, who  knows,  I might  have  made  much  of  you too. I was in  the  humour  that  day. You will not catch  me  in  the  same  mind  again,  neither  you nor any  young  man,  I warrant  me.”

“Margaret, I came  back  the  moment  the  countess let  me  go; but  you  were  not  there.”

“Nay, you  did  not,  or  you  had  seen  Hans Cloterman at  our  table; we  left  him  to  bring you on.”

“I saw  no  one  there,  but  only  a drunken  man that had  just  tumbled  down.”

“At our  table? How was  he  clad?”

“Nay, I took  little  heed:  in  sad  coloured garb.”

At this  Margaret’s  face  gradually  lighted  with a mixture of  archness  and  happiness; then assuming incredulity  and  severity,  she  put  many shrewd questions,  all  of  which  Gerard  answered most loyally. Finally, the  clouds  cleared,  and they guessed  how  the  misunderstanding  had  come about. Then came  a revulsion  of  tenderness,  all the more  powerful  that  they  had  done  each  other wrong; and  then,  more  dangerous  still,  came mutual confessions. Neither had  been  happy since; neither ever  would  have  been  happy  but for this  fortunate  meeting.

And Gerard  found  a MS.  Vulgate  lying  open  on the  table,  and  pounced  upon  it  like  a hawk. MSS. were his  delight; but  before  he  could  get  to  it two  white  hands  quickly  came  flat  upon  the  page, and a red  face  confronted  him.

“Nay, take  away  your  hands,  Margaret,  that  I may  see  where  you  are  reading,  and  I will  read there too  at  home; so  shall  my  soul  meet  yours in the  sacred  page. You will  not? Nay, then, I must kiss  them  away.” And  he  kissed  them  so often,  that  for  very  shame  they  were  fain  to  withdraw, and,  lo! the sacred  book  proved  to  be open  at

“There, now,”  said  she,  “I  had  been  hunting for it  ever  so  long,  and  found  it  but  even  now — and to  be  caught!” and  with  a touch  of  inconsistency she  pointed  it  out  to  Gerard  with  her white finger.

“Ay,” said  he,  “but  to-day  it  is  all  hidden  in that  great  cap.”

“It is  a comely  cap,  I’m  told  by  some.”

“May be: but  what  it  hides  is  beautiful.”

“It is  not: it  is  hideous.”

“Well, it  was  beautiful  at  Rotterdam.”

“Ay, everything  was  beautiful  that  day.”

And now  Peter  came  in,  and  welcomed  Gerard cordially, and  would  have  him  to  stay  supper. And Margaret  disappeared; and  Gerard  had  a nice  learned  chat  with  Peter; and  Margaret  reappeared with  her  hair  in  her  silver  net,  and  shot a glance half  arch  half  coy,  and  she  glided  about them, and  spread  supper,  and  beamed  bright  with gaiety and  happiness. And in  the  cool  evening Gerard coaxed  her  out,  and  coaxed  her  on  to  the road to  Tergou,  and  there  they  strolled  up  and down, hand  in  hand; and  when  he  must  go  they pledged each  other  never  to  quarrel  or  misunderstand one  another  again;  and  they  sealed  the promise with  a long  loving  kiss,  and  Gerard  went home on  wings.

From that  day  Gerard  spent  most  of  his  evenings with Margaret,  and  the  attachment  deepened  and deepened on  both  sides  till  the  hours  they  spent  together were  the  hours  they  lived; the  rest  they  counted and  underwent. And at  the  outset  of  this  deep attachment all  went  smoothly; obstacles  there were, but  they  seemed  distant  and  small  to  the eyes of  hope,  youth,  and  love. The feelings and passions  of  so  many  persons,  that  this  attachment would  thwart,  gave  no  warning  smoke  to  show their volcanic  nature  and  power. The course  of    true  love  ran  smoothly,  placidly,  until  it  had drawn these  two  young  hearts  into  its  current  for ever, and  then

not a very  inviting  locality I should judge. What could  attract  you  to  a marsh,  in  your  longing  for  country  air?”

“It is  no  marsh. The soil  is  gravel. Believe Lady Hertford,  the  invoked  by  Thomson,  the Countess who  wrote  thus  to  the  Countess  of Pomfret,  about  Richings,  not  a mile  distant  from my calumniated  village: 'One  great  addition  to the  pleasure  of  living  here  is  the  gravelly  soil, which after  a day  of  rain,  if  it  holds  up  for  two or three  hours,  one  may  walk  over  without  being wet through  one’s  shoes.’ ”

“Well. Hume says,  all  Britain  was  marshy once; and I suppose  this  marsh  has  been  drained in some  rude  agricultural  fashion  of  the  days before tiles,  and  instead  of  quagmires  you  have only standing  pools.”

“Hume misquotes  his  authority  when  he  says all Britain  was  marshy  once; and  I have  little doubt some  blundering  topographer  has  misquoted an ancient  title-deed,  and  made  libellous  English out of  the  obscure  Latin  which  distinguished this Langley  from  others  of  the  same  family name.”

I was piqued  at  my  friend’s scepticism  about