CHAPTER 4
The inmost heart of man if glad
Partakes a livelier cheer,
And eyes that cannot but be sad
Let fall a brightened tear.
Since thy return, through days and weeks
Of hope that grew by stealth,
How many wan and faded cheeks
Have kindled into health.
‘I say,’ called Arthur, standing half in and half out of the French window, as Sarah paced round the little garden, holding a parasol over her charge, ‘if that boy kicks up a row at night, don’t mind Mrs. Martindale. Carry him off, and lock the door. D’ye hear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the unmoved Sarah.
‘Stern, rugged nurse!’ said Arthur, drawing in his head. ‘Your boy ought to be virtue itself, Violet. Now for you, John, if you see her at those figures, take them away. Don’t let her think what two and two make.’
‘You are like one of my little sisters giving her doll to the other to keep,’ said Violet.
‘Some folks say it is a doll, don’t they, John?’
‘Well, I will try to take as much care of your doll as she does of hers,’ said John, smiling.
‘Good-bye, then! I wish I could stay!’
Violet went to the gate with him, while John stood at the window watching the slender girlish figure under the canopy of clematis, as she stood gazing after her husband, then turned and slowly paced back again, her eyes on the ground, and her face rather sad and downcast.
That pretty creature was a strange new charge for him, and he dreaded her pining almost as he would have feared the crying of a child left alone with him.
‘Well, Violet,’ said he, cheerfully, ‘we must do our best. What time would you like to take a drive?’
‘Any time, thank you,’ said she, gratefully, but somewhat plaintively; ‘but do not let me be a trouble to you. Sarah is going to hire a chair for me to go down to the beach. I only want not to be in your way.’
‘I have nothing to do. You know I am no great walker, and I am glad of an excuse for setting up my carriage. Shall we dine early, and go out when the sun is not so high?’
‘Thank you! that will be delightful. I want to see those beautiful places that I was too tired to look at on Saturday.’
Sarah’s rounds again brought her in sight; Violet crossed the grass, and the next moment was under the verandah with the little long-robed chrysalis shape in her arms, declaring he was growing quite good, and getting fat already; and though to John’s eyes the face was as much as ever like a very wizened old man, he could not but feel heartfelt pleasure in seeing her for once enjoying a young mother’s exultation.
‘Poor thing!’ said he to himself, as she carried the babe upstairs, ‘she has done too much, thought too much, felt too much for her years. Life has begun before she has strength for the heat and burthen of the day. The only hope is in keeping those overtasked spirits at rest, guarding her from care, and letting her return to childhood. And should this work fall on me, broken down in spirits and energy, with these long-standing habits of solitude and silence? If Helen was but here!’
He was relieved by Violet’s reappearance at dinner-time, full of smiles, proud of Johnnie’s having slept half the morning, and delighted with “Mary Barton”, which, on his system of diversion for her mind, he had placed in her way. She was amazed and charmed at finding that he could discuss the tale with interest and admiration.
‘Arthur calls such books trash,’ said she.
‘He reads them, though.’
‘Yes, he always reads the third volume while I read the first.’
‘The best way. I always begin at the end to judge whether a book is worth reading.’
‘I saw a French book on the table; are you reading it?’
‘Consulting it. You are welcome to it.’
‘I think,’ she said, timidly, ‘I ought to read some history and French, or I shall never be fit to teach my little boy.’
‘I have a good many books at home, entirely at your service.’
‘Thank you, thank you! I thought last winter if I could but have read, I should not have minded half so much.’
‘And why could you not?’
‘I had finished all my own books, and they cost too much to hire, so there was only a great Roman History that Arthur had had at school. I could not read more than thirty pages of that a day, it was so stupid.’
‘And you read those as a task! Very wise!’
‘Matilda said my education was incomplete, and she feared I should be found deficient; and mamma told me to make a point of reading something improving every day, but I have not begun again.’
‘I have some work on my hands,’ said John. ‘I was with Percy Fotheringham eight years ago in Syria and Asia Minor. He has gone over the same places a second time, and has made the journals up into a book on the Crusaders, which he has sent from Constantinople for me to get ready for publication. I shall come to you for help.’
‘Me! How can I?’ exclaimed Violet, colouring with astonishment.
‘Let us enjoy our holiday first,’ he replied, smiling. ‘See there.’
A low open carriage and a pair of ponies came to the gate; Violet was enchanted, and stood admiring and patting them, while John looked on amused, telling her he was glad she approved, for he had desired Brown to find something in which Captain Martindale would not be ashamed to see her.
They drove along the Undercliff, and her enjoyment was excessive. To one so long shut up in town, the fresh air, blue sky, and green trees were charms sufficient in themselves, and when to these were added the bright extent of summer sea, the beautiful curving outline of the bay ending in the bold Culver Cliffs, and the wall of rocks above, clothed in part with garland-like shrubs and festoons of creepers, it was to her a perfect vision of delight. There was an alternation of long pauses of happy contemplation, and of smothered exclamations of ecstasy, as if eye and heart were longing to take a still fuller grasp of the beauty of the scene. The expression her face had worn at the cathedral entrance was on it now, and seemed to put a new soul into her features, varied by the beaming smiles as she cried out joyously at each new object-the gliding sails on the water, the curious forms of the crags, or the hawks that poised themselves in the air.
The flowers, too! They came to a lane bordered with copse, blue with wild hyacinth. ‘Oh! it was so long since she had seen a wild flower! Would he be so kind as to stop for one moment to let her gather one. She did so much wish to pick a flower for herself once more!’
He drew up, and sat, leaning back, watching her with one of his smiles of melancholy meaning, as she lightly sprang up the bank, and dived between the hazel stems; and there he remained musing till, like a vision of May herself, she reappeared on the bank, the nut-bushes making a bower around her, her hands filled with flowers, her cheek glowing like her wild roses, and the youthful delicacy of her form, and the transient brightness of her sweet face, suiting with the fresh tender colouring of the foliage, chequered with flickering sunshine.
‘Oh! I hope I have not kept you waiting too long! but, indeed, I did not know how to turn back. I went after an orchis, and then I saw some Solomon’s seal; and oh! such bluebells, and I could not help standing quite still to feel how delicious it was! I hope that it was not long.’
‘No, not at all, I am glad.’
There was a moisture around the bright eyes, and