CHAPTER VI.
MALORY BY MOONLIGHT.
WHEN Tom Sedley stepped out from the glass door on the gravel walk,among the autumn flowers and the evergreens in the pleasant moonlight,it was just nine o'clock, for in that primitive town and vicinage peoplekeep still wonderfully early hours.
It is a dark and lonely walk, down the steep Hazelden Road, by the sideof the wooded glen, from whose depths faintly rises the noise of themill-stream. The path leads you down the side of the glen, with denseforest above and below you; the rocky steep ascending at the left hand,the wooded precipice descending into utter darkness at your right, andbeyond that, rising black against the sky, the distant side of thewooded ravine. Cheery it was to emerge from the close overhanging trees,and the comparative darkness, upon the high road to Cardyllian, whichfollows the sweep of the estuary to the high street of the town,already quiet as at midnight.
The moon shone so broad and bright, the landscape looked so strange, andthe air was so frosty and pleasant, that Tom Sedley could not resist thetemptation to take a little walk which led him over the Green, and upthe steep path overhanging the sea, from which you command so fine aview of the hills and headlands of the opposite side, and among otherfeatures of the landscape, of Malory, lying softly in its dark and mistywoodlands.
Moonlight, distance, and the hour, aided the romance of my friend TomSedley, who stood in the still air and sighed toward that antique house.
With arms folded, his walking-cane grasped in his right hand, andpassed, sword-fashion, under his left arm, I know not what martial andchivalric aspirations concerning death and combat rose in hisgood-natured heart, for in some temperaments the sentiment of love ismysteriously associated with the combative, and our homage to thegentler sex connects itself magnanimously with images of wholesaleassault and battery upon the other. Perhaps if he could have sung, astave or two might have relieved his mind; or even had he been eloquentin the language of sentiment. But his vocabulary, unhappily, waslimited, and remarkably prosaic, and not even having an appropriatestanza by rote, he was fain to betake himself to a cigar, smoking whichhe at his leisure walked down the hill toward Malory.
Halfway down, he seated himself upon the dwarf wall, at the roadside,and by the ivied stem of a huge old tree, smoked at his ease, and sighednow and then.
"I can't understand it--it is like some confounded witchcraft," said he."I _can't_ get her out of my head."
I dare say it was about the same time that his friend Cleve Verney wasperforming, though not with so sublime an enthusiasm, his romanticdevotions in the same direction, across the water from Ware.
As he stood and gazed, he thought he saw a figure standing near thewater's edge on the shingle that makes a long curve in front of Malory.
If a living figure, it was very still. It looked gray, nearly white, inthe moonlight. Was there an upright shaft of stone there, or a post tomoor the boats by? He could not remember.
He walked slowly down the road. "By Jove! I think it's moving," he saidaloud, pulling up all at once and lowering his cigar. "No, it _isn't_moving, but it _did_ move, I _think_--yes, it has changed its ground alittle--hasn't it? Or is it only my stand-point that's changed?"
He was a good deal nearer now, and it did look much more like a humanfigure--tall and slight, with a thin gray cloak on--but he could not yetbe _quite_ certain. Was there not a resemblance in the proportions--talland slight? The uncertainty was growing intense; there was a delightfulconfusion of conjecture. Tom Sedley dropped his cigar, and hastenedforward with an instinctive stealthiness in his eagerness to arrivebefore this figure--if such it were--should be scared away by hisapproach.
He was now under the shadow of the tall trees that overhang the outerwall of Malory, and cast their shadows some way down upon the slopingshore, near the edge of which a tall female figure was undoubtedlystanding, with her feet almost touching the ripple of the water, andlooking steadfastly in the direction of the dim headland of Pendillion,which at the far side guards the entrance of the estuary.
In the wall of Malory, at some three hundred yards away from the gate,is a small door, a little sally-port that opens a nearly direct accessfrom the house to the rude jetty where the boats are sometimes moored.This little door stood now wide open, and through it the figure had ofcourse emerged.
Tom Sedley now for the first time began to feel a little embarrassed.The general privacy of the place, the fact that the jetty, and in pointof law the strand itself, here, belonged to Malory, from which theprivate door which still stood open, showed that the lady hademerged--all these considerations made him feel as if he were guilty ofan impertinence, and very nearly of a trespass.
The lady stood quite still, looking across the water. Tom Sedley wasupon the road that skirts the wall of Malory, in the shadow of the greattrees. It would not have done to walk straight across the shingle to thespot where the lady stood, neither could he place himself so as tointercept her return to the doorway, directly so, as a less obviousstratagem, he made a detour, and sauntering along the water's edge likea man intent solely on the picturesque, with a beating heart heapproached the female, who maintained her pose quite movelessly until heapproached within a few steps.
Then she turned, suddenly, revealing an old and almost agonized face,that looked, in the intense moonlight, white, and fixed as if cut instone. There is something ludicrous in the sort of shock which TomSedley experienced. He stood staring at the old lady with an expressionwhich, if she had apprehended it, would not have flattered her feminineself-esteem, if any of that good quality remained to her.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the old woman, with a nervous eagerness,drawing near. "But pray, can _you_ see a sail in that direction, a yawl,sir, they call it, just _there_?"--she pointed--"I fancied about twomiles beyond that vessel that lies at anchor _there_? I can't see itnow, sir, can _you_?"
She had come so close that Sedley could see not only the deep furrows,but the finely etched wrinkles about the large eyes that gazed on him,and from him to the sea, with an imploring stare.
"There's no sail, ma'am, between us and Pendillion," said Sedley, havingfirst raised his hat deferentially; for did not this strange old ladywith her gray mantle drawn over her head, nevertheless, representMalory, and was not Malory saddened and glorified by the presence ofthat beautiful being whom he had told himself a thousand times sincemorning service, he never, _never_ could forget?
"Ha, ha! I thought I saw it, exactly, sir, in _that_ direction; _pray_look more carefully, sir, my old eyes tire, and fail me."
"No, ma'am, positively nothing there. How long ago is it since you firstsaw it?"
"Ten--twenty--minutes, it must be."
"A yawl will run a good way in that time, ma'am," said Tom with a littleshake of his head, and a smile. "The yawl they had at Ware last yearwould make eight knots an hour in this breeze, light as it is. She mighthave been up to Bryll by this time, or down to Pendrewist, but there'sno sail, ma'am, either way."
"Oh! sir, are you very sure?"
"Quite sure, ma'am. No sail in sight, except that brig just making thehead of Pendillion, and that can't be the sail you saw, for she wasn'tin sight twenty minutes since. There's nothing more, ma'am, except boatsat anchor."
"Thank you, sir," said the lady, still looking across the water, andwith a deep sigh. "No, I suppose there's none. It sometimes happens tome--fancy, I suppose, and long expectation, from my window, looking out.It's a clear view, between the trees, across the bay to Pendillion; myeyes tire, I think; and so I fancy I see it. Knowing, that is, feelingso very sure, it will come again. Another disappointment for a foolishold woman. I sometimes think it's all a dream." She had turned and wasnow stumbling over the large loose stones toward the door. "Foolishdreams--foolish head--foolish old head, yet, sir, it _may_ be that whichgoes away may come back, all except life. I've been looking out thatway," and she turned and moved her hand towards the distant headlands."You see nothing?"
"No _sail_, ma'am," answered Tom.
"No, no sail," she repeated to the shingle under her feet, as she pickedher steps again homeward.
"A little longer--another wait; wait patiently. Oh! God, how slowlyyears and months go over!"
"May I see you to the door, ma'am?" asked Tom Sedley, prosaically. Theold lady, thinking, I dare say, of other things, made him no answer--asilence which he accepted as permission, and walked on beside her, notknowing what to say next, and terribly anxious to hit upon something,and try to found an acquaintance. The open door supplied him.
"Charming place this Cardyllian, ma'am. I believe no one ever was robbedin it. They leave their doors open half the night, just like that."
"Do they, indeed?" said she. I think she had forgotten her companionaltogether in the interval. "I don't remember. It's fifteen years andupwards since I was there. I live here, at Malory." She nodded, andraised her eyes to his face as she spoke.
Suddenly she stopped, and looked at him more earnestly in silence forsome seconds, and then said she--
"Sir, will you forgive me? Are you related to the Verneys?"
"No, I haven't that honour," said he, smiling. "I _know_ Cleve Verneyvery well, and a very good fellow he is; but we're not connected; myname is Sedley--Thomas Sedley."
"Sedley!" she repeated once or twice, still looking at him, "I recollectthe name. No--no connection, I dare say, Cleve; and how _is_ Cleve?"
"Very well; he's at Ware, now, for a few days."
"Ah! I dare say, and very well; a pretty boy--very pretty; but notlike--no, not the least."
"I've heard people say he's very like what his father was," said Tom.
"Oh! _yes_, I think so; there _is_ a likeness," acquiesced she.
"His father's been dead a long time, you know?"
"I know; yes. Cleve is at Oxford or Cambridge by this time?" shecontinued.
Tom Sedley shook his head and smiled a little.
"Cleve has done with all that ever so long. He's in the House of Commonsnow, and likely to be a swell there, making speeches, and all that."
"I know--I know. I had forgot how long it is since; he was a clever boy,wild, and talkative; yes, yes, he'll do for Parliament, I suppose, andbe a great man, some day, there. There was no resemblance though; andyou, sir, are like him, he was so handsome--no one so handsome."
Tom Sedley smiled. He fancied he was only amused. But I am sure he wasalso pleased.
"And I don't know. I can make out nothing. No one can. There's apicture. I think they'd burn it, if they knew. It is drawn in chalks bya French artist; they colour so beautifully. It hangs in my room. I praybefore it, every morning, for him."
The old lady moaned, with her hands folded together, and still lookingsteadfastly in his face.
"They'd burn it, I think, if they knew there was a picture. I was alwaystold they were a cruel family. Well, I don't know, I forgive him; I'veforgiven him long ago. You are very like the picture, and even more likewhat I remember him. The picture was taken just when he came of age. Hewas twenty-seven when I first saw him; he was brilliant, a beautifulcreature, and when I looked in his face I saw the sorrow that has neverleft me. You are wonderfully like, sir; but there's a difference.You're not so handsome." Here was a blow to honest Tom Sedley, who againthought he was only amused, but was really chagrined.
"There is goodness and kindness in your face; his had little of that,nothing soft in it, but everything brilliant and interesting; and yetyou are wonderfully like."
She pressed her hand on her thin bosom.
"The wind grows cold. A pain shoots through me while I look at you, sir.I feel as if I were speaking to a spirit, God help me! I have said moreto you to-night, than I have spoken for ten years before; forgive me,sir, and thank you, very much."
She turned from him again, took one long look at the distant headland,and then, with a deep sigh, almost a sob, she hastened towards the door.He followed her.
"Will you permit me to see you to the house?" he pleaded, with abenevolence I fear not quite disinterested. She was by this time at thedoor, from which with a gesture, declining his offer, she gently wavedhim back, and disappeared within it, without another word. He heard thekey turned in the lock, and remained without, as wise with respect tohis particular quest as he had arrived.
The Tenants of Malory, Volume 1 Page 6