 CHAPTER XVII Not on combat, bent, nor of foam and in search was this priest-led and women-officered company, yet their music played marshal tunes, and to judge by the eyes and carriage of some, Miss Kielder, for instance, these sounds awoke, if not a marshal, yet a longing spirit. Old Hellstone, turning by chance, looked into her face, and he laughed, and she laughed at him. There is no battle in prospect, he said. Our country does not want us to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our liberty. There is nothing to be done. We are only taking a walk. Keep your hand on the reins, Captain, and slack the fire of that spirit. It is not wanted, the maw's the pity. Take your own advice, Doctor, was Shirley's response. To Caroline, she murmured, I'll borrow of imagination what reality will not give me. We are not soldiers. Bloodshed is not my desire. Or if we are, we are soldiers of the cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and we are bound on a pilgrimage to Palestine. But no, that is too visionary. I need a sterner dream. We are lowlanders of Scotland, following a covenanting captain up into the hills to hold a meeting out of the reach of persecuting troopers. We know that battle may follow prayer, and as we believe that in the worst issue of battle heaven must be our reward, we are ready and willing to redden the peat moss with our blood. That music stirs my soul, it wakens all my life, it makes my heart beat, not with its temperate daily pulse, but with a new thrilling vigor. I almost long for danger, for a faith, a land, or at least a lover to defend. Look, Shirley, interrupted Caroline, what is that red speck above Stillborough Brow? You have keener sight than I, just turn your eagle eye to it. Miss Kilda looked. I see, she said, then added presently. There is a line of red. They are soldiers, cavalry soldiers, she subjoined quickly. They ride fast. There are six of them. They will pass us. No, they have turned off to the right. They saw our procession and avoided by making a circuit. Where are they going? Perhaps they are only exercising their horses. Perhaps so. We see them no more now. Mr. Hellstone here spoke. We shall pass out through Royd Lane to reach Nunnally Common by a short cut, said he. And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly defiled. It was very narrow, so narrow that only two could walk abreast without falling into the ditch which ran along each side. They had gained the middle of it when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders. Boltby's spectacles and Hellstone's rare bohem were agitated. The curates nudged each other. Mr. Hall turned to the ladies and smiled. What is the matter? was the demand. He pointed his staff to the end of the lane before them. Lo and behold, another, an opposition procession, was there entering, headed also by men in black, and followed also, as they could now hear, by music. Is it our double, asked Shirley, our manifold race? Here is a card turned up. If you wanted a battle you're likely to get one, at least of looks, whispered Caroline, laughing. They shall not pass us, cried the curates unanimously, will not give way. Give way? retorted Hellstone sternly, turning round. Who talks of giving way? You boys, mind what you're about. The ladies, I know, will be firm. I can trust them. There is not a church woman here, but will stand her ground against these folks for the honour of the establishment. What does Miss Kilda say? She asks what is it? The dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptist, Independence and Wesleyans joined in unholy alliance and turning purposely into this lane with the intention of obstructing our march and driving us back. Bad manners, said Shirley, and I hate bad manners. Of course they must have a lesson. A lesson in politeness, suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace, not an example of rudeness. Old Hellstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in advance of his company. He had nearly reached the other, sable leaders, when he who appeared to act as the hostile commander-in-chief, a large, greasy man with black hair combed flat on his forehead, called a halt. The procession paused. He drew forth a hymn-book, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all struck up the most dolerous of canticles. Hellstone signalled to his bands, they clashed out with all the power of brass. He desired them to play rural Britannia, and ordered the children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit. The enemy was sung and stormed down. His psalm quelled. As far as noise went, he was conquered. Now follow me, exclaimed Hellstone, not at a run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child and woman of you. Keep together, hold on by each other's skirts, if necessary. And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gate, and was, besides so well seconded by his scholars and teachers, who did exactly as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with cool, solid impetus. The curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they were between two fires, Hellstone and Miss Kielder, both of whom watched any deviation with links-eyed vigilance, and were ready, the one with his cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least independent or irregular demonstration, that the body of dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then borne down, and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail, and leave the outlet from Royd Lane free. Boltby suffered in the onslaught, but Hellstone and Malone between them held him up, and brought him through the business whole in limb, though sorely tried in wind. The fat dissenter who had given out the hymn was left sitting in the ditch. He was a spirit merchant by trade, a leader of the nonconformists, and it was said drank more water in that one afternoon than he had swallowed for a twelve-month before. Mr. Hall had taken care of Caroline and Caroline of him. He and Miss Aenley made their own quiet comments to each other afterwards on the incident. Miss Kielder and Mr. Hellstone shook hands heartily, when they had fairly got the whole party through the lane. The curits began to exult, but Mr. Hallstone presently put the curb on their innocent spirits. He remarked that they never had sense to know what to say, and had better hold their tongues, and he reminded them that the business was none of their managing. About half-past three the procession turned back, and at four once more regained the starting-place. Long lines of benches were arranged in the close shorn fields round the school. There the children were seated, and huge baskets covered up with white cloths, and great smoking tin vessels were brought out. At the distribution of good things commenced, a brief grace was pronounced by Mr. Hall, and sung by the children. Their young voices sounded melodious, even touching in the open air. Large, current buns, and hot, well-sweetened tea were then administered in the proper spirit of liberality. No stinting was permitted on this day, at least. The rule for each child's allowance being that it was to have about twice as much as it could possibly eat, thus leaving a reserve to be carried home for such as age, sickness, or other impediment prevented from coming to the feast. Buns and beer circulated meantime amongst the musicians and church singers. Afterwards the benches were removed, and they were left to unbend their spirits in licensed play. Abel summoned the teachers, patrons, and patronesses to the schoolroom. Miss Kielder, Miss Hellstone, and many other ladies were already there, glancing over the arrangement of their separate trays and tables. Most of the female servants of the neighbourhood, together with the clerks, the singers, and the musicians' wives, had been pressed into the service of the day as waiters, each vied with the other in smartness and daintiness of dress, and many handsome forms were seen amongst the younger ones. About half a score were cutting bread and butter, another half-score supplying hot water, brought from the coppers of the rector's kitchen. The profusion of flowers and evergreens decorating the white walls, the show of silver teapots and bright porcelain on the tables, the active figures, blithe faces, gay dresses flitting about everywhere, formed altogether a refreshing and lively spectacle. Everybody talked, not very loudly, but merrily, and the canary birds sang shrill in their high-hung cages. Caroline, as the rector's niece, took her place at one of the three first tables. Mrs. Bultby and Margaret Hall officiated at the others. At these tables the elite of the company were to be entertained, strict rules of equality not being more in fashion at Brierfield than elsewhere. Miss Hellstone removed her bonnet and scarf that she might be less oppressed with the heat. Her long curls falling under her neck served almost in place of a veil, and for the rest her muslin dress was fashioned modestly as a nun's robe, enabling her thus to dispense with the encumbrance of a shawl. The room was filling. Mr. Hall had taken his post beside Caroline, who now, as she rearranged the cups and spoons before her, whispered to him in a low voice remarks on the events of the day. He looked a little grave about what had taken place in Royd Lane, and she tried to smile him out of his seriousness. Miss Kilda sat near, for a wonder neither laughing nor talking. On the contrary, very still, gazing round her vigilantly. She seemed afraid lest some intruder should take a seat she apparently wished to reserve next to her own. Ever and anon she spread her sat in dress over an undue portion of the bench, or laid her gloves or her embroidered handkerchiefs upon it. Caroline noticed this man-edge at last, and asked her what friend she expected. Shirley bent towards her, almost touched her ear with her rosy lips, and whispered with a musical softness that often characterised her tones when what she said tended even remotely to stir some sweet, secret source of feeling in her heart. I expect Mr. Moore. I saw him last night, and I made him promise to come with his sister and to sit at our table. He won't fail me, I feel certain, but I apprehend his coming too late and being separated from us. Here is a fresh batch arriving, every place will be taken, provoking." In fact Mr. Winn, the magistrate, his wife, his son, and his two daughters now entered in high state. They were bryerfield gentry. Of course their place was at the first table, and being conducted thither they filled up the whole remaining space. For Miss Kilda's comfort Mr. Sam Winn inducted himself into the very vacancy she had kept for Moore, planting himself solidly on her gown, her gloves, and her handkerchief. Mr. Sam was one of the objects of her aversion, and the more so because he showed serious symptoms of an aim at her hand. The old gentleman, too, had publicly declared that the field head estate and the DeWalden estate were delightfully contagious, a malopropism which rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley. Caroline's ears yet rung with that thrilling whisper, I expect Mr. Moore. Her heart yet beat, and her cheek yet glowed with it, when a note from the organ peeled above the confused hum of the place. Dr. Boltby, Mr. Hellstone, and Mr. Hall rose, so did all present, and Grace was sung to the accompaniment of the music, and then T. began. She was kept too busy with her office for a while to have leisure for looking round, but the last cup being filled she threw a restless glance over the room. There were some ladies and several gentlemen standing about yet unaccommodated with seats. Amidst a group she recognised her spinster friend, Miss Mann, whom the fine weather had tempted or some urgent friend had persuaded to leave her drear solitude for one hour of social enjoyment. Miss Mann looked tired of standing. A lady in a yellow bonnet brought her a chair. Caroline knew well that chapeau en satin-jeune, she knew the black hair, and the kindly though rather opinionated and froad-looking face under it. She knew that robe de soie noire. She knew even that chale cri de l'un. She knew, in short, Hortense-mour. And she wanted to jump up and run to her and kiss her, to give her one embrace for her own sake and two for her brother's. She half rose, indeed, with a smothered exclamation, and perhaps, for the impulse was very strong, she would have run across the room and actually saluted her. But a hand replaced her in her seat, and a voice behind her whispered, Wait till after tea-liner, and then I'll bring her to you. And when she could look up, she did. And there was Robert himself close behind, smiling at her eagerness, looking better than she had ever seen him look, looking indeed to her partial eyes so very handsome that she dared not trust herself to hazard a second glance, for his image struck on her vision with painful brightness, and pictured itself on her memory as vividly as if there de-guerrityped by her pencil of keen lightning. He moved on and spoke to Miss Kielder, surely irritated by some unwelcome attentions from Sam Wynne, and by the fact of that gentleman being still seated on her gloves and handkerchief, and probably also by Moore's want of punctuality, was by no means in good humour. She first shrugged her shoulder at him, and then she said a bitter word or two about his insupportable tardiness. Moore neither apologized nor retorted. He stood near her quietly, as if waiting to see whether she would recover her temper, which she did in little more than three minutes, indicating the change by offering him her hand. Moore took it with a smile, half corrective, half grateful. The slightest possible shake of the head delicately marked the former quality. It is probable a gentle pressure, indicated the latter. "'You may sit where you can now, Mr. Moore,' said Shirley, also smiling. "'You say there is not an inch of room for you here. But I discern plenty of space at Mrs. Boltby's table between Miss Armitage and Miss Burt Whistle. Go! John Sykes will be your vis-à-vis, and you will sit with your back towards us.'" Moore, however, preferred lingering about where he was. He now and then took a turn down the long room, pausing in his walk to interchange greetings with other gentlemen in his own placeless predicament. But still he came back to the magnet, Shirley, bringing with him each time he returned observations it was necessary to whisper in her ear. Meantime, poor Sam Winn looked far from comfortable. His fair neighbour, judging from her movements, appeared in a mood the most unquiet and unaccommodating. She would not sit still two seconds. She was hot. She fanned herself, complained of want of air and space. She remarked that in her opinion, when people had finished their tea, they ought to leave the tables, and announced distinctly that she expected to faint if the present state of things continued. Mr. Sam offered to accompany her into the open air, just the way to give her her death of cold, she alleged. In short, his post became untenable, and having swallowed his quantum of tea, he judged it expedient to evacuate. Moore should have been at hand, whereas he was quite at the other extremity of the room, deep in conference with Christopher Sykes. A large corn-factor, Timothy Ramsden Esquire, happened to be nearer, and feeling himself tired of standing, he advanced to fill the vacant seat. Shirley's expedience did not fail her. A sweep of her scarf upset her teacup, its contents were shared between the bench and her own sat-in dress. Of course, it became necessary to call a waiter to remedy the mischief. Mr. Ramsden, a stout, puffy gentleman, as large in person as he was in property, held aloof from the consequent commotion. Shirley, usually almost culpably indifferent to slight accidents affecting dress, et cetera, now made a commotion that might have become the most delicate and nervous of her sex. Mr. Ramsden opened his mouth, withdrew slowly, and as Miss Kilda again intimated her intention to give way and swoon on the spot, he turned on his heel, and beat a heavy retreat. CHAPTER 17 THE SCHOOL FEAST PART II More at last returned. Calmly surveying the bustle, and somewhat quizzically scanning Shirley's enigmatic-looking countenance, he remarked that in truth this was the hottest end of the room, that he found a climate there calculated to agree with none but cool temperaments like his own, and, putting the waiters, the napkins, the sat-in robe, the whole turmoil in short to one side, he installed himself where destiny evidently decreed he should sit. Shirley subsided, her features altered their lines, the raised knit brow and inexplicable curve of the mouth became straight again, wilfulness and roguery gave place to other expressions, and all the angular movements with which she had vexed the soul of Sam Wynne were conjured to rest, as by a charm. Still no gracious glance was cast on Moore, on the contrary he was accused of giving her a world of trouble, and roundly charged with being the cause of depriving her of the esteem of Mr. Ramston, and the invaluable friendship of Mr. Samuel Wynne. "'Wouldn't have offended either gentleman for the world,' she averred. "'I've always been accustomed to treat both with the most respectful consideration, and there, owing to you, how they have been used. I shall not be happy till I've made it up. I never am happy till I am friends with my neighbours, so to-morrow I must make a pilgrimage to Royd Cornmill, smooth the miller, and praise the grain, and next day I must call it De Walden, where I hate to go, and carry in my reticule half an oat-cake to give to Mr. Sam's favourite pointers. "'You know the surest path to the heart of each sway, and I doubt not,' said Moore quietly. He looked very content to have at last secured his present place. But he made no fine speech expressive of gratification, and offered no apology for the trouble he had given. His phlegm became him wonderfully. It made him look handsomer, he was so composed. It made his viscineg pleasant, it was so peace-restoring. You would not have thought to look at him that he was a poor, struggling man seated beside a rich woman. The calm of equality stilled his aspect. Perhaps that calm too reigned in his soul. Now and then, from the way in which he looked down on Miss Kielder as he addressed her, you would have fancied his station towered above hers as much as his statue did. Almost stern light sometimes crossed his brow and gleamed in his eyes. Their conversation had become animated, though it was confined to a low key. She was urging him with questions. Evidently he refused to her curiosity all the gratification it demanded. She sought his eye once with hers. You read in its soft yet eager expression that it solicited clearer replies. More smiled pleasantly, but his lips continued sealed. Then she was peaked and turned away, but he recalled her attention in two minutes he seemed making promises, which he soothed her into accepting in lieu of information. It appeared that the heat of the room did not suit Miss Hellstone. She grew paler and paler as the process of tea-making was protracted. The moment thanks were returned she quitted the table and hastened to follow her cousin Hortense, who with Miss Mann had already sought the open air. Robert Moore had risen when she did. Perhaps he meant to speak to her, but there was yet a parting word to exchange with Miss Kielder, and while it was being uttered Caroline had vanished. Hortense received her former pupil with a demeanour of more dignity than warmth. She had been seriously offended by Mr. Hellstone's proceedings, and had all long considered Caroline to blame in obeying her uncle too literally. You are a very great stranger, she said austerely, as her pupil held and pressed her hand. The pupil knew her too well to remonstrate or complain of coldness. She let the punctilious whim pass, sure that her natural bonté—I use this French word because it expresses just what I mean, neither goodness nor good nature, but something between the two—would presently get the upper hand. It did. Hortense had no sooner examined her face well, and observed the changes its somewhat wasted features betrayed than her means softened. Kissing her on both cheeks she asked anxiously after her health. Caroline answered gaily. It would, however, have been her lot to undergo a long cross-examination, followed by an endless lecture on this head, had not Miss Mann called off the attention of the questioner by requesting to be conducted home. The poor invalid was already fatigued, her weariness made her cross, two cross almost to speak to Caroline, and besides, that young person's white dress and lively look were displeasing in the eyes of Miss Mann. The every-day garb of brown stuff, or gray gingham, and the every-day air of melancholy suited the solitary spinster better. She would hardly know her young friend to-night, and quitted her with a cool nod. Hortense having promised to accompany her home, they departed together. Caroline now looked round for Shirley. She saw the rainbow scarf and purple dress in the centre of the throng of ladies, all well known to herself, but all of the order whom she systematically avoided whenever avoidance was possible. Shire at some moments than at others, she felt just now no courage at all to join this company. She could not, however, stand alone where all others went in pairs or parties, so she approached a group of her own scholars, great girls or rather young women, who were standing watching some hundreds of the younger children playing at blind man's bath. Miss Helstone knew these girls liked her, yet she was shy even with them out of school. They were not more in awe of her than she of them. She drew near to them now, rather to find protection in their company, than to patronize them with her presence. By some instinct they knew her weakness, and with natural politeness they respected it. Her knowledge commanded their esteem when she taught them, her gentleness attracted their regard, and because she was what they considered wise and good when on duty, they kindly overlooked her evident timidity when off. They did not take advantage of it. Peasant girls as they were, they had too much of her own English sensibility to be guilty of the coarse error. They stood round her still, civil, friendly, receiving her slight smiles and rather hurried efforts to converse with a good feeling and good breeding, the last quality being the result of the first, which soon set her at ease. Mr. Sam Wynne, coming up with great haste to insist on the elder girls joining in the game as well as the younger ones, Caroline was again left alone. She was meditating a quiet retreat to the house, when Shirley, perceiving from afar her isolation, hastened to her side. Let us go to the top of the fields, she said. I know you don't like crowds, Caroline. But it will be depriving you of a pleasure, Shirley, to take you from all these fine people who caught your society so assiduously, and to whom you can without art or effort make yourself so pleasant. Not quite without effort. I'm already tired of the exertion. It is but insipid barren work, talking and laughing with the good gentle folks of Brierfield. I have been looking out for your white dress for the last ten minutes. I like to watch those I love in a crowd, and to compare them with others. I have thus compared you. You resemble none of the rest, liner. There are some prettier faces than yours here. You are not a model beauty like Harriet Sykes, for instance. Beside her your person appears almost insignificant, but you look agreeable. You look reflective. You look what I call interesting. Ah, Shirley, you flatter me. I don't wonder that your scholars like you. Nonsense, Shirley. Talk of something else. We will talk of more, then, and we will watch him. I see him even now. Where? And as Caroline asked the question, she looked not over the fields, but into Miss Kielder's eyes, as was her won't whenever Shirley mentioned any object she described afar. Her friend had quicker vision than herself, and Caroline seemed to think that the secret of her eagle acuteness might be read in her dark grey irids, or rather perhaps she only sought guidance by the direction of those discriminating and brilliant spheres. There is more, said Shirley, pointing right across the wide field where a thousand children were playing, and now nearly a thousand adult spectators walking about. There! Can you miss the tall stature and straight port? He looks amidst the set that's around him like Eliab amongst humbler shepherds, like Saul in a war council, and a war council it is, if I am not mistaken. Why so, Shirley? asked Caroline, whose eye had at last caught the object it sought. Robert is just now speaking to my uncle, and they're shaking hands, they're then reconciled. Reconciled not without good reason, depend on it, making common cause against some common foe. And why think you are Mrs. Wynne and Sykes, and Armatidge and Ramston gathered in such a close circle round them? And why is Malone beckon to join them, when he has summoned, be sure, a strong arm is needed? Shirley, as she watched, grew restless, her eyes flashed. They won't trust me, she said, that is always the way when it comes to the point. What about? Can't you feel? There is some mystery afloat, some event is expected, some preparation is to be made. I am certain. I saw it all in Mr. Moore's manner this evening. He was excited, yet hard. Hard to you, Shirley? Yes, to me. He often is hard to me. We seldom converse tet-a-tet, but I am made to feel that the basis of his character is not of Eiderdown. Yet he seemed to talk to you softly. Did he not? Very gentle tones, and quiet manner, yet the man is peremptory and secret. His secrecy vexes me. Yes, Robert is secret. Which he has scarcely a right to be with me, especially as he commenced by giving me his confidence. Having done nothing to forfeit that confidence, it ought not to be withdrawn. But I suppose I am not considered iron-sold enough to be trusted in a crisis. He fears, probably, to occasion you uneasiness. An unnecessary precaution. I am of elastic materials, not soon crushed. He ought to know that. But the man is proud. He has his faults, say what you will, liner. Observe how engaged that group appear. They do not know we are watching them. If we keep on the alert, Shirley, we shall perhaps find the clue to their secret. There will be some unusual movements ere long, perhaps to-morrow, possibly to-night. But my eyes and ears are wide open. Mr. Moore, you shall be under surveillance. Be you vigilant also, liner. I will. Robert is going. I saw him turn. I believe he noticed us. They are shaking hands. Shaking hands with emphasis, added Shirley, as if they were ratifying some solemn league and covenant. I saw Robert quit the group, pass through a gate, and disappear. And he is not bit as good-by, murmured Caroline. Scarcely had the words escaped her lips when she tried by a smile to deny the confession of disappointment they seem to imply. An unbidden suffusion for one moment both softened and brightened her eyes. Oh! that is soon remedied, exclaimed Shirley, will make him bit as good-by. Make him. That is not the same thing, was the answer. It shall be the same thing. But he is gone. You can't overtake him. I know a shorter way than that he has taken. We will intercept him. But Shirley, I would rather not go. Caroline said this, as Miss Kilda seized her arm and hurried her down the fields. It was vain to contend. Nothing was so willful as Shirley when she took a whim into her head. Caroline found herself out of sight of the crowd almost before she was aware, and ushered into a narrow, shady spot, emboured above with hawthorns, and enamoured underfoot with daisies. She took no notice of the evening sun checkering the turf, nor was she sensible of the pure incense exhaling at this hour from tree and plant. She only heard the wicket opening at one end, and knew Robert was approaching. The long sprays of the hawthorns, shooting out before them, served as a screen. They saw him before he observed them. At a glance, Caroline perceived that his social hilarity was gone. He had left it behind him in the joy- echoing fields round the school. What remained now was his dark, quiet business countens. As Shirley had said, a certain hardness characterised his air, while his eye was excited, but austere. So much the worse timed was the present freak of Shirley's. If he had looked disposed for holiday mirth, it would not have mattered much, but now, I told you not to come, said Caroline somewhat bitterly to her friend. She seemed truly perturbed. To be intruded on Robert thus, against her will and his expectation, when he evidently would rather not be delayed, keenly annoyed her. It did not annoy Miss Kielder in the least. She stepped forward and faced her tenant barring his way. You omitted to bid us good-bye, she said. Omitted to bid you good-bye? Where did you come from? Are you fairies? I left two like you, one in purple and one in white, standing at the top of a bank, four fields off but a minute ago. You left us there, and find us here. We've been watching you, and shall watch you still. You must be questioned one day, but not now. At present all you have to do is to say good-night, and then pass. More glanced from one to the other without unbending his aspect. Days of fate have their privileges, and so have days of hazard, observed he gravely. Come, don't moralise, say good-night and pass, urged Shirley. Must I say good-night to you, Miss Kielder? Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I hope. You have bid us both good-night before. He took her hand, held it in one of his, and covered it with the other. He looked down at her gravely, kindly, yet commandingly. The heiress could not make this man her subject. In his gaze on her bright face there was no civility, hardly homage, but there was interest and affection, heightened by another feeling. Something in his tone when he spoke, as well as in his words, marked that last sentiment to be gratitude. Your debtor bids you good-night. May you rest safely and serenely till morning. And you, Mr. Moore, what are you going to do? What have you been saying to Mr. Hellstone with whom I saw you shake hands? Why did all those gentlemen gather round you? Put away reserve for once, be frank with me. Who can resist you? I will be frank. Tomorrow, if there is anything to relate, you shall hear it. Just now, pleaded Shirley, don't procrastinate. But I could only tell half a tale, and my time is limited. I have not a moment to spare, hereafter I will make amends for the delay by candor. But are you going home? Yes. Not to leave it any more to-night. Certainly not. At present, farewell to both of you. He would have taken Caroline's hand and joined it in the same clasp in which he held Shirley's, but somehow it was not ready for him. She had withdrawn a few steps apart. Her answer to Moore's adieu was only a slight bend of the head and a gentle, serious smile. She sought no more cordial token. Again he said, farewell, and quitted them both. There! it is over, said Shirley, when he was gone. We have made him bid us good night, and yet not lost ground in his esteem, I think, Carrie. I hope not, was the brief reply. I consider you very timid and undemonstrative, remarked Miss Kielder. Why did you not give Mr. Moore your hand when he offered you his? He is your cousin. You like him. Are you ashamed to let him perceive your affection? He perceives all of it that interests him, no need to make a display of feeling. You are laconic. You would be stoical if you could. Is love in your eyes a crime, Caroline? Love a crime? No, Shirley, love is a divine virtue. But why drag that word into the conversation? It is singularly irrelevant. Good! pronounced Shirley. The two girls paced the green lane in silence. Caroline first resumed. Obtrusiveness is a crime, forwardness is a crime, and both discussed. But love! No purist angel needs blush to love. And when I see or hear either man or woman couple shame with love, I know their minds are coarse, their associations debased. Many who think themselves refined ladies and gentlemen, and on whose lips the word vulgarity is forever hovering, cannot mention love without betraying their own innate and imbecile degradation. It is a low feeling in their estimation connected only with low ideas of them. You describe three-fourths of the world, Caroline. They are cold. They are cowardly. They are stupid on the subject, Shirley. They never loved. They never were loved. Thou art right, Liner. And in their dense ignorance they blaspheme living fire seraph brought from a divine altar. They confound it with sparks mounting from Toffett. The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stop the dialogue by summoning all to the church. Chapter 18. Which the Gentile Reader is recommended to skip. Low persons being here introduced. The evening was still and warm. Close and sultry it even promised to become. Round the descending sun the clouds glowed purple. Summertents, rather Indian than English, suffused the horizon and cast rosy reflections on hillside, housefront, tree-bowl, on winding road and undulating pasture-ground. The two girls came down from the field slowly by the time they reached the churchyard. The bells were hushed. The multitudes were gathered into the church. The whole scene was solitary. "'How pleasant and calm it is,' said Caroline. "'And how hot it will be in the church,' responded Shirley. "'And what a dreary long speech Dr. Boltby will make, and how the curates will hammer over their prepared orations. For my part I would rather not enter. But my uncle will be angry if he observes our absence. I will bear the brunt of his wrath. He will not devour me. I shall be sorry to miss his pungent speech. I know it will be all sense for the church, and all causticity for schism. He'll not forget the battle of Royd Lane. I shall be sorry also to deprive you of Mr. Hall's sincere friendly homily with all its racy Yorkshire-isms. But here I must stay. The gray church and grayer tombs look divine with this crimson gleam on them. Nature is now at her evening prayers. She is kneeling before those red hills. I see her prostrate on the great steps of her altar, praying for a fair night for mariners at sea, for travellers in deserts, for lambs on moors and unfledged birds and woods. Caroline, I see her. And I will tell you what she is like. She is like what Eve was when she and Adam stood alone on earth. And that is not Milton's Eve, surely. Milton's Eve? Milton's Eve? I repeat, no, by the pure mother of God she is not. Carrie, we are alone. May we speak what we think? Milton was great. But was he good? His brain was right. How was his heart? He saw heaven. He looked down on hell. He saw Satan, sin, his daughter, and death, their horrible offspring. Angels serried before him their battalions. The long lines of adamantine shields flashed back on his blind eyeballs. The unutterable splendour of heaven. Devils gathered their legions in his sight. Their dim, discrowned and tarnished armies passed rank and file before him. Milton tried to see the first woman. But Carrie, he saw her not. You are bold to say so, surely. Not more bold than faithful. It was his cook that he saw. Or it was Mrs. Gill, as I have seen her making custards in the heat of summer, in the cool dairy, with rose-trees and nasturtiums about the lattice window, preparing a cold collation for the rectors. Preserves and dulcet creams puzzled what choice to choose for delicacy best, what order so contrived as not to mix tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change. All very well too, surely. I would beg to remind him that the first men of the earth were Titans, and that Eve was their mother, from her sprang Saturn, Hyperion, Oceanus, she bore Prometheus. Pagan that you are! What does that signify? I say there were giants on the earth in those days, giants that strove to scale heaven. The first woman's breast that heaved with life on this world yielded the daring which could contend with omnipotence, the strength which could bear a thousand years of bondage, the vitality which could feed that vulture death through uncounted ages, the unexhausted life and uncorrupted excellence, sisters to immortality, which after millenniums of crime, struggles and woes, could conceive and bring forth a messiah. The first woman was heaven-born, vast was the heart whence gushed the wellspring of the blood of nations, and grand the undegenerate head where rested the consort crown of creation. She coveted an apple, and was cheated by a snake, but you've got such a hash of scripture and mythology into your head that there is no making any sense of you. You've not told me yet what you saw kneeling on those hills. I saw—I now see—a woman titan. Her robe of blue air spreads to the outskirts of the heath where yonder flock is grazing. A veil white as an avalanche sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning flame on its borders. Under her breast I see her zone purple like that horizon. Through its blush shines the star of evening. Their steady eyes I cannot picture. They are clear. They are deep as lakes. They are lifted and full of worship. They tremble with the softness of love and the luster of prayer. Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is paler than the early moon, risen long before dark gathers. She reclines her bosom on the ridge of Stillborough Moor. Her mighty hands are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face, she speaks with God. That Eve is Jehovah's daughter, as Adam was his son. She is very vague and visionary. Come, Shirley, we ought to go into church. Caroline, I will not. I will stay out here with my mother Eve in these days called Nature. I love her, undying, mighty being. Heaven may have faded from her brow when she fell in paradise, but all that is glorious on earth shines there still. She is taking me to her bosom, and showing me her heart. Hush, Caroline, you will see her and feel her as I do if we are both silent. I will humor your whim, but you will begin talking again ere ten minutes are over. Miss Kildar, on whom the soft excitement of the warm summer evening seemed working with unwonted power, leaned against an upright headstone. She fixed her eyes on the deep burning west, and sank into a pleasurable trance. Caroline, going a little apart, paced to and fro beneath the rectory garden wall, dreaming to in her way. Shirley had mentioned the word mother. That word suggested to Caroline's imagination not the mighty and mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human form, the form she ascribed to her own mother, unknown, unloved, but not unlonged for. Oh, that the day would come when she would remember her child. Oh, that I might know her, and knowing, love her. Such was her aspiration. The longing of her childhood filled her soul again, the desire which many a night had kept her awake in her crib, and which fear of its fallacy had of late years almost extinguished, relit suddenly, and glowed warm in her heart, that her mother might come some happy day and send for her to her presence, look upon her fondly with loving eyes, and say to her tenderly in a sweet voice, Caroline, my child, I have a home for you. You shall live with me. All the love you have needed and not tasted, from infancy, I have saved for you carefully. Come. It shall cherish you now." A noise on the road roused Caroline from her filial hopes, and Shirley from her tightened visions. They listened and heard the tramp of horses. They looked and saw glitter through the trees. They caught through the foliage glimpses of Marshall Scarlett. Helm-Sean plum-waved. Silent and orderly six soldiers rode softly by. The same we saw this afternoon, whispered Shirley. They have been halting somewhere till now. They wish to be as little noticed as possible, and are seeking their rendezvous at this quiet hour, while the people are at church. Did I not say we should see unusual things ere long? Scarcely were sight and sound of the soldiers lost, when another and some what different disturbance broke the night-hush. A child's impatient scream. They looked. A man issued from the church, carrying in his arms an infant, a robust, ruddy little boy of some two years old, roaring with all the power of his lungs. He had probably just awaked from a church sleep. Two little girls of nine and ten followed. The influence of the fresh air, and the attraction of some flowers gathered from a grave, soon quieted the child. The man sat down with him, dandling him on his knee as tenderly as any woman. The two little girls took their places one on each side. "'Good evening, William,' said Shirley, after due scrutiny of the man. He had seen her before, and apparently was waiting to be recognized. He now took off his hat, and grinned a smile of pleasure. He was a rough-headed, hard-featured personage, not old, but very weather-beaten. His attire was decent and clean, that of his children singularly neat. It was our old friend, Farron. The young ladies approached him. "'You're not going into the church,' he inquired, gazing at them complacently, yet with a mixture of bashfulness in his look. A sentiment not by any means the result of awe of their station, but only of appreciation of their elegance and youth. Before gentlemen, such as Moore or Halston, for instance, William was often a little dogged, with proud or insolent ladies too. He was quite unmanageable, sometimes very resentful, but he was most sensible of, most tractable to, good humor and civility. His nature, a stubborn one, was repelled by inflexibility in other natures, for which reason he had never been able to like his former master, Moore, and unconscious of that gentleman's good opinion of himself, and of the service he had secretly rendered him in recommending him as gardener to Mr. York, and by this means to other families in the neighborhood, he continued to harbor a grudge against his austerity. Letterly he had often worked at field-head. Miss Kildars, Frank, hospitable manners were perfectly charming to him. Caroline, he had known from her childhood, unconsciously she was his ideal of a lady. Her gentle mean, step, gestures, her grace of person and attire, moved some artist's fibres about his peasant heart. He had a pleasure in looking at her, as he had in examining rare flowers, or in seeing pleasant landscapes. Both the ladies liked William. It was their delight to lend him books, to give him plants, and they preferred his conversation far before that of many coarse, hard, pretentious people, immeasurably higher in station. "'Who was speaking, William, when you came out?' asked Shirley. "'A gentleman you set a deal of store on, Miss Shirley, Mr. Dunn.' "'You look knowing, William. How did you find out my regard for Mr. Dunn?' "'I, Miss Shirley, there's a gleg light at your in, sometimes, which betrays you. You look right down scornful sometimes, when Mr. Dunn is by.' "'Do you like him yourself, William?' "'Me? I'm stalled at the curates, and so is to wife. They've no manners. They talk to poor folk fares, if they thought they were beneath them. They're all us magnifying their office. It is a pity, but their office could magnify them. But it does no to the sort. I fair hate pride." "'But you were proud in your own way yourself,' interposed Caroline. "'You are what you call house-proud. You like to have everything handsome about you. Sometimes you look as if you were almost too proud to take your wages. When you were out of work you were too proud to get anything on credit. But for your children I believe you would rather have starved and gone to the shops without money. And when I wanted to give you something, what a difficulty I had in making you take it!' It is partly true, Miss Caroline. On a day I'd rather give than take, especially from such as ye. Look at the difference between us. You're a little young slender lass, and I'm a great strong man. I'm rather more than twice your age. It is not my part then, I think, to take from you—to be under obligations, as they say to you. And that day you came to our house and called me to door, and offered me five shillings, which I doubt you could ill-spare, for you've no fort and I know. That day I was fairer rebel, and radical, and insurrectionist, and you made me so. I thought it shameful that, willing and able as I was to work, I should be in such a condition, that a young creature about the age of my own eldest lass could think it needful to come and offer me her bit of brass. I suppose you were angry with me, William. I almost was, in a way. But I forgave you very soon. You meant well. I am proud, and so were you. But your pride in mine is to write make. What we call a Yorkshire clean pride, such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Dunn knows not about. There's his mucky pride. Now I shall teach my lassus to be as proud as Miss Shirley there, and my lads to be as proud as Miss Elm. But I dare only of them to be like to curates. I'd lick little Michael if I see them show any signs of that feeling. What is the difference, William? You know the difference, will I know? But you want me to get a gait of talking. Mr. Malone and Mr. Dunn is almost too proud to do out for their cell. We're almost too proud to let anybody do out for us. To curates can hardly buy to speak a civil word to them they think beneath them. We can hardly buy to take an uncivil word for them that thinks them cell in a bonus. Now, William, be humble enough to tell me how truly you were getting on in the world. Are you well off? Miss Shirley, I am very well off, since I got to the gardening line with Mr. York's help, and since Mr. Hall, another of the right sort, helped my wife to set up a bit of a shop, I've now to complain off. My family has plenty to eat and plenty to wear. My pride makes me find means to save an odd pound now and then against rainy days, for I think I'd die if I had come to parish, and me and mine is content, but the neighbours is poor yet. I see a great deal of distress. And consequently there is still discontent, I suppose, inquired Miss Kildar. Consequently you say right. Consequently, in course starving folk cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The country is not in a safe condition. I'll say so much. But what can be done? What more can I do, for instance? Do. You cannot do much, poor young lass. You've given your brass. You've done well. If you could transport your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, it happened you better. Folks hate him. William for shame! exclaimed Caroline warmly. If folks do hate him it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr. Moore himself hates nobody. He only wants to do his duty and maintain his rights. You are wrong to talk so. I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart, yonder Moore. But, interposed surely, supposing Moore was driven from the country and his mill raised to the ground, would people have more work? They'd have less. I know that, and they know that, and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the certainty that whichever way he turns he cannot better himself, and there is dishonest men plenty to guide them to the devil, scoundrels that reckons to be the people's friends, and that knows not about the people, and is as insincere as Lucifer. I've lived a boon forty years in the world, and I believe that the people will never have any true friends but their sound, and them two or three good folk at different stations that is friends to all the world. Human nature, taking it to the lump, is not but selfishness. It is but excessive few. It is but just an exception here or there, now and then, such as yeety youngens in me, that being in a different sphere can understand to one tether, and be friends without slavishness of one hand or pride of the other. Them that reckons to be friends to a lower class than their own for political motives is never to be trusted. They always try to make their inferior tools. For my own part I will neither be patronized nor misled for no man's pleasure. I've had overtures made to me lately that I saw were treacherous, and I flung them back at the faces of them that offered them. He won't tell us what overtures. I will not. It would do no good. It would make no difference. Them they concerned can look after their sound. I, we's look after were sound, said another voice. Joe Scott had sauntered forth from the church to get a breath of fresh air, and there he stood. I'll warrant you, Joe," observed William, smiling. And I'll warrant my master, was the answer. Young ladies, continued Joe, assuming a lordly heir, he'd better go into the house. I wonder what for, inquired Shirley, to whom the overlookers' somewhat pragmatical manners were familiar, and who was often at war with him. For Joe, holding supercilious theories about women in general, resented greatly in his secret soul the fact of his master and his master's mill being in a manner under petticoat government, and had felt as warm wood and gall certain business visits of the heiress to the hollow's counting-house. Because there is not a gate that fits women to be concerned in. Indeed, there is prayer and preaching a gate in that church. Are we not concerned in that? He have been present neither at the prayer nor preaching, ma'am, if I have observed a right. What I alluded to was politics. William Farron, here, was touching out that subject, if I'm not mistaken. Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a sudden day? I should think you'll read the marriages, probably miss, and the murders, and the accidents, and such like. I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign intelligence, and I look over the market prices. In short, I read just what gentlemen read. Joe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering of a pie. He replied to it by a disdainful silence. Joe, continued in his keel-dar, I never yet could ascertain properly whether you are a wig or a torie. Pray, which party has the honour of your alliance? It is rather difficult to explain where you are not sure to be understood, was Joe's haughty response, but as to being a torie, I'd as soon be an old woman, or a young one, which is a more flimsy article still, it is the tories that carries on the war and ruins trade, and if I be of any party, though political parties is all nonsense, I'm of that which is most favourable to peace, and by consequence, to the mercantile interests of this here land." So am I, Joe," replied Shirley, who had rather a pleasure in teasing the overlooker by persisting in talking on subjects with which he opined she, as a woman, had no right to meddle. Partly at least, I have rather a leaning to the agricultural interests, too, as good reason is, seeing that I don't desire England to be under the feet of France, and that if a share of my income comes from Hollow's mill, a larger share comes from the landed estate around it. It would not do to take any measure injurious to the farmers, Joe, I think. The dues at this hour is unwholesome for females. Observed, Joe. If you make that remark out of interest to me, I have merely to assure you that I am impervious to cold. I should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe. Joe Scott's chin was always rather prominent. He poked it out at this speech some inches further than usual. But, to go back to my sheep, she proceeded, clothier and mill-owner as I am, besides farmer, I cannot get out of my head a certain idea that we manufacturers and persons of business are sometimes a little, a very little selfish and short-sighted in our views, and rather too regardless of human suffering, rather heartless in our pursuit of gain. Don't you agree with me, Joe? I cannot argue or I cannot be comprehended, was again the answer. Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe. He is not so stiff as you are. Maybe not. We've all our own ways. Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in male skulls? I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation, and I have a great respect for the doctrines delivered in the second chapter of St. Paul's First Epistle to Timothy. What doctrines, Joe? Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection. I suffer not a woman to teach nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence, for Adam was first formed, then Eve. What is that to do with the business? interjected surely. That smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll bring it up to Mr. York the first time he invades against those rights. And—continued, Joe Scott—Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression. More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open, cried Miss Kildar. To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never was easy in my mind concerning that chapter. It puzzles me. It is very plain, miss—he that runs may read. He may read it in his own fashion, remarked Caroline, now joining in the dialogue for the first time. You allow the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe. My certi that I do, I allow and claim it for every line of the holy book. Women may exercise it as well as men. Nay, women is to take their husband's opinion both in politics and religion. It's wholesome as for them. Oh, oh! exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline. To be sure, no doubt on— persisted the stubborn overlooker. Inner yourself groaned down, and cried shame over for such a stupid observation, said Miss Kildar. You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Of what value will a religion so adopted be? It would be mere blind besotted superstition. And what is your reading, Miss Helston, of these words of St. Paul's? Hmm. I—I account for them in this way. He wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, under particular circumstances, and besides, I daresay, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended altogether. It would be possible, I doubt not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary turn, to make it say, Let the woman speak out whenever she sees fit to make an objection. It is permitted to a woman to teach and to exercise authority as much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than hold his peace, and so on. That will not wash, Miss. I daresay it will. My notions are dyed in faster colors than yours, Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly dogmatical person, and always were. I like William better than you. Joe is well enough in his own house, said Shirley. I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is not a better nor a kinder husband in Breyerfield. He does not dogmatize to his wife. My wife is a hard-working, plain woman. Time and trouble is to entertain all the conceit out of her. But that is not the case with you, young Mrs.—and then you reckon to have so much knowledge, and in my thought, as only superficial sort of vanities you're acquainted with. I can tell—happen a year, sin—one day Miss Caroline coming into our counting-house, when I were packing up some at behind a great desk, and she didn't see me, and she brought a slate with a sum on it to the master. It were only a bit of a sum in practice, that our Harry would have settled in two minutes. She couldn't do it. Mr. Moore had to show her how, and when he did show her, she couldn't understand him. Nonsense, Joe! Nay, it's no nonsense! And Miss Shirley there reckons to harken to the master when he's talking over trade, so attentive-like as if she followed him word for word, and all was as clear as ladies' looking-glass to her in, and all to while she's peeping and peeping out of the window to see if the mayor stands quiet, and then looking at a bit of splash on her riding-skirt, and then glancing glegly round at our counting-house cobwebs and dust, and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have just an hour or a nullly common. She hears no more of Mr. Moore's talk, nor if he spake Hebrew. Joe, you are a real slanderer! I would give you your answer. Only the people are coming out of church. We must leave you. Man of prejudice! Good-bye! William, good-bye! Children, come up to field-head to-morrow, and you shall choose what you like best at a Mrs. Gill's storeroom. CHAPTER 19 The hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favored the kindling of the stars. There will be just light enough to show me the way home, said Miss Kildar, as she prepared to take leave of Caroline at the rectory garden door. You must not go alone, Shirley. Fanny shall accompany you. That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from field-head to the church any fine midsummer night, three hours later than this, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars, and the chance of meeting a fairy. But just wait till the crowd is cleared away. Agreed. There are the five Mrs. Armitage streaming by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes-Fayton, Mr. Wynne's close carriage, Mrs. Burtwistle's car. I don't wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step into the garden and take shelter among the LeBurnams for an instant. The rectors, their curates and their church wardens, now issued from the church porch. There was a great confabulation, shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air, et cetera. By degrees the throng dispersed, the carriages drove off. Miss Kildar was just emerging from her flowery refuge, when Mr. Halston entered the garden and met her. Oh! I want you, he said. I was afraid you were already gone. Caroline, come here." Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been visible at church. Other subjects, however, occupied the rector's mind. I shall not sleep at home to-night, he continued. I have just met with an old friend and promised to accompany him. I shall return probably about noon to-morrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I can not get him to sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a night. Now—now," interrupted Shirley,--"you want me as a gentleman, the first gentleman in Briarfield in short, to supply your place, be master of the rectory, and guardine of your niece and maids, while you are away?" "'Exactly, Captain. I thought the post would suit you. Will you favor Caroline so far as to be her guest for one night? Will you stay here instead of going back to Fieldhead?" "'And what will Mrs. Prior do? She expects me home.' "'I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. It grows late. The dew falls heavily. You and Caroline will enjoy each other's society, I doubt not." "'I promise you then to stay with Caroline,' replied Shirley. "'As you say, we shall enjoy each other's society. We will not be separated to-night. Now rejoin your old friend and fear nothing for us. If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, Captain, if you should hear the picking of a lock, the cutting out of pain of glass, a stealthy tread of steps about the house, and I need not fear to tell you, who bear a well-tempered, metal-some heart under your girl's ribbon-sash, that such little incidents are very possible in the present time, what would you do?' "'Don't know. Fate, perhaps, fall down and have to be picked up again. But, Doctor, if you assign me the post of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold? You could not wield a sword?' "'No, I could manage the carving-knife better. You will find a good one in the dining-room side-board, a lady's knife, light to handle, and as sharp-pointed as a poignard. It will suit Caroline, but you must give me a brace of pistols. I know you have pistols. I have two pairs. One pair I can place at your disposal. You will find them suspended over the mantel-piece of my study in cloth-cases.' "'Loaded?' "'Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, Captain, to lend you these, where you, one of the awkward squad, you should not have them.' "'I will take care. You need delay no longer, Mr. Halston. You may go now. He is gracious to me to lend me his pistols,' she remarked as the rector passed out at the garden-gate. "'But come, Lina,' she continued, let us go in and have some supper. I was too much vexed at tea with the visintage of Mr. Sam Wynne to be able to eat, and now I am really hungry.' Entering the house, they repaired to the darkened dining-room, through the open windows of which apartments stole the evening air, bearing the perfume of flowers from the garden, the very distant sound of far-retreating steps from the road, and a soft, vague murmur, whose origin Caroline explained by the remark, uttered as she stood listening at the casement, "'Surely. I hear the beck in the hollow.' Then she wrung the bell, asked for a candle and some bread and milk, Miss Kildar's usual supper and her own. Fanny, when she brought in the tray, would have closed the windows and the shutters, but was requested to desist for the present. The twilight was too calm, its breath, too balmy, to be yet excluded. They took their meal in silence. Caroline rose once to remove to the windowsill a glass of flowers which stood on the side-board, the exhalation from the blossoms being somewhat too powerful for the sultry room. In returning she half opened a drawer, and took from it something that glittered clear and keen in her hand. "'You assigned this to me, then, Shirley, did you? It is bright, keen-edged, finely tapered. It is dangerous looking. I never yet felt the impulse which could move me to direct this against a fellow creature. It is difficult to fancy what circumstances could nerve my arm to strike home with this long knife. "'I should hate to do it,' replied Shirley, "'but I think I could do it, if goaded by certain exigencies which I can imagine.' And Miss Kildar quietly sipped her glass of new milk, looking somewhat thoughtful, and a little pale. Though indeed, when did she not look pale, she was never floored. The milk sipped and the bread eaten. Fanny was again summoned. She and Eliza were recommended to go to bed, which they were quite willing to do, being weary of the day's exertions, of much cutting of current buns, and filling of urns and teapots, and running backwards and forwards with trays. Air-long the maid's chamber-door was heard to close. Caroline took a candle, and went quietly all over the house, seeing that every window was fast and every door barred. She did not even evade the haunted back kitchen, nor the vault-like cellars. These visited, she returned. "'There is neither spirit nor flesh in the house at present,' she said, which should not be there. It is now near eleven o'clock, fully bedtime, yet I would rather sit up a little longer if you do not object, Shirley. Here,' she continued, "'I have brought the brace of pistols from my uncle's study. You may examine them to your leisure.' She placed them on the table before her friend. "'Why would you rather sit up longer?' asked Miss Kildar, waking up the firearms, examining them, and again laying them down. Because I have a strange, excited feeling in my heart. So have I. Is this state of sleeplessness and restlessness caused by something electrical in the air, I wonder? No. The sky is clear. The star is numberless. It is a fine night. But very still, I hear the water fret over its stony bed in hollows' corpse, as distinctly as if it ran below the churchyard wall. I am glad it is so still a night. A moaning wind or rushing rain would vex me to fever just now. Why, Shirley? Because it would baffle my efforts to listen. Do you listen towards the hollow? Yes. It is the only quarter whence we can hear a sound just now. The only one, Shirley. They both sat near the window, and both leaned their arms on the sill, and both inclined their heads towards the open lattice. They saw each other's young faces by the starlight, and that dim June twilight which is not wholly fade from the west till dawn begins to break in the east. Mr. Halston thinks we have no idea which way he is gone, murmurous Kildar, nor on what errand, nor with what expectations, nor how prepared—but I guess much, do not you. I guess something. All those gentlemen, your cousin Moore included, think that you and I are now asleep in our beds, unconscious. Caring nothing about them, hoping and fearing nothing for them, added Caroline. Both kept silence for full half an hour. The night was silent, too. Only the church-clock measured its course by quarters. Some words were interchanged about the chill of the air. They wrapped their scarves closer round them, resumed their bonnets which they had removed, and again watched. Towards midnight the teasing monotonous bark of the house-dog disturbed the quietude of their vigil. Caroline rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages to the kitchen, intending to appease him with a piece of bread. She succeeded. On returning to the dining-room she found it all dark, Miss Kildar having extinguished the candle, the outline of her shape was visible near the still-open window, leaning out. Miss Halston asked no questions. She stole to her side. The dog recommenced barking furiously. Suddenly he stopped and seemed to listen. The occupants of the dining-room listened, too, and not merely now to the flow of the mill-stream. There was a nearer, though a muffled sound on the road below the church-yard, a measured, beating, approaching sound, a dull tramp of marching feet. It drew near. Those who listened by degrees comprehended its extent. It was not the tread of two, nor of a dozen, nor of a score of men. It was the tread of hundreds. They could see nothing. The high shrubs of the garden formed a leafy screen between them and the road. To hear, however, was not enough, and this they felt as the troop drawed forwards, and seemed actually passing the rectory. They felt it more when a human voice, though that voice spoke but one word, broke the hush of the night. Halt! A halt followed. The march was arrested. Then came a low conference, of which no word was distinguishable from the dining-room. We must hear this, said Shirley. She turned, took her pistols from the table, silently passed out through the middle window of the dining-room, which was, in fact, a glass door, stole down the walk to the garden wall, and stood listening under the lilacs. Caroline would not have quitted the house had she been alone, but where Shirley went she would go. She glanced at the weapon on the side-board, but left it behind her, and presently stood at her friend's side. They dared not look over the wall for fear of being seen. They are obliged to crouch behind it. They heard these words. It looks a rambling old building, who lives in it besides the damned parson. Only three women, his niece and two servants. Do you know where they sleep? The lasses behind, the niece in a front room. And Helston? Yonder is his chamber. He uses burning a light, but I see none now. Where would you get in? If I were ordered to do his job, and he deserves it, I'd try yon'd long window. It opens to the dining-room. I could grope my way upstairs, and I know his chamber. How would you manage about the woman-folk? Let them alone, except they shrieked, and then I'd soon quiet them. I could wish to find the old chap asleep. If he waked, he'd be dangerous. Has he arms? Fire arms, all us, and all us loadened. Then you're a fool to stop us here. A shot would give the alarm. More would be honest before we could turn around. We should miss our main object. You might go on, I tell you. I'd engaged Helston alone. A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, which rang on the stone causeway. At this sound the rectory dog barked again furiously, fiercely. That spoils all, said the voice. He'll awake. A noise like that might rouse the dead. You did not say there was a dog, damn you, forward! Forward they went, tramp, tramp, with mustering manifold, slow filing tread. They were gone. Shirley stood erect, looked over the wall, along the road. Not a soul remains, she said. She stood amused. Thank God was the next observation. Caroline repeated the ejaculation, not in so steady a tone. She was trembling much. Her heart was beating fast and thick. Her face was cold. Her forehead damp. Thank God for us! she reiterated. But what will happen elsewhere? They have passed us by, that they may make sure of others. They have done well—returned Shirley with composure. The others will defend themselves. They can do it. They are prepared for them. With us it is otherwise. My finger was on the trigger of this pistol. I was quite ready to give that man if he had entered such a greeting as he little calculated on. But behind him followed three hundred. I had neither three hundred hands nor three hundred weapons. I could not have effectually protected either you, myself, or the two poor women asleep under that roof. Therefore I again earnestly thank God for insult and peril escaped. After a second pause, she continued, What is it my duty and wisdom to do next? Not to stay here inactive, I am glad to say, but of course to walk over to the hollow. To the hollow, Shirley? To the hollow. Will you go with me? Where those men are gone? They have taken the highway. We should not encounter them. The road over the fields is as safe, silent, and solitary as a path through the air would be. Will you go? Yes, was the answer given mechanically, not because the speaker wished or was prepared to go, or indeed was otherwise and scared at the prospect of going, but because she felt she could not abandon Shirley. Then we must fasten up these windows and leave all as secure as we can behind us. Do you know what we are going for, Carrie? Yes. No. Because you wish it. Is that all? And you are so obedient to a mere caprice of mine. What a docile wife you would make to a stern husband. The moon's face is not whiter than yours at this moment, and the aspen at the gate does not tremble more than your busy fingers, and so tractable and terror-struck and dismayed and devoted, you would follow me into a thick of real danger. Carrie, let me give your fidelity and motive. We are going, for Moore's sake, to see if we can be of use to him, to make it effort to warn him of what is coming. To be sure, I am a blind, weak fool, and you are acute and sensible, Shirley. I will go with you. I will gladly go with you. I do not doubt it. You would die blindly and meekly for me, but you would intelligently and gladly die for Moore. But in truth there is no question of death to-night. We run no risk at all. Caroline rapidly closed shutter and lattice. Do not fear that I shall not have breath to run as fast as you can possibly run, Shirley. Take my hand. Let us go straight across the fields. But you cannot climb walls. Tonight I can. You are afraid of hedges, and the beck which we shall be forced to cross. I can cross it. They started. They ran. Many a wall checked, but did not baffle them. Shirley was sure-footed and agile. She could spring like a deer when she chose. Caroline, more timid and less dexterous, fell once or twice, and bruised herself, but she rose again directly, saying she was not hurt. A quick set hedge bounded the last field. They lost time in seeking a gap in it. The aperture, when found, was narrow, but they worked their way through. The long hair, the tender skin, the silks, and the muslin suffered. What was chiefly regretted was the impediment this difficulty had caused to speed. On the other side they met the beck, flowing deep in a rough bed. At this point a narrow plank formed the only bridge across it. Shirley had trod the plank successfully and fearlessly many a time before. Caroline had never yet dared to risk the transit. I will carry you across, said Miss Kildar. You are light and I am not weak. Let me try. If I fall in you may fish me out," was the answer, as a grateful squeeze compressed her hand. Caroline, without pausing, trod forward on the trembling plank as if it were a continuation of the firm turf. Shirley, who followed, did not cross it more resolutely or safely. In their present humour, on their present errand, a strong and foaming channel would have been a barrier to neither. At the moment they were above the control either of fire or water, all still broke more, a light and a low with bonfires would not have stopped them, nor would calder or air of thundering and flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had they set foot on the solid opposite bank when a shot split the air from the north. One second elapsed. Further off burst a like note in the south. Within the space of three minutes similar signals boomed in the east and west. I thought we were dead at the first explosion, observed Shirley drawing a long breath. I felt myself hit in the temples and I included your heart was pierced, but the reiterated voice was an explanation. Those are signals. It is their way. The attack must be near. We should have had wings. Our feet have not borne us swiftly enough. A portion of the cops was now to clear. When they emerged from it, the mill lay just below them. They could look down upon the buildings, the yard. They could see the road beyond. And the first glance in that direction told Shirley she was right in her conjecture. They were already too late to give warning. It had taken more time than they calculated on to overcome the various obstacles which embarrassed the shortcut across the fields. End of Chapter 19 Part 1 CHAPTER 19 Part 2 of Shirley This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Moving by Elizabeth Klett. Shirley by Charlotte Bronte. CHAPTER 19 A SUMMER NIGHT. PART 2 The road which should have been white was dark with a moving mass. The rioters were assembled in front of the closed yard gates, and a single figure stood within, apparently addressing them. The mill itself was perfectly black and still. There was neither life, light, nor motion around it. Surely he is prepared! Surely that is not more meeting them alone! whispered Shirley. It is. We must go to him. I will go to him. That you will not! Why did I come, then? I came only for him. I shall join him. Fortunately it is out of your power. There was no entrance to the yard. There is a small entrance at the back, besides the gates in front. It opens by a secret method which I know. I will try it. Not with my leave. Miss Kildar clasped her round the waist with both arms and held her back. Not one step shall you stir, she went on, authoritatively. At this moment more would be both shocked and embarrassed if he saw either you or me. Men never want women near them in time of real danger. I would not trouble. I would help him, was the reply. How? By inspiring him with heroism? Poo! These are not the days of chivalry. It is not a tilt at a tournament we are going to behold, but a struggle about money and food and life. It is natural that I should be at his side. As queen of his heart. His mill is his lady-love, Carrie. Backed by his factory and his frames, he has all the encouragement he wants or can know. It is not for love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth he is going to break a spear. Don't be sentimental. Robert is not so. I could help him. I will seek him. Off, then, I let you go. Seek more. You'll not find him. She loosened her hold. Caroline sped like levelled shaft from bent bow after her rang a jesting, jibing laugh. Look well, there is no mistake, was the warning given. But there was a mistake. Miss Helston paused, hesitated, gazed. The figure had suddenly retreated from the gate and was running back hastily to the mill. Make haste, Lina! cried Shirley. Meet him before he enters. Caroline slowly returned. It is not Robert, she said. It has neither his height, form nor bearing. I saw it was not Robert when I let you go. How could you imagine it? It is a shabby little figure of a private soldier. They have posted him as sentinel. He is safe in the mill now. I saw the door open and admit him. My mind goes easier. Robert is prepared. Our warning would have been superfluous, and now I am thankful we came too late to give it. It has saved us the trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the counting-house toot-eper-doo, and to have found oneself in presence of Mr. Armitage, and Ramsden smoking, Balone swaggering, your uncle sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, and more himself in his cold man of business vein. I am glad we missed it all. I wonder if there are many in the mill, Shirley. I am guilty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen today were going there, no doubt, and the group we noticed surrounding your cousin in the fields will be with him. What are they doing now, Shirley? What is that noise? Hatchets and crowbars against the yard gates. They are forcing them. Are you afraid? No. But my heart throbs fast. I have a difficulty in standing. I will sit down. Do you feel unmoved? Hardly that. But I am glad I came. We shall see what transpires with our own eyes. We are here on the spot, and none know it. Instead of amazing the curate, the clothier, and the corn-dealer with a romantic rush on the stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our friends will not come to gather. Shirley! Shirley! The gates are down! That crash was like the felling of great trees. Now they are pouring through. They will break down the mill doors as they have broken the gate. What can Robert do against so many? What to God I were a little nearer him, could hear him speak, could speak to him. With my will, my longing to serve him, I could not be a useless burden in his way. I could be turned to some account. They come on, cried Shirley. How steadily they march in. There is discipline in their ranks. I will not say there is courage. Hundreds against tens are no proof of that quality. But—she dropped her voice. There is suffering and desperation enough amongst them. These goads will urge them forwards. Forwards against Robert, and they hate him. Shirley, is there much danger they will win the day? We shall see. Moore and Helston are of earth's first blood, no bunglers, no cravens. A crash, smash, shiver, stopped their whispers. A simultaneously hurled volley of stones had saluted the broad front of the mill with all its windows. And now every pain of every lattice lay in shattered and pounded fragments. A yell followed this demonstration. A rioter's yell. A north of England. A Yorkshire. A west riding. A west riding clothing district of Yorkshire. Rioter's yell. You never heard that sound, perhaps, reader. So much the better for your ears. Perhaps for your heart. Since, if it rends the air and hate to yourself, or to the men or principles you approve, the interest to which you wish well. Wrath wakens to the cry of hate. The lion shakes his mane and rises to the howl of the hyena. Caste stands up ireful against caste, and the indignant wronged spirit of the middle rank bears down in zeal and scorn on the famished and furious mass of the operative class. It is difficult to be tolerant, difficult to be just in such moments. Caroline Rose surely put her arm round her. They stood together as still as the straight stems of two trees. That yell was a long one, and when it ceased, the night was yet full of the swaying and murmuring of a crowd. What next? was the question of the listeners. Nothing came yet. The mill remained mute as a mausoleum. He cannot be alone! whispered Caroline. I would stake all I have that he is as little alone as he is alarmed, responded Shirley. Shots were discharged by the rioters. Had the defenders waited for this signal? It seemed so. The heather to inert and passive mill woke. Fire flashed from its empty window frames. A volley of musketry peeled sharp through the hollow. More speaks at last, said Shirley, and he seems to have the gift of tongues. That was not a single voice. He has been forebearing. No one can accuse him of rashness, alleged Caroline. Their discharge proceeded his. They broke his gates and his windows. They fired at his garrison before he repelled them. What was going on now? It seemed difficult in the darkness to distinguish. But something terrible, a still renewing tumult, was obvious. Fierce attacks, desperate repulses, the millyard, the mill itself was full of battle movements. There was scarcely any cessation now of the discharge of firearms, and there was struggling, rushing, trampling, and shouting between. The aim of the assailant seemed to be to enter the mill, that of the defendants to beat them off. They heard the rebel leader cry, to the back, lads! They heard a voice retort, come round, we will meet you. To the counting-house was the order again. Welcome, we shall have you there! was the response. And accordingly the fiercest blaze that had yet glowed, the loudest rattle that had yet been heard, burst from the counting-house front, when the mass of rioters rushed up to it. The voice that had spoken was Moore's own voice. They could tell by its tones that his soul was now warm with the conflict. They could guess that the fighting animal was roused in every one of those men there struggling together, and was, for the time, quite paramount above the rational human being. Both the girls felt their faces glow and their pulses throb. Both knew they would do no good by rushing down into the millay. They desired neither to deal nor to receive blows. But they could not have run away. Caroline no more than Shirley. They could not have fainted. They could not have taken their eyes from the dim, terrible scene, from the mass of cloud, of smoke, the musket lightning, for the world. How and when would it end? was the demand throbbing in their throbbing pulses. Would a juncture arise in which they could be useful? was what they waited to see. For though Shirley put off their too-late arrival with a jest, and was ever ready to satirize her own or any other person's enthusiasm, she would have given a farm of her best land for a chance of rendering good service. The chance was not vouchsafed her. The looked-for juncture never came. It was not likely. Moore had expected this attack for days, perhaps weeks. He was prepared for it at every point. He had fortified and garrisoned his mill, which in itself was a strong building. He was a cool, brave man. He stood to the defense with unflinching firmness. Those who were with him caught his spirit and copied his demeanor. The rioters had never been so met before. At other mills they had attacked. They had found no resistance. An organized, resolute defense was what they never dreamed of encountering. When their leaders saw the steady fire kept up from the mill, witnessed the composure and determination of its owner, heard themselves, coolly defied, and invited on to death, and beheld their men falling wounded round them, they felt that nothing was to be done here. In haste they mustered their forces, drew them away from the building. A roll was called over, in which the men answered to figures instead of names. They dispersed wide over the fields, leaving silence and ruin behind them. The attack, from its commencement to its termination, had not occupied an hour. Day was by this time approaching. The west was dim, the east beginning to gleam. It would have seemed that the girls who had watched this conflict would now wish to hasten to the victors, on whose side all their interest had been enlisted. But they only very cautiously approached the now battered mill. And when suddenly a number of soldiers and gentlemen appeared at the great door opening into the yard, they quickly stepped aside into a shed, the deposit of old iron and timber, whence they could see, without being seen. It was no cheering spectacle. These premises were now a mere blot of desolation on the fresh front of the summer dawn. All the cops up the hollow was shady and dewy, the hill at its head was green, but just here in the centre of the sweet glen, discord, broken loose in the night from control, had beaten the ground with his stamping hooves, and left it waste and polarised. The mill yawned all ruinous with unglazed frames, the yard was thickly bestrewed with stones and brickbats, and close under the mill with the glittering fragments of the shattered windows, muskets and other weapons lay here and more than one deep crimson stain was visible on the gravel, a human body lay quiet on its face near the gates, and five or six wounded men writhed and moaned in the bloody dust. Miss Kildar's countenance changed at this view. It was the aftertaste of the battle, death and pain replacing excitement and exertion. It was the blackness the bright fire leaves when its blazes sunk, its warmth failed, and its glow faded. This is what I wish to prevent, she said, in a voice whose cadence betrayed the altered impulse of her heart. But you could not prevent it, you did your best, but it was in vain, said Caroline comfortingly. Don't grieve, Shirley. I am sorry for those poor fellows, was the answer, while the spark in her glance dissolved to do. Are any within the mill hurt, I wonder? Is that your uncle? It is, and there is Mr. Malone. And, oh, Shirley, there is Robert. Well, resuming her former tone, don't squeeze your fingers quite into my hand. I see there is nothing wonderful in that. We knew he, at least, was here, whoever might be absent. He is coming here towards us, Shirley. Towards the pump, that is to say, for the purpose of washing his hands in his forehead, which has got a scratch, I perceive. He bleeds, Shirley. Don't hold me, I must go. Not a step. He has hurt, Shirley. Fiddlestick. But I must go to him. I wish to go so much. I cannot bear to be restrained. What for? To speak to him, to ask how he is, and what I can do for him. To tease and annoy him, to make a spectacle of yourself and him before these soldiers, Mr. Malone, your uncle, etc. Would he like it, think you? Would you like to remember it a little, we, hence? Am I always to be curbed and kept down?" demanded Caroline a little passionately. For his sake, yes, and still more for your own. I tell you, if you showed yourself now, you would repent it an hour hence, and so would Robert. You think that he would not like it, Shirley? Far less than he would like our stopping him to say good-night, which you were so sore about. But that was all play. There is no danger. And this is serious work. He must be unmolested. I only wish to go to him because he is my cousin. You understand? I quite understand. But now watch him. He has bathed his forehead, and the blood has ceased trickling. His hurt is really a mere graze. I can see it from hence. He is going to look after the wounded men. Accordingly, Mr. Moore and Mr. Halston went round the yard, examining each prostrate form. Then they gave directions to have the wounded taken up and carried into the mill. This duty being performed, Joe Scott was ordered to saddle his master's horse and Mr. Halston's pony, and the two gentlemen rode away at full gallop to seek surgical aid in different directions. Caroline was not yet pacified. Shirley. Shirley, I should have liked to speak one word to him before he went. She murmured while the tears gathered glittering in her eyes. Why do you cry, Lina? asked Miss Kildar a little sternly. He ought to be glad instead of sorry. Robert has escaped any serious harm. He is victorious. He has been cool and brave in combat. He is now considerate in triumph. Is this a time? Are these causes for weeping? You do not know what I have in my heart. pleaded the other. What pain, what distraction, nor whence it arises? I can understand that you should exalt in Robert's greatness and goodness. So do I in one sense. But in another I feel so miserable. I am too far removed from him. I used to be nearer. Let me alone, Shirley. Do let me cry a few minutes. It relieves me. Miss Kildar, feeling her tremble in every limb, ceased to expostulate with her. She went out of the shed and left her to weep in peace. It was the best plan. In a few minutes Caroline rejoined her, much calmer. She said with her natural, docile, gentle manner, Come, Shirley. We will go home now. I promise not to try to see Robert again till he asks for me. I never will try to push myself on him. I thank you for restraining me just now. I did it with a good intention. returned Miss Kildar. Now, dear Lina, she continued, let us turn our faces to the cool morning breeze and walk very quietly back to the rectory. We will steal in as we stall out. None shall know where we have been or what we have seen to-night. Neither taunt nor misconstruction can consequently molest us. Tomorrow we will see Robert, and be a good cheer. But I will say no more lest I should begin to cry, too. I seem hard towards you, but I am not so.