Under the Mendips Part 14

It was sufficient reward for Joyce to know that, however irritable when in pain, or depressed sometimes by a sudden reminder of his helplessness when contrasted with his brother's independence and vigour, she could always be sufficient to charm away the cloud by her own sunny brightness, and that by making his interests hers, she never let him think she did anything for him, which was not a real pleasure to herself.

The secret of heart service lies in this, that those who are served never know it to its full extent, and that any effort that may be made, or any trouble that may be taken, is so hidden under the mantle of all-pervading love that it is often wholly unsuspected. When the giver is as happy as the receiver, the gift, in whatever form, is sweetened and enhanced a hundred fold.

CHAPTER VI.

AMONGST THE HEATHER.

Gilbert Arundel's visit to Fair Acres extended far beyond the limit of a week. He felt every day more absorbed by the simple, happy life, in which, as Joyce had said, Melville was the only cloud.

He was an universal favourite. A man who has been accustomed to yield respect and courtesy to his own mother, seldom fails in yielding it to the mothers of his friends.

If anyone in the household at Fair Acres was dissatisfied it was Melville himself, who found that his friend had been so entirely taken possession of by his brothers and sister, and was held in such high esteem by his father and mother, that his own light was effectually put out.

The twins, Harry and Bunny, came to him about fly-fis.h.i.+ng, and Ralph consulted him as to a difficult pa.s.sage in his Homer; while he spent a whole morning in helping Piers to re-arrange his moths and b.u.t.terflies, and to look out their names with greater precision in a book he had actually borrowed from the Palace at Wells, for this purpose.

All the time Joyce went about her accustomed duties: darned Melville's socks, mended the schoolboys' clothes, and was every morning a.s.sisting her mother in her household duties.

It was an added charm in Gilbert's eyes that Joyce made no difference in her daily routine, and that what are familiarly called "company manners"

were apparently unknown at Fair Acres.

But the last day came of Gilbert Arundel's visit, as the last must come to everything, and the squire proclaimed a holiday for every one and an excursion to Wookey, and a pic-nic to Ebbor. Then there was a great packing of hampers, and loading of one of the spring carts with the boys and the provisions, and the "four-wheel" with the more grown-up members of the party.

Even Mrs. Falconer allowed herself to be enlisted in the service, and to give herself for once a day's pleasure; while Melville put on a riding-coat of the most approved cut, and a pair of wellingtons, and was graciously pleased to lend himself for the occasion, with as much show of satisfaction as was consistent with his dignity.

After depositing the party at Wookey, the squire kindly drove into Wells in the "four-wheel" to fetch Charlotte from the Vicar's Close, and before the dinner had been laid in the Ebbor Valley he was back again, bearing Charlotte in triumph, in spite of his sister's entreaties that Charlotte would be careful of adders which swarmed at Ebbor amongst the loose stones; and that she was to be sure to sit upon a cloak with four capes, made of large plaid, which Miss Falconer insisted should be put into the carriage.

But nothing spoiled Charlotte's pleasure when fairly off, and she was delighted to be helped down from the carriage by her Cousin Melville, with whose fine ways, and what she would have called "elegant dress,"

she had keen sympathy. Indeed, the hero of the "drooping rose" was in danger of falling from his pedestal; and the fact of a cousin, who said a great many flattering things to her was, after all, more interesting than a minor Canon, who was to be wors.h.i.+pped from afar, and who when actually introduced to her the day before by her aunt, when he called in virtue of his office in the cathedral, had not seemed to desire to cultivate her acquaintance; certainly had made her no pretty speeches.

Melville, on the contrary, made her a great many, and she listened with unquestioning faith, and profound interest to his stories of high life, and the men with t.i.tles with whom he was on familiar terms, and the large wine parties at Oxford to which Maythorne came.

Gilbert caught the sound of that name, and turning quickly, his deep blue eyes shot a warning glance, which could not be mistaken, as he said in a voice audible to those nearest him:

"The less said about _him_ the better."

The day pa.s.sed quickly, and it was proposed that the younger portion of the party should walk up the uneven road between the rocks, and, taking the rough paths over the flat country, into which the gorge opens, reach Fair Acres by crossing it, a distance of some six miles.

Charlotte was to remain at Fair Acres for the night, but both she and Melville preferred to drive with the squire and Mrs. Falconer and Piers.

Charlotte's shoes were too thin for scrambling, and a country walk was not at all to Melville's taste.

"Off with you, then," said the squire, "and mind you keep the road to the left, or you will find yourselves on Mendip, and if it gets dark that may not be so pleasant."

"I know the way, father," Ralph said; "and so do Harry and Bunny. We shall not lose ourselves."

"Perhaps Joyce had better drive," her father said, just as the five were starting. "Suns.h.i.+ne, what do you think?"

"I think that we are more likely to lose our way, sir," Gilbert said, "if you take the sun from us."

The squire laughed.

"Well, that may be true. Take care of your sister, boys."

The ascent through the Ebbor cliffs is difficult; there is a vast quant.i.ty of thin sharp stones, worn by the action of the water from the face of the rocks. Although not nearly so grand as Cheddar, Ebbor has many points of beauty. The rocks are fantastic in form, and as the path winds between them they a.s.sume various shapes, like miniature towers and bastions, clothed with ivy, and coloured with dark brown and yellow lichen.

The air, when they were fairly in the open country, was fresh and crisp; the lark sang his sweet song high above their heads, and the sweet, clear notes of distant thrushes and blackbirds came from the low lying copses, which fringe the head of the Ebbor valley.

Harry and Bunny chased moths for Piers: Ralph meditated and repeated to himself some lines of a Greek poet which he wanted to get by heart.

Thus, as was only to be expected, Joyce and Mr Arundel were left to themselves, and in Gilbert's heart at least was the weight of coming separation, and the uncertainty as to whether he should ever be able to renew the sweet, free intercourse of the past fortnight. He dreaded to change the present happy relations between him and Joyce by telling her what he felt. She confided so entirely in him; she told him so much of her little joys, and home happiness, of Ralph's cleverness, of Harry and Bunny's frantic desires to be sailors, of her father's goodness to Melville, and infinite patience with him. On this last night especially, he felt that he could not bring himself to break the spell, and disturb the serenity of that sweet, pure life, by letting friends.h.i.+p go, to replace it by the more tumultuous and pa.s.sionate love, which he knew if once this barrier were broken down, he should pour forth on her in a torrent which might distress and almost frighten, one so simple and so unversed in the world's ways.

Whilst Charlotte was always on the look-out for some _preux chevalier_, who was to be at her feet and vow eternal devotion, Joyce had as yet no such airy castles. Her education had been widely different from her cousin's, and home and home interests had so filled her seventeen years with their joys and pleasures, that she had no time to dream over "keepsakes," and read Miss Burney's romances, or steep herself in the unreality of sentimental verses, which Wordsworth was beginning to break down and send into the shadows, by bringing out the beauties of creation into the strong light, which his genius threw around them.

Joyce had not wasted her youth in foolish dreams of impossible perfection, but when the real story of her life was ready to unfold itself, she would find a zest and fulness in it, that the sentimental visionary could never know.

That was a memorable walk over the sweet country side, with the west all aglow, and the sky above serenely blue. In after years both looked back on it through that mist of tender sadness, which gathers round the happy past of youth, even though the present is full of the fruition of joy to which that very past led.

"This is our last evening," Gilbert said; "I hope, if I can be of any use, you will write to me."

"Yes," Joyce said, "and I feel as if the worst were over now. If Melville has a year abroad with the gentleman the bishop recommends, he may settle afterwards. Of course it is a great pull upon father's purse; but if Harry and Bunny can get into the navy we shall be able to manage."

"When we are settled in Clifton I hope you will come and see my mother."

"Oh! I should like that very much; but I have a visit to Barley Wood to come first, and then in the winter I must do all I can to cheer father.

He feels the want of out-door exercise now he has given up his hunters.

He used to ride to the meet very often."

"I am sorry he has had to give that up, all through Melville's extravagance."

"Yes, and then farming has been so bad the last year or two. I hope it may be a better crop this year; but the wheat in this district is very poor at all times. We must not get too much to the right," she said, "or we shall get near the miners, who are a rough set of people. Mrs. More has had a school in these parts for many years; but there are a great many discontented folks, who seem to think the gentry are their natural enemies. That man we saw the day you came to Wells was from these parts."

Joyce raised her voice in a clear, ringing tone, and called her brothers by name.

"They have gone on so far in front," she said; "but I feel sure this is the right track." She called again, but there was no reply.

"We had better walk faster," she said, "or we shall be left behind;"

then she stopped.

"I see a man lying in that dip under the gorse-bushes. I hope he will not beg."

She had scarcely spoken the words when a huge form rose before them, and stood in the narrow track between the heather and gorse, filling up the path.

"You are Squire Falconer's la.s.s, ain't you?" he said, defiantly.

"Yes," Gilbert answered, "yes; this is Miss Falconer, of Fair Acres. How long are you going to stand there and prevent us from pa.s.sing you?"