God's Good Man Part 34

"'I sang of the dancing stars, I sang of the daedal Earth, And of Heaven,--and the giant wars, And Love and Death and Birth.

And then I changed my pipings,-- Singing, how down the vale of Menalus, I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed, G.o.ds and men, we are all deluded thus!

It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed; All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood, At the sorrow of my sweet pipings!'"

"Beau-tiful!--beau-tiful!" sighed Adderley--"But so remote!--so very remote! Alas!--who reads Sh.e.l.ley now!"

"I do"--said Cicely--"Maryllia does. You do. And many more. Sh.e.l.ley didn't write for free-libraries and public-houses. He wrote for the love of Art,--and he was drowned. You do the same, and perhaps you'll be hung! It doesn't much matter how you end, so long as you begin to be something no one else can be."

"You have certainly begun in that direction!" said Julian.

Cicely shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know! I am myself. Most people try to be what they're not.

Such a waste of time and effort! That's why I've taken a fancy to the parson I met this morning, Mr. Walden. He is himself and no other. He is as much himself as old Josey Letherbarrow is. Josey is an individuality. So is Mr. Walden. So is Maryllia. So am I. And"-- here she pointed a witch-like finger at Adderley--"so would you bes if you didn't 'pose' as much as you do!"

"Cicely!" murmured Maryllia, warningly, though she smiled.

A slight flush swept over Adderley's face. But he took the remark without offence, thereby showing himself to be of better mettle than the little affectations of his outward appearance indicated.

"You think so?" he said, placidly--"That is very dear of you!--very young! You may be right--you may be wrong,--but from one so unsophisticated as yourself it is a proposition worth considering-- to pose, or not to pose! It is so new--so fresh!"

XVI

Walden kept his promise and duly arrived to tea at the Manor that afternoon. He found his hostess in the library with Cicely and Julian. She was showing to the latter one or two rare 'first editions,' and was talking animatedly, but she broke off her conversation the moment he was announced, and advanced to meet him with a bright smile.

"At last, Mr. Walden!" she said--"I am glad Cicely has succeeded where I failed, in persuading you to accept the welcome that has awaited you here for some time!"

The words were gracefully spoken, with just the faintest trace of kindly reproach in their intonation. Simple as they were, they managed to deprive John of all power to frame a suitable reply. He bowed over the little white hand extended to him, and murmured something which was inaudible even to himself, while he despised what he considered his own foolishness, clumsiness and general inept.i.tude from the bottom of his heart. Maryllia saw his embarra.s.sment, and hastened to relieve him of it.

"We have been talking books,"--she said, lightly--"Mr. Adderley has almost knelt in adoration before my Shakespeare 'first folio.' It is very precious, being uncalendared in the published lists of ordinary commentators. I suppose you have seen it?"

"Indeed I have"--replied Walden, as he shook hands with Cicely and nodded pleasantly to Julian--"I'm afraid, Miss Vancourt, that if you knew how often I have sat alone in this library, turning over the precious volumes, you might be very angry with me! But I have saved one or two from the encroaches of damp, such as the illuminated vellum 'Petrarch,' and some few rare ma.n.u.scripts--so you must try to forgive my trespa.s.s. Mrs. Spruce used to let me come in and study here whenever I liked."

"Will you not do so still?" queried Maryllia, sweetly--"I can promise you both solitude and silence."

Again a wave of awkwardness overcame him. What could he say in response to this friendly and gentle graciousness!

"You are very kind,"--he murmured.

"Not at all. The library is very seldom used--so the kindness will be quite on your side if you can make it of service. I daresay you know more about the books than I do. My father was very proud of them."

"He had cause to be,"--said Walden, beginning to recover his equanimity and ease as the conversation turned into a channel which was his natural element--"It is one of the finest collections in England. The ma.n.u.scripts alone are worth a fortune." Here he moved to the table where Adderley stood turning over a wondrously painted 'Book of Hours'--"That is perfect twelfth-century work"--he said-- "There is a picture in it which ought to please Miss Cicely," and he turned the pages over tenderly--"Here it is,--the loveliest of Saint Cecilias, in the act of singing!"

Cicely smiled with pleasure, and hung over the beautifully illuminated figure, surrounded with angels in clouds of golden glory.

"There's one thing about Heaven which everybody seems agreed upon,"- -she said--"It's a place where we're all expected to sing!"

"Not a doubt of it!" agreed Walden--"You will be quite in your element!"

"The idea of Heaven is remote--so very remote!" said Adderley--"But if such a place existed, and I were bound to essay a vocal effort there, I should transform it at once to h.e.l.l! The angels would never forgive me!"

They laughed.

"Let us go into the garden"--said Maryllia--"It is quite lovely just now,--there are such cool deep shadows on the lawn."

Cicely at once ran out, beckoning Adderley to follow. Maryllia tied on her hat with its pink strings and its bunch of pink hyacinths tumbling against her small sh.e.l.l-like ear, and looked up from under its brim with an entrancing smile.

"Will you come, Mr. Walden?"

John murmured something politely inarticulate in a.s.sent. He was, as has already been stated, apt to be rather at a loss in the company of women, unless they were well-seasoned matrons and grandames, with whom he could converse on the most ordinary and commonplace topics, such as the curing of hams, the schooling of children, or the best remedies for rheumatism. A feminine creature who appeared to exist merely to fascinate the eye and attract the senses, moved him to a kind of mental confusion, which affected himself chiefly, as no one, save the most intimate of his friends, would ever have noticed it, or guessed that he was at any sort of pains to seem at ease. Just now, as he took his soft shovel-hat, and followed his fair hostess out on the lawn, his mind was more or less in a state of chaos, and the thoughts that kept coming and going were as difficult to put into consecutive order as a Chinese puzzle. One uncomfortable memory however sat prominently in a corner of his brain like the mocking phantasm of a mischievous Puck, pointing its jeering finger and reminding him of the fact, not to be denied, that but a short while ago, he had made up his mind to dislike, ay, even to detest, that mysterious composition of white and rose, blue eyes and chestnut- gold hair, called Maryllia Vancourt,--that he had resolved she would be an altogether objectionable personage in the village--HIS village--of St. Rest,--and that he had wished--Ah! what had he wished? Back, O teazing reminder of the grudging and suspicious spirit that had so lately animated the soul of a Christian cleric!

Yet it had to be admitted, albeit now reluctantly, that he had actually wished the rightful mistress of Abbot's Manor had never returned to it! Smitten with sorest compunction at the recollection of his former blind prejudice against the woman he had then never seen, he walked by her side over the warm soft gra.s.s, listening with a somewhat preoccupied air to the remarks she was making concerning Cicely Bourne, and the great hopes she entertained of the girl's future brilliant career.

"Really," she declared, "the only useful thing I have ever done in my life is to rescue Cicely from uncongenial surroundings, and provide her with all she needs for her musical studies. To help bring out a great genius gives ME some little sense of importance, you see! In myself I am such an utter nonent.i.ty."

She laughed. Walden looked at her with an earnestness of which he was scarcely conscious. She coloured a little, and her eyes fell.

Something in the sudden delicate flush of her cheeks and the quick droop of her eyelashes startled him,--he felt a curious sense of contrition, as though he had given her some indefinable, altogether shadowy cause for that brief discomposure. The idea that she seemed, even for a second, not quite so much at her ease, restored his own nerve and self-possession, and it was with an almost paternal gentleness that he said.

"Do you really consider yourself a nonent.i.ty, Miss Vancourt? I am sure the society you have left behind you in London does not think you so."

She opened her sea-blue eyes full upon him.

"Society? Why do you speak of it? Its opinion of me or of anyone else, is surely the last thing a sensible man. or woman would care for, I imagine! One 'season' of it was enough for me. I have unfortunately had several 'seasons,' and they were all too many."

Again Walden looked at her, but this time she did not seem to be aware of his scrutiny.

"Do you take me for a member of the 'smart' set, Mr. Walden?" she queried, gaily--"You are very much mistaken if you do! I have certainly mixed with it, and know all about it--much to my regret-- but I don't belong to it. Of course I like plenty of life and amus.e.m.e.nt, but 'society' as London and Paris and New York express it in their modes and manners and 'functions,' is to me the dullest form of entertainment in the world."

Walden was silent. She gave him a quick side-glance of enquiry.

"I suppose you have been told something about me?" she said-- "Something which represents me otherwise than as I represent myself.

Have you?"

At this abrupt question John fairly started out of his semi- abstraction in good earnest.

"My dear Miss Vancourt!" he exclaimed, warmly--"How can you think of such a thing! I have never heard a word about you, except from good old Mrs. Spruce who knew you as a child, and who loves to recall these days,--and--er--and---"

He broke off, checking himself with a vexed gesture.

"And--er--and--er--who else?" said Maryllia, smiling---"Now don't play tricks with ME, or I'll play tricks with YOU!"

His eyes caught and reflected her smile.

"Well,--Sir Morton Pippitt spoke of you once in my hearing"--he said--"And a friend of his whom he brought to see the church, the Duke of Lumpton. Also a clergyman in this neighbourhood, a Mr.

Leveson--rector at Badsworth--HE mentioned you, and presumed"--here John paused a moment,--"yes, I think I may say presumed--to know yon personally."

"Did he really! I never heard of him!" And she laughed merrily. "Mr.