the heir of redclyffe-第51章

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lonely　wanderings。　　Accustomed　as　he　had　been　in　boyhood　to　a　solitary　

life　in　beautiful　scenery；　there　was　something　in　a　fine　landscape　that　

was　to　him　like　a　friend　and　companion；　and　he　sometimes　felt　that　it　

would　have　been　worse　if　he　had　been　in　a　dull；　uniform　country；　

instead　of　among　mountain　peaks　and　broad　wooded　valleys。　　Working　

hard；　too；　helped　him　not　a　little；　and　conic　sections　served　him　

almost　as　well　as　they　served　Laura。



A　more　real　help　was　the　neighbourhood　of　Stylehurst。　　On　the　first　

Sunday　after　receiving　Mr。　Edmonstone's　letter；　he　went　to　church　

there；　instead　of　with　the　others；　to　St。　Mildred's。　　They　thought　it　

was　for　the　sake　of　the　solitary　walk；　but　he　had　other　reasons　for　the　

preference。　　In　the　first　place　it　was　a　Communion　Sunday；　and　in　the　

next；　he　could　feel　more　kindly　towards　Philip　there；　and　he　knew　he　

needed　all　that　could　strengthen　such　a　disposition。



Many　a　question　did　he　ask　himself；　to　certify　whether　he　wilfully　

entertained　malice　or　hatred；　or　any　uncharitableness。　　It　was　a　long；　

difficult　examination；　but　at　its　close；　he　felt　convinced　that；　if　

such　passions　knocked　at　the　door　of　his　heart；　it　was　not　at　his　own　

summons；　and　that　he　drove　them　away　without　listening　to　them。　　And　

surely　he　might　approach　to　gain　the　best　aid　in　that　battle；　

especially　as　he　was　certain　of　his　strong　and　deep　repentance　for　his　

fit　of　passion；　and　longing　earnestly　for　the　pledge　of　forgiveness。



The　pardon　and　peace　he　sought　came　to　him；　and　in　such　sort　that　the　

comfort　of　that　day；　when　fresh　from　the　first　shock；　and　waiting　in　

suspense　for　some　new　blow；　was　such　as　never　to　be　forgotten。　　They　

linked　themselves　with　the　grave　shade　of　the　clustered　gray　columns；　

and　the　angel　heads　on　roof　of　that　old　church；　with　the　long　grass　and　

tall　yellow　mullens　among　its　churchyard　graves；　and　with　the　tints　of　

the　elm…trees　that　closed　it　in；　their　leaves　in　masses　either　of　green　

or　yellow；　and　opening　here　and　there　to　show　the　purple　hills　beyond。



He　wandered　in　the　churchyard　between　the　services。　　All　enmity　to　

Philip　was　absent　now；　and　he　felt　as　if　it　would　hardly　return　when　he　

stood　by　the　graves　of　the　Archdeacon　and　of　the　two　Frances　Morvilles；　

and　thought　what　that　spot　was　to　his　cousin。　　There　were　a　few　flowers　

planted　round　Mrs。　Morville's　grave；　but　they　showed　that　they　had　long　

been　neglected；　and　no　such　signs　of　care　marked　her　daughter　Fanny's。　　

And　when　Guy　further　thought　of　Mrs。　Henley；　and　recollected　how　Philip　

had　sacrificed　all　his　cherished　prospects　and　hopes　of　distinction；　

and　embraced　an　irksome　profession；　for　the　sake　of　these　two　sisters；　

he　did　not　find　it　difficult　to　excuse　the　sternness；　severity；　and　

distrust　which　were　an　evidence　how　acutely　a　warm　heart　had　suffered。



Though　he　suffered　cruelly　from　being　cut　off　from　Amy；　yet　his　

reverence　for　her　helped　him　to　submit。　　He　had　always　felt　as　if　she　

was　too　far　above　him；　and　though　he　had；　beyond　his　hopes；　been　

allowed　to　aspire　to　the　thought　of　her；　it　was　on　trial；　and　his　

failure；　his　return　to　his　old　evil　passions；　had　sunk　him　beneath　her。　　

He　shuddered　to　think　of　her　being　united　to　anything　so　unlike　

herself；　and　which　might　cause　her　so　much　misery；　it　was　wretchedness　

to　think　that　even　now　she　might　he　suffering　for　him；　and　yet　not　for　

worlds　would　he　have　lost　the　belief　that　she　was　so　feeling；　or　the　

remembrance　of　the　looks　which　had　shone　on　him　so　sweetly　and　timidly　

as　she　sat　at　her　mother's　feet；　though　that　remembrance　was　only　

another　form　of　misery。　　But　Amy　would　be　tranquil；　pure　and　good；　

whatever　became　of　him；　and　he　should　always　be　able　to　think　of　her；　

looking　like　one　of　those　peaceful　spirits；　with　bending　head；　folded　

hands；　and　a　star　on　its　brow；　in　the　〃Paradiso〃　of　Flaxman。　　Her　

serenity　would　be　untouched；　and　though　she　might　be　lost　to　him；　he　

could　still　be　content　while　he　could　look　up　at　it　through　his　turbid　

life。　　Better　she　were　lost　to　him　than　that　her　peace　should　be　

injured。



He　still；　of　course；　earnestly　longed　to　prove　his　innocence；　though　

his　hopes　lessened；　for　as　long　as　the　evidence　was　withheld；　he　had　no　

chance。　　After　writing　as　strongly　as　he　could；　he　could　do　no　more；　

except　watch　for　something　that　might　unravel　the　mystery；　and　

Charles's　warm　sympathy　and　readiness　to　assist　him　were　a　great　

comfort。



He　had　not　seen　his　uncle　again；　perhaps　Sebastian　was　ashamed　to　meet　

him　after　their　last　encounter；　and　was　still　absent　on　his　engagement；　

but　the　wife　and　child　were　still　at　St。　Mildred's；　and　one　afternoon；　

when　Guy　had　rather　unwillingly　gone　thither　with　Mr。　Wellwood；　he　saw　

Mrs。　Dixon　sitting　on　one　of　the　benches　which　were　placed　on　the　paths　

cut　out　on　the　side　of　the　hill；　looking　very　smart　and　smiling；　among　

several　persons　of　her　own　class。



To　be　ashamed　to　recognise　her　was　a　weakness　beneath　him；　he　spoke　to　

her；　and　was　leaving　her；　pluming　herself　on　his　notice；　when　he　saw　

little　Marianne's　blue　eyes　fixed　wistfully　upon　him；　and　held　out　his　

hand　to　her。　　She　ran　up　to　him　joyfully；　and　he　led　her　a　few　steps　

from　her　mother's　party。　　'Well；　little　one；　how　are　you？　　I　have　your　

piece　of　spar　quite　safe。　　Have　you　said　how　d'ye　do　to　Bustle？'



'Bustle！　　Bustle！'　called　the　soft　voice　but　it　needed　a　whistle　from　

his　master　to　bring　him　to　be　caressed　by　the　little　girl。



'Have　you　been　taking　any　more　pleasant　walks？'



'Oh　yes。　　We　have　been　all　round　these　pretty　paths。　　And　I　should　like　

to　go　to　the　top　of　this　great　high　hill；　and　see　all　round；　but　mamma　

says　she　has　got　a　bone　in　her　leg；　and　cannot　go。'



'Do　you　think　mamma　would　give　you　leave　to　go　up　with　me？　　Should　you　

like　it？'



She　coloured　all　over；　too　happy　even　to　thank　him。



'Then；'　said　Guy　to　his　tutor；　'I　will　meet　you　here　when　you　have　done　

your　business　in　the　town；　in　an　hour　or　so。　　Poor　little　thing；　she　

has　not　many　pleasures。'



Mrs。　Dixon　made　no　difficulty；　and　was　so　profuse　in　thanks　that　Guy　

got　out　of　her　way　as　fast　as　he　could；　and　was　soon　on　the　soft　thymy　

grass　of　the　hill…side；　the　little　girl　frisking　about　him　in　great　

delight；　playing　with　Bustle；　and　chattering　merrily。



Little　Marianne　was　a　delicate　child；　and　her　frolic　did　not　last　long。　　

As　the　ascent　became　steeper；　her　breath　grew　shorter；　and　she　toiled　

on　in　a　resolute　uncomplaining　manner　after　his　long；　vigorous　steps；　

till　he　looked　round；　and　seeing　her　panting　far　behind；　turned　to　help　

her；　lead　her；　and　carry　her；　till　the　top　was　achieved；　and　the　little　

girl　stood　on　the　topmost　stone；　gazing　round　at　the　broad　sunny　

landscape；　with　the　soft　green　meadows；　the　harvest　fields；　the　woods　

in　their　gorgeous　autumn　raiment；　and　the　moorland　on　the　other　side；　

with　its　other　peaks　and　cairns；　brown　with　withered　bracken；　and　

shadowed　in　moving　patches　by　the　floating　clouds。　　The　exhilarating　

wind　brought　a　colour　into　her　pale　cheeks；　and　her　flossy　curls　were　

blowing　over　her　face。



He　watched　her　in　silence；　pleased　and　curious　to　observe　how　beautiful　

a　scene　struck　the　childish　eye　of　the　little　Londoner。　　The　first　

thing　she　said；　after　three　or　four　minutes'　contemplationa　long　time　

for　such　a　childwas；　'Oh！　I　never　saw　anything　so　pretty！'　then　

presently　after；　'Oh！　I　wish　little　brother　Felix　was　here！'



'This　is　a　pleasant　place　to　think　about　your　little　brother；'　said　

Guy；　kindly；　and　she　looked　up　in　his　face；　and　exclaimed；　'Oh！　do　you　

know　about　Felix？'



'You　shall　tell　me'　said　Guy。　　'Here；　sit　on　my　knee；　and　rest　after　

your　scramble。'



'Mamma　never　lets　me　talk　of　Felix；　because　it　makes　her　cry；'　said　

Marianne；　but　I　wish　it　sometimes。'



Her　little　heart　was　soon　open。　　It　appeared　that　Felix　was　the　last　

who　had　died；　the　nearest　in　age　to　Marianne；　and　her　favourite　

playfellow。　　She　told　of　some　of　their　sports　in　their　London　home；　

speaking　of　them　with　eagerness　and　fondness　that　showed　what　joys　they　

had　been；　though　to　Guy　they　seemed　but　the　very　proof　of　dreariness　

and　dinginess。　　She　talked　of　walks　to　school；　when　Felix　would　tell　

what　he　would　do　when　he　was　a　man；　and　how　he　took　care　of　her　at　the　

crossings；　and　how　rude　boys　used　to　drive　them；　and　how　they　would　

look　in　at　the　shop　windows　and　settle　what　they　would　buy　if　they　were　

rich。　　Then　she　talked　of　his　being　illill　so　very　long；　how　he　sat　

in　his　little　chair；　and　could　not　play；　and　then　always　lay　in　bed；　

and　she　liked　to　sit　by　him；　there；　but　at　last　he　died；　and　they　

carried　him　away　in　a　great　black　coffin；　and　he　would　never　come　back　

again。　　But　it　was　so　dull　now；　there　was　no　one　to　play　with　her。



Though　the　little　girl　did　not　cry；　she　looked　very　mournful；　and　Guy　

tried　to　comfort　her；　but　she　did　not　understand　him。　　'Going　to　

heaven'　only　conveyed　to　her　a　notion　of　death　and　separation；　and　this　

phrase；　together　with　a　vague　idea　who　had　made　her；　and　that　she　ought　

to　be　good；　seemed　to　be　the　extent　of　the　poor　child's　religious　

knowledge。　　She　hardly　ever　had　been　at　church　and　though　she　had　read　

one　or　two　Bible　stories；　it　seemed　to　have　been　from　their　having　been　

used　as　lessons　at　school。　　She　had　a　dim　notion　that　good　people　read　

the　Bible；　and　there　was　one　on　the　little　table　at　home；　with　the　

shell…turkey…cock　standing　upon　it；　and　mamma　read　it　when　Felix　died；　

but　it　was　a　big　book；　and　the　shell…turkey…cock　always　stood　upon　it；　

in　short；　it　seemed　only　connected　with　mamma's　tears；　and　the　loss　of　

her　brother。



Guy　was　very　much　shocked；　and　so　deep　in　thought　that　he　could　hardly　

talk　to　the　child　in　their　progress　down　the　hill；　but　she　was　just　so　

tired　as　to　be　inclined　to　silence；　and　quite　happy　clinging　to　his　

hand；　till　he　delivered　her　over　to　her　mother　at　the　foot　of　the　hill；　

and　went　to　join　his　tutor；　at　the　place　appointed。



'Wellwood；'　said　he；　breaking　silence；　when　they　had　walked　about　half　

way　back　to　the　farm；　'do　you　think　your　cousin　would　do　me　a　great　

kindness？　　You　saw　that　child？　　Well；　if　the　parents　consent；　it　would　

be　the　greatest　charity　on　earth　if　Miss　Wellwood　would　receive　her　

into　her　school。'



'On　what　terms？　　What　sort　of　an　education　is　she　to　have？'



'The　chief　thing　she　wants　is　to　be　taught　Christianity；　poor　child；　

the　rest　Miss　Wellwood　may　settle。　　She　is　my　first　cousin。　　I　don't　

know　whether　you　are　acquainted　with　our　family　history？'　and　he　went　

on　to　explain　as　much　as　was　needful。　　It　ended　in　a　resolution　that　if　

Miss　Wellwood　would　undertake　the　charge；　the　proposal　should　be　made　

to　Mrs。　Dixon。



It　was　a　way　of　assisting　his　relations　likely　to　do　real　good；　and　on　

the　other　han