joyce had been gone a week before mr. trayton harrod arrived. i had preserved my gloomy silence on the subject of his coming, although i was dying to know all about it; and as father had given in to my mood by telling me no particulars, it so happened that i did not even know the exact day of his arrival.
it was a monday and baking-day. there was plenty to do now that joyce was gone, and i did not do her work as she did it. mother was[106] constantly reminding me of the fact. it did not make me do the work any quicker, or like doing it any better; but, of course, it was natural that mother should see the difference, and remark on it.
at last, however, the baking and mending and dusting was all done, and mother gave me leave to take a little basket of victuals to an old couple who lived down by the sea. i had been very miserable, feeling pitiably how little i had done at present towards fulfilling my promise to joyce of trying to make things pleasant, and sadly conscious that i was not in mother's good books, or for that matter, in father's either, for which i am afraid i cared more. he had scarcely spoken a word to me all the week.
poor father! why did i not remember that it was far worse for him than it was for me? but as i ran across the lawn, with taff yelping at my heels, i do not believe that i gave a thought to his anxieties, although i must have seen his dear old head bending over the farm account-books through the study window as i passed. i was so glad to have done with the house-keeping that i forgot everything else in the tender sunshine of a may afternoon that was flecking the marsh with spots of light, shifting as the soft clouds shifted upon the blue sky. how could any troubles matter, either my own or other people's, when there was a chance of being within scent of the sea-weed and within taste of the salt sea-brine?
i whistled the st. bernard, and we set off on a race down the cliff. my hat flew off, i caught it by the strings; all the thickness of my hair uncoiled itself and rippled down my back. i felt the hair-pins tumble out one by one, and knew that a great curly, red mass must be floating in the wind; but i had a hundred yards to run yet before i came to the elms at the foot of the hill—and taff was hard to beat.
alongside the runnels that hemmed the lane, a ribbon, bluer than the sea or sky, ran bordering the green; it was made up of thousands of delicate veronica blossoms, opening merry eyes to the sun, and the red campion dotted the bank under the cliff, and the cuckoo flowers nodded their pale clusters on edges of little dikes. but i did not see the flowers just then; i ran on and on, jumping the gate that divides the marsh from the road almost as taffy jumped it himself—on and on along the dike, without stopping, till i came to the first thorn-tree that grows upon the bank; and there, at last, i was fain to throw myself down to rest, out of breath and trembling.
what a run it was! i remember it to this day. it drove away[107] all my ill-temper; and as i sat there twisting up my hair again, and laughing at taff, who understood the joke just as if he were a human being, i had no more thought of anything ajar than had the white may-trees that dotted the marsh all along the brown banks of the dikes, and lay so harmoniously against the faint blue of the sky, where it sank into the deeper blue of the sea beyond.
dimly, beyond the flaxen stretch of plain that was slowly flushing with the growing green, one could see the little waves rippling out across the yellow sands, with the sunlight flashing upon their crests; over the meadows red and white cattle wandered, and little spotless lambs played with their mothers on the fresher banks; tufts of tender primroses grew close to my hand, fish leaped in the still gray waters of the dike, birds sang in the belt of trees under the manor-house, lapwing made strange bleating and chirping sounds amid the newly sprouting growth of the rushes that mingled softly with the faint gold of last year's mown crop; the cuckoo's note came now and then through the air. the spring had come at last.
i tied on my hat again and jumped up. i began to sing, too, as i walked. i was merry. what with captain forrester, and what with the trouble about the bailiff, and what with joyce's departure, and the household duties falling upon me, i had not been out among my favorite haunts for a long time, and the sight of the birds and the beasts and the flowers was new life to me. i noted the marks of the year's growth as only one notes them who knows the country by heart; i knew that the young rooks were already on the wing, that the swifts and the swallows had built their nests, that the song-thrush was hatching her brood, and that a hunt along the sunny, sandy banks under the lea of the hill would discover the round holes where the little sand-martin would be laboriously scooping her nest some two feet deep into the soft ground.
i promised myself a happy afternoon when next i should have leisure, searching for plovers' eggs along the banks of the dikes where the moor-hen and lapwing make their homes; but to-day i dared not loiter, for the old couple for whom i was bound lived under the shadow of the great rock, where the marsh ends and the land swells up into white chalk-cliffs fronting the sea; and that was four good miles from where i now was. taff and i put our best legs foremost, vaulting the gates that separated the fields, and crossing the white bridges over the water, until at last we came to where the dike meets the sea, and the martello towers stud the coast.
i confess we had not always walked quite straight. once my at[108]tention had been caught by the hovering of a titlark in the vicinity of a bank by the way-side, and i had not been able to resist the temptation of climbing a somewhat perilous ascent to look for the nest, whose neighborhood i guessed. it was on the face of a curious sort of cliff that lay across the marsh; one side of it sloped down into the pasture-land, but the other presented a gray, rugged front to the greensward below, and told of days when the sea must have lapped about its massive sides, and eaten its way into the curious caves where now young oaks and mountain-ash clove to the barren soil.
about half-way up the nethermost bank of this cliff i found the nest of the titlark beneath a heather bush. but in it sat a young cuckoo alone and scarcely fledged, while lying down the bank, about a foot from the margin of the nest, lay the two little nestlings of the parent bird. i picked them up and warmed them in my hand, and put them back in the nest, where they soon lifted their heads again. then i stood a moment and watched. the young cuckoo began struggling about till it got its back under one of them, and, blind as it still was, hitched it up to the open part of the nest, and shoved it out onto the bank. once more i picked the poor little bird up and put it back into its mother's nest. then seeing that the cruel little interloper seemed to have made up its mind to try no more ejecting for the moment, i slid down the bank again and went on, promising myself, however, to look in upon this quarrelsome family on my way home.
this little adventure delayed us, but we ran a great part of the remainder of the way to make up for it, and reached old warren's cottage somewhat out of breath, and i with red cheeks and hair sorely dishevelled by the journey. however, as we were old friends, we were soon restored by the kindly welcome that we got. taffy lay down on the hearth with the great persian cat, and i took my seat in the chimney corner, mrs. warren insisting on preferring the bed for a seat.
it was a funny little hut, nestled away under the shadow of the towering cliff, with the sea lapping or roaring within fifty yards of it, and the lonely marsh stretching away miles and miles to the right of it. no one knew why warren had built it, but some fancied that he still had smuggled goods hidden away in the caves of the cliffs, and if so, he naturally chose a dwelling-place hard by, and not too much under the eye of man. it was a poor hovel, better to die in than to live in, one would have thought; but old warren seemed to[109] be of a contented disposition, and to enjoy his life well enough, although as much could not apparently be said of his wives, of whom he had had three already. the present one had lasted the longest, the former two having been killed off in comparatively early life (according to warren) by the loneliness of their life and the terrors of the elements which they had witnessed.
warren was a dramatic old fellow, and could tell many a story of shipwreck and disaster, and even (when pressed) of encounters between the revenue-cutters and the smugglers' boats, of dangerous landings on this dangerous bit of coast, and of nights when it was all the "boys" could do to get their kegs of spirits safely ashore and buried in the sand before morning. this afternoon he was in particularly good spirits. something in the color of the land and the sea and in the direction of the wind had reminded him of a day when the fog had come up suddenly and had caused disaster, although, to my eye, the heavens were clear and fair as any one could wish. i soon drew from him the account of a terrible struggle between the government officers and the smugglers, when the fog had given the latter a miraculous and unexpected triumph, and this led on to the tale—oft-repeated but never stale—of the wreck of the portuguese "merchant," when the "lads" picked up the wicker bottles that floated ashore, and drank themselves sick with eau-de-cologne in mistake for brandy.
this was my favorite story; but it was hard to know whether to laugh or to cry when mrs. warren number three would shake her head sympathetically at the tearful account of the demise of mrs. warren number two, who "lay a-dying within, while the lads drank the spirits without," and old warren was forced to take a drain himself to help him in his trouble.
the time always passed quickly for me with the funny old couple in their funny old hovel under the cliff, and it was late afternoon before i got out again onto the beach. warren's memories had not been awakened by mere fancy; his prophecy was right. there was a heavy sea-fog over the marsh, blown up by a wind from the east. i gathered my cloak around me and set off walking as fast as i could. the mist was so thick that the dog shook himself as he ran on in front of me; the damp stood in great drops on the bristles of his shaggy coat and of my rough homespun cloak; it took the curl even out of my curly hair, which hung down in dank masses by the side of my face.
i could not see the sea, though i could hear it lapping on the[110] shore close by; i could not even see the dike at my left, and yet it was not thirty yards away. i knew the way well enough, however, and the fog only made an amusing variety to an every-day walk. i started off merrily, avoiding the road, which was not the shortest way, and making, to the best of my belief, a straight line across the marsh, as i had done hundreds of times before. but a mist is deceptive, and i could not have been walking more than a quarter of an hour when i felt the ground suddenly give way beneath me, and i found myself disappearing into one of the deep ditches that intersect the marsh between the broader dikes.
i knew that there was brackish water at the bottom of the ditch, and though i did not mind a ducking, i did not care for a ducking in dirty water, and so far from home. by clutching onto the docks and teasels on the bank, i managed to hold myself up and get my heels into the soil, and then, with one spring, i landed myself on the opposite bank. my petticoats would not escape deborah's notice, but my feet were dry, and even my skirts would not attract immediate attention.
but how had i got to the ditch? and where was i now? yes, i must have borne farther to the left than i had intended; but it did not much signify—one way across the marsh was as good as another to me, and i had better keep to this side now, and go home under the lea of the hill. there would be the advantage that i might be able to find my little titlark again. i whistled, for i could not see the dog, and presently my call was answered by a loud barking close in front of me, and lifting up my face, i vaguely saw taff chasing some larger object before him into the mist.
i knew at once that in coming to this side of the ditch i had landed myself among a herd of the cattle that had now taken up their summer quarters upon the marsh. i was not afraid of the cattle; i had seen them there ever since i had been a child, browsing in the warm weather; they were part of the land. but i wondered just where i had got to, and i stopped to think where the sea was, and where the dike. without these two landmarks i was somewhat bewildered. the cattle closed around me. they, too, seemed to be doubtful about something, but they kept their eyes on me. i wished taff would not bark so.
i turned round, and once more began walking briskly in the direction which i thought was the right one. a great brown beast stood just in front of me. i had not noticed him before, but he had come up over a mound of the uneven marsh-land and stood staring at me[111] with head gently rocking. up till now i had not had a moment's uneasiness, but i began to wonder whether the marsh cattle were always safe. i moved, and the bull moved too. taff barked louder than ever, and the bull began to bellow softly. i was never so cross with the dog in my life, and i could not punish him, for i dared not take my eyes off the brown beast.
i moved forward till i had passed the place where the bull stood. but now it was worse than ever. the mist was so thick, and i had so entirely lost my way, that i dared not retreat backward for fear of falling into an unseen dike, and some of the dikes were deep at this time of the year. i began to run gently, but my heart failed me as i heard behind me the bull following, still bellowing softly. if i were only on the right road there must be a gate soon, but i feared i was not on the right road. taff kept running round in front of me, hindering my speed. i felt that the creature was gaining on me. i don't think i was ever so frightened before. i don't remember that my presence of mind ever so entirely failed me as it did on that day. but my legs seemed as though they were tied together. i stood still, waiting, and then i think i must have fallen to the ground.
i knew that the bull must be close upon me, and it was no more than what i expected when i felt myself suddenly lifted up by the waist and flung to what seemed to me an immense distance through the air. for a moment i lay stunned. the bellowing of the bull, the barking of the dog, the murmur of the sea—all mingled in my ears in one great booming sound. then slowly i became conscious that there was a human presence beside me in the fog. i opened my eyes. i was lying close under a five-barred gate. the bull was on the other side of it; taffy lay whining beside me, and over me stood a big, tall man, looking down at me quietly.
"are you hurt, miss?" said he.
i struggled into a sitting posture, and pulled myself up on my feet by the help of the gate.
"no; no, thank you," answered i. but my head was dizzy, and my arm ached dreadfully.
"i'm afraid i flung you over rather hard," said he. "but there wasn't time to do it nicely."
"you flung me over!" cried i, aghast.
"to be sure," answered he, "did you think it was the bull?"
he gave a short laugh, scarcely a laugh, it was so very grim and quiet. but when he laughed his smile was like a white flash—i[112] remember noticing it. i gazed at him. angry as i was—and i was absurdly, childishly angry—i could not help gazing at this man, who could take me up like a baby and fling me over a five-barred gate in a twinkling.
he was very broad and strong, his eyes were dark brown, his hair was black and curling, and so was his beard. he had neither a pleasant face nor a handsome face—until he smiled. i was not conscious at the time of any of these details; but there in the fog i thought he looked very imposing.
"i'm afraid if it had been the bull he would have flung you farther, and hurt you more," said he. "you lay there very handy for him."
how i hated myself for having fallen to the ground!
"come, taff," said i, giving the dog a little kick, "get up."
the dog sprang to his feet with his tail between his legs. no wonder he was frightened and surprised. i had never done such a thing to him before. but i had a vague feeling that if he had not hindered me i should have got over the gate alone, and i was savage at the idea of having needed help from a man.
"good-evening to you," said i, curtly, nodding my head in the direction of the man, but without looking at him again.
"good-evening," answered he, raising his hat. "i hope you'll be none the worse for your fall."
i vouchsafed no answer to this speech, but strode on down the track as fast as my aching limbs and dizzy head would allow me to do. the sea murmured on the beach at my right. i could not see it for the fog, but i could hear it. after a while i think it must have lulled my anger to rest. the sea has always been a good friend to me, in its storms as in its calm. i like to see it rage as i dare not rage, and i like to see it calm as i cannot be calm. the restless sea has taught me as many things as the quiet marsh; they are both very wide. and that day i am sure it lulled my irritable temper.
before long i began to think that i, to say the least of it, had treated my deliverer with scant courtesy. when i got to the farm that divides the marsh from the beach i turned round to see if he were following. the fog was beginning to lift. the distant hills of the south downs rose out of the sea of vapor, and were as towering mountains in the mystery, lying dim and yet blue against the struggling light of the sunset behind. the white headland that i had left detached itself boldly against the sea-line—for the mist[113] was only on the level land now, where it lay like a sheet a few feet above the marsh, so that the objects on the ground itself shone, illumined by the slanting rays of the sun, till each one had a value of its own in the scene. through the golden spray of the sunlit vapor the red and the white cattle shone like jewels upon the brown land, where every little line of water was like a snake in the vivid light; and as i turned and looked towards the gray cliff, where i had climbed the bank after the bird's-nest an hour ago, the long line of hill behind, dotted with fir-trees and church-steeples and little homesteads, lay midway in the air through the silver veil.
i stood a while looking back. i do not know that i was conscious of the wonder of the scene, but i remember it very vividly. at the time i think i was chiefly busy wishing the stranger to come up that i might rectify my lack of courtesy. i saw him at last. he came in sight very slowly, and stood a long while leaning against the last gate lighting his pipe. i watched him several minutes, and he never once looked along the path to see if i was there. why was i annoyed? i had dismissed him almost rudely. he did but do as he was bid. and yet i do believe i was annoyed; i do believe i was unreasonable to that point.
