Wilfrid Cumbermede Part 11

'No; that's true enough. But those stones have been up only a hundred years or so. They didn't want it for pack-horses any more then, and the stones were put up to keep the cattle, with which at some time or other I suppose some thrifty owner had stocked the park, from crossing to this meadow. That would be before those trees were planted up there.'

When we had crossed the stream, he stopped at the other end of the bridge and said,

'Now, you go that way--up the hill. There's a kind of path, if you can find it, but it doesn't much matter. Good morning.'

He walked away down the bank of the stream, while I struck into the wood.

When I reached the top, and emerged from the trees that skirted the ridge, there stood the lordly Hall before me, s.h.i.+ning in autumnal sunlight, with gilded vanes and diamond-paned windows, as if it were a rock against which the gentle waves of the sea of light rippled and broke in flashes. When you looked at its foundation, which seemed to have torn its way up through the clinging sward, you could not tell where the building began and the rock ended. In some parts indeed the rock was wrought into the walls of the house; while in others it was faced up with stone and mortar. My heart beat high with vague rejoicing. Grand as the aged oak had looked, here was a grander growth--a growth older too than the oak, and inclosing within it a thousand histories.

I approached the gate by which Mrs Wilson had dismissed me. A flight of rude steps cut in the rock led to the portcullis, which still hung, now fixed in its place in front of the gate; for though the Hall had no external defences, it had been well fitted for the half-sieges of troublous times. A modern mansion stands, with its broad sweep up to the wide door, like its hospitable owner in full dress and broad-bosomed s.h.i.+rt on his own hearth-rug: this ancient house stood with its back to the world, like one of its ancient owners, ready to ride, in morion, breast-plate, and jack-boots--yet not armed _cap-a-pie_, not like a walled castle, that is.

I ascended the steps, and stood before the arch--filled with a great iron-studded oaken gate--which led through a square tower into the court. I stood gazing for some minutes before I rang the bell. Two things in particular I noticed. The first was--over the arch of the doorway, amongst others--one device very like the animal's head upon the watch and the seal which my great-grandmother had given me. I could not be sure it was the same, for the shape--both in the stone and in my memory--was considerably worn. The other interested me far more. In the great gate was a small wicket, so small that there was hardly room for me to pa.s.s without stooping. A thick stone threshold lay before it.

The spot where the right foot must fall in stepping out of the wicket was worn into the shape of a shoe, to the depth of between three and four inches I should judge, vertically into the stone. The deep foot-mould conveyed to me a sense of the coming and going of generations, such as I could not gather from the age-worn walls of the building.

A great bell-handle at the end of a jointed iron-rod hung down by the side of the wicket. I rang. An old woman opened the wicket, and allowed me to enter. I thought I remembered the way to Mrs Wilson's door well enough, but when I ascended the few broad steps, curved to the shape of the corner in which the entrance stood, and found myself in the flagged court, I was bewildered, and had to follow the retreating portress for directions. A word set me right, and I was soon in Mrs Wilson's presence. She received me kindly, and expressed her satisfaction that I had kept what she was pleased to consider my engagement.

After some refreshment and a little talk, Mrs Wilson said,

'Now, Master c.u.mbermede, would you like to go and see the gardens, or take a walk in the park and look at the deer?'

'Please, Mrs Wilson,' I returned, 'you promised to show me the house.'

'You would like that, would you?'

'Yes,' I answered,--'better than anything.'

'Come, then,' she said, and took a bunch of keys from the wall. 'Some of the rooms I lock up when the family's away.'

It was a vast place. Roughly it may be described as a large oblong which the great hall, with the kitchen and its offices, divided into two square courts--the one flagged, the other gravelled. A pa.s.sage dividing the hall from the kitchen led through from the one court to the other. We entered this central portion through a small tower; and, after a peep at the hall, ascended to a room above the entrance, accessible from an open gallery which ran along two sides of the hall.

The room was square, occupying the area-s.p.a.ce of the little entrance tower. To my joyous amazement, its walls were crowded with swords, daggers--weapons in endless variety, mingled with guns and pistols, for which I cared less. Some which had hilts curiously carved and even jewelled, seemed of foreign make. Their character was different from that of the rest; but most were evidently of the same family with the one sword I knew. Mrs Wilson could tell me nothing about them. All she knew was that this was the armoury, and that Sir Giles had a book with something written in it about every one of the weapons. They were no chance collection: each had a history. I gazed in wonder and delight.

Above the weapons hung many pieces of armour--no entire suits, however; of those there were several in the hall below. Finding that Mrs Wilson did not object to my handling the weapons within my reach, I was soon so much absorbed in the examination of them that I started when she spoke.

'You shall come again, Master c.u.mbermede,' she said. 'We must go now.'

I replaced a Highland broadsword, and turned to follow her. She was evidently pleased with the alacrity of my obedience, and for the first time bestowed on me a smile as she led the way from the armoury by another door. To my enhanced delight this door led into the library.

Gladly would I have lingered, but Mrs Wilson walked on, and I followed through rooms and rooms, low-pitched, and hung with tapestry, some carpeted, some floored with black polished oak, others with some kind of cement or concrete, all filled with ancient furniture whose very aspect was a speechless marvel. Out of one into another, along endless pa.s.sages, up and down winding stairs, now looking from the summit of a lofty tower upon terraces and gardens below--now lost in gloomy arches, again out upon acres of leads, and now bathed in the sweet gloom of the ancient chapel with its stained windows of that old gla.s.s which seems nothing at first, it is so modest and harmonious, but which for that very reason grows into a poem in the brain: you see it last and love it best--I followed with unabating delight.

When at length Mrs Wilson said I had seen the whole, I begged her to let me go again into the library, for she had not given me a moment to look at it. She consented.

It was a part of the house not best suited for the purpose, connected with the armoury by a descent of a few steps. It lay over some of the housekeeping department, was too near the great hall, and looked into the flagged court. A library should be on the ground-floor in a quiet wing, with an outlook on gra.s.s, and the possibility of gaining it at once without going through long pa.s.sages. Nor was the library itself, architecturally considered, at all superior to its position. The books had greatly outgrown the s.p.a.ce allotted to them, and several of the neighbouring rooms had been annexed as occasion required; hence it consisted of half-a-dozen rooms, some of them merely closets intended for dressing-rooms, and all very ill lighted. I entered it however in no critical spirit, but with a feeling of reverential delight. My uncle's books had taught me to love books. I had been accustomed to consider his five hundred volumes a wonderful library; but here were thousands--as old, as musty, as neglected, as dilapidated, therefore as certainly full of wonder and discovery, as man or boy could wish.--Oh the treasures of a house that has been growing for ages! I leave a whole roomful of lethal weapons, to descend three steps into six roomfuls of books--each 'the precious life-blood of a master-spirit'--for as yet in my eyes all books were worthy! Which did I love best? Old swords or old books? I could not tell! I had only the grace to know which I _ought_ to love best.

As we pa.s.sed from the first room into the second, up rose a white thing from the corner of the window-seat, and came towards us. I started. Mrs Wilson exclaimed:

'La! Miss Clara! how ever--?

The rest was lost in the abyss of possibility.

'They told me you were somewhere about, Mrs Wilson, and I thought I had better wait here. How do you do?'

'La, child, you've given me such a turn!' said Mrs Wilson. 'You might have been a ghost if it had been in the middle of the night.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE WAS A YEAR OR TWO OLDER THAN MYSELF, I THOUGHT, AND THE LOVLIEST CREATURE I HAD EVER SEEN.]

'I'm very sorry, Mrs Wilson,' said the girl merrily. 'Only you see if it had been a ghost it couldn't have been me.'

'How's your papa, Miss Clara?'

'Oh! he's always quite well.'

'When did you see him?'

'To-day. He's at home with grandpapa now.'

'And you ran away and left him?'

'Not quite that. He and grandpapa went out about some business--to the copse at Deadman's Hollow, I think. They didn't want my advice--they never do; so I came to see you, Mrs Wilson.'

By this time I had been able to look at the girl. She was a year or two older than myself, I thought, and the loveliest creature I had ever seen. She had large blue eyes of the rare shade called violet, a little round perhaps, but the long lashes did something to rectify that fault; and a delicate nose--turned up a little of course, else at her age she could not have been so pretty. Her mouth was well curved, expressing a full share of Paley's happiness; her chin was something large and projecting, but the lines were fine. Her hair was a light brown, but dark for her eyes, and her complexion would have been enchanting to any one fond of the 'sweet mixture, red and white.' Her figure was that of a girl of thirteen, undetermined--but therein I was not critical. 'An exceeding fair forehead,' to quote Sir Philip Sidney, and plump, white, dimple-knuckled hands complete the picture sufficiently for the present. Indeed it would have been better to say only that I was taken with her, and then the reader might fancy her such as he would have been taken with himself. But I was not fascinated. It was only that I was a boy and she was a girl, and there being no element of decided repulsion, I felt kindly disposed towards her.

Mrs Wilson turned to me.

'Well, Master c.u.mbermede, you see I am able to give you more than I promised.'

'Yes,' I returned; 'you promised to show me the old house--'

'And here,' she interposed, 'I show you a young lady as well.'

'Yes, thank you,' I said simply. But I had a feeling that Mrs Wilson was not absolutely well-pleased.

I was rather shy of Miss Clara--not that I was afraid of her, but that I did not exactly know what was expected of me, and Mrs Wilson gave us no further introduction to each other. I was not so shy, however, as not to wish Mrs Wilson would leave us together, for then, I thought, we should get on well enough; but such was not her intent. Desirous of being agreeable, however--as far as I knew how, and remembering that Mrs Wilson had given me the choice before, I said to her--

'Mightn't we go and look at the deer, Mrs Wilson?'

'You had better not,' she answered. 'They are rather ill-tempered just now. They might run at you. I heard them fighting last night, and knocking their horns together dreadfully.'

'Then we'd better not,' said Clara. 'They frightened me very much yesterday.'

We were following Mrs Wilson from the room. As we pa.s.sed the hall-door, we peeped in.

'Do you like such great high places?' asked Clara.

'Yes, I do,' I answered. 'I like great high places. It makes you gasp somehow.'

'Are you fond of gasping? Does it do you good?' she asked, with a mock-simplicity which might be humour or something not so pleasant.

'Yes, I think it does,' I answered. 'It pleases me.'

'I don't like it. I like a quiet snug place like the library--not a great wide place like this, that looks as if it had swallowed you and didn't know it.'

'What a clever creature she is!' I thought. We turned away and followed Mrs Wilson again.