66 "Are you aware, Sir, that this young woman whom my Lady - my Lady has placed near her person, was brought up at the village-school outside the gates?" A very "Sir Leicester, I am quite aware of it. good school it is, and handsomely supported by this family." "Then, Mr. Rouncewell," returns Sir Leicester, "the application of what you have said, is, to me, incomprehensible." "Will it be more comprehensible, Sir Leicester, if I say," the ironmaster is reddening a little, "that I do not regard the village-school as teaching everything desirable to be known by my son's wife?" ne From the village-school of Chesney Wold, intact as it is this minute, to the whole framework of society; from the whole framework of society, to the aforesaid framework receiving tremendous cracks in consequence of people (ironmasters, lead-mistresses, and what not) not minding their catechism, and getting out of the station unto which they are called cessarily and for ever, according to Sir Leicester's rapid logic, the first station in which they happen to find themselves; and from that, to their educating other people out of their stations, and so obliterating the landmarks, and opening the floodgates, and all the rest of it; this is the swift progress of the Dedlock mind. "My Lady, I beg your pardon. Permit me, for one moment!" She has given a faint indication of intending to speak. "Mr. Rouncewell, our views of duty, and our views of station, and our views of education, and our views of in short, all our views - are so diametrically opposed, that to prolong this discussion must be repellant to your feelings, and repellant to my own. This young woman is honoured with my Lady's notice and favour. If she wishes to withdraw herself from that notice and favour, or if she chooses to place herself under the influence of any one who may in his peculiar opinions you will allow me to say, in his peculiar opinions, though I readily admit that he is not accountable for them to me who may, in his peculiar opinions, withdraw her from that notice and favour, she is at any time at liberty to do so. We are obliged to you for the plainness with which you have spoken. It will have no effect of itself, one way or other, on the young woman's position here. Beyond this, we can make no terms; and here we beg - if you will be so goodto leave the subject." The visitor pauses a moment to give my Lady an opportunity, but she says nothing. He then rises and replies: "Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock, allow me to thank you for your attention, and only to observe that I shall very seriously recommend my son to conquer his present inclinations. Good night!" "Mr. Rouncewell," says Sir Leicester, with all the nature of a gentleman shining in him, "it is late, and the roads are dark. I hope your time is not so precious but that you will allow my Lady and myself to offer you the hospitality of Chesney Wold, for to-night at least." "I hope so," adds my Lady. "I am much obliged to you, but I have to travel all night, in order to reach a distant part of the country, punctually at an appointed time in the morning." Therewith the ironmaster takes his departure; Sir Leicester ringing the bell, and my Lady rising as he leaves the room. When my Lady goes to her boudoir, she sits down thoughtfully by the fire; and, inattentive to the Ghost's Walk, looks at Rosa, writing in an inner room. Presently my Lady calls her. "Come to me, child. Tell me the truth. Are you in love?" "O! My Lady!" My Lady, looking at the downcast and blushing face, says smiling: "Who is it? Is it Mrs. Rouncewell's grandson?" "Yes, if you please, my Lady. But I don't know that I am in love with him yet." "Yet, you silly little thing? Do you know that he loves you, yet?" "I think he likes me a little, my Lady." And Rosa bursts into tears. Is this Lady Dedlock standing beside the village beauty, smoothing her dark hair with that motherly touch, and watching her with eyes so full of musing interest? Aye, indeed it is! "Listen to me, child. You are young and true, and I believe you are attached to me." "Indeed I am, my Lady. Indeed there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do, to show how much." "And I don't think you would wish to leave me just yet, Rosa, even for a lover." "No, my Lady! O no!" Rosa looks up for the first time, quite frightened at the thought. "Confide in me, my child. Don't fear me. I wish you to be happy, and will make you so make anybody happy on this earth." - if I can Rosa, with fresh tears, kneels at her feet and kisses her hand. My Lady takes the hand with which she has caught it, and, standing with her eyes fixed on the fire, puts it about and about hands, and gradually lets it fall. Rosa softly withdraws; but still the fire. between her own two Seeing her so absorbed, my Lady's eyes are on In search of what? Of any hand that is no more, of any hand that never was, of any touch that might have magically changed her life? Or does she listen to the Ghost's Walk, and think what step does it most resemble? A man's? A woman's? The pattering of a little child's feet, ever coming on on on? Some melancholy influence is upon her; or why should so proud a lady close the doors, and sit alone upon the hearth so desolate? -- Volumnia is away next day, and all the cousins are scattered before dinner. Not a cousin of the batch but is amazed to hear from Sir Leicester, at breakfast time, of the obliteration of landmarks, and opening of floodgates, and cracking of the framework of society, manifested through Mrs. Rouncewell's son. Not a cousin of the batch but is really indignant, and connects it with the feebleness of William Buffy when in office, and really does feel deprived of a stake in the country -or the pension list or something by fraud and wrong. As to Volumnia, she is handed down the great staircase by Sir Leicester, as eloquent upon the theme, as if there were a general rising in the North of England to obtain her rouge-pot and pearl necklace. And thus, with a clatter of maids and valets for it is one appurtenance of their cousinship, that, however difficult they may find it to keep themselves, they must keep maids and valets the cousins disperse to the four winds of heaven; and the one wintry wind that blows to-day shakes a shower from the trees near the deserted house, as if all the cousins had been changed into leaves. CHAPTER XIII. The Young Man. CHESNEY WOLD is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls in corners of comfortless rooms, bright damask does penance in brown holland, carving and gilding puts on mortification, and the Dedlock ancestors retire from the light of day again. Around and around the house the leaves fall thick but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep. Howls the shrill wind round Chesney Wold; the sharp rain beats, the windows rattle, and the chimneys growl. Mists hide in the avenues, veil the points of view, and move in funeral wise across the rising grounds. all the house there is a cold, blank smell, like the smell of the little church, though something dryer: suggesting that the dead and buried Dedlocks walk there, in the long nights, and leave the flavour of their graves behind them. On But the house in town, which is rarely in the same mind as Chesney Wold at the same time; seldom rejoicing when it rejoices, or mourning when it mourns, excepting when a Dedlock dies; the house in town shines out awakened. As warm and bright as so much |