Volume I Part 10 (1/2)
”Mamma, did you hear,” said Eleanor as Julia ran off, ”that Mr. Rhys was going to leave Wiglands and bury himself in some dreadful place, somewhere?”
”I heard so.”
”What place is it?”
”I can't tell, I am sure. It is somewhere in the South Seas, I believe--that region of horrors.”
”Is it true he is going there, mamma?”
”I am sure I can't tell. Miss Broadus says so; and she says, I believe, he told her so himself. If he did, I suppose it is true.”
”Mamma, I think Mr. Rhys is a great deal too fine a man to go and lose his life in such a place. Miss Broadus says it is horrible. Do you know anything about it?”
”I have no taste for horrors,” said Mrs. Powle.
”I think it is a great pity,” Eleanor repeated. ”I am sorry. There is enough in England for such a man to do, without going to the South Seas. I wonder how anybody can leave England!”
Mrs. Powle looked up at her daughter and laughed. Eleanor had suspended her drawing and was sending a loving gaze out of the open window, where nature and summer were revelling in their conjoined riches. Art shewed her hand too, stealthily, having drawn out of the way of the others whatever might enc.u.mber the revel. Across a wide stretch of wooded and cultivated country, the eye caught the umbrageous heights on the further side of the valley of the Ryth. Eleanor's gaze was fixed. Mrs.
Powle's glance was sly.
”I should like to ask your opinion of another place,” she said,--”which, being in England, is not horrible. You see that bit of brown mason-work, high away there, peeping out above the trees in the distance?--You know what house that is?”
”Certainly.”
”What is it?”
”It is the Priory. The new Priory, it ought to be called; I am sure the old one is down there in the valley yet--beneath it.” But Eleanor's colour rose.
”What do you think of that place?”
”Considering that the old priory and its grounds belong to it, I think it must be one of the loveliest places in England.”
”I should like to see it in your possession--” Mrs. Powle remarked, going on with her tissue paper.
Eleanor also went on a.s.siduously with her drawing, and her colour remained a rich tint. But she went on frankly with her words too.
”I am not sure, mamma, that I like the owner of it well enough to receive such a valuable gift from him.”
”He likes you, quite well enough to bestow it on you, without asking any questions,” said Mrs. Powle. ”He hardly thinks it is worth having, unless you have it too.”
”That is inconvenient,” said Eleanor.
”It strikes me the other way,” said her mother.
”How do you know this, which you affirm so securely, mamma?”
”How should I know it? The person in question told me himself.”
”Told you in so many words?”
”No, in a great many more,” said Mrs. Powle laughing. ”I have merely presented a statement. He had a great deal more to do than that.”