Part 88 (1/2)

'Not till he has recovered strength to bear the infliction with firmness,' said Guy; 'but, Amy, I'll tell you what we will do, if you are sure it is good for you. He will have a good long sleep, and we will have a walk on the green hillocks.'

Accordingly they wandered in the cool of the evening on the gra.s.sy slopes under the chestnut-trees, making it a Sunday walk, calm, bright and meditative, without many words, but those deep and grave, 'such as their walks had been before they were married,' as Amabel said.

'Better,' he answered.

A silence, broken by her asking, 'Do you recollect your melancholy definition of happiness, years ago?'

'What was it?'

'Gleams from another world, too soon eclipsed or forfeited. It made me sad then. Do you hold to it now?'

'Don't you?'

'I want to know what you would say now?'

'Gleams from another world, brightening as it gets nearer.'

Amabel repeated--

Ever the richest, tenderest glow, Sets round the autumnal sun; But their sight fails, no heart may know The bliss when life is done.

'Old age,' she added; 'that seems very far off.'

'Each day is a step,' he answered, and then came a silence while both were thinking deeply.

They sat down to rest under a tree, the mountains before them with heavy dark clouds hanging on their sides, and the white crowns clear against the blue sky, a perfect stillness on all around, and the red glow of an Italian sunset just fading away.

'There is only one thing wanting,' said Amy. 'You may sing now. You are far from Philip's hearing. Suppose we chant this afternoon's psalms.'

It was the fifth day of the month, and the psalms seemed especially suitable to their thoughts. Before the 29th was finished, it was beginning to grow dark. There were a few pale flashes of lightning in the mountains, and at the words 'The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness,' a low but solemn peal of thunder came as an accompaniment.

'The Lord shall give his people the blessing of peace.'

The full sweet melody died away, but the echo caught it up and answered like the chant of a spirit in the distance--'The blessing of peace.'

The effect was too solemn and mysterious to be disturbed by word or remark. Guy drew her arm into his, and they turned homewards.

They had some distance to walk, and night had closed in before they reached the village, but was only more lovely. The thunder rolled solemnly among the hills, but the young moon shone in marvellous whiteness on the snowy crowns, casting fantastic shadows from the crags, while whole showers of fire-flies were falling on them from the trees, floating and glancing in the shade.

'It is a pity to go in,' said Amy. But Arnaud did not seem to be of the same opinion: he came out to meet them very anxiously, expostulating on the dangers of the autumnal dew; and Guy owned that though it had been the most wonderful and delightful evening he had ever known, he was rather fatigued.

CHAPTER 33

From darkness here and dreariness, We ask not full repose.

--CHRISTIAN YEAR

It seemed as if the fatigue which Guy had undergone was going to make itself felt at last, for he had a slight headache the next morning, and seemed dull and weary. Both he and Amabel sat for some time with Philip, and when she went away to write her letters, Philip began discussing a plan which had occurred to him of offering himself as chief of the constabulary force in the county where Redclyffe was situated. It was an office which would suit him very well, and opened a new hope of his marriage, and he proceeded to reckon on Lord Thorndale's interest, counting up all the magistrates he knew, and talking them over with Guy, who, however, did not know enough of his own neighbourhood to be of much use; and when he came up-stairs a little after, said he was vexed at having been so stupid. He was afraid he had seemed unkind and indifferent. But the truth was that he was so heavy and drowsy, that he had actually fallen twice into a doze while Philip was talking.