Part 7 (1/2)
”Yes,” said Philippa quietly; ”I am staying there.”
The other nodded. ”I used to live with my aunt at a little house in the village--the Yew House it was called--you may have noticed it as you pa.s.sed--but that was long ago. She has been dead for many years, and when she died I joined my father abroad. I used to know the High House very well once, but I do not know either Major or Mrs. Heathcote.
I see so few people in these days. I have been living on Bessmoor for some time now. There used to be very large parties at the High House when Lady Louisa was alive, and--I suppose there are plenty of visitors there now?”
”No, I am the only visitor.”
”Do they live all alone?” Isabella Vernon's voice was rather unsteady, and her eyes were still searching the girl's face.
”They have a little son,” Philippa replied, ”but he is not well just now. They are anxious about him.”
”I am sorry,” said the other simply. ”We used to have very happy times in the old days when--your aunt stayed with Lady Louisa--and her brother too sometimes.”
”He was my father. Did you know him?”
”Oh yes, I knew him quite well.”
”He died some years ago.”
”Ah! I had not heard. He and I were very good friends when we were young. But I don't suppose he remembered me.”
”I do not think I ever heard him speak of you.”
”No, very likely not. But I have a good memory, especially for my friends. One loses sight of people very easily, far too easily; and then it is difficult to find them again when one returns to England after a long absence. You have been a good deal abroad too, I expect.”
”Yes, I have lived almost entirely abroad. So much so, in fact, that I am disgracefully ignorant about my native land. I hardly know it at all. I was so interested as I travelled down here, to see how utterly different it was to anything I had ever seen.”
”I think that is the most interesting part of travelling,” answered Isabella Vernon, smiling ”The aspect of the different countries, I mean. Not the people, but the very earth itself. You cross a frontier and at once all seems changed. There may be hills and trees and water just as there have been before, but they have not in the least the same appearance. Of course there are some tiresome folks who are always seeing likenesses; they will tell you glibly that Canada reminds them of c.u.mberland, or South Africa of the Sahara, but that is merely because they are blind. Having eyes they see not the subtle characteristics of every land and miss its individuality. I have journeyed all round the globe, and now, as I sit by my own fireside and think of what I have seen, it is always some particular point about the look of a country that comes first into my mind. The peculiar ochre tint of the bare stretches of Northern China; the outlines of the hills in j.a.pan--so irregular and yet so sharp, as though they had been cut out with a sharp pair of scissors in a shaky hand. The towering ma.s.ses of the Rockies, where the strata runs all sideways, as if a slice of the very crust of the universe had been tilted up on edge by some gigantic upheaval.
”I don't know why, but these peculiarities, which some people call insignificant details, and some never notice at all, are for me the very places themselves. They rise instantly before my eyes when the name of the country is mentioned; just as when I was away the mere mention of the word ”home” brought a vision of Bessmoor and its mysterious purple distance. But here I am letting my tongue run away with me, and making long speeches in the most unpardonable way.
Forgive me. You must excuse a hermit who lives a solitary life. And here we are almost in the village. I won't come any further.”
She stopped and held out her hand. ”Good-bye,” she said. ”I hope you will let me see you again. I should so like to show you my cottage.
Would you come?”
”I should like to, thank you,” answered Philippa. ”But I hardly know----” for all of a sudden the perplexities which had for a while been forgotten crowded into her mind again.
”Could you come to-morrow, do you think?” continued the other, speaking with some eagerness.
”Indeed I hardly know when I shall be able to get away. I will come if I possibly can, but----”
”Well, never mind,” said Miss Vernon quickly. ”Do not settle now, but come when you can. If you walk along this road I am pretty certain to see you. I spend my life on Bessmoor, and I should like to teach you to appreciate its beauties as they deserve.”
”I shall certainly try to come, and I think you would find me a willing pupil,” said Philippa with a smile. Then with a murmured word of thanks she walked quickly away, feeling suddenly afraid lest any further development should have arisen in her absence, for she had stayed away from the house longer than she had intended.
As she turned into the lodge gate she looked back. Isabella was standing where they had parted, gazing at her with the same intentness which had been so noticeable during their conversation; but now, she waved a friendly hand, and then she too turned and walked away up the hill.
”What does she know about it all, I wonder?” said the girl to herself.