Part 5 (2/2)
THE REVEREND HENRY LAMBENT.
”I beg your pardon,” said Archibald Graves, rather abruptly; ”I spoke to Miss Thorne before church. I think she is engaged to me.”
The eyes of Beatrice Lambent opened with astonishment and she stared at this daring young man, who had the presumption to talk of interposing between the new schoolmistress and the head of the parish. She was evidently about to speak, for her lips moved, but no words came.
It was Hazel who put an end to the unpleasant dilemma.
”I will come at once. Miss Lambent, if you please,” she said respectfully.
”Miss Beatrice Lambent, if you please,” said the lady haughtily; ”Miss Lambent is now descending from the organ-loft.”
”I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Hazel. Then, glancing with quiet dignity at the intruder and back to Miss Beatrice: ”Mr Graves was a friend of our family a year or two back. Mr Graves, my mother is at the schoolhouse; if you wish to see me, I must ask you to call there.”
She followed Miss Beatrice up between the rows of pews that lady seeming to take her into moral custody; while, seeing himself the aim of several pairs of eyes, including those of Mr Chute, Mr William Forth Burge, Miss Burge, and above all, those of Miss Lambent, which literally flashed at him, Archibald Graves nodded shortly, turned upon his heel, and tried to march carelessly out of church; but his easy motions were terribly full of restraint.
”I was not aware that Miss Thorne would be so soon having friends,” said Miss Lambent; but her remark elicited no reply, for Mr William Forth Burge and his sister both felt troubled, the schoolmaster angry, and all too much preoccupied with the appearance of Hazel Thorne as she pa.s.sed into the chancel, and through a bar of brilliant colour cast by the sun from the new stained-gla.s.s window, which had been placed in the south end of the chancel in memory of the late vicar, the effect being very strange, seeming to etherealise Hazel; though for the matter of that the same effect would have been seen, had it been noticed, in connection with Miss Beatrice, who had led the way, drawing aside the curtain that hung in front of the vestry door, and tapping softly with her knuckles.
”Come in!”
Very simple words, but they set Hazel's heart beating, as, in a whisper full of awe, but at the same time very distant and cold, Miss Beatrice said:
”You may go in now.”
As she spoke she drew back, holding the curtain for Hazel to pa.s.s; and trying to master her emotion, the latter raised the latch and entered the vestry.
The vicar was standing with his hat in hand, gazing out of the little window at the cheerful prospect of a piece of blank old stone wall, surmounted by a large waterspout, and though he must have heard the door open and close, he did not turn, but stood there as stiff and uncompromising of aspect as his sisters.
He had seen Hazel Thorne twice before, but in a gloomy room in London; and being of rather a preoccupied turn of mind, he had paid so little heed to her personal appearance that he would hardly have recognised her again. A new mistress had been required, and the customary correspondence had taken place; he had called at the inst.i.tution, asked a few questions, and there was an end of the matter, the strong recommendations of the lady-princ.i.p.al being sufficient for the engagement to be decided on.
Hazel stood waiting for him to turn round, but the Reverend Henry Lambent remained gazing at the water-pipe for some few moments before coughing slightly to clear his throat. Then, in a voice full of haughty condescension, he began:
”I am glad to find that you arrived punctually. Miss Thorne, in accordance with the arrangements that were made; and I take this opportunity of saying a few words to you at this commencement of your career in Plumton.”
Here he stopped, and faced slowly round, allowing his half-closed eyes to rest indifferently upon the new mistress, who was standing facing the window, and upon whose rather pale care-worn face the light fell strongly as he turned.
Very plainly dressed in her well-fitting mourning, Hazel Thorne was one who could have claimed a second look from the sternest of mortals.
It was not that she was surpa.s.sing beautiful, and could boast of finely-chiselled nostrils, Juno-like brow, or any of the wonderfully entrancing features with which some novelists endow their heroines; Hazel was simply a sweet-faced, thoroughly English girl, but there was an expression in her eyes, a touching look so full of appeal that it even affected the cold, unimpa.s.sioned vicar, who remained silent for some moments as if wondering, and then hastily said:
”I beg your pardon. Miss Thorne, will you sit down!”
He placed a chair for her, and drew another forward from where it was half hidden behind the folds of the surplice but lately hung upon its proper peg, and, astonished at himself waited till Hazel had seated herself before following suit.
”That young man” seemed to have vanished from his thoughts, and the lecture he had intended to read the young schoolmistress upon the bad appearance of such meetings as those which had taken place that morning dropped from his memory, and his lips formed words that surprised him as much as his acts.
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