Part 11 (2/2)
”HALF-WAY BETWEEN THE STILES.”
(A RIGHT-OF-WAY INCIDENT.)
By the road, Scarby village is good three miles from Colletwood, the nearest town and railway station. But there is a short cut over the hills for foot pa.s.sengers. _Over_ the hills they call it, but _between_ the hills would be more correct, for there is a sort of tableland once you have climbed a short, steep bit up from the town, which extends nearly to Scarby, sloping gradually down to the village.
And on each side of this tableland the hills rise again, north and south, much higher to the north than to the south. So this flat stretch, though at some considerable height, is neither bleak nor exposed, being sheltered on the colder side, and fairly open to the suns.h.i.+ne south and west.
It is a pleasant place, and so it must have been considered in the old days; for a large monastery stood there once, of which the ruins are still to be seen, and of which the memory is still preserved in the name--”Monksholdings”.
Pleasant, but a trifle inconvenient, as the only carriage-road makes a great round from Colletwood, winding along the base of the hill on the north side till it reaches the village, then up again by the gradual slope, half a mile or so--a drive in all of three to four miles, whereas, as the bird flies or the pedestrian walks, the distance from the town is barely a quarter of that.
In the old days there was probably no road at all, the hill-path doubtless serving all requirements. Naturally enough, therefore, it came to be looked upon as entirely public property, and people forgot--if, indeed, any one had ever thought of it--that though the monastery was a ruin, the once carefully kept land round about the old dwelling-place of Monksholdings was still private property.
And the sensation was great when suddenly the news reached the neighbourhood that this ”unique estate,” as the agents called it, was sold--sold by the old Duke of Scars.h.i.+re, who scarcely remembered that he owned it, to a man who meant to live on it, to build a house which should be a home for several months of the year for himself and his family.
There was considerable growling and grumbling; and this rose to its height when a rumour got about that the hill-path--such part of it, that is to say, as lay within the actual demesne--was to be closed--_must_ be closed, if the site already chosen for the new house was to be retained; for the house would actually stand upon the old foot-track, and there could be no two opinions that this position had been well and wisely selected.
Things grew warlike, boding no agreeable reception for the newcomers--a Mr. Raynald and his family, newcomers to England, it was said, as well as to Scars.h.i.+re. Every one plunged into questions of right-of-way; the local legalities raised and discussed knotty points; Colletwood and Scarby were aflame. But it all ended, flatly enough, in a compromise!
Mr. Raynald turned out to be one of the most reasonable and courteous of men. He came, saw, and--conquered. The goodwill of his future neighbours was won e'er he knew he had risked its loss. Henceforward congratulations, reciprocated and repeated, on the charming additions to Scarby society were the order of the day, and the _detour_, skirting the south boundary of the Monksholdings grounds, which the footpath was now inveigled into making, was voted ”a great improvement”.
And in due time the mansion rose.
”A great improvement” also, to the aspect of the surrounding landscape.
It was in perfectly good taste--unpretentious and quietly picturesque.
It might have been there always for any jarring protest to the contrary.
And just half-way along the old foot-track, that is to say, between the two stiles which let the traveller to or from Scarby in or out of the Monksholdings demesne, stood Sybil Raynald's grand piano!
The stiles remained as an interesting survival; but they were made use of by no one not bound for the house itself. And beside each was a gate--a good oaken gate, that suited the place, as did everything about it; and beside each gate a quaint miniature dwelling, one of which came to be known as the east, and the other as the west, Monksholdings lodge.
The first time the Raynalds came down to their new home they made but a short stay there. It was already late in the season, and though the preceding summer had been a magnificent one for drying fresh walls and plaster, it would scarcely have done to risk damp or chilly weather in so recently-built a house.
They stayed long enough to confirm the favourable impression the head of the family had already made, and to lead themselves to look forward with pleasure to a less curtailed stay in Scars.h.i.+re.
The last morning of their visit, Sybil, the eldest daughter, up and about betimes, turned to her father, when she had taken her place beside him at the breakfast-table, with a suspicion of annoyance on her usually cheerful face.
”Papa,” she said, ”I have seen that old man _again_, leaning on the stile by the Scarby lodge and looking in--along the drive--_so_ queerly.
I don't quite like it. It gave me rather a ghosty feeling; or else he is out of his mind.”
Her brother, Mark by name, began to laugh, after the manner of brothers.
”How very oddly you express yourself!” he said. ”I should like to experience 'a ghosty feeling'. A ghost is just what this place wants to make it perfect. But it should be the spirit of one of the original monks.”
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