Part 1 (2/2)

”You be wanting Redware Hall, sir? Cus.h.!.+ it's unsensible to try for it. The hills are slape as ice; the becks are full; the moss will make a mouthful of you--horse and man--to-night.”

The Squire went forward, and Aspatria also. Aspatria lifted a candle, and carried it high in her hand. That was the first glimpse of her that Sir Ulfar Fenwick had.

”You must stay at Seat-Ambar to-night,” said William Anneys. ”You cannot go farther and be sure of your life. You are welcome here heartily, sir.”

The traveller dismounted, gave his horse to Steve, and with words of grat.i.tude came out of the rain and darkness into the light and comfort of the home opened to him. ”I am Ulfar Fenwick,” he said,--”Fenwick of Fenwick and Outerby; and I think you must be William Anneys of Ambar-Side.”

”The same, sir. This is my brother Brune, and my sister Aspatria. You are dreeping wet, sir. Come to my room and change your clothing.”

Sir Ulfar bowed and smiled a.s.sent; and the bow and the smile were Aspatria's. Her cheeks burned; a strange new life was in all her veins. She hurried the housekeeper and the servants, and she brought out the silver and the damask, and the famous crystal cup in its stand of gold, which was the lucky bowl of Ambar-Side. When Fenwick came back to the hall, there was a feast spread for him; and he ate and drank, and charmed every one with his fine manner and his witty conversation.

They sat until midnight,--an hour strange to Seat-Ambar. No one native in that house had ever seen it before, no one ever felt its mysterious influence. Sir Ulfar had been charming them with tales of the strange lands he had visited, and the strange peoples who dwelt in them. He had not spoken much to Aspatria, but it was in her face he had found inspiration and sympathy. For her young eyes looked out with such eager interest, with glances so seeking, so without guile and misgiving, that their bright rays found a corner in his heart into which no woman had ever before penetrated. And she was equally subjugated by his more modern orbs,--orbs with that steely point of brilliant light, generated by large experience and varied emotion,--electric orbs, such as never shone in the elder world.

When the clock struck twelve, Squire Anneys rose with amazement. ”Why, it is strike of midnight!” he said. ”It is past all, how the hours have flown! But we mustn't put off sleeping-time any longer.

Good-night heartily to you, sir. It will be many a long day till I forget this night. What doings you have seen, sir!”

He was talking thus to his guest, as he led him to the guest-room.

Aspatria still stood by the dying fire. Brune rose silently, stretched his big arms, and said: ”I'll be going likewise. You had best remember the time of night, Aspatria.”

”What do you think of him, Brune?”

”Fenwick! I wouldn't think too high of him. One might have to come down a peg or two. He sets a good deal of store by himself, I should say.”

”You and I are of two ways of judging, Brune.”

”Never mind; time will let light into all our ways of judging.”

He went yawning upstairs and Aspatria slowly followed. She was not a bit sleepy. She was wider awake than she had ever been before. Her hands quivered like a swallow's wings; her face was rosy and luminous.

She removed her clothing, and unbraided her hair and shook it loose over her slim shoulders. There was a smile on her lips through all these preparations for sleep,--a smile innocent and glad. Suddenly she lifted the candle and carried it to the mirror. She desired to look at herself, and she blushed deeply as she gratified the wish. Was she fair enough to please this wonderful stranger?

It was the first time such a query had ever come to her heart. She was inclined to answer it honestly. Holding the light slightly above her head, she examined her claims to his regard. Her expressive face, her starry eyes, her crimson, pouting lips, her long dark hair, her slight, virginal figure in its gown of white muslin scantily trimmed with English thread-lace, her small, bare feet, her air of childlike, curious happiness,--all these things, taken together, pleased and satisfied her desires, though she knew not how or why.

Then she composed herself with intentional earnestness. She must ”say her prayers.” As yet it was only saying prayers with Aspatria,--only a holy habit. A large Book of Common Prayer stood open against an oaken rest on a table; a cus.h.i.+on of black velvet was beneath it. Ere she knelt, she reflected that it was very late, and that her Collect and Lord's Prayer would be sufficient. Youth has such confidence in the sympathy of G.o.d. She dropped softly on her knees and said her portion.

G.o.d would understand the rest. The little ceremony soothed her, as a mother's kiss might have done; and with a happy sigh she put out the light. The old house was dark and still, but her guardian angel saw her small hands loose lying on the snowy linen, and heard her whisper, ”Dear G.o.d! how happy I am!” And this joyous orison was the acceptable prayer that left the smile of peace upon her sleeping face.

In the guest-chamber Ulfar Fenwick was also holding a session with himself. He had come to his room very wide awake; midnight was an early hour to him. And the incidents he had been telling filled his mind with images of the past. He could not at once put them aside.

Women he had loved and left visited his memory,--light loves of a season, in which both had declared themselves broken-hearted at parting, and both had known that they would very soon forget. Neither was much to blame: the maid had long ceased to remember his vows and kisses; he, in some cases, had forgotten her name. Yet, sitting there by the glowing oak logs, he had visions of fair faces in all kinds of surroundings,--in lighted halls, in moon-lit groves under the great stars of the tropics, on the Shetland seas when the aurora made for lovers an enchanted atmosphere and a light in which beauty was glorified. Well, they had pa.s.sed as April pa.s.ses, and now,--

As a glimpse of a burnt-out ember Recalls a regret of the sun, He remembered, forgot, and remembered What love saw done and undone.

Aspatria was different from all. He whispered her strange name on his lips, and he thought it must have wandered from some sunny southern clime into these northern solitudes. His eyes shone; his heart beat.

He said to it: ”Make room for this innocent little one! What a darling she is! How clear, how candid, how beautiful! Oh, to be loved by such a woman! Oh, to kiss her!--to feel her kiss me!” He set his mouth tightly; the soft dreamy look in his face changed to one of purpose and pleasure.

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