_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A VISIT
A longer time than usual had passed since Maiden May had paid a visit to the cottage of her foster-parents.
Adam and the dame were seated in their usual places by the fire, the dame, never idle, busily employed in mending one of her son's garments.
"You or I, mother, must go up this evening and inquire for our May," said Adam, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "She would never stay away from us so long of her own free-will; and either one of the ladies must have been taken ill, and they cannot spare her, or she herself may be ailing."
"I pray heaven nothing has happened to her," replied the dame. "I will just finish off Jacob's coat and then go up myself. If she is ill I must ask the ladies' leave to stay with her. I would sleep on the bare floor by her side rather than not be with her, sweet dear."
"Yes, do," said Adam in an anxious tone. "The Miss Pembertons will be glad to have you, mother, for there is no one--not even they themselves--can know better how to tend her than you."
Just as Adam had finished speaking the latch was lifted, and a sweet-looking young girl entered the cottage. Her complexion was beautifully fair and glowing with health, her features delicately chiselled. A bright smile beamed from her blue eyes, while her figure was light and graceful, and though her dress was simple, there was that air of elegance and refinement about her rarely seen in so humble an abode.
The dame hurried across the room to fold her in her arms, while Adam put out both his hands to take hers, which she stretched forwards towards him. He bestowed a kiss, half reverential, half paternal, on her brow.
Her appearance, for it was Maiden May herself who entered, banished all their fears about her health.
"It does my heart good to see thee, my own Maiden May," he said, gazing at her affectionately, and placing a chair for her by the side of his own. "We almost thought that thee had forgotten us. And yet, no, no-- we knew thee would'st not have done that; but what kept thee away, my dear?"
"Miss Mary has been unwell, and required constant attention," answered May; "and Miss Jane has been at Texford to see poor Sir Reginald. You probably have heard that he is dead."
"Yes, mother has just brought the news," said Adam. "He will be a great loss to many."
"Yes, indeed he will," said May, "especially to my kind friends. I fear that Sir Ralph will ill supply his place. Miss Jane, who waited to receive him, has come back much hurt at the way he behaved to her. He looks upon them as gloomy Methodists, and inclined to censure his worldliness, and he partly hinted that they must no longer come to Texford as they had been accustomed to do in Sir Reginald's time, unless with an especial invitation. I am truly sorry for it, as Miss Jane used to enjoy her visits there; and though, now Sir Reginald has gone, it will be very different, yet she thought she should like Lady Castleton and her daughter Miss Julia, and her sons, especially Mr Harry, who greatly took her fancy when he was there before. She tells me he is the young gentleman who saved me from being tossed by the bull when I was a little girl, and so kindly brought me back to you, mother. I remember the circumstance, though I have but a dim recollection of him, except that he was very good-natured and laughed, and told me I was a little heroine, though at the time I confess I did not know what he meant. I only remember that I was dreadfully frightened, and very grateful to him for saving me."
"Ah, yes, good reason too we had to be thankful to him, for it would have broken our hearts if any harm had come to our Maiden May," observed Adam, looking affectionately at the young girl. "But I am main sorry to hear what you say about Sir Ralph."
"Miss Mary thinks, however, that perhaps Miss Jane, who was in much grief at Sir Reginald's death, might have spoken more seriously to Sir Ralph than he liked. You know she does occasionally say things with which worldly people are not pleased, and perhaps that put him out of humour. She, however, asserts that she ought not to be ashamed of her principles, and that she merely reminded Sir Ralph that he was but a life tenant of Texford--that the time would come when he too would lie, as Sir Reginald does now, on the bed of death, and his body be carried to the family vault, while his soul has to stand before the Judge of all things, and give an account of his stewardship while here below. Miss Mary observed that, although what Miss Jane had said was very right and true, she might not possibly have taken the proper time for making her remarks, and that, perhaps, had they come from a clergyman, he would have received them in a different spirit.
"Miss Jane replied that she was sure, in the first place, that the clergyman would not make them, and felt that the time might pass when they could be made at all, if she did not, while, as she supposed, he was grieving for the death of his excellent uncle. Miss Jane, however, confessed that she had made a mistake in supposing that his heart was in any way touched with sorrow; but, on the contrary, she feared that he felt nothing but satisfaction at becoming the possessor of Texford, and was annoyed at being reminded of the uncertainty of human life.
"But I ought not, perhaps, to repeat, even to you, dear mother and father, what my kind friends say; only, in this instance, I am sure they would not object to my doing so."
"It's safer not to repeat what we hear, there is no doubt about that," observed the dame. "But, you know, what you say to us never goes to other ears. Now, to my mind, Miss Mary is right. Miss Jane can say strong things when she thinks it is her duty to say them, and people do not always take them in the same spirit they are spoken. I hope when my lady and Miss Julia come things will be put to rights, and that the Miss Pembertons will not be shut out of Texford more than they like."
"For their sakes I hope, at all events, they may be on friendly terms with their relatives," said May. "However, Miss Mary has no wish to leave home even for a day, and I always enjoy being in her company alone, and attending to her. I can never feel weary in trying to repay the kindness she has shown me. She has taught me much of what I know, even more than her sister has, and her memory is so retentive that she can talk over the books we have read together, and remind me often of portions which I have forgotten."
"Ah, she is a dear lady; it's a wonder she knows so much, and no eyes to see with," observed the dame. "She may not be so wonderful a woman as her sister is, who can talk every bit as cleverly, if not better, than Mr Simms, the apothecary, and it's my belief she could bleed as well if she thought fit, though she says she sees no reason to take honest blood out of people's bodies, but that a little sulphur and milk in the spring and the fall will answer the purpose as well."
The dame was enlarging still further on Miss Jane's medical knowledge, when May, turning her head, saw Jacob, who had entered, and was standing watching her at a distance, and unwilling, it seemed, to be observed. A blush rose to his cheeks when he found that he had been discovered.
"I promised not to be long away, and I ought to be on my road back again," she said. "So good-bye, mother; good-bye, father."
May put out her hand to Jacob, who pressed it in his own rough palm, casting a look at her, in which reverence was mingled with affection. Not noticing his glance she tripped lightly away.
He followed from the cottage, keeping, however, at some distance behind, till he had seen her enter the gate of Downside Cottage.
"What can have come over our Jacob," said the dame, after he had gone.
"He looks of late as if he was afraid of our Maiden May, instead of being friendly with her, as he used to be. I suppose, as she seems a fine young lady, that it would not become him, a poor fisher-lad, to be talking to her as he did when she was a little girl," observed Adam. "To be sure he does sometimes look curious, and often forgets things I tell him; however, he is as good a lad as ever, so I will say nothing agen him."
Neither his father or mother knew the true cause of poor Jacob's changed manner. _