A GIRL ON HORSEBACK -- CONVERSATION
THE sluggish day began to break. Even its positionterrestrially is one of the elements of a new interest,and for no particular reason save that the incident ofthe night had occurred there, Oak went again intothe plantation. Lingering and musing here, he heardthe steps of a horse at the foot of the hill, and soonthere appeared in view an auburn pony with a girl onits back, ascending by the path leading past the cattle-shed. She was the young woman of the night before.Gabriel instantly thought of the hat she had mentionedas having lost in the wind; possibly she had come tolook for it. He hastily scanned the ditch and afterwalking about ten yards along it, found the hat among theleaves. Gabriel took it in his hand and returned to hishut. Here he ensconced himself, and peeped throughthe loophole in the direction of the riders approach.She came up and looked around -- then on the otherside of the hedge. Gabriel was about to advance andrestore the missing article when an unexpected per-formance induced him to suspend the action for thepresent. The path, after passing the cowshed, bisectedthe plantation. It was not a bridle-path -- merely apedestrian's track, and the boughs spread horizontallyat a height not greater than seven feet above the ground,which made it impossible to ride erect beneath them.The girl, who wore no riding-habit, looked around fora moment, as if to assure herself that all humanity wasout of view, then dexterously dropped backwards flatupon the pony's back, her head over its tail, her feetagainst its shoulders, and her eyes to the sky. Therapidity of her glide into this position was that of akingfisher -- its noiselessness that of a hawk. Gabriel'seyes had scarcely been able to follow her. The tall lankpony seemed used to such doings, and ambledalong unconcerned. Thus she passed under the level boughs.The performer seemed quite at home anywherebetween a horse's head and its tail, and the necessityfor this abnormal attitude having ceased with thepassage of the plantation, she began to adopt another,even more obviously convenient than the first. She hadno side-saddle, and it was very apparent that a firmseat upon the smooth leather beneath her was un-attainable sideways. Springing to her accustomedperpendicular like a bowed sapling, and satisfying her,self that nobody was in sight, she seated herself in themanner demanded by the saddle, though hardly expectedof the woman, and trotted off in the direction of TewnellMill.Oak was amused, perhaps a little astonished, andhanging up the hat in his hut, went again among hisewes. An hour passed, the girl returned, properlyseated now, with a bag of bran in front of her. Onnearing the cattle-shed she was met by a boy bringinga milking-pail, who held the reins of the pony whilstshe slid off. The boy led away the horse, leaving thepail with the young woman.Soon soft shirts alternating with loud shirts camein regular succession from within the shed, the obvioussounds of a person milking a cow. Gabriel took thelost hat in his hand, and waited beside the path shewould follow in leaving the hill.She came, the pail in one hand, hanging against herknee. The left arm was extended as a balance, enoughof it being shown bare to make Oak wish that the eventha happened in the summer, when the whole wouldhave been revealed. There was a bright air and mannerabout her now, by which she seemed to imply that thedesirability of her existence could not be questioned;and this rather saucy assumption failed in being offensive,because a beholder felt it to be, upon the whole, true.Like exceptional emphasis in the tone of a genius, thatwhich would have made mediocrity ridiculous was anaddition to recognised power. It was with somesurprise that she saw Gabriel's face rising like themoon behind the hedge.The adjustment of the farmer's hazy conceptions of hercharms to the portrait of herself she now presentedhim with was less a diminution than a difference. Thestarting-point selected by the judgment was. her heightShe seemed tall, but the pail was a small one, and thehedge diminutive; hence, making allowance for errorby comparison with these, she could have been notabove the height to be chosen by women as best. Allfeatures of consequence were severe and regular. Itmay have been observed by persons who go about theshires with eyes for beauty, that in Englishwoman aclassically-formed face is seldom found to be unitedwith a figure of the same pattern, the highly-finishedfeatures being generally too large for the remainder ofthe frame; that a graceful and proportionate figure ofeight heads usually goes off into random facial curves.Without throwing a Nymphean tissue over a milkmaid,let it be said that here criticism checked itself as outof place, and looked at her proportions with a longconsciousness of pleasure. From the contours of herfigure in its upper part, she must have had a beautifulneck and shoulders; but since her infancy nobody hadever seen them. Had she been put into a low dressshe would have run and thrust her head into a bush.Yet she was not a shy girl by any means; it was merelyher instinct to draw the line dividing the seen from theunseen higher than they do it in towns.That the girl's thoughts hovered about her faceand form as soon as she caught Oak's eyes conning thesame page was natural, and almost certain. The self-consciousness shown would have been vanity if a littlemore pronounced, dignity if a little less. Rays of malevision seem to have a tickling effect upon virgin facesin rural districts; she brushed hers with her hand, as ifGabriel had been irritating its pink surface by actualtouch, and the free air of her previous movements wasreduced at the same time to a chastened phase ofitself. Yet it was the man who blushed, the maid notat all.”I found a hat.” said Oak.”It is mine.” said she, and, from a sense of proportion,kept down to a small smile an inclination to laugh dis-tinctly: ”it flew away last night.””One o'clock this morning?””Well -- it was.” She was surprised. ”How did you know?”she said.”I was here.””You are Farmer Oak, are you not?””That or thereabouts. I'm lately come to this place.””A large farm?” she inquired, casting her eyes round,and swinging back her hair, which was black in theshaded hollows of its mass; but it being now an hourpast sunrise, the rays touched its prominent curves witha colour of their own.”No; not large. About a hundred.” (In speakingof farms the word ”acres” is omitted by the natives, byanalogy to such old expressions as ”a stag of ten.”)”I wanted my hat this morning.” she went on.”I had to ride to Tewnell Mill.””Yes you had.””How do you know?””I saw you!””Where?” she inquired, a misgiving bringing everymuscle of her lineaments and frame to a standstill.”Here-going through the plantation, and all downthe hill.” said Farmer Oak, with an aspect excessivelyknowing with regard to some matter in his mind, as hegazed at a remote point in the direction named, and thenturned back to meet his colloquist's eyes.A perception caused him to withdraw his own eyesfrom hers as suddenly as if he had been caught in atheft. Recollection of the strange antics she hadindulged in when passing through the trees, was suc-ceeded in the girl by a nettled palpitation, and that bya hot face. It was a time to see a woman redden whowas not given to reddening as a rule; not a point inthe milkmaid but was of the deepest rose-colour. Fromthe Maiden's Blush, through all varieties of the Provencedown to the Crimson Tuscany, the countenance of Oak'sacquaintance quickly graduated; whereupon he, in con-siderateness, turned away his head.The sympathetic man still looked the other way, andwondered when she would recover coolness sufficient tojustify him in facing her again. He heard what seemedto be the flitting of a dead leaf upon the breeze, andlooked. She had gone away.With an air between that of Tragedy and Comedy!Gabriel returned to his work.Five mornings and evenings passed. The youngwoman came regularly to milk the healthy cow or toattend to the sick one, but never allowed her vision tostray in the direction of Oak's person. His want oftact had deeply offended her -- not by seeing what hecould not help, but by letting her know that he hadseen it. For, as without law there is no sin, withouteyes there is no indecorum; and she appeared to feelthat Gabriel's espial had made her an indecorous womanwithout her own connivance. It was food for great regretwith him; it was also a contretemps which touched intolife a latent heat he had experienced in that direction.The acquaintanceship might, however, have ended ina slow forgetting, but for an incident which occurred atthe end of the same week. One afternoon it began tofreeze, and the frost increased with evening, which drewon like a stealthy tightening of bonds. It was a timewhen in cottages the breath of the sleepers freezes tothe sheets; when round the drawing-room fire of athick-walled mansion the sitters' backs are cold, evenwhilst their faces are all aglow. Many a small bird wentto bed supperless that night among the bare boughs.As the milking-hour drew near, Oak kept his usualwatch upon the cowshed. At last he felt cold, andshaking an extra quantity of bedding round the yearlingewes he entered the hut and heaped more fuel uponthe stove. The wind came in at the bottom of the door,and to prevent it Oak laid a sack there and wheeled thecot round a little more to the south. Then the windspouted in at a ventilating hole -- of which there was oneon each side of the hut.Gabriel had always known that when the fire waslighted and the door closed one of these must be keptopen -- that chosen being always on the side away fromthe wind. Closing the slide to windward, he turned toopen the other; on second -- thoughts the farmer con-sidered that he would first sit down leaving bothclosed for a minute or two, till the temperature of thehut was a little raised. He sat down.His head began to ache in an unwonted manner, and,fancying himself weary by reason of the broken rests ofthe preceding nights, Oak decided to get up, open theslide, and then allow himself to fall asleep. He fellasleep, however, without having performed the necessarypreliminary.How long he remained unconscious Gabriel neverknew. During the first stages of his return to percep-tion peculiar deeds seemed to be in course of enactment.His dog was howling, his head was aching fearfully --somebody was pulling him about, hands were looseninghis neckerchief.On opening his eyes he found that evening had sunkto dusk in a strange manner of unexpectedness. Theyoung girl with the remarkably pleasant lips and whiteteeth was beside him. More than this -- astonishinglymore -- his head was upon her lap, his face and neckwere disagreeably wet, and her fingers were unbuttoninghis collar.”Whatever is the matter?” said Oak, vacantly.She seemed to experience mirth, but of too insignifi-cant a kind to start enjoyment.”Nothing now', she answered, ”since you are notdead It is a wonder you were not,suffocated in thishut of yours.””Ah, the hut!” murmured Gabriel. ”I gave tenpounds for that hut. But I'll sell it, and sit underthatched hurdles as they did in old times, curl upto sleep in a lock of straw! It played me nearly thesame trick the other day!” Gabriel, by way of emphasis,brought down his fist upon the floor.”It was not exactly the fault of the hut.” she ob-served in a tone which showed her to be that noveltyamong women -- one who finished a thought beforebeginning the sentence which was to convey it. ”Youshould I think, have considered, and not have been sofoolish as to leave the slides closed.””Yes I suppose I should.” said Oak, absently. Hewas endeavouring to catch and appreciate the sensationof being thus with her, his head upon her dress, beforethe event passed on into the heap of bygone things.He wished she knew his impressions; but he would assoon have thought of carrying an odour in a net as ofattempting to convey the intangibilities of his feelingin the coarse meshes of language. So he remainedsilent.She made him sit up, and then Oak began wipinghis face and shaking himself like a Samson. ”Howcan I thank 'ee?” he said at last, gratefully, some of thenatural rusty red having returned to his face. ”Oh, never mind that.”said the girl, smiling, andallowing her smile to hold good for Gabriel's nextremark, whatever that might prove to be.”How did you find me?””I heard your dog howling and scratching at thedoor of the hut when I came to the milking (it was solucky, Daisy's milking is almost over for the season, and I shall not come here after this week or the next). Thedog saw me, and jumped over to me, and laid hold ofmy skirt. I came across and looked round the hut thevery first thing to see if the slides were closed. Myuncle has a hut like this one, and I have heard him tellhis shepherd not to go to sleep without leaving a slideopen. I opened the door, and there you were likedead. I threw the milk over you, as there was nowater, forgetting it was warm, and no use.””I wonder if I should have died?” Gabriel said, in alow voice, which was rather meant to travel back tohimself than to her.”O no,” the girl replied. She seemed to prefer aless tragic probability; to have saved a man from deathinvolved talk that should harmonise with the dignity ofsuch a deed -- and she shunned it.”I believe you saved my life, Miss -- -- I don't knowyour name. I know your aunt's, but not yours.””I would just as soon not tell it -- rather not. Thereis no reason either why I should, as you probably willnever have much to do with me.” ”Still, I should like to know.””You can inquire at my aunt's -- she will tell you.””My name is Gabriel Oak.””And mine isn't. You seem fond of yours inspeaking it so decisively, Gabriel Oak.””You see, it is the only one I shall ever have, and Imust make the most of it.””I always think mine sounds odd and disagreeable.””I should think you might soon get a new one.””Mercy! -- how many opinions you keep about youconcerning other people, Gabriel Oak.””Well Miss-excuse the words-I thought youwould like them But I can't match you I know innapping out my mind upon my tongue. I never wasvery clever in my inside. But I thank you. Comegive me your hand!”She hesitated, somewhat disconcerted at Oak's old-fashioned earnest conclusion. to a dialogue lightlycarried on.”Very well.” she said, and gave him herhand, compressing her lips to a demure impassivity.He held it but an instant, and in his fear of being toodemonstrative, swerved to the opposite extreme, touchingher fingers with the lightness of a small-hearted person.”I am sorry.” he said, the instant after.”What for?””You may have it again if you like; there it is.”She gave him her hand again.Oak held it longer this time -- indeed, curiously long.”How soft it is -- being winter time, too -- not chappedor rough or anything!” he said.”There -- that's long enough.” said she, though with-out pulling it away ”But I suppose you are thinkingyou would like to kiss it? You may if you want to.””I wasn't thinking of any such thing.” said Gabriel,simply; ”but I will””That you won't!” She snatched back her hand.Gabriel felt himself guilty of another want of tact.”Now find out my name.” she said, teasingly; andwithdrew.
CHAPTER IV