CHAPTER VII.
A VIEW FROM THE REFECTORY WINDOW.
THE old discoloured wall of Malory, that runs along the shoreovershadowed by grand old timber, that looks to me darker than any othergrove, is seven feet high, and as he could see neither through nor overit, and could not think of climbing it, after a few seconds spent instaring at the gray door, Tom Sedley turned about and walked down to thelittle hillock that stands by the roadside, next the strand, and fromthe top of this he gazed, during an entire cigar, upon the mullionedwindows of Malory, and was gratified by one faint gleam of a passingcandle from a gallery window.
"That's a nice old woman, odd as she is; she looks quite like a lady;she's certainly not the woman we saw in church to-day; how well shelooked; what a nice figure, that time, as she stood looking from theshore; that cloak thing is loose to be sure; but, by Jove, she mighthave been a girl almost; and what large eyes she has got, and awell-shaped face. She must have been quite charming, about a hundredyears ago; she's not the mother: she's too old; a grand-aunt, perhaps;what a long talk we had, and I such a fool, listening to all thatrubbish, and never getting in a word about the people, that peerlesscreature!"
His walk home to Cardyllian was desultory and interrupted. I should notlike to risk my credit by relating how often he halted on his way, andhow long, to refresh his eyes with the dim outlines of the trees andchimneys of Malory; and how, very late and melancholy, and abstracted,he reached his crib in the Verney Arms.
Early next morning, in pursuance of a clever idea, Tom Sedley made, Iadmit, his most picturesque and becoming toilet. It consisted of hisblack velvet knickerbocker suit, with those refined jack-boots ofshining leather, and the most charming jerry that had ever appeared inCardyllian, and away he marched over the hill, while the good people ofthe town were champing their muffins and sipping their tea, to the backgate of Malory.
It stood half open, and with as careless a boldness as he could assume,in he went and walked confidently up the straight farmyard lane, girtwith high thorn hedges. Here, bribing a rustic who showed symptoms ofchurlishness, with half-a-crown, he was admitted into a sort offarmyard, under pretext of examining the old monastic chapel andrefectory, now used as a barn, and some other relics of the friary,which tourists were wont to admire.
From the front of the refectory there is a fine view of the distantmountains. Also, as Tom Sedley recollected, a foreground view, under thetrees, in front of the hall-door, and there, with a sudden bound at hisheart, he beheld the two ladies who had yesterday occupied the Malorypew, the old and the young, busy about the flower-bed, with gardengauntlets on, and trowel in hand.
They were chatting together cheerily enough, but he could not hear whatthey said. The young lady now stood up from her work, in a dress whichlooked to him like plain holland.
The young lady had pushed her hat a little back, and stood on the grass,at the edge of the flowers, with her trowel glittering in the early sun,in her slender right hand, which rested upon her left; her pretty rightfoot was advanced a little on the short grass, and showed just its tip,over the edge of the flower-bed. A homely dress and rustic appliances.But, oh! that oval, beautiful face!
Tom Sedley--the "peeping Tom" of this story--from his deep monasticwindow, between the parting of the tall trees, looked down upon thisscene in a breathless rapture. From the palmy days of the Roman Pantheondown, was ever Flora so adored?
From under his Gothic arch, in his monkish shade, Tom could have stood,he fancied, for ever, gazing as friar has seldom gazed upon his picturedsaint, on the supernatural portrait which his enthusiasm worshipped.
The young lady, as I have described her, looking down upon her oldcompanion, said something with a little nod, and smiled; then she lookedup at the tree tops from where the birds were chirping; so Tom had afair view of her wonderful face, and though he felt himself in imminentdanger of detection, he could not move. Then her eyes with a sidelongglance, dropped on the window where he stood, and passed on instantly.
With the instinct which never deceives us, he felt her glance touch him,and knew that he was detected. The young lady turned quietly, and lookedseaward for a few moments. Tom relieved his suspense with a sigh; hehoped he might pass muster for a tourist, and that the privileges ofsuch visitors had not been abridged by the recluses.
The young lady then quietly turned and resumed her work, as if nothinghad happened; but, I think, she said something to her elderly companion,for that slim lady, in a Tweed shawl, closely brooched across herbreast, stood up, walked a step or two backward upon the grass, andlooked straight up at the window, with the inquisitive frown of a persona little dazzled or near-sighted.
Honest Tom Sedley, who was in a rather morbid state all this morning,felt his heart throb again, and drum against his ribs, as he affected togaze in a picturesque absorption upon the distant headlands.
The old lady, on the other hand, having distinctly seen in thedeep-carved panel of that antique wall, the full-length portrait of ourhandsome young friend, Tom Sedley, in his killing knickerbocker suit ofblack velvet, with his ivory-headed cane in his hand, and that"stunning" jerry which so exactly suited his countenance, and of whichhe believed no hatter but his own possessed the pattern, or couldproduce a similar masterpiece.
The old lady with her hand raised to fend off the morning sun that cameflickering through the branches on her wrinkled forehead, and her lightgray eyes peering on him, had no notion of the awful power of her gazeupon that "impudent young man."
With all his might Tom Sedley gazed at the Welsh headlands, without evenwinking, while he felt the basilisk eye of the old spinster in grayTweed upon him. So intense was his stare, that old Pendillion at lastseemed to nod his mighty head, and finally to submerge himself in thesea. When he ventured a glance downward, he saw Miss Anne Sheckletonwith quick steps entering the house, while the young lady hadrecommenced working at a more distant flower-bed, with the same quietdiligence.
It was to be feared that the old lady was taking steps for hisexpulsion. He preferred anticipating her measures, and not caring to becaught in the window, left the refectory, and walked down the stonestairs, whistling and tapping the wall with the tip of his cane.
To him, as the old play-books say, entered from the side next the house,and just as he set the sole of his resplendent boot upon thepaving-stones, a servant. Short, strong, and surly was the man. He didnot seem disposed for violence, however, for he touched an imaginaryhatbrim as he came up, and informed Mr. Sedley, who was properlysurprised and pained to hear it, that he had in fact committed atrespass; that since it had been let, the place was no longer open tothe inspection of tourists; and, in short, that he was requested towithdraw.
Tom Sedley was all alacrity and regret. He had never been so polite to agroom in all his life. The man followed him down the back avenue, to seehim out, which at another time would have stirred his resentment; andwhen he held the gate open for him to emerge, Tom gave him no less thanthree half-crowns--a prodigality whereat his eyes opened, if not hisheart, and he made a gruff apology for the necessities imposed by duty,and Tom interrupted him with--
"Quite right, perfectly right! you could do nothing else. I hope thela----your master is not vexed. You must say I told you to mention howvery much pained I was at having made such a mistake. Say that I, Mr.Sedley, regret it very much, and beg to apologise. Pray don't forget.Good morning; and I'm very sorry for having given _you_ so muchtrouble--this long walk."
This tenderness his bow-legged conductor was also in a mood to receivefavourably. In fact, if he had not told him his name was Sedley, hemight have settled affirmatively the question at that moment before hismind--whether the intruder from whom silver flowed so naturally andrefreshingly might not possibly be the Prince of Wales himself, who hadpassed through the village of Ware, only seven miles away, three weeksbefore.