‘There must be shade to throw up the lights,’
she said, with her sparkling look.
Was it shade that we never fell into one of these
grave talks when Griffith was present, and that the
slightest approach to them was sure to be turned
by him into jest?
We made our journey a little longer than we intended,
crossing the moors so as to spend a Sunday at Exeter;
but Frank Fordyce left us, not liking to give his
father the entire duty of a third Sunday.
Emily says she has come to have a superstition that
extensions of original plans never turn out well,
and certainly some of the charm of our journey departed
with the merry, genial Parson Frank. Our mother
was more anxious about Ellen, and put more restrictions
on the lovers than when the father was present to
sanction their doings. Griffith absolutely
broke out against her in a way he had never ventured
before, when she forbade Ellen’s riding with
him when he wanted to hire a horse at Lydford and
take an excursion on the moor before joining us at
Okehampton.
My father looked up, and said, ‘Griffith, I
am surprised at you.’ He was constrained
to mutter some apology, and I believe Ellen privately
begged my mother’s pardon, owning her to have
been quite right; but, by the dear girl, the wonderful
cascade and narrow gorge were seen through swollen
eyes. And poor Clarence must have had a fine
time of it when Griffith had to ride off with him faute
de mieux.
All was cleared off, however, when we met again, for
Griff’s storms were very fleeting, and Ellen
treated him as if she had to make her own peace with
him. She sacrificed her own enjoyment of Exeter
Cathedral to go about with him when he had had enough
of it, but on Sunday afternoon she altogether declined
to walk with him till after the second service.
He laughed at her supposed passion for sacred music,
and offered to wait with her to hear the anthem from
the nave. ‘No,’ she said, ’that
would be amusing ourselves instead of worshipping.’
‘We’ve done our devoir in that way already,’
said Griff. ’Paid our dues.’
‘One can’t,’ cried Ellen, with an
eager look. ’One longs to do all the
more when He has just let us have such a taste of His
beautiful things.’
‘One, perhaps, when one is a little saint,’
returned Griff.
’Oh don’t, Griff! I’m not
that; but you know every one wants all the help
and blessing that can be got. And then it is
so delightful!’
He gave a long whistle. ‘Every one to
his taste,’ he said; ‘especially you
ladies.’
He did come to the Cathedral with us, but he had more
than half spoilt this last Sunday. Did he value
her for what was best in her, or was her influence
raising him?
’Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears,
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.’
