“No, but she made people talk.  She set about a rumour that the place was haunted, and for some years the family could hardly get a servant to live with them.”

“Poor old soul!” thought Valentine.  “I suppose it would be wrong to try and bribe her to deny it.  I wish she would though.”

“I think,” said Mr. Craik, an air of relief coming over his face—­“I think I shall tell her that I regard it in the light you indicated.”

Soon after that he went away.  It was evening, the distant hills, when Valentine sauntered forth, were of an intense solid blue, gloomy and pure, behind them lay wedges of cloud edged with gold, all appeared still, unchanging, and there was a warm balmy scent of clover and country crops brooding over the place.

Valentine sauntered on through the peaceful old churchyard, and over the brow of the little hill.  What a delightful evening view!  A long hollow, with two clear pools (called in those parts meres) in it, narrow, and running side by side, the evening star and crescent moon, little more than a gold line, reflected in one of them.  The reed warbler was beginning to sing, and little landrails were creeping out of the green sedges, the lilies were closing and letting themselves down.  There was something so delightful, so calm, that Valentine felt his heart elevated by it.  The peace of nature seems a type of the rest of God.  It reminds man of that deep awful leisure in which his Maker dwells, taking thought for, and having, as we express it, time, to bless and think upon his creatures.

Valentine watched the gold in the sky, and the primrose-tinted depths beyond.  He was thankful for his delightful home; he felt a good impulse in him, urging that he must do his duty in this his day and generation; he seemed to respond to it, hoped the new church would be of use in the neighbourhood, and felt that, even if it cost him some sacrifice, Laura must be provided for; either he must settle on her something that she could live on, or he must promise her a marriage portion.

As for himself, he was a good young fellow, better than many, and when he went on to think of himself, he saw, in his vision of his own future, nothing worse than an almost impossibly pretty girl as his bride, one with whom he was to take a specially long and agreeable wedding tour; and some time after that he supposed himself to see two or three jolly little boys rolling about on the grass, the Melcombes of the future, and with them and their mother he saw himself respected and happy.  Sauntering on still, he came past Becky Maddison’s cottage, a pleasant abode, thatched, whitewashed, and covered with jasmine, but too close to the mere.  “I will talk to that poor old soul again, and see if I can make anything of her.  I am sure Craik is mistaken about her.”

“She fails fast,” said the daughter, when accosted by Valentine; and she took him up-stairs to see her mother.  He first made himself welcome by giving her a handsome alms, and then inquired about her health.