CHAPTER II.—VISITS.
And so it proved. Around the tea-table the purpose was unfolded; for the warm-hearted mistress of the Hall had come to ask to carry off her favourite. 'Mr Melton and I have been thinking lately,' she explained, 'that if we put it off much longer we shall not care to undertake such a journey; and we should like to take Juliet to see London: it is an old promise; and we like to have young folks about us.'
A slight sigh escaped the speaker, and it found an echo in the gentle hearts round her. They knew that easy and comfortable as her lot was, it did not lack its sad memories, and in three little graves in the churchyard on the side of the hill were buried the dearest hopes of the Squire and his wife.
Juliet took her godmother's hand and kissed it gratefully. 'How good you are to me!' she whispered. The hand was passed softly over the fair cheek, and then the broken thread of talk was taken up.
'We have another reason also. We think' (they were always one, the Squire and his wife) 'that we ought not to remain strangers to the next heir, who you know is my husband's great-nephew' (here the voice trembled slightly); 'so we have arranged to meet him in London, and hope to bring him back. We should like him to make acquaintance with the old Hall before going abroad, as he talks of doing.'
We will not follow the ladies in all the plans that were necessary to prepare for so great an event; female requirements were much the same then as now, only the journey was a more considerable undertaking, occupying several days, as they were to post. Presently they were joined by the Rector, who gave a pleased adherence to the whole scheme. 'But,' he added, looking fondly at his younger daughter, 'will this small head bear the weight of so much dissipation? She has never left the nest before.' The thought of the separation brought a cloud over Juliet's brow; but Madam said in her sweet way: 'Such birds will always wing their way back;' and the shadows beginning to lengthen, she rose to go. It was but a short walk across the fields, the houses being within sight of each other, and the Rector accompanied her back to the Hall.
Before the chestnut blossoms had faded, Dorothy found herself at home alone; but time did not hang heavily; more little services fell upon her, and there were little surprises to prepare, like small flints with which to strike light even out of a loved one's absence; and the parent hearts fearing she might be dull without her sister, devised many little pleasures. There were long rounds with her father, and kindly welcomes in many lowly homes; then came the sweet hay-time, and hospitable teas in comfortable farm-houses; two or three visits were even made to the nearest town, a two hours' drive, and there she found many who claimed and valued the Rector's friendship. She always looked back upon it as a time of peace. How often we are allowed to find an Elim before resuming the weary desert march!
Letters then did not appear at the breakfast-table on the wings of the penny postage, but waited for the cover of a friendly frank; and the absence not being a long one, those from our travellers were few and far between. Juliet spoke of the great city and the sights she had seen; but the streets seemed dark and dull; people too did not seem so cheerful as at home; and the Squire and his friends in their talks often shook their heads and said: 'The times were so bad,' that it sometimes gave her a frightened feeling as they drove slowly home at night through the dark streets with flaring links. She liked best when they went a day in the fine Park at Bushy, and Stafford Melton had taken them upon the river. Yes; they had met the future heir of Melton Hall, and he was to return with them.
Swiftly the days flew by, till one evening the Squire's carriage waited at the Rectory gate to take them to meet the newly arrived travellers, and father, mother, and Dorothy gladly obeyed the summons.
In the joy of the sisters' meeting, Dorothy was scarcely conscious of the presence of a stranger, until she heard the Squire's voice addressing her father: 'Our newly found nephew, Stafford Melton; we want him to come and be at home among us; and as the Rectory and the Hall have always been such old friends, we trust he will follow suit.' The two gentlemen shook hands cordially; and then Dorothy in turn found herself face to face with the new guest: 'Another young friend—Miss Dorothy Olive Linley.' (The Squire, like the Vicar of Wakefield, loved a full sounding name.)
So they all sat down to supper in the old wainscoted parlour, Mr and Mrs Melton declaring there was no place like home. Dorothy found herself wondering a little at Juliet's merry flow of talk with the grave-looking stranger; but there was not time for reflection; indeed there was so much to hear and tell, that when the sisters were once more together in their own room, it was not until Juliet's pretty head sank on the pillow for very weariness that the eager strains ceased; they died away in a last question: 'Dorothy, what do you think of Stafford Melton?'
'He has a good face,' replied Dorothy, musingly recalling it.
'Yes; but you should see his friend, Gilbert Strange.'