"Even if I eat them it'll come back to see if they're there," she thought. "I'd have a fit if I felt it under my pillow again. I can't sleep another wink in here, that's certain. I'd as soon have spooks as rats or mice. I'm going to Loveday."
So, though the time was about 1 a.m., she jumped up, seized the candle, and managed to find her way along the passage to her friend's room. Loveday, much astonished to be thus awakened, took her into her bed, and they laughed over the little adventure.
"Oh, yes, it's all very fine to laugh," said Diana. "But if you were all alone you wouldn't like it yourself. Nothing will induce me to sleep by myself again in a strange hotel; so I warn you. You'll be saddled with your pixie girl for the rest of the tour. She's a scared baby at nights, and she doesn't mind confessing it. Rats—ugh! The very name of them makes me creep."
CHAPTER XVI
A Family Crest
After the joys of Stratford-on-Avon came the delights of the rest of the fascinating Shakespeare villages. "Piping Pebworth", "Dancing Marston", "Drunken Bidford", "Haunted Hillborough", "Hungry Grafton", "Papist Wixford", and "Beggarly Broom" were visited and rejoiced over in turn; then the car wended its way from Warwickshire to sample the glories of Gloucestershire. Here, too, our pilgrims found plenty to arouse their enthusiasm: the richness of the landscape, with orchards just breaking into bloom; the slow winding rivers, with their willowy, reedy banks; the beautiful half-timbered manors and farms and the thatched cottages set in a tangle of greenery, made an ideal picture of English country life. They saw it at the cream of the year, in all the glory of spring tints and blossoms, and even if showers came on they put up the hood of the car and whisked along wet roads, admiring the freshness of the rain-washed leaves and the effects of gathering storm-clouds over distant hills. They were a full day's journey beyond Stratford when suddenly there happened that most common misfortune to motorists, "something wrong with the car". Giles just managed to run her into the nearest village, then, stopping at the inn, he sent for the services of the blacksmith, who was somewhat of a mechanic, and with his aid set to work on repairs. Leaving Giles, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, crawling under the car and getting exceedingly oily and dusty in the process, the rest of the party set off to explore the neighbourhood on foot. The village was so charming that they could really hardly grumble at being held up there. Each cottage seemed a picture, with its thatched or red-tiled roof, black-and-white walls, creeper-covered porch, and gay little garden. So luxuriant were the flowers that they even strayed through the railings and made bright borders among the grass at the edge of the road; forget-me-nots were mixed up with dandelions, and wallflowers bloomed side by side with dead-nettles.
At the end of the village, on a rise overlooking the river, stood the parish church, a grey, old Early-English building whose priceless architecture had mercifully not been tampered with by the ruthless hand of the so-called restorer. With a little difficulty Lenox found the cottage of the caretaker, whose wife presently came up clanking the big keys and unlocked the west door for them. The interior was most beautiful: the graceful sandstone pillars, the interlacing arches, the delicate tracery of the windows with their old stained glass, the black oak roof, the carved choir stalls, the ancient rood-screen, the blazoned shields and faded banners, the Lancastrian tombs and the Elizabethan brasses, all combined to give that atmosphere which Milton expressed in his Il Penseroso; and as the afternoon sunlight flooded through the old stained glass, and cast blue and crimson gleams on the tiled floor of the chancel, the glorious building seemed like the prayers of many generations crystallized into stone.
Their guide, a young woman in a sun-bonnet, took them round to show them the various points of interest. It was when they had duly examined the banners and the Norman font, the carving on the miserere seats and the motto on the base of the lectern, and had listened rather wearily to the sing-song description of them poured out, like a lesson learned by rote, from the lips of their conductress, that in the side chapel they came face to face with an ancient tomb. It was an unusually beautiful one, carved in marble, probably by some Italian master-craftsman of the late fifteenth century. A knight clad in full armour lay stretched out in his last sleep; his clasped hands rested over the good sword whose handle formed a cross upon his breast; the attitude of the inclined head and the sculpture of the strong, lined, noble face in its utter repose were magnificent, and recalled the marvellous art that created the busts of the emperors in the days of Rome's zenith. Round the base of the tomb were small figures in the costume of the period, somewhat defaced and worn, with finely-carved pilasters between the panels. At the end was a coat of arms.