"Is the coach come?" she asked, as if not fully aware of how short a space of time had elapsed since she gave her orders.
"No, my lady," replied the waiting-woman "it is not time yet. But, as your ladyship has not been well, would it not be better to delay your journey till to-morrow?"
"Not an hour--not a minute!" replied Lady Coldenham, sternly; and, rising up from her chair as stately as ever, she said, "You may withdraw. Let me know when dinner is ready."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The sun set slowly, and somewhat dimly too over a wide, extensive, melancholy-looking plain in the west of England. Two persons gazed over the wide expanse from the windows of a tolerably comfortable farmhouse situated on the first slope of a rising ground to the eastward. Nothing could appear more dreary and hopeless than the aspect of the scene before their eyes. The general face of the country for some miles to the westward was completely flat, rather hollowed out than otherwise, looking much like a Dutch landscape, where a wide tract of country, rescued from the sea, continually forces upon the mind of the spectator the impression that at any time the sea may break in again and recover its own. I know few things more desolate in appearance than one of these Dutch landscapes late in the autumn or early in the spring. There is a sort of marshy, fenny feel in the very look, which makes the mind shiver and creep, as if it got the ague before the body was sensible of it. But even a Dutch landscape had the advantage over that which lay beneath the eye of the traveler. The manifold wind-mills, with their arms waving in the breeze, which give a sort of merry activity to most of the Dutch pictures, were here wanting. The curious old manorial houses, very often furnished with draw-bridge and portcullis, and with clumps of old trees around them, were not to be seen. Here and there, indeed, marked out by the falling of the light and shade, a little elevated piece of ground, apparently but a few yards wide, though in reality much more extensive, rose up as a sort of island a few feet above the dull level of the plain; and there almost invariably appeared the spire of a little village church, with a low cottage or two scattered among the orchards, and the squire's or parson's house domineering over the rest. All these houses, however, in which men and women dwelt--in which every human passion had its sway--in which loves, and hates, and hopes, and ambitions, and envy, and pride, and jealousy, and enmity, and strife, and mortal struggle existed as well as in the midst of courts, seemed, to the eyes that looked upon them from the height, no larger than the smallest of a child's playthings, so completely did they sink into insignificance--lost, as it were, in the vast expanse around.
Dim, dim was the aspect of the whole scene. The setting sun, half vailed in cloud, yet partially seen through the gray covering of the sky, looked pale and wan, and of evil augury. No rosy glow accompanied his descent, till his lower limb touched the very verge of the horizon, and then two or three blood-red streaks marked the death of day, without affording one hope of brighter looks to-morrow. There were none of those strong contrasts, those deep blue shadows, and warm yellow lights, brought forth by the changeful aspect of the April or October day; but the utmost variation in the depth of hue served but to throw out, in very slight relief, the little hamlet-covered elevations I have mentioned. Perhaps, indeed, this effect was produced more by the long lines of light mist that rose up from the lower parts of the ground than by any contrast of light and shade; and the dull, leaden, cheerless, rayless look of the whole was only rendered more oppressive by two or three tall wreaths of bluish smoke which rose up here and there, several miles apart, marked out the distances, and showed how wide was the space beneath the eye.
"Somewhere here," said Ralph, "must have lain, I think, the famous isle of the Æthelings, so celebrated in our Saxon history; for this was the great marsh--at that time nearly covered with water in the winter--into which the Danes could never penetrate."
"It looks, indeed, a sad and gloomy place--the refuge of despair," replied Hortensia; and then allowing her eyes to run forward over some twelve or fourteen miles of ground, they rested upon a spot where, against the western sky, rose up a number of irregular white masses, crowned by a very tall steeple, which looked as solitary and melancholy as a column in a wilderness.
"That must be Bridgewater, I suppose," said Hortensia.
"I fancy so," answered Ralph, "but I can not tell. We will ask the good farmer;" and he was turning toward the other side of the room, where stood the door, when Hortensia stayed him, saying, "Nay, do not leave me, Ralph; I am very sad to-night. I know not why it is; but I suppose these long journeyings and wearing anxiety have fatigued me much--fatigued mind, and heart, and soul, and spirit, more than the body, for these frail limbs do not feel so weary as after the first day's journey; but there is nothing like the weariness of the spirit. It matters little whether it be Bridgewater or not--let it be what it may. We shall learn more to-morrow--"