Every one was soon persuaded, very willingly, that it would be simple madness for Dorothy to go back alone to the sad house at Morechester.
'We couldn't think for an instant of suffering such a thing, Mrs. Janet, neither I, nor yet my master; and then, Furzy Nook will be so handy, "somebody" can get to see her every day!' and the old dame nodded slyly to Master Caleb, who did not see her, and then looked across kindly at the farmer, remembering how he used to come a-courting in the summer evenings, so many, many years ago.
The troth plight had scarcely been given and received—the engaged pair had but half begun to realise that they were to belong to each other some day, before Dame Foster had mentally frosted over the huge wedding-cake, and doomed to death the fat capons that were to grace the marriage feast.
It was a proud day on which Master Caleb brought his betrothed to see the Castle. He whispered to me that he had waited for a fine day. Truly he had chosen happily. The ruins were all a-glow with burning sunlight. Our grey towers looked set in warmth and colour. Orange wall-flower, tufts of scarlet poppies, feathery silver grasses, golden dandelions, had forced their way through crevices in the old walls; downy thistles shone with their purple blossoms, crimson woodbine went climbing where it would. Covering all grew the many-hued mosses and lichens, russet and grey, golden, red and brown.
Glittering light here and there; violet shadows; brilliant butterflies hovering over the clover tufts; the warm fragrance of wild thyme; a few sheep cropping the short grass, one of them carrying a bell that tinkled lazily and pleasantly as he moved.
Yes, it was a good day for Mistress Dorothy, to see it all. Master Caleb took her round very slowly, stopping often. We saw him pointing and explaining, drawing lines in the air with a stick, to show where broken fragments of stone told of fallen buildings and grass-grown banquetting halls.
'Poor thing!' said Cuthbert, as we stood watching them from the mound.
'Why poor thing?' I asked indignantly.
'He's teaching her,' Cuthbert said, in a melancholy voice; 'I suppose he's always at it.'
'I tell you she likes it.'