CHAPTER XI
MELICENT'S COUSINS
"Girls' heads are not like jam-pots, which, if you do not fill them will remain empty; a filling there will be, of some kind."—JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
They had been crawling for some time slowly up a steep lane with hedges; now suddenly they emerged at the top, and a long sigh of wonder escaped Millie as she saw the moorland spread before her in all its untamed splendour. Great headlands, facing northwards, jutted forth into the heather, as into a purple sea; and on the brink of one of these the travellers found themselves, overlooking a vast stretch of wild country. The descent down which they must go was almost a precipice. Something in the keen racing air, the height, the freedom, the glory of it all, took Melicent by the throat England was like this—like this! Sunlight, colour, the adorable odour of peat and bracken, drawn out by the sun, the blue mysteries of distance ... it came about her like compelling arms. Solitude, silence, spacious calm—here were elements that appealed to the depth of her being. Reserved as she was, she had nearly cried aloud to her unknown uncle for sympathy in her sudden rush of feeling for the land of her forefathers. He had checked the mare to a walk, and was coaxing her downhill with caution and skill.
"Our roads are not much to boast of hereabouts," he said at last, as the cart slewed itself over a lump in the road, designed to prevent heavy rainfall from washing out the roadway on the violent slope. "But I daresay you are not much better off in Africa."
"Not much to boast of! They are glorious!" breathed Millie, insensible of jolting in her admiration. "We have nothing like this in Africa!"
"A few miles further on, I can show you a road, compared with which, this might be a billiard-table," he said cheerfully.
Millie became aware that he referred to surface and gradients, and not to landscape.
"Oh, I see," she replied lamely. "I was thinking of—of the heather."
"You will see plenty of that," was the composed answer. "It begins to grow all over the road, at no great distance from here."
Conversation did not seem easy. Millie was at no time talkative, and they fell silent, and so remained while they traversed several miles of open moor, crossed a desolate ridge, and presently found themselves dipping again into a lane with hedges, in all their autumn glory of ripe blackberries, fluffy travellers' joy, coral honeysuckle berries and wayfaring tree.