CHAPTER XVI
THE BREAKING OF BOUNDS
"And I, so young then, was not sullen. Soon
I used to get up early, just to sit
And watch the morning quicken in the grey,
And hear the silence open like a flower,
Leaf after leaf—and stroke with listless hand
The woodbine through the window."
—ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
Melicent's little bedroom was her sole refuge; and this her aunt, in her petty tyranny, denied her as often as she could. It was her theory that solitude was bad for girls. She liked them to be always herded together, under the eye of Tommy or one of their parents. Melicent must work, write, read, in the constant babble and racket of the schoolroom. The first time she found her niece curled up in the window-seat of her own room with a book, she swooped upon her with her sweetest smile, to see what the volume was. On discovering it to be "Alison's History of Europe," she shifted her attack from the reading to the spot where it took place. It was a draughty window; dear Melicent had better go into the warm schoolroom.
Melicent felt her tongue tingle to resent this aimless autocracy. The window of her little room was dear to her. It overlooked the grey stable-yard, with the glowing copper of autumn beeches, the dazzling gold of birches, peeping over the further wall, flanked by black Scotch firs, whose trunks seemed to glow red-hot when the sun was in the west; and behind them lay the long purple ridge—Weary Ridge—that fenced Fransdale away from the world on the eastern side.
The window was quite close to one inner corner of the quadrangle formed by the house and outbuildings. At right angles to it was the warm, dry, stone barn, on the upper floor of which the old mare's fodder was stored. There was a door, the upper half of which had a wooden shutter, on a level with Melicent's casement; and running up to this, one of those exterior flights of stone steps, so common in Cleveshire stable-yards.
Melicent felt sure that it would not be difficult, if there were something to hold by, to swing herself out of the window, upon the rectangular slab of stone, which was only a little to the left. In this way she could get out, if ever her longing for a solitary ramble overcame her. The gate of the yard was locked at night, but she knew were the key hung; and at times her longing to be free and away on the magical moors was like a voice calling, or a force drawing her.
There were only four windows overlooking the stable-yard; one was on the landing, one was her own, and the remaining two belonged to the boys' room, which was of course, during term, untenanted.
On Thursday night, her head full of what Mr. Dow had said about Gwen, she found herself unable to sleep, and actually carried out her plan. There was a staple, securely fixed in the wall, just by her window. To this she firmly attached a bit of rope's end with a loop. Sitting on the sill, and jumping lightly to the left, she alighted on the verge of the stone slab, and, holding firmly to her rope, swung herself round, got her balance, and stood safely. It was easy to slip round the two dark sides of the yard and open the gate. When it was shut behind her, and she stood under the wall, in the grass of the church meadow, she felt herself swallowed up in the immensity of the night.
For an hour she wandered in the little wood, and sat by the side of the tributary beck, rushing noisily over its stony bed to join the trout stream below. Then, no longer restless, she quietly returned, accomplished, not without difficulty, her re-entry, and creeping into bed, was instantly asleep.