“‘Like rats out of a burning corn-stack,’ said I.
“‘I do wish I had been with you,’ said the old man; ‘I would have set up a halloo that would have rung in Willie’s ears till—till—till he gets Coniston Hall!’ and he laughed once more till his sides shook again.
“His mood, however, was soon changed into sober sadness, when I proceeded to explain to him how the handsome stranger had won the heart of my poor sister Martha, and how deeply and unchangeably I feared her affections were engaged. Martha was a great favourite with Mr. Walker, as indeed she was with every one who knew her; and he saw at once the difficulty of her situation. ‘Poor thing!’ said he, with a deep expression of melancholy foreboding on his countenance, ‘what is to become of her! I know her well: she has not given her heart hastily, nor hastily will she withdraw it. What a fiend he must be to steal the affections of one so good, so innocent, and so confiding! Bad men are always selfish; and with all his professions of zeal for the liberty and instruction of mankind, he could not forget his own interests, or restrain his passions. ’Tis always thus; they who deal with evil on a large scale, are almost sure to indulge in a little private vice on their own account! Yet why condemn him hastily? The man that could win the heart of our Martha must have in him something that is plausible at least, if not estimable. She would not give away her diamonds for Irton pearls. [78] Who knows but the believing maiden may be even now converting the unbelieving lover? I will speak to her on the subject, and that before I am a day older. I think, my young friend, she will not hesitate to confess to me her inmost thoughts?’
“‘I will answer for that,’ said I; ‘but how is the interview to be brought about? I shrink from entering upon the subject with her myself, and should be the unwilling bearer of any message which might lead her to suspect that I had in any way played a false part towards her.’
“‘Leave that to me,’ said the old man, ‘I see no difficulty in the matter.’ He turned to his little writing-table, which drew out from beneath his book shelves, (for we were in his little room on the top of the house which he had fitted up for his private study,) and wrote as follows:
“‘My dear Martha,
I wish to see you tomorrow on particular business, and at eleven o’clock. Bring your brother with you as a companion by the way. Your affectionate Pastor,
Robert Walker.’
“This note removed every difficulty at once, as far as I was concerned. I was thus not supposed to have any knowledge whatever of the occasion of this summons, but was merely to be an attendant on my sister’s steps. Now, sir, it is very remarkable, and I have never since been able to account for it, that though I have generally well remembered (as you have heard) the state of the sky and weather, and the little incidents of the journey, on every other occasion that I have thought of sufficient importance to relate to you, (for such things always make a deep impression on the mind of a mountaineer,) yet, on this occasion—one of the last that I shall ever forget—the whole landscape is to me a perfect blank, and I have not the slightest recollection of any single event that occurred from the moment when poor Martha and I left our father’s door, to that when we stood before the parsonage of Seathwaite, and were welcomed by Robert Walker into his dark and spacious dining-room! That welcome, and the soft yet somewhat melancholy smile on his countenance, I shall never forget. As we stood together, looking out from the long low window on the rich landscape before us, we saw the handsome stranger cross the little foot-bridge that led from the other side of the Duddon to the Parsonage, and make his way directly for the door of the house. Martha, who was the first to observe him, turned very pale, as if on the point of fainting, and said in an anxious low voice to Mr. Walker, ‘I cannot meet him here!’ and made for the door as if to escape. The old man laid his hand gently on her arm and said, ‘You are too late to avoid him, but go behind the squab if you wish not to be seen; you will be safe enough there.’
“This squab was a long oaken seat, or settle, with a high wooden back, running from the fire-place half way down the middle of the room. I dare say such seats (and very uncomfortable they are) are still to be found in most of the old farm-houses in the North.
“The stranger entered as Martha disappeared; and I was very much struck with the ease and grace of his manner. He wore the look and air of one who was on the best possible terms with himself and all the world. Much as I felt disposed to dislike him, I could not help admiring both his person and address. There was an awkwardness and nervous action about Mr. Walker, which I now observed for the first time, that showed to great disadvantage when compared with the stranger’s ease and self-possession.
“After courteously placing a seat for his visitor, Mr. Walker took his accustomed place in his arm-chair in the corner, and then his wonted calmness and dignity at once returned. The stranger was the first to break the silence.