. . . . . . . . .
Summer in England! What an idyllic season it was. Now these young people from a far country began to realise the immense, the incalculable superiority of a land with a thousand years of history behind it! Think of it—dwell on it—try to grasp the immeasurable distinction of belonging to such a kingdom, if not born within its sea-bordered, sheltered bounds! Consider the inviolate sea! Behold the land where no foe has set unconquered foot since great Alfred drove Dane and Norseman far from her cliffs and beaches. The land where nobles and commoners, alike resentful of tyranny, refused to wait till constitutional resistance ripened into rebellion, but stood strong, patient, though menacing, till an overawed tyrant signed the great Charter of Runnymede, which for all time gave pledge and assurance of that justice never more to be delayed or bartered to the commons of England; not alone to them, but to the states, possessions, nations [354] ]planted by her hand, and, except by their own act and deed, secure of that priceless heritage for all time.
How they enjoyed, how they admired and appreciated, all the feelings so characteristic of home life of which they had read and heard about since earliest childhood. The corn, the hayfields, with harvesters, gleaners, and nut-brown maids—wondering at the abundance of female labour, so unusual in the colonies, where women are too scarce and valuable to do field or dairy work for employers outside of the family circle. ‘Oh, the greenery of England! words cannot describe it!’ as an Australian lady exclaimed during her first summer in the ancestral home. ‘The delicious shadowy woodland, where, if the season be propitious, there comes not any wind or rain, where the green turf is a velvet carpet, flower-bespangled like an oriental purdah. Where the wood-rose and eglantine, daffodil and primrose, violet and woodbine, grace each cottage home!’
. . . . . . . . .
The greater number of the amusements and occupations proper to the summer time had been availed of and thoroughly enjoyed, when word came from Bruges that Lady Hexham had decided to accept Mrs. Banneret’s kind invitation to spend a fortnight with her at Hexham Hall. It would fit in with her arrangements (she said) inasmuch as she was coming over with her daughter, who was to stay on a visit to a relative for the remainder of the season, as their doctor believed a change would be beneficial. She would like to see her old home [355] ]again, and Lord Hexham would remain in charge of the family while she was absent.
The missive was answered promptly, to the effect that Mrs. Banneret would be charmed to receive the Countess, and trusted that she would make Hexham her home as long as it suited her to remain in England, and would by no means confine her visit to the term mentioned. Great was the excitement which prevailed in the village of Hexham (the news having leaked out through some of the retainers still in service at the Hall) when the carriage and waggonette drove up to the station, and Lady Hexham, with her daughter and maid, descended. They were met and warmly welcomed by Mrs. Banneret and Hermione, but before they could reach the carriage there was a perfect rush to intercept them, headed by superannuated retainers still resident in the village, who begged, some indeed with tears, to be permitted to pay ‘their respects,’ as they expressed it, to their former mistress and her daughter. It was touching to witness the deep feeling of these survivals of a long-past feudal era. They were not permitted to kneel, but it was seen how much in accordance with their feelings this act of homage would have been.
‘Oh, milady! oh, milady!’ exclaimed the aged ex-gardener and his wife, in chorus with an infirm stable-helper, a keeper with one arm, and a deaf laundress. ‘What a mercy that ever we should ha’ lived to see your Ladyship and Miss Corisande. The Lord above be thanked for it, and bless His holy name!’
[356]
]Lady Hexham had been a proud woman, and bore herself so even yet, through all the years of her comparative poverty; but the tears filled her eyes as she saw the servitors of their former state and grandeur make lowly obeisance before her.
‘Well, Benson? How d’ye do, Markham? Glad to see you all looking so well—and Peggy, and Mrs. Turton, too. I must come and see you in a day or two—I was afraid I should find some of you in the poorhouse.’
‘Yes, milady,’ said an ancient dame, whose gnarled weather-worn features betokened the octogenarian, ‘and so we should ha’ been, only for Madam here, and Muster Banneret; they wouldn’t let none on us go as ’ad bin old servants at the Hall. They found us work about the place—same as we’d bin used to.’