Queenie had plenty of time to note the surroundings, though she persisted then, and long afterwards, in regarding Hepshaw as a village, in spite of its dignity as a market-town. She admired the game-keeper's white house, set so prettily among the sycamores, or plane trees, and the picturesque police-station, with its cottage porch and bright-bordered flower-garden.
The long broad road, with its stone cottages and small substantial houses, set so snugly in patches of garden ground, pleased her greatly; everything looked so fresh and still. By-and-bye they came to the market-place, with its few bright-looking shops, and the boys' school-house; just opposite was a curious little building with small half-moon windows, that Queenie took for the market, but which proved to be the girls' school.
"I think it was used for the market once upon a time," explained Cathy; "is it not a queer little place? those high crescent-shaped windows are so absurd. Look behind you, Queen; that is the prettiest peep of all," as she pointed to some green meadows, behind which were the church, vicarage, and another house, standing high above the town, and perfectly embosomed with trees.
The road branched into two now; further on were some still more picturesque cottages, and even a villa or two, but the mare was jogging up a steep country road now, and in another moment they were driving across a tiny moat and into a court-yard, bordered with a row of dark sycamores, with a side glimpse of a steep little house adjoining the church-yard.
"Welcome to Church-Stile House. Isn't it a gloomy old place? and yet Langley and I love it. Oh! there is Langley," as a black clad figure, taller and more erect even than Cathy's, came swiftly down the garden path towards them.
"How late you all are; I have been expecting you for an hour at least. I am so glad you have come, Miss Marriott; Cathy is never weary of talking about her friends. So this is really Emmie?" kissing the child and holding, out a cordial hand to Queenie.
The voice was sweet and pleasant, the accent singularly refined; nevertheless, the first sight of Langley Clayton gave Queenie a curious shock. The likeness between the sisters was striking, but it was a likeness that pained rather than pleased; it was Cathy's face grown prematurely old, and deprived of color and animation, a face that had sharpened and grown weary under the pressure of some carking care; the eyes were gentle, but unrestful; the long wave of hair worn over the forehead in Cathy's style was mixed with grey. The touch of the thin hot hand lingered long on Queenie's palm.
"I am so glad, so very glad, you have come," repeated Langley, with a soft flickering smile. This flickering smile was peculiar to Langley; it was all that ever broke up the subdued gravity of manner habitual to her. Queenie soon discovered that she never laughed; when pleased or excited this odd uncertain smile would play tremulously round the mouth for a moment and then fade away.
"It is so good of you to have us," returned Queenie, feeling strangely subdued all of a sudden, as she followed Langley's tall figure into the square little hall, and then into a sitting-room, pleasantly littered with books and work, and with a certain old-fashioned cosiness in its arrangements. The deep basket-work chairs, lined with chintz cushions, looked deliciously inviting, and so did the low couch and reading-table. One high narrow window commanded a view of the steep little lawn, running down to the lane; the other, to Queenie's surprise, opened full on the church-yard. Within a few feet were tall palings, and a granite obelisk; then some sparsely-scattered tombstones, and a long terrace bordered by sycamores, and known by the name of the plane-tree walk.
"I am afraid it strikes you as very dismal," said Langley, softly, as they stood together at the windows; "most people consider the obelisk a great eyesore. A few years ago there was not a single tombstone; it is only now that they have begun to use the church-yard. It was just the church, and the green, and the plane-tree walk; it was our garden then."