Mulock_John_Halifax_Gentleman.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
under the ash-tree, the sun making still
whiter 's white shawl, brightening the marriage ring on her
bare hand, and throwing, instead of silver, some of their boyish gold
colour into the edges of 's curls--this picture see with my
shut eyes, vivid as yesterday.
sat for some time in my room--then came to fetch me for our
customary walk along his favourite "terrace" on the . rarely
liked to miss it--he said the day hardly seemed complete or perfect
unless one had seen the sun set. , almost every evening, we used
to spend an hour or more, pacing up and down, or sitting in that
little hollow under the brow of the , where, as from the topmost
seat of a natural amphitheatre, one could see and the
old well-head where the cattle drank; our own green garden-gate, the
dark mass of the beech-wood, and far away beyond that ,
where the sun went down.
, having walked somewhat less time than usual, for the evening
was warm and it had been a fatiguing day, and sat down
together. talked a little, ramblingly--chiefly of --how
was to have my old room again--and how a new nursery was to be
planned for the grandchildren.
" can't get out of the way of children, see clearly," he said,
laughing. " shall have just as full as ever it was, all
summer time. in winter we'll be quiet, and sit by the chimney-
corner, and plunge into my dusty desert of books--eh, ?
shall help me to make notes for those lectures have intended giving
at , these ten years past. we'll rub up our old
, and dip into modern poetry--great rubbish, fear!
like our old friend of , or even your namesake, worthy
."
reminded him of the "'s life and fate," which he always
liked so much, and used to say was his ideal of peaceful happiness.
", and think so still. ' true to the dreams of thy youth,'
saith the old ; have not been false to mine. have had a
happy life, thank ; ay, and what few men can say, it has been the
very sort of happiness myself would have chosen. think most
lives, if, while faithfully doing our little best, day by day, we
were content to leave their thread in wiser hands than ours, would
thus weave themselves out; until, looked back upon as a whole, they
would seem as bright a web as mine."
sat, talking thus, resting his chin on his hands--his eyes, calm
and sweet, looking out westward--where the sun was about an hour from
the horizon.
" you remember how we used to lie on the grass in your father's
garden, and how we never could catch the sunset except in fragments
between the abbey trees! wonder if they keep the yew hedge clipped
as round as ever."
told him had said to-day that some strange tenants were going
to make an inn of the old house, and turn the lawn into a bowling-
green.
" a shame! wish could prevent it. yet, perhaps not," he
added, after a silence. " we not rather to recognise and submit
to the universal law of change? each in his place is fulfilling
his day, and passing away, just as that sun is passing. we know
not whither he passes; while whither we go we know, and the we
know--the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
before he had done speaking--( grant that in the
may hear that voice, not a tone altered-- would not wish it altered
even there)--a whole troop of our young people came out of . 's
cottage, and nodded to us from below.
was . , standing talking to the good old soul, who
admired her baby-boy very much, but wouldn't allow there could be any
children like . 's children.
was , deep in converse with his brother , while beside
them--prettier and younger-looking than ever-- was
making a posy for little .
down the slope, walking slowly, side by side, evidently
seeing nobody but one another, were another couple.
" think, sometimes, , that those two, and , will be
the happiest of all the children."
smiled, looked after them for a minute, and then laid himself
quietly down on his back along the slope, his eyes still directed
towards the sunset. , brightening as it descended, the sun shone
level upon the place where we were sitting, saw pull his broad
straw hat over his face, and compose himself, with both hands clasped
upon his breast, in the attitude of sleep.
knew he was very tired, so spoke no more, but threw my cloak over
him. looked up, thanked me silently, with his old familiar smile.
day--one day shall know him by that smile! sat half an hour
or more watching the sun, which sank steadily, slowly, round, and
red, without a single cloud. , as had never before seen
it; so clear, that one could note the very instant its disc touched
the horizon's grey.
and . were coming up the slope. beckoned them to
come softly, not to disturb the father. and sat in silence,
facing the west. sun journeyed down to his setting--lower--
lower; there was a crescent, a line, a dim sparkle of light; then--he
was gone. still we sat--grave, but not sad--looking into the
brightness he had left behind; believing, yea, knowing, we should see
his glorious face again to-morrow.
" cold it has grown," said . " think we ought to wake my
father."
went up to him, laid her hand upon his, that were folded together
over the cloak--drew back startled--alarmed.
"!"
put the child aside. was who moved the hat from 's face--
face--for himself was far, far away. from us unto
whose faithful servant he was. he was sleeping thus the
had called him.
two sons carried him down the slope. laid him in the upper
room in . 's cottage. went home to tell his wife.
* * *
was at last composed, as we thought, lying on her bed, death-like
almost, but calm. was ten o'clock at night. left her with all
her children watching round her.
went out, up to , to sit an hour by myself alone,
looking at him whom should not see again for--as he had said--"a
little while."
" little while--a little while." comforted myself with those
words. fancied could almost hear saying them, standing near
me, with his hand on my shoulder. himself, quite distinct from
that which lay so still before me; beautiful as nothing but death can
be, younger much than he had looked this very morning--younger by
twenty years.
, ! , my more than brother! is but for a
little while.
sat, thinking how peacefully the hands lay, clasped together
still, how sweet was the expression of the close mouth, and what a
strange shadowy likeness the whole face bore to 's little face,
which had seen resting in the same deep rest on the same pillow;
some one touched me. was . .
she came do not know; nor how she had managed to steal out from
among her children. how she, who had not walked for weeks, had
found her way up hither, in the dark, all alone. what strength,
almost more than mortal, helped her to stand there, as she did stand,
upright and calm--gazing--gazing as had done.
" is very like him; don't you think so, ?" voice low
and soft, unbroken by any sob. " once told me, in case of--this,
he would rather did not come and look at him; but can, you see."
gave her my place, and she sat down by the bed. might have been
ten minutes or more that she and remained thus, without exchanging
a word.
" think hear some one at the door. , will you call in the
children?"
, altogether overcome, knelt down beside his mother, and besought
her to let him take her home.
"--presently, my son. are very good to me; but--your
father. , come in and look at your father."
all gathered round her--weeping; but she spoke without single
tear.
" was a girl, younger than any of you, when first met your father.
month we shall have been married thirty-three years. -
three years."
eyes grew dreamy, as if fancy had led her back all that space of
time; her fingers moved to and fro, mechanically, over her wedding-
ring.
", we were so happy, you cannot tell. was so good; he
loved me so. than that, he made me good; that was why loved
him. , what his love was to me from the first! strength, hope,
peace; comfort and help in trouble, sweetness in prosperity. my
life became happy and complete--how grew worthier to myself because
he had taken me for his own! what was--, no one but
me ever knew all his goodness, no one but himself ever knew how
dearly loved your father. were more precious each to each than
anything on earth; except service, who gave us to one another."
voice dropped all but inaudible; but she roused herself, and made
it once more clear and firm, the mother's natural voice.
", , all of you, must never forget your father. must do
as he wishes, and live as he lived--in all ways. must love him,
and love one another. , you will never do anything that need
make you ashamed to meet your father."
they hung round her she kissed them all--her three sons and her
daughter, one by one; then, her mind being perhaps led astray by the
room we were in, looked feebly round for one more child--remembered--
smiled--
" glad her father will be to have her again--his own little
."
"! mother darling! come home," whispered , almost in a sob.
mother stooped over him, gave him one kiss more--him her
favourite of all her children--and repeated the old phrase:
", presently! go away, all of you; want to be left
for a little, alone with my husband."
we went out, saw her turn toward the bed--", !"
same tone, almost the same words, with which she had crept up to him
years before, the day they were betrothed. a low, low murmur,
like a tired child creeping to fond protecting arms. ", !"
closed the door. all sat on the stairs outside; it might have
been for minutes, it might have been for hours. or without--
no one spoke--nothing stirred.
last softly went in.
was still in the same place by the bed-side, but half lying on
the bed, as had seen her turn when was shutting the door.
arm was round her husband's neck; her face, pressed inwards to the
pillow, was nestled close to his hair. might have been asleep--
both of them.
of her children called her, but she neither answered nor stirred.
lifted her up, very tenderly; his mother, who had no stay left
but him--his mother--a widow--
, thank ! she was not a widow now.