CHAPTER I. IMPULSES. "Then crouch no more on suppliant knee, WORDSWORTH. LIFE at Cleveden was rather a triste affair during the spring that followed Abel Kirke's death and his daughter's departure. The crocuses bloomed in the little front gardens, the orchards grew white, the woods and the fields grew greener; and the water rushed down by the mill with a fuller sound after the heavy April showers. If you cared for such things as these the little place was pleasant; but there were some for whom these were not enough. A nine days' wonder served for twenty-seven days at Cleveden, unless it was superseded by a new one. And this was rare. Topics died out of themselves after passing through any and every phase they might admit of. Impressions were weakened. Facts were forgotten. The village mind was depressed from mere lack of new emotion. In the absence of incident in the present, people were driven to the conjecture of incident in the future; and, truth to say, for certain of these conjectures there was sufficient ground. The friendship between Miss Kabury and the Miss Staniers appeared to be of the warmest. It was whispered that Charlotte Kabury took tea at the Poplars at least three times a week. And Fred Stanier bore with wonderful good-nature Captain Clarke's badinage about his frequent visits to Stonebrig Heights; though the said badinage was not of a very refined nature, and was indulged in mainly in a public billiard-room over at Port St. Hilda. There is nothing to prevent people from putting two and two together, you know," was the remark of one sagacious observer. At last an event occurred-trivial, and not new, yet still an event. Anthony Rede was seen one April morning at the station; subsequently, it became known that he had taken a ticket for Netherton-le-Moors. True, it was acknowledged that Netherton was the nearest station to Bent Brow, the farm owned by Mrs. Rede, and it was also acknowledged that business had frequently taken him in the VOL. II. 7 |