The two girls met no living soul on their way back to the rectory. They let themselves in noiselessly; they stole upstairs unheard—the breaking morning gave them what light they needed. Shirley sought her couch immediately; and though the room was strange—for she had never slept at the rectory before—and though the recent scene was one unparalleled for excitement and terror by any it had hitherto been her lot to witness, yet scarce was her head laid on the pillow ere a deep, sleep closed her eyes and calmed her senses.
Perfect health was Shirley's enviable portion. Though warm-hearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous; powerful emotions could rouse and sway without exhausting her spirit. The tempest troubled and shook her while it lasted, but it left her unbent, and her freshness quite unblighted. As every day brought her emotion, so every night yielded her recreating rest. Caroline now watched her sleeping, and read the of her mind in the beauty of her happy .
For herself, being of a different , she could not sleep. The commonplace excitement of the tea-drinking and school-gathering would alone have sufficed to make her restless all night; the effect of the terrible drama which had just been before her eyes was not likely to quit her for days. It was vain even to try to retain a recumbent ; she sat up by Shirley's side, counting the slow minutes, and watching the June sun mount the heavens.
Life wastes fast in such vigils as Caroline had of late but too often kept—vigils during which the mind, having no pleasant food to nourish it, no manna of hope, no hived-honey of memories, tries to live on the meagre diet of wishes, and failing to thence either delight or support, and feeling itself ready to perish with want, turns to philosophy, to resolution, to resignation;307 calls on all these gods for aid, calls vainly—is unheard, unhelped, and .
Caroline was a ; therefore in trouble she framed many a prayer after the Christian , preferred it with deep earnestness, begged for patience, strength, relief. This world, however, we all know, is the scene of trial and ; and, for any result her petitions had yet , it seemed to her that they were unheard and unaccepted. She believed, sometimes, that God had turned His face from her. At moments she was a Calvinist, and, sinking into the of religious despair, she saw darkening over her the of .
Most people have had a period or periods in their lives when they have felt thus forsaken—when, having long hoped against hope, and still seen the day of fruition , their hearts have truly sickened within them. This is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which precedes the rise of day—that turn of the year when the icy January wind carries over the waste at once the of departing winter and the prophecy of coming spring. The perishing birds, however, cannot thus understand the blast before which they shiver; and as little can the suffering soul recognize, in the of its affliction, the dawn of its deliverance. Yet, let whoever grieves still cling fast to love and faith in God. God will never deceive, never finally desert him. "Whom He loveth, He chasteneth." These words are true, and should not be forgotten.
The household was astir at last; the servants were up; the were opened below. Caroline, as she quitted the couch, which had been but a one to her, felt that of spirits which the return of day, of action, gives to all but the wholly despairing or actually dying. She dressed herself, as usual, carefully, trying so to arrange her hair and that nothing of the forlornness she felt at heart should be visible externally. She looked as fresh as Shirley when both were dressed, only that Miss Keeldar's eyes were lively, and Miss Helstone's languid.
"To-day I shall have much to say to Moore," were Shirley's first words; and you could see in her face that life was full of interest, expectation, and occupation for her. "He will have to undergo cross-examination," she added. "I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me cleverly. And this is the way men deal with women—still danger from them—thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain.308 They imagined we little knew where they were to-night. We know they little where we were. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds something like those of children. Now, that is a mistake."
This was said as she stood at the glass, training her naturally waved hair into curls, by twining it round her fingers. She took up the theme again five minutes after, as Caroline fastened her dress and clasped her girdle.
"If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women. They do not read them in a true light; they misapprehend them, both for good and evil. Their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. Then to hear them fall into with each other's creations—worshipping the heroine of such a poem, novel, drama—thinking it fine, divine! Fine and divine it may be, but often quite artificial—false as the rose in my best there. If I all I think on this point, if I gave my real opinion of some first-rate female characters in first-rate works, where should I be? Dead under a cairn of stones in half an hour."
"Shirley, you so, I can't fasten you. Be still. And, after all, authors' heroines are almost as good as authoresses' heroes."
"Not at all. Women read men more truly than men read women. I'll prove that in a magazine paper some day when I've time; only it will never be inserted. It will be 'declined with thanks,' and left for me at the publisher's."
"To be sure. You could not write cleverly enough. You don't know enough. You are not learned, Shirley."
"God knows I can't contradict you, Cary; I'm as ignorant as a stone. There's one comfort, however: you are not much better."
They to breakfast.
"I wonder how Mrs. Pryor and Hortense Moore have passed the night," said Caroline, as she made the coffee. "Selfish being that I am, I never thought of either of them till just now. They will have heard all the , Fieldhead and the cottage are so near; and Hortense is timid in such matters—so, no doubt, is Mrs. Pryor."
"Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have to get his sister out of the way. She went home with Miss309 Mann. He will have quartered her there for the night. As to Mrs. Pryor, I own I am uneasy about her; but in another half-hour we will be with her."
By this time the news of what had happened at the Hollow was spread all over the neighbourhood. Fanny, who had been to Fieldhead to fetch the milk, returned in panting haste with tidings that there had been a battle in the night at Mr. Moore's mill, and that some said twenty men were killed. Eliza, during Fanny's absence, had been by the butcher's boy that the mill was burnt to the ground. Both women rushed into the parlour to announce these terrible facts to the ladies, terminating their clear and accurate by the assertion that they were sure master must have been in it all. He and Thomas, the clerk, they were confident, must have gone last night to join Mr. Moore and the soldiers. Mr. Malone, too, had not been heard of at his since yesterday afternoon; and Joe Scott's wife and family were in the greatest , wondering what had become of their head.
Scarcely was this information imparted when a knock at the kitchen door announced the Fieldhead errand-boy, arrived in hot haste, bearing a billet from Mrs. Pryor. It was hurriedly written, and urged Miss Keeldar to return directly, as the neighbourhood and the house seemed likely to be all in confusion, and orders would have to be given which the mistress of the hall alone could regulate. In a it was that Miss Helstone might not be left alone at the rectory. She had better, it was suggested, accompany Miss Keeldar.
"There are not two opinions on that head," said Shirley, as she tied on her own bonnet, and then ran to fetch Caroline's.
"But what will Fanny and Eliza do? And if my uncle returns?"
"Your uncle will not return yet; he has other fish to fry. He will be and forwards from Briarfield to Stilbro' all day, rousing the in the court-house and the officers at the barracks; and Fanny and Eliza can have in Joe Scott's and the clerk's wives to bear them company. Besides, of course, there is no real danger to be now. Weeks will elapse before the rioters can again rally, or plan any other attempt; and I am much mistaken if Moore and Mr. Helstone will not take advantage of last night's outbreak to them altogether. They will frighten the authorities of Stilbro'310 into energetic measures. I only hope they will not be too severe—not pursue the too ."
"Robert will not be cruel. We saw that last night," said Caroline.
"But he will be hard," retorted Shirley; "and so will your uncle."
As they hurried along the meadow and path to Fieldhead, they saw the distant highway already alive with an unwonted flow of and , tending in the direction of the usually Hollow. On reaching the hall, they found the backyard gates open, and the court and kitchen seemed crowded with excited milk-fetchers—men, women, and children—whom Mrs. Gill, the , appeared vainly persuading to take their milk-cans and depart. (It is, or was, by-the-bye, the custom in the north of England for the cottagers on a country squire's estate to receive their supplies of milk and butter from the dairy of the house, on whose pastures a of milch kine was usually fed for the convenience of the neighbourhood. Miss Keeldar owned such a herd—all deep-dewlapped, Craven cows, reared on the sweet herbage and clear waters of bonny Airedale; and very proud she was of their aspect and high condition.) Seeing now the state of matters, and that it was desirable to effect a of the , Shirley stepped in amongst the gossiping groups. She bade them good-morning with a certain frank, ease—the natural characteristic of her manner when she addressed numbers, especially if those numbers belonged to the working-class; she was cooler amongst her equals, and rather proud to those above her. She then asked them if they had all got their milk measured out; and understanding that they had, she further observed that she "wondered what they were waiting for, then."
"We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been at your mill, mistress," replied a man.
"Talking a bit! Just like you!" said Shirley. "It is a queer thing all the world is so fond of talking over events. You talk if anybody dies suddenly; you talk if a fire breaks out; you talk if a mill-owner fails; you talk if he's murdered. What good does your talking do?"
There is nothing the lower orders like better than a little downright good-humoured rating. Flattery they scorn very much; honest abuse they enjoy. They call it speaking plainly, and take a sincere delight in being the objects311 thereof. The harshness of Miss Keeldar's salutation won her the ear of the whole in a second.
"We're no war nor some 'at is aboon us, are we?" asked a man, smiling.
"Nor a better. You that should be models of industry are just as gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich people that have nothing to do may be partly excused for their time away; you who have to earn your bread with the sweat of your brow are quite inexcusable."
"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday because we work hard?"
"Never," was the prompt answer; "unless," added the "mistress," with a smile that half the severity of her speech—"unless you knew how to make a better use of it than to get together over rum and tea if you are women, or over beer and pipes if you are men, and talk scandal at your neighbours' expense. Come, friends," she added, changing at once from bluntness to courtesy, "oblige me by taking your cans and going home. I expect several persons to call to-day, and it will be to have the avenues to the house crowded."
Yorkshire people are as yielding to as they are stubborn against compulsion. The yard was clear in five minutes.
"Thank you, and good-bye to you, friends," said Shirley, as she closed the gates on a quiet court.
Now, let me hear the most refined of cockneys presume to find fault with Yorkshire manners. Taken as they ought to be, the majority of the lads and lasses of the West Riding are gentlemen and ladies, every inch of them. It is only against the weak affectation and of a would-be they turn .
Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through the kitchen (or house, as the inner kitchen is called) to the hall. Mrs. Pryor came running down the oak staircase to meet them. She was all unnerved; her naturally was pale; her usually , though timid, blue eye was wandering, unsettled, alarmed. She did not, however, break out into any , or hurried narrative of what had happened. Her predominant feeling had been in the course of the night, and was now this morning, a sense of dissatisfaction with herself that she could not feel firmer, cooler, more equal to the demands of the occasion.
"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice,312 and yet the most anxiety to avoid exaggeration in what she was about to say, "that a body of rioters has attacked Mr. Moore's mill to-night. We heard the firing and confus............