From the lawn I led her by walks and ways forgotten since my boyhood, and since I had gone the same route with her birdnesting and nutting in those glorious Welsh woods, by hedgerows that were matted and interwoven with thorny9 brambles and bright wild-flowers, past laden10 orchards11 and picturesque12 farms, nooks that were leafy and green, and little tarns13 of gleaming water, that reflected the smiling summer sky; past meadows, where the sleek14 brown, or black, or brindled15 cattle were chewing the cud and ruminating16 knee-deep among the fragrant17 pasture; and dreamily I walked by her side, touching18 her hand from time to time, or taking it fairly in mine as of old, and occasionally enforcing what I said by a pressure of her soft arm within mine, while I talked to her, saying heaven knows what, but most ungratefully wishing all the time that she were Estelle Cressingham. All was soft and peaceful around us. The woods of Craigaderyn, glowing in the heat of the August afternoon, were hushed and still, all save the hum of insects, or if they stirred it was when the soft west wind seemed to pass through them with a languid sigh; and so some of the influences of a past time and a boyish love came over me; a time long before I had met the dazzling Estelle--a time when to me there had seemed to be but one girl in the world, and she was Winifred Lloyd--ere I joined the --th in the West Indies, or the Welsh Fusileers, and knew what the world was. I dreaded20 being betrayed into some tenderness as a treason to Lady Estelle; and fortunately we were not without some interruptions in our walk of a mile or so to visit her horned pet, whom she had sent forth21 for a last run on his native hills.
We visited Yr Ogof (or the cave) where one of her cavalier ancestors had hidden after the battle of Llandegai, in the Vale of the Ogwen, during the wars of Cromwell, and now, by local superstition22, deemed an abode23 of the knockers, those supernatural guardians24 of the mines, to whom are known all the metallic25 riches of the mountains; hideous26 pigmy gnomes27, who, though they can never be seen, are frequently heard beating, blasting, and boring with their little hammers, and singing in a language known to themselves only. Then we tarried by the heaped-up cairn that marked some long-forgotten strife28; and then by the Maen Hir, a long boulder29, under which some fabled30 giant lay; and next a great rocking stone, amid a field of beans, which we found Farmer Rhuddlan--a sturdy specimen31 of a Welsh Celt, high cheek-boned and sharp-eyed--contemplating with great satisfaction. High above the sea of green stalks towered that wizard altar, where whilom an archdruid had sat, and offered up the blood of his fellow-men to gods whose names and rites32 are alike buried in oblivion; but Strabo tells us that it was from the flowing blood of the victim that the Druidesses--virgins supposed to be endowed with the gift of prophecy--divined the events of the future; and this old stone, now deemed but a barrier to the plough, had witnessed those terrible observances.
Poised33 one block upon the other, resting on the space a sparrow alone might occupy, and having stood balanced thus mysteriously for uncounted ages, lay the rocking stone. The farmer applied34 his strong hand to the spheroidal mass, and after one or two impulses it swayed most perceptibly. Then begging me not to forget his son, who was with our Fusileers far away at Varna, he respectfully uncovered his old white head, and left us to continue his tour of the crops, but not without bestowing35 upon us a peculiar36 and knowing smile, that made the blood mantle37 in the peachlike cheeks of Winifred.
"How strange are the reflections these solemn old relics38 excite!" said she, somewhat hastily; "if, indeed, one may pretend to value or to think of such things in these days of ours, when picturesque superstition is dying and poetry is long since dead."
"Poetry dead?"
"I think it died with Byron."
"Poetry can never die while beauty exists," said I, smiling rather pointedly39 in her face.
My mind being so filled with Estelle and her fancied image, caused me to be unusually soft and tender to Winifred. I seemed to be mingling40 one woman's presence with that of another. I regarded Winifred as the dearest of friends; but I loved Estelle with a passion that was full of enthusiasm and admiration41.
"No two men have the same idea of beauty," said Winifred, after a pause.
"True, nor any two nations; it exists chiefly, perhaps, in the mind of the lover."
"Yet love has nothing exactly to do with it."
"Prove this," said I, laughing, as I caught her hand in mine.
"Easily. Ask a Chinese his idea of loveliness, and he will tell you, a woman with her eyebrows42 plucked out, the lids painted, her teeth blackened, and her feet shapeless; and what does the cynical43 Voltaire say?--'Ask a toad44 what is beauty, the supremely45 beautiful, and he will answer you, it is his female, with two round eyes projecting out of its little head, a broad flat neck, a yellow breast, and dark-brown back.' Even red hair is thought lovely by some; and did not Duke Philip the Good institute the order of the Golden Fleece of Burgundy in honour of a damsel whose hair was as yellow as saffron; and now, Harry46 Hardinge, what is your idea?"
"Can you ask me?" I exclaimed, with something of ardour, for she looked so laughingly bright and intelligent as she spoke47; then divining that I was thinking of another, not of her, "for there is a thread in our thoughts even as there is a pulse in our hearts, and he who can hold the one knows how to think, and he who can move the other knows how to feel," she said, with a point scarcely meant.
"The eye may be pleased, the vanity flattered, and ambition excited by a woman of beauty, especially if she is one of rank; yet the heart may be won by one her inferior. Talking of beauty, Lady Naseby has striven hard to get the young earl, her nephew, to marry our friend, Lady Estelle."
"Would she have him?" I asked, while my cheek grew hot.
"I cannot say--but he declined," replied Winifred, pressing a wild rose to her nostrils48.
"Declined--impossible!"
"Why impossible? But in her fiery49 pride Estelle will never, never forgive him; though he was already engaged to one whom he, then at least, loved well."
"Ah--the Irish girl, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Winifred, with a short little sigh, as she looked down.
"Such a girl as Estelle Cressingham must always find admirers."
"Hundreds; but as the estates, like the title, have passed to the next male heir, and Lady Naseby has only a life-rent of the jointure house in Hants--Walcot Park, a lovely place--she is anxious that her daughter should make a most suitable marriage."
"Which means lots of tin, I suppose?" said I, sourly.
"Exactly," responded Winifred, determined50, perhaps, if I had the bad taste to speak so much of Estelle, to say unpleasant things; "and the favoured parti at present is Viscount Pottersleigh, who comes here to-morrow, as his letter informed her."
"Old Pottersleigh is sixty if he is a day!" said I, emphatically.
"What has age to do with the matter in view? Money and position are preferable to all fancies of the heart, I fear."
"Nay51, nay, Winifred, you belie52 yourself and Lady Estelle too; love is before everything!"
She laughed at my energy, while I began to feel that, next to making love, there is nothing so pleasant or so suggestive as talking of it to a pretty girl; and I beg to assure you, that it was somewhat perilous53 work with one like Winifred Lloyd; a girl who had the sweetest voice, the most brilliant complexion54, and the softest eyes perhaps in all North Wales. She now drew her hand away; till then I had half forgot it was her hand I had been holding.
"Remember that oft-quoted line in the song of Montrose," said she, pretty pointedly.
"Which? for I haven't an idea."
"'Love one--and love no more.'"
"The great marquis was wrong," said I; "at least, if, according to a more obscure authority in such matters, Price of ours, one may love many times and always truly."
"Indeed!" Her lip curled as she spoke.
"Yes; for may not the same charms, traits, manner, and beauty which lure55 us to love once, lure us to love again?"
Winifred actually sighed, with something very like irritation56, as she said, "I think all this the most abominable57 sophistry58, Mr. Hardinge, and I feel a hatred59 for 'Price of ours,' whoever he may be."
"Mister! Why I was Harry a moment ago."
"Well, here is the abode of Cameydd Llewellyn; and you must tell me what you think of your future Welsh comrade; his beard may be to the regimental pattern, though decidedly his horns and moustaches are not."
As she said this, again laughingly, we found ourselves close to a little hut that abutted60 on a thatched cottage and cow-house, in a most secluded61 place, a little glen or dell, over which the trees were arching, and so forming a vista62, through which we saw Craigaderyn Court, as if in a frame of foliage63. She opened a little wicket, and at the sound of her voice the goat came forth, dancing on his hind64 legs--a trick she had taught him--or playfully butting65 her skirts with his horns, regarding me somewhat dubiously66 and suspiciously the while with his great hazel eyes. He was truly a splendid specimen of the old Carnarvonshire breed of goats, which once ran wild over the mountains there, and were either hunted by dogs or shot with the bullet so lately as Pennant's time. His hair, which was longer than is usual with those of England, led me to fancy there was a Cashmerian cross in his blood; his black horns were two feet three inches long, and more than two feet from one sharp tip to the other. He was as white as the new-fallen snow, with a black streak67 down the back, and his beard was as venerable in proportion and volume as it was silky in texture68.
"He is indeed a beautiful creature--a noble fellow!" I exclaimed, with genuine admiration.
"And just four years old. I obtained him when quite a kid."
"I am so loth that the Fusileers should deprive you of him."
"Talk not of that; but when you see my goat, my old pet Carneydd Llewellyn, marching proudly at their head, and decked with chaplets on St. David's day, when you are far, far away from us, you will--" she paused.
"What, Winifred?"
"Think sometimes of Craigaderyn--of to-day--and of me, perhaps," she added, with a laugh that sounded strangely unlike one.
"Do I require aught to make me think of you?" said I, patting kindly69 the plump, ungloved hand with which she was caressing70 the goat's head, and which in whiteness rivalled the hue71 of his glossy72 coat; and thereon I saw a Conway pearl, in a ring I had given her long ago, when she was quite a little girl.
"I hope not--and papa--I hope not."
The bright beaming face was upturned to me, and, as the deuce would have it, I kissed her: the impulse was irresistible73.
She trembled then, withdrew a pace or two, grew very pale, and her eyes filled with tears.
"You should not have done that, Harry--I mean, Mr. Hardinge."
There was something wild and pitiful in her face.
"Tears?" said I, not knowing very well what to say; for "people often do say very little, when they mean a great deal."
"My old favourite will know the black ladders of Carneydd Llewellyn no more," said she, stooping over the goat caressingly74 to hide her confusion.
"But, Winifred--Miss Lloyd--why tears?"
"Can you ask me?" said she, her eyes flashing through them.
"Why, what a fuss you make! I have often done so--when a boy!"
"But you are no longer a boy; nor am I a girl, Mr. Hardinge."
"Do please call me Harry, like Sir Madoc," I entreated75. "Not now--after this; and here comes Lady Estelle."
"Estelle!"
At that moment, not far from us, we saw Lady Naseby, driven in a pony-phaeton by Caradoc, and Lady Estelle with Guilfoyle a little way behind them, on horseback, and unaccompanied by any groom76, coming sweeping77 at a trot78 down the wooded glen.
Such is the amusing inconsistency of the human heart--the male human heart, perhaps my lady readers will say--that though I had been more than flirting79 with Winifred Lloyd--on the eve of becoming too tender, perhaps--I felt a pang80 of jealousy81 on seeing that Guilfoyle was Lady Estelle's sole companion, for Dora was doubtless immersed in the details of her forthcoming fête.
Had she seen us?
Had she detected in the distance that little salute82? If so, in the silly, kindly, half-flirting, and half-affectionate impulse which led me to kiss my beautiful companion and playfellow of the past years--the mere83 impulse of a moment--if mistaken, I might have ruined myself with her--perhaps with both.
"A lovely animal'! I hope you are gratified, Mr. Hardinge?" said Lady Estelle, with--but perhaps it was fancy--a curl on her red lip, as she reined-in her spirited horse sharply with one firm hand, and caressed84 his arching neck gracefully85 with the other, while he rose on his hind legs, and her veil flew aside.
Already dread19 of the future had chased away my first emotion of pique86, nor was it possible to be long angry with Estelle; for with men and women alike, her beauty made her irresistible. Some enemies among the latter she undoubtedly87 had; they might condemn88 the regularity89 of her features as too classically severe, or have said that at times the flash of her dark eyes was proud or defiant90; but the smile that played about her lip was so soft and winning that its influence was felt by all. Her perfect ease of manner seemed cold--very cold, indeed, when compared to the thoughts that burned in my own breast at that moment--dread that I might have been trifling91 with Winifred Lloyd, for whom I cherished a sincere and tender friendship; intense annoyance92 lest my friend Caradoc, who really loved her, might resent the affair; and, more than all, that she for whom I would freely have perilled93 limb and life might also resent, or mistake, the situation entirely94. And in this vague mood of mind I returned with the little party to the house, where the bell had rung for tea, before dinner, which was always served at eight o'clock. As we quitted the goat, its keeper, an old peasant dame95, wearing a man's hat and coat, with a striped petticoat and large spotted96 handkerchief, looked affectionately after Miss Lloyd, and uttered an exclamation97 in Welsh, which Caradoc translated to me as being,
"God bless her! May feet so light and pretty never carry a heavy heart!"
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1
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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7
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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8
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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tarns
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| n.冰斗湖，山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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17
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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gnomes
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| n.矮子( gnome的名词复数 )；侏儒；（尤指金融市场上搞投机的）银行家；守护神 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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42
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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50
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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51
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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52
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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53
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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54
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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55
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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56
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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57
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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58
sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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59
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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60
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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61
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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62
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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63
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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64
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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65
butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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66
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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67
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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69
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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73
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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74
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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78
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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79
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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80
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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81
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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82
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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86
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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88
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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90
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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91
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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92
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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93
perilled
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| 置…于危险中（peril的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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95
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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96
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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