Читать книгу Mystery & Confidence - Elizabeth Sibthorpe Pinchard - Страница 5

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Due westward, fronting to the green,

A rural portico was seen,

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine

The ivy and Idean vine;

The clematis, the favor'd flow'r,

Which boasts the name of virgin's bow'r.

Lady of the Lake.

At the foot of one of the most romantic mountains in North Wales, about a mile from the coast of Carnarvonshire, stands the little village of Llanwyllan: there, amongst trees which seemed coeval with the dwelling, was a very large farm-house, the residence of Farmer Powis. Its high chimneys, and neatly white-washed walls, rendered it a pleasing object to those who travelled on the high-road, about a mile off, which led to the next market-town, if high-road that might be called which merely served to facilitate the journies of the neighbouring farmers' wives to market and back again, or those of the curate, who served the churches in the immediate vicinity. The hand of native taste had removed a few branches from the immense trees which shaded this rural dwelling, and by that means afforded to the inhabitants a view of the road, the spire of the village church, and two or three natural rills of water, which, falling from the adjacent hills, increased the beauty of the scene. At this dwelling a traveller arrived on the evening of a day which had been intensely hot, in the summer of 18—: the dust which covered his shoes, and almost concealed the colour of his coat, declared him a pedestrian; probably, therefore, of inferior rank; yet, under the shade which fatigue had thrown over his features, might be discerned a fine and interesting countenance; and when at the door of the farm-house, where Powis sat inhaling the mixed fumes of his evening pipe, and the fragrance of a fine honeysuckle which entwined around the porch, he inquired the nearest way to——, the tones of his voice, and the fineness of his accent, would, to a practised ear, have proclaimed a man who had mixed with the higher orders of society: to Powis, however, they conveyed no idea but that the traveller was weary and spoke with civility; and either would have demanded from him civility, nay, kindness in return: he rose therefore from his seat, and pushing aside his little table, made room for the stranger, and requested him to be seated. The stranger thankfully complied, and taking off his hat, wiped the dust from his face, and shewed a fine forehead and eyes, whose brilliant rays seemed more obscured by sorrow than by time, though he appeared to be about five-and-thirty. While the farmer went into the house to order some refreshment for his weary guest, the stranger turned his eyes, and saw with surprise that every thing about him bore the marks of taste; of taste not indeed highly refined, but simple, natural, and delicate: every tree round the spot on which he sat was intertwined with woodbines, clematis, and the wild hop; and the long shoots of all were carried from tree to tree, forming festoons of exquisite grace and beauty. At the foot of each tree a space had been cleared and filled with fragrant plants, whose culture requires little trouble. Mignionette, roses, pinks, and carnations, perfumed the air, while the too powerful seringa was only suffered to rise at a considerable distance, whence its odour came occasionally wafted by the evening breeze, and (if the expression may be allowed) harmonized well with the softer scents in the immediate vicinity of the dwelling. A variety of birds in the adjacent orchard and fields yet poured their mingled songs, which, as the sun declined gradually, sunk into a softer strain, and soon all was hushed into repose. In the meantime the table was spread with a neat cloth, cold meat, brown bread, some fresh-gathered fruit, cream, ale, and home-made wine; each excellent in its kind.

The farmer had not asked his guest to "take some refreshment," the phrase being probably unknown to him, but with genuine hospitality, seeing he was fatigued, concluded it would be acceptable, and pressed him to partake of what was set before them; then calling to the servant girl, who had spread the table, he said something to her in Welsh, which she answered in the same language. "That is unlucky," said Powis: "my daughter, Sir, is absent just now; she is gone to the curate's, the only house in the neighbourhood she likes to visit at; indeed, she has reason to like it, for Mrs. Ross has taught Ellen to sew and to read, and be a tolerable housewife, ever since my poor wife died, which happened when Ellen was a little child; and she looks upon Mrs. Ross as her mother, and Joanna Ross, who is nearly her own age, as her sister: they are good companions for each other, and good girls both, I assure you: however, we will not wait, for perhaps Ellen may not be at home this half hour or more." "I fear," said the stranger, "I have induced you to hasten your meal, and perhaps——" "Not at all, not at all," interrupted Powis. "Ellen can eat her fruit and milk at any time, or perhaps will partake of our good parson's supper; never mind her." "You are indeed very kind; but I fear it grows late. How far have I to walk to the little inn where you said I might procure a bed?" "About half a mile: but the moon is rising, and one of my boys shall shew you the way: you may be sure of a bed; they have two to spare; both clean and decent, though plain and homely; and we have few travellers in these parts."

Some more conversation passed, and then, the stranger having eaten as much as he liked, and withstood an earnest solicitation to eat a great deal more, rose to depart. The boy was called, and the charge given to him in Welsh to recommend the stranger to the best attentions of neighbour Jones, at the sign of the Prince of Wales; being explained to the traveller in English, he took his leave.

In the course of the conversation which passed between them, the stranger told Powis that he was travelling merely for amusement, and preferred walking to any other mode of conveyance, as affording him better opportunities of exploring the romantic scenery with which Wales abounds; but this the farmer imagined was the language of a man, who, although he was poor, did not wish to be thought so. He said he was so much pleased with what he had seen of the country round Llanwyllan, that it was his intention to remain there a few days, if he found tolerable accommodations at the inn; and Powis gave him a pressing invitation to rest whenever he pleased at his house, and to partake of his dinner or supper; for in that retired spot, where fraud and deceit were almost unknown, suspicion was equally a stranger, nor arose to check that frank hospitality man should naturally afford to man. The stranger said he had left his portmanteau at Carnarvon, and should send a man to fetch it the next day, if he determined on remaining at the village. Powis mentioned several points of view which he said were thought fine, though he professed not to understand the business much.

As the stranger, with his little Welsh guide, passed through the trees which grew round the house, just where the shadow was deepest, he discerned the flutter of the white or light-coloured garments of two girls, and heard youthful voices in chat, and laughing; yet not rudely or with vulgarity, but with native gaiety and mirth of heart. He could just distinguish that one of the females was taller than the other, and heard a soft harmonious voice articulate in good English, and with very little of the Welsh accent: "Good night, dear Joanna; come to-morrow, and stay with me all day: good night; love to Charles." The other replied at a few paces distant: "Ah, poor Charles! how vexed he will be that he staid so late; well, good night, Ellen."

"These, I suppose," thought the stranger, "are Powis's daughter and her friend Joanna Ross. I am glad I missed them. I hate country-girls. Charles I imagine is the lover of one. Happy creatures who can yet fancy felicity in love, and dream I know not what of constancy and bliss!—Falsehood, jealousy, revenge!—dreadful, dreadful words! to them are unknown: but what have I to do with thoughts like these? Why, even in the stillness of this calm retreat, do such shocking images haunt my mind?" He hurried on as if fatigue had no longer power over him, insomuch that his young guide could hardly keep up with him, till he reached the village inn, where, as Powis had said, a cleanly though homely bed was soon prepared for him.