We shall come to its edge soon,where it drops abruptly into such a pretty valley.There,look down--that's the church.We are on a level with the top of its tower.Take care,my lad,"--to the post-boy,who was crossing with difficulty the literally "pathless waste."--"Don't lurch us into the quarry-pits,or topple us at once down the slope,where we shall roll over and over--facilis descensus Averni--and lodge in Mrs.Tod's garden hedge.""Mrs.Tod would feel flattered if she knew Latin.You don't look upon our future habitation as a sort of Avernus?"John laughed merrily."No,as I told you before,I like Enderley Hill.I can't tell why,but I like it.It seems as if I had known the place before.I feel as if we were going to have great happiness here."And as he spoke,his unwonted buoyancy softened into a quietness of manner more befitting that word "happiness."Strange word!hardly in my vocabulary.Yet,when he uttered it,I seemed to understand it and to be content.
We wound a little way down the slope,and came in front of Rose Cottage.It was well named.I never in my life had seen such a bush of bloom.They hung in clusters--those roses--a dozen in a group;pressing their pinky cheeks together in a mass of family fragrance,pushing in at the parlour window,climbing up even to the very attic.
There was a yellow jasmine over the porch at one front door,and a woodbine at the other;the cottage had two entrances,each distinct.
But the general impression it gave,both as to sight and scent,was of roses--nothing but roses.
"How are you,Mrs.Tod?"as a comely,middle-aged body appeared at the right-hand doorway,dressed sprucely in one of those things Jael called a "coat and jacket,"likewise a red calamanco petticoat tucked up at the pocket-holes.
"I be pretty fair,sir--be you the same?The children ha'not forgotten you--you see,Mr.Halifax.""So much the better!"and he patted two or three little white heads,and tossed the youngest high up in the air.It looked very strange to see John with a child in his arms.
"Don't 'ee make more noise than 'ee can help,my lad,"the good woman said to our post-boy,"because,sir,the sick gentleman bean't so well again to-day.""I am sorry for it.We would not have driven up to the door had we known.Which is his room?"Mrs.Tod pointed to a window--not on our side of the house,but the other.A hand was just closing the casement and pulling down the blind--a hand which,in the momentary glimpse we had of it,seemed less like a man's than a woman's.
When we were settled in the parlour John noticed this fact.
"It was the wife,most likely.Poor thing!how hard to be shut up in-doors on such a summer evening as this!"It did seem a sad sight--that closed window,outside which was the fresh,balmy air,the sunset,and the roses.
"And how do you like Enderley?"asked John,when,tea being over,Ilay and rested,while he sat leaning his elbow on the window-sill,and his cheek against a bunch of those ever-intruding,inquisitive roses.
"It is very,very pretty,and so comfortable--almost like home.""I feel as if it were home,"John said,half to himself."Do you know,I can hardly believe that I have only seen this place once before;it is so familiar.I seem to know quite well that slope of common before the door,with its black dots of furze-bushes.And that wood below;what a clear line its top makes against the yellow sky!There,that high ground to the right;it's all dusky now,but it is such a view by daylight.And between it and Enderley is the prettiest valley,where the road slopes down just under those chestnut-trees.""How well you seem to know the place already.""As I tell you,I like it.I hardly ever felt so content before.We will have a happy time,Phineas.""Oh,yes!"How--even if I had felt differently--could I say anything but "yes"to him then?
I lay until it grew quite dark,and I could only see a dim shape sitting at the window,instead of John's known face;then I bade him good-night,and retired.Directly afterwards,I heard him,as I knew he would,dash out of the house,and away up the Flat.In the deep quiet of this lonely spot I could distinguish,for several minutes,the diminishing sound of his footsteps along the loose,stony road;and the notes,clear and shrill,of his whistling.I think it was "Sally in our Alley,"or some such pleasant old tune.At last it faded far off,and I fell into sleep and dreams.
