CHAPTER. I

On an early winter afternoon, clear but not cold, when the vegetablernworld was a weird multitude of skeletons through whose ribs the sun shonernfreely, a gleaming landau came to a pause on the crest of a hill inrnWessex. The spot was where the old Melchester Road, which the carriagernhad hitherto followed, was joined by a drive that led round into a parkrnat no great distance off.rnrnThe footman alighted, and went to the occupant of the carriage, a ladyrnabout eight- or nine-and-twenty. She was looking through the openingrnafforded by a field-gate at the undulating stretch of country beyond. Inrnpursuance of some remark from her the servant looked in the samerndirection.rnrnThe central feature of the middle distance, as they beheld it, was arncircular isolated hill, of no great elevation, which placed itself inrnstrong chromatic contrast with a wide acreage of surrounding arable byrnbeing covered with fir-trees. The trees were all of one size and age, sornthat their tips assumed the precise curve of the hill they grew upon.rnThis pine-clad protuberance was yet further marked out from the generalrnlandscape by having on its summit a tower in the form of a classicalrncolumn, which, though partly immersed in the plantation, rose above therntree-tops to a considerable height. Upon this object the eyes of ladyrnand servant were bent.rnrn'Then there is no road leading near it?' she asked.rnrn'Nothing nearer than where we are now, my lady.'rnrn'Then drive home,' she said after a moment. And the carriage rolled onrnits way.rnrnA few days later, the same lady, in the same carriage, passed that spotrnagain. Her eyes, as before, turned to the distant tower.rnrn'Nobbs,' she said to the coachman, 'could you find your way home throughrnthat field, so as to get near the outskirts of the plantation where therncolumn is?'rnrnThe coachman regarded the field. 'Well, my lady,' he observed, 'in dryrnweather we might drive in there by inching and pinching, and so getrnacross by Five-and-Twenty Acres, all being well. But the ground is sornheavy after these rains that perhaps it would hardly be safe to try itrnnow.'rnrn'Perhaps not,' she assented indifferently. 'Remember it, will you, at arndrier time?'rnrnAnd again the carriage sped along the road, the lady's eyes resting onrnthe segmental hill, the blue trees that muffled it, and the column thatrnformed its apex, till they were out of sight.rnrnA long time elapsed before that lady drove over the hill again. It wasrnFebruary; the soil was now unquestionably dry, the weather and scenernbeing in other respects much as they had been before. The familiar shapernof the column seemed to remind her that at last an opportunity for arnclose inspection had arrived. Giving her directions she saw the gaternopened, and after a little manoeuvring the carriage swayed slowly intornthe uneven field.rnrnAlthough the pillar stood upon the hereditary estate of her husband thernlady had never visited it, owing to its insulation by this well-nighrnimpracticable ground. The drive to the base of the hill was tedious andrnjerky, and on reaching it she alighted, directing that the carriagernshould be driven back empty over the clods, to wait for her on thernnearest edge of the field. She then ascended beneath the trees on foot.rnrnThe column now showed itself as a much more important erection than itrnhad appeared from the road, or the park, or the windows of Welland House,rnher residence hard by, whence she had surveyed it hundreds of timesrnwithout ever feeling a sufficient interest in its details to investigaternthem. The column had been erected in the last century, as a substantialrnmemorial of her husband's great-grandfather, a respectable officer whornhad fallen in the American war, and the reason of her lack of interestrnwas partly owing to her relations with this husband, of which more anon.rnIt was little beyond the sheer desire for something to do--the chronicrndesire of her curiously lonely life--that had brought her here now. Shernwas in a mood to welcome anything that would in some measure disperse anrnalmost killing _ennui_. She would have welcomed even a misfortune. Shernhad heard that from the summit of the pillar four counties could be seen.rnWhatever pleasurable effect was to be derived from looking into fourrncounties she resolved to enjoy to-day.rnrnThe fir-shrouded hill-top was (according to some antiquaries) an oldrnRoman camp,--if it were not (as others insisted) an old British castle,rnor (as the rest swore) an old Saxon field of Witenagemote,--with remainsrnof an outer and an inner vallum, a winding path leading up between theirrnoverlapping ends by an easy ascent. The spikelets from the trees formedrna soft carpet over the route, and occasionally a brake of brambles barredrnthe interspaces of the trunks. Soon she stood immediately at the foot ofrnthe column.rnrnIt had been built in the Tuscan order of classic architecture, and wasrnreally a tower, being hollow with steps inside. The gloom and solitudernwhich prevailed round the base were remarkable. The sob of thernenvironing trees was here expressively manifest; and moved by the lightrnbreeze their thin straight stems rocked in seconds, like invertedrnpendulums; while some boughs and twigs rubbed the pillar's sides, orrnoccasionally clicked in catching each other. Below the level of theirrnsummits the masonry was lichen-stained and mildewed, for the sun neverrnpierced that moaning cloud of blue-black vegetation. Pads of moss grewrnin the joints of the stone-work, and here and there shade-loving insectsrnhad engraved on the mortar patterns of no human style or meaning; butrncurious and suggestive. Above the trees the case was different: thernpillar rose into the sky a bright and cheerful thing, unimpeded, clean,rnand flushed with the sunlight.rnrnThe spot was seldom visited by a pedestrian, except perhaps in thernshooting season. The rarity of human intrusion was evidenced by thernmazes of rabbit-runs, the feathers of shy birds, the exuviae of reptiles;rnas also by the well-worn paths of squirrels down the sides of trunks, andrnthence horizontally away. The fact of the plantation being an island inrnthe midst of an arable plain sufficiently accounted for this lack ofrnvisitors. Few unaccustomed to such places can be aware of the insulatingrneffect of ploughed ground, when no necessity compels people to traversernit. This rotund hill of trees and brambles, standing in the centre of arnploughed field of some ninety or a hundred acres, was probably visitedrnless frequently than a rock would have been visited in a lake of equalrnextent.rnrnShe walked round the column to the other side, where she found the doorrnthrough which the interior was reached. The paint, if it had ever hadrnany, was all washed from the wood, and down the decaying surface of thernboards liquid rust from the nails and hinges had run in red stains. Overrnthe door was a stone tablet, bearing, apparently, letters or words; butrnthe inscription, whatever it was, had been smoothed over with a plasterrnof lichen.rnrnHere stood this aspiring piece of masonry, erected as the mostrnconspicuous and ineffaceable reminder of a man that could be thought of;rnand yet the whole aspect of the memorial betokened forgetfulness.rnProbably not a dozen people within the district knew the name of thernperson commemorated, while perhaps not a soul remembered whether therncolumn were hollow or solid, whether with or without a tablet explainingrnits date and purpose. She herself had lived within a mile of it for thernlast five years, and had never come near it till now.rnrnShe hesitated to ascend alone, but finding that the door was not fastenedrnshe pushed it open with her foot, and entered. A scrap of writing-paperrnlay within, and arrested her attention by its freshness. Some humanrnbeing, then, knew the spot, despite her surmises. But as the paper hadrnnothing on it no clue was afforded; yet feeling herself the proprietor ofrnthe column and of all around it her self-assertiveness was sufficient tornlead her on. The staircase was lighted by slits in the wall, and therernwas no difficulty in reaching the top, the steps being quite unworn. Therntrap-door leading on to the roof was open, and on looking through it anrninteresting spectacle met her eye.rnrnA youth was sitting on a stool in the centre of the lead flat whichrnformed the summit of the column, his eye being applied to the end of arnlarge telescope that stood before him on a tripod. This sort of presencernwas unexpected, and the lady started back into the shade of the opening.rnThe only effect produced upon him by her footfall was an impatient wavernof the hand, which he did without removing his eye from the instrument,rnas if to forbid her to interrupt him.rnrnPausing where she stood the lady examined the aspect of the individualrnwho thus made himself so completely at home on a building which sherndeemed her unquestioned property. He was a youth who might properly havernbeen characterized by a word the judicious chronicler would not readilyrnuse in such a connexion, preferring to reserve it for raising images ofrnthe opposite sex. Whether because no deep felicity is likely to arisernfrom the condition, or from any other reason, to say in these days that arnyouth is beautiful is not to award him that amount of credit which thernexpression would have carried with it if he had lived in the times of thernClassical Dictionary. So much, indeed, is the reverse the case that thernassertion creates an awkwardness in saying anything more about him. Thernbeautiful youth usually verges so perilously on the incipient coxcomb,rnwho is about to become the Lothario or Juan among the neighbouringrnmaidens, that, for the due understanding of our present young man, hisrnsublime innocence of any thought concerning his own material aspect, orrnthat of others, is most fervently asserted, and must be as ferventlyrnbelieved.rnrnSuch as he was, there the lad sat. The sun shone full in his face, andrnon his head he wore a black velvet skull-cap, leaving to view below it arncurly margin of very light shining hair, which accorded well with thernflush upon his cheek.rnrnHe had such a complexion as that with which Raffaelle enriches therncountenance of the youthful son of Zacharias,--a complexion which, thoughrnclear, is far enough removed from virgin delicacy, and suggests plenty ofrnsun and wind as its accompaniment. His features were sufficientlyrnstraight in the contours to correct the beholder's first impression thatrnthe head was the head of a girl. Beside him stood a little oak table,rnand in front was the telescope.rnrnHis visitor had ample time to make these observations; and she may haverndone so all the more keenly through being herself of a totally oppositerntype. Her hair was black as midnight, her eyes had no less deep a shade,rnand her complexion showed the richness demanded as a support to theserndecided features. As she continued to look at the pretty fellow beforernher, apparently so far abstracted into some speculative world as scarcelyrnto know a real one, a warmer wave of her warm temperament glowed visiblyrnthrough her, and a qualified observer might from this have hazarded arnguess that there was Romance blood in her veins.rnrnBut even the interest attaching to the youth could not arrest herrnattention for ever, and as he made no further signs of moving his eyernfrom the instrument she broke the silence with--rnrn'What do you see?--something happening somewhere?'rnrn'Yes, quite a catastrophe!' he automatically murmured, without movingrnround.rnrn'What?'rnrn'A cyclone in the sun.'rnrnThe lady paused, as if to consider the weight of that event in the scalernof terrene life.rnrn'Will it make any difference to us here?' she asked.rnrnThe young man by this time seemed to be awakened to the consciousnessrnthat somebody unusual was talking to him; he turned, and started.rnrn'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I thought it was my relative come to lookrnafter me! She often comes about this time.'rnrnHe continued to look at her and forget the sun, just such a reciprocityrnof influence as might have been expected between a dark lady and a flaxen-rnhaired youth making itself apparent in the faces of each.rnrn'Don't let me interrupt your observations,' said she.rnrn'Ah, no,' said he, again applying his eye; whereupon his face lost thernanimation which her presence had lent it, and became immutable as that ofrna bust, though superadding to the serenity of repose the sensitiveness ofrnlife. The expression that settled on him was one of awe. Not unaptlyrnmight it have been said that he was worshipping the sun. Among thernvarious intensities of that worship which have prevailed since the firstrnintelligent being saw the luminary decline westward, as the young man nowrnbeheld it doing, his was not the weakest. He was engaged in what may berncalled a very chastened or schooled form of that first and most naturalrnof adorations.rnrn'But would you like to see it?' he recommenced. 'It is an event that isrnwitnessed only about once in two or three years, though it may occurrnoften enough.'rnrnShe assented, and looked through the shaded eyepiece, and saw a whirlingrnmass, in the centre of which the blazing globe seemed to be laid bare tornits core. It was a peep into a maelstrom of fire, taking place wherernnobody had ever been or ever would be.rnrn'It is the strangest thing I ever beheld,' she said. Then he lookedrnagain; till wondering who her companion could be she asked, 'Are yournoften here?'rnrn'Every night when it is not cloudy, and often in the day.'rnrn'Ah, night, of course. The heavens must be beautiful from this point.'rnrn'They are rather more than that.'rnrn'Indeed! Have you entirely taken possession of this column?'rnrn'Entirely.'rnrn'But it is my column,' she said, with smiling asperity.rnrn'Then are you Lady Constantine, wife of the absent Sir BlountrnConstantine?'rnrn'I am Lady Constantine.'rnrn'Ah, then I agree that it is your ladyship's. But will you allow me tornrent it of you for a time, Lady Constantine?'rnrn'You have taken it, whether I allow it or not. However, in the interestsrnof science it is advisable that you continue your tenancy. Nobody knowsrnyou are here, I suppose?'rnrn'Hardly anybody.'rnrnHe then took her down a few steps into the interior, and showed her somerningenious contrivances for stowing articles away.rnrn'Nobody ever comes near the column,--or, as it's called here, Rings-HillrnSpeer,' he continued; 'and when I first came up it nobody had been herernfor thirty or forty years. The staircase was choked with daws' nests andrnfeathers, but I cleared them out.'rnrn'I understood the column was always kept locked?'rnrn'Yes, it has been so. When it was built, in 1782, the key was given tornmy great-grandfather, to keep by him in case visitors should happen tornwant it. He lived just down there where I live now.'rnrnHe denoted by a nod a little dell lying immediately beyond the ploughedrnland which environed them.rnrn'He kept it in his bureau, and as the bureau descended to my grandfather,rnmy mother, and myself, the key descended with it. After the first thirtyrnor forty years, nobody ever asked for it. One day I saw it, lying rustyrnin its niche, and, finding that it belonged to this column, I took it andrncame up. I stayed here till it was dark, and the stars came out, andrnthat night I resolved to be an astronomer. I came back here from schoolrnseveral months ago, and I mean to be an astronomer still.'rnrnHe lowered his voice, and added:rnrn'I aim at nothing less than the dignity and office of Astronomer Royal,rnif I live. Perhaps I shall not live.'rnrn'I don't see why you should suppose that,' said she. 'How long are yourngoing to make this your observatory?'rnrn'About a year longer--till I have obtained a practical familiarity withrnthe heavens. Ah, if I only had a good equatorial!'rnrn'What is that?'rnrn'A proper instrument for my pursuit. But time is short, and science isrninfinite,--how infinite only those who study astronomy fully realize,--andrnperhaps I shall be worn out before I make my mark.'rnrnShe seemed to be greatly struck by the odd mixture in him of scientificrnearnestness and melancholy mistrust of all things human. Perhaps it wasrnowing to the nature of his studies.rnrn'You are often on this tower alone at night?' she said.rnrn'Yes; at this time of the year particularly, and while there is no moon.rnI observe from seven or eight till about two in the morning, with a viewrnto my great work on variable stars. But with such a telescope asrnthis--well, I must put up with it!'rnrn'Can you see Saturn's ring and Jupiter's moons?'rnrnHe said drily that he could manage to do that, not without some contemptrnfor the state of her knowledge.rnrn'I have never seen any planet or star through a telescope.'rnrn'If you will come the first clear night, Lady Constantine, I will showrnyou any number. I mean, at your express wish; not otherwise.'rnrn'I should like to come, and possibly may at some time. These stars thatrnvary so much--sometimes evening stars, sometimes morning stars, sometimesrnin the east, and sometimes in the west--have always interested me.'rnrn'Ah--now there is a reason for your not coming. Your ignorance of thernrealities of astronomy is so satisfactory that I will not disturb itrnexcept at your serious request.'rnrn'But I wish to be enlightened.'rnrn'Let me caution you against it.'rnrn'Is enlightenment on the subject, then, so terrible?'rnrn'Yes, indeed.'rnrnShe laughingly declared that nothing could have so piqued her curiosityrnas his statement, and turned to descend. He helped her down the stairsrnand through the briers. He would have gone further and crossed the openrncorn-land with her, but she preferred to go alone. He then retraced hisrnway to the top of the column, but, instead of looking longer at the sun,rnwatched her diminishing towards the distant fence, behind which waitedrnthe carriage. When in the midst of the field, a dark spot on an area ofrnbrown, there crossed her path a moving figure, whom it was as difficultrnto distinguish from the earth he trod as the caterpillar from its leaf,rnby reason of the excellent match between his clothes and the clods. Hernwas one of a dying-out generation who retained the principle, nearlyrnunlearnt now, that a man's habiliments should be in harmony with hisrnenvironment. Lady Constantine and this figure halted beside each otherrnfor some minutes; then they went on their several ways.rnrnThe brown person was a labouring man known to the world of Welland asrnHaymoss (the encrusted form of the word Amos, to adopt the phrase ofrnphilologists). The reason of the halt had been some inquiries addressedrnto him by Lady Constantine.rnrn'Who is that--Amos Fry, I think?' she had asked.rnrn'Yes my lady,' said Haymoss; 'a homely barley driller, born under therneaves of your ladyship's outbuildings, in a manner of speaking,--thoughrnyour ladyship was neither born nor 'tempted at that time.'rnrn'Who lives in the old house behind the plantation?'rnrn'Old Gammer Martin, my lady, and her grandson.'rnrn'He has neither father nor mother, then?'rnrn'Not a single one, my lady.'rnrn'Where was he educated?'rnrn'At Warborne,--a place where they draw up young gam'sters' brains likernrhubarb under a ninepenny pan, my lady, excusing my common way. They hitrnso much larning into en that 'a could talk like the day of Pentecost;rnwhich is a wonderful thing for a simple boy, and his mother only thernplainest ciphering woman in the world. Warborne Grammar School--that'srnwhere 'twas 'a went to. His father, the reverent Pa'son St. Cleeve, maderna terrible bruckle hit in 's marrying, in the sight of the high. He werernthe curate here, my lady, for a length o' time.'rnrn'Oh, curate,' said Lady Constantine. 'It was before I knew the village.'rnrn'Ay, long and merry ago! And he married Farmer Martin's daughter--GilesrnMartin, a limberish man, who used to go rather bad upon his lags, if yourncan mind. I knowed the man well enough; who should know en better! Thernmaid was a poor windling thing, and, though a playward piece o' fleshrnwhen he married her, 'a socked and sighed, and went out like a snoff!rnYes, my lady. Well, when Pa'son St. Cleeve married this homespun womanrnthe toppermost folk wouldn't speak to his wife. Then he dropped a cussrnor two, and said he'd no longer get his living by curing their twopennyrnsouls o' such d--- nonsense as that (excusing my common way), and he tookrnto farming straightway, and then 'a dropped down dead in a nor'-westrnthunderstorm; it being said--hee-hee!--that Master God was in tantrumsrnwi'en for leaving his service,--hee-hee! I give the story as I heard it,rnmy lady, but be dazed if I believe in such trumpery about folks in thernsky, nor anything else that's said on 'em, good or bad. Well, Swithin,rnthe boy, was sent to the grammar school, as I say for; but what withrnhaving two stations of life in his blood he's good for nothing, my lady.rnHe mopes about--sometimes here, and sometimes there; nobody troublesrnabout en.'rnrnLady Constantine thanked her informant, and proceeded onward. To her, asrna woman, the most curious feature in the afternoon's incident was thatrnthis lad, of striking beauty, scientific attainments, and cultivatedrnbearing, should be linked, on the maternal side, with a localrnagricultural family through his father's matrimonial eccentricity. Arnmore attractive feature in the case was that the same youth, so capablernof being ruined by flattery, blandishment, pleasure, even grossrnprosperity, should be at present living on in a primitive Eden ofrnunconsciousness, with aims towards whose accomplishment a Caliban shapernwould have been as effective as his own.