One calm, clear afternoon, however, in March, as I was superintending the rolling of the meadow-land, and the repairing of a hedge in the valley, I saw Mrs Graham down by the brook, with a sketch-book in her hand, absorbed in the exercise of her favourite art, while Arthur was putting on the time with constructing dams and breakwaters in the shallow, stony stream. I was rather in want of amusement, and so rare an opportunity was not to be neglected; so, leaving both meadow and hedge, I quickly repaired to the spot,--but not before Sancho, who, immediately upon perceiving his young friend, scoured at full gallop the intervening space, and pounced upon him with an impetuous mirth that precipitated the child almost into the middle of the beck; but, happily, the stones preserved him from any serious wetting, while their smoothness prevented his being too much hurt to laugh at the untoward event.
Mrs Graham was studying the distinctive characters of the different varieties of trees in their winter nakedness, and copying, with a spirited, though delicate touch, their various ramifications. She did not talk much; but I stood and watched the progress of her pencil: it was a pleasure to behold it so dexterously guided by those fair and graceful fingers. But erelong their dexterity became impaired, they began to hesitate, to tremble slightly, and make false strokes, and then suddenly came to a pause, while their owner laughingly raised her face to mine, and told me that her sketch did not profit by my superintendence.
`Then,' said I, `I'll talk to Arthur, till you've done.'
`I should like to have a ride, Mr Markham, if Mamma will let me,' said the child.
`What on, my boy?'
`I think there's a horse in that field,' replied he, sting to where the strong black mare was pulling the roller.
`No, no, Arthur; it's too far,' objected his mother.
But I promised to bring him safe back, after a turn or two up and down the meadow; and when she looked at his eager face, she smiled and let him go. It was the first time she had even allowed me to take him so much as half a field's length from her side.
Enthroned upon his monstrous steed, and solemnly proceeding up and down the wide, steep field, he looked the very incarnation of quiet, gleeful satisfaction and delight. The rolling, however, was soon completed; but when I dismounted the gallant horn man, and restored him to his mother, she seemed rather displeased at my keeping him so long. She had shut up her sketch-book, and been, probably for some minutes, impatiently waiting his return.
It was now high time to go home, she said, and would have bid me good evening; but I was not going to leave her yet: I accompanied her half-way up the hill. She became more sociable; and I was beginning to be very happy; but, on coming within sight of the grim old hall, she stood still and turned towards me while she spoke, as if expecting I should go no further, that the conversation would end here, and I should now take leave and depart--as, indeed, it was time to do; for `the clear, cold eve' was fast `declining,' the sun had set, and the gibbous moon was visibly brightening in the pale grey sky; but a feeling almost of compassion rivetted me to the spot. It seemed hard to leave her to such a lonely, comfortless home. I looked up at it. Silent and grim it frowned before us. A faint, red light was gleaming from the lower windows of one wing; but all the other windows were in darkness, and many exhibited their black, cavernous gulfs, entirely destitute of glazing or frame work.
`Do you not find it a desolate place to live in? said I, after a moment of silent contemplation.
I do, sometimes,' replied she. `On winter evenings, when Arthur is in bed, and I am sitting there alone, hearing the bleak wind moaning round me and howling through the ruinous old chambers, no books or occupations can repress the dismal thoughts and apprehensions that come crowding in - but it is folly to give way to such weakness I know. - If Rachel is satisfied with such a life, why should not I? - Indeed I cannot be too thankful for such an asylum, while it is left me.'
The closing sentence was uttered in an under tone, as if spoken rather to herself than to me. She then bid me good evening and withdrew.
I had not proceeded many steps on my way homewards when I perceived Mr Lawrence, on his pretty grey pony, coming up the rugged lane that crossed over the hill top. I went a little out of my way to speak to him; for we had not met for some time.
`Was that Mrs Graham you were speaking to just now?' said he, after the first few words of greeting had passed between us.
`Yes.'
`Humph! I thought so.' He looked contemplatively at his horse's mane, as if he had some serious cause of dissatisfaction with it, or something else.
`Well! What then?'
`Oh, nothing!' replied he. `Only, I thought you disliked her, he quitely added, curling his classic lip with a slightly sarcastic smile.
`Suppose I did; mayn't a man change his mind on further acquaintance?'
`Yes of course,' returned he, nicely reducing an entanglement in the pony's redundant, hoary mane. Then suddenly turning to me, and fixing his shy, hazel eyes upon me with a stead penetrating gaze, he added, `Then you have changed your mind?'
`I can't say that I have exactly. No; I think I hold the same opinion respecting her as before - but slightly ameliorated.'