God's Good Man - Marie Corelli (i want to read a book .txt) đ
- Author: Marie Corelli
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âYes, I was,â replied Walden, as they began to walk along the road togetherââI am going away on a visit, and I meant to call and say good-bye to you.â
Julian glanced at him curiously.
âGoing away? For long?â
âOh no! Only for two or three days. I want to see my Bishop.â
âOn a point of conscience?â
John smiled, but coloured a little too.
âNoânot exactly! We are very old friends, Brent and Iâbut we have not met for seven years,ânot since my church was consecrated. It will be pleasant to us to have a chat about old times---â
âAnd new timesâdonât leave THEM out,â said JulianââThey are quite as interesting. The present is as pleasing as the past, donât you think so?â
Walden hesitated. A touch of sorrow and lingering regret clouded his eyes.
âNoâI cannot say that I do!â he answered, at last, with a sighââIn the past I was young, with all the world before me,âin the present I am old, with all the world behind me!â
âDoes it matter?â and Adderley lifted his eyelids with a languid expressionââFor instance let us suppose that in the past you have lost something and that in the present you gain something, does it not equalise the position?â
âThe gain is very little in my case!ââsaid John, yet even as he spoke he felt a pang of shame at his own thanklessness. Had he not secured a peaceful home, a round of work that he loved, and happiness far beyond his merits, and had not God blessed him with health and a quiet mind? Yesâtill quite lately he had had a quiet mindâbut now---
âYou perhaps do not realise how much the gain is, or how far it extends,ââpursued Adderley, thoughtfullyââYouth and age appear to me to have perfectly equal delights and drawbacks. Take me, for example,âI am young, but I am in haste to be older, and when I am old I am sure I shall never want to be young again. It is too unsettled a condition!â
Walden smiled, but made no answer. They walked on in comparative silence till they reached Adderleyâs cottageâa humble but charmingly artistic tenement, with a thatched roof and a small garden in front which was little more than a tangle of roses.
âI am taking this houseâthis mansionâon,â said Julian, pausing at the gateââI shall stop here all winter. The surroundings suit me. Inspiration visits me in the flowering of the honeysuckle, and encircles me in the whispering of the wind among the roses. When the leaves drop and the roses fade, I shall hear a different chord on the harp of song. When the sleet and snow begin to fall, I shall listen to the dripping of the tears of Nature with as much sympathy as I now bask in her smiles. I have been writing verses to the name of Marylliaâthey are not finishedâbut they will come by degreesâ yes!âI am sure they will come! This is how they begin,ââand leaning on the low gate of his cottage entrance he recited softly, with half-closed eyes:
In the flowering-time of year When the heavens were crystal clear, And the skylarkâs singing sweet Close against the sun did beat,â All the sylphs of all the streams, All the fairies born in dreams, All the elves with wings of flame, Trooping forth from Cloudland came To the wooing of Maryllia!Walden murmured something inarticulate, but Adderley waved him into silence, and continued:
Woodland sprites of ferns and trees, Ariels of the wandering breeze, Kelpies from the hidden caves Coral-bordered âneath the waves, Sylphs, that in the roseâs heart, Laugh when leaves are blown apart,â All the Faun and Dryad crew From their mystic forests flew To the wooing of Maryllia!âVery fanciful!â said John, with a forced smileââI suppose you can go on like that interminably?â
âI can, and I will,ââsaid JulianââSo long as the fit possesses me. But not now. You are in a hurry, and you wish to say good-bye. You imply the P.P.C. in your aspect. So be it! I shall see you on Sunday in the pulpit as usual?â
âYes.â
âBadsworth Hall will probably attend your ministrations, so I am told,ââcontinued JulianââLord Roxmouth wants to hear you preach,â and Sir Morton himself proposes to âsit underâ you.â
âSorry for it!â said Walden abruptlyââHe should attend his own âcureââMr. Leveson.â
They laughed.
âOf course you donât credit that story about Miss Vancourtâs marriage with Lord Roxmouth?â queried Adderley, suddenly.
âI am slow to believe anything I hear,ââreplied JohnââButâis it quite without foundation?â
Adderley looked him straight in the eyes.
âQuite! Very quite! Most quite! My dear Walden, you are pale! A change, even a brief one, will do you good. Go and see your Bishop by all means. And tell him how nearly, how very nearly you gave prestige to the calling of a Churchman by knocking down a rascal!â
They parted then; and by sundown Walden was in the train speeding away from St. Rest at the rate of fifty miles an hour to one of the great manufacturing cities where human beings swarm together more thickly than bees in a hive, and overcrowd and jostle each otherâs lives out in the desperate struggle for mere bread. Bainton and Nebbie were left sole masters of the rectory and its garden, and both man and dog were depressed in spirits, and more or less restless and discontented.
ââTainât what it used to be by no manner oâ means,ââmuttered Bainton, looking with a dejected air round the orchard, where the wall fruit was hanging in green clusters of promiseââPasson donât seem to care, anâ when HE donât care then I donât care! Why, it seems onny tâother day âtwas May morning, anâ he was carryinâ Ipsie Frost on his shoulder, anâ leadinâ all the children wiâ the Maypole into the big meadow, anâ all was as right as right could be,âyet âere weâre onny just in August anâ everythingâs topsy-turvy like. Lord, Lord!ââow trifles do make up a sum oâ life to be sure, as the copybooks sezâfor arter all, whatâs âappened? Naught in any wise partikler. Miss Vancourt âas come âome to her own,âanâ sheâs âad a few friends from Lunnon stayinâ with âer. Thatâs simple enough, as simple as plantains growinâ in a lawn. Then Miss Vancourtâs âusband that is to be, comes down anâ stays with old Blusterdash Pippitt at the âAll, in order to be near âis sweetâart. There ainât nothinâ out of the common in that. Itâs all as plain as piecrust. Anâ Passon ainât done nothinâ either but jest his dooty as he allus doos it,â he ainât been up to the Manor moreân once,âhe ainât been at the âAll,âanâ Miss Vancourt she ainât been âere neither since the day he broke his best lilac for her. So it canât be she whatâs done mischiefânor him, nor any on âem. So I sez to myself, what is it? Whatâs come over the old place? Whatâs come over Passon? Neither place nor manâs the same somehow, yet blest if I know where the change comes in. Itâs like one of the ways oâ the Lord, past findinâ out!â
He might have thought there was something still more to wonder at if he could have looked into Josey Letterbarrowâs cottage that evening and seen Maryllia there, sitting on a low stool at the old manâs knee and patting his wrinkled hand tenderly, while she talked to him in a soft undertone and he listened with grave intentness and sagacity, though, also with something of sorrow.
âAnâ so ye think itâs the onny way, my beauty!â he queried, anxiouslyââThere ainât no other corner round it?â
âIâm afraid not, dear Josey!â she answered, with a sighââAnd Iâm telling you all about it, because you knew my father, and because you saw me when I was a little child. You would not like me to marry a man whom I hate,âa man who is bad right through, and who only wants my auntâs money, which he would get if I consented to be his wife. I am sure, Josey, you donât think money is the best thing in life, do you?âI know you agree with me that love is better?â
Josey looked down upon her where she sat with an almost devout tenderness.
âLoveâs the onny thing in the world worth âavinâ anâ keeping my beauty!â he saidââAnâ loveâs wot you desarves, anâ wot youâre sure to get. I wouldnât see Squireâs gel married for money, no, not if it was a reglar gold mine!âIâd rather see âer in âer daisy grave fust! Anâ I donât want to see âer with a lord nor a duke,âIâll be content to see âer with a good man if the Lord will grant me that âfore I die! Anâ you do as you feels to be right, anâ all things âull work together for good to them as loves the Lord! Thatâs Passonâs teachinâ anâ rare good teachinâ it be!â
At this Maryllia rose rather hurriedly and put on her hat, tying its chiffon strings slowly under her chin.
âGood-bye, Josey dear!ââshe saidââIt wonât be for very long. But you must keep my secretâyou mustnât say a word, not evenââhere she paused and laughed a little forcedlyâânot even to the Parson youâre so fond of!â
Josey looked at her sideways, with a quaintly meditative expression.
âPasson be gone away hisself,ââhe said, a little smile creeping among the kindly wrinkles of his brown weather-beaten faceââHe baint cominâ back till Sunday.â
âGone away?â Maryllia was quite unconscious of the vibration of pain in her voice as she asked the question, as she was equally of the startled sorrow in her pretty eyes.
âAh, my beauty, gone away,âârepeated Josey, with a curious sort of placid satisfactionââPasson, he be lookinâ downhearted like, anâ a change oâ scene âull do âim good mebbe, anâ bring âim back all the better for it. He came anâ said good-bye to me this marninâ.â
Maryllia stood for a moment irresolute. Why had he gone away? Her brows met in a little puckered line of puzzled wonder.
âHe be gone to see the Bishop,ââpursued Josey, watching her tenderly with his old dim eyes,âit was like reading a love-story to see the faint colour flushing those soft round cheeks of hers, and the tremulous quiver of that sweet sensitive mouthââChurch business, likely. But never you mind, my beauty!âheâll be âere to preach, please the Lord, on Sunday.â
âOh, I donât mind,â said Maryllia, quickly recovering herselfââOnly I shanât be here, you seeâandâand I had intended to explain something to himâhowever, it doesnât matter! I can write all I wanted to say. Good-bye, Josey! Give my love to Ipsie!â
âGood-bye, my beauty!â returned Josey, with emphatic earnestnessâ âAnâ God bless ye anâ make all the rough places smooth for ye! Youâll find us all âere, lovinâ anâ true, whenever ye comes, morninâ,
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