Chapter III: New Friends

THE rector walked home slowly and thoughtfully across the village green, unconscious of the children who made their little bobs as he passed them, or of his dog, who came bounding to meet him. A wonderful thing had happened. All unexpectedly the closed pages of his past history had been thrown back, and the one romance of his life lay open before him once more. Fresh as ever, the incidents of his long buried past rose again before his memory, causing the warm heart, which time had not been able to chill, to throb with keen emotion.

Grace Trevor! The one love of his life! He had spoken truly when he said that they had been friends, for on her side there had never been any warmer feeling than that of friendship. The twelve years by which his age had exceeded her own, had seemed to render it impossible that she should regard him otherwise than as a friend and mentor.

But the squire who adopted her, the penniless orphan of an old school friend—whose short life had been one continual buffeting with fortune—and brought her up as his niece, had been anxious to ally her with the good old family of the Seatons, and had seen in St. Clair Seaton a most desirable match for her. It was the disappointment of this hope, as well as his disapproval of the man she chose for herself, which had so greatly incensed her guardian, and led him to alter his will.

The rector was recalling, link by link, the course of the events in which he had played no unimportant part. He had striven to save Grace from the effects of her own folly, but without success. She had passed out of his life when she quitted Ashburton, but he had not forgotten her. There are some men—rare men they are—who cherish the memory of their early loves. Such a one was St. Clair Seaton. He knew that Grace Erith had made a hard lot for herself; he had longed to befriend her, but the way had not been opened to him ere he received the sorrowful news of her death.

But now, he told himself, as he entered his study, and sat down in utter absent-mindedness before his writing-table, now at last it was in his power to show what his friendship meant. It was surely not by chance that Grace's son and daughter had been brought to Trematon. When he read the name Erith in his nephew's letter, he had hoped that these might prove to be her children. The hand of Providence had brought it about that he might be their friend, for it was clear, from what the girl had told him, that they needed a friend. Now he might prove the strength and faithfulness of that love of long ago, by taking these, Grace's children, into his care.

"It is strange that Arthur should have found them out," he mused. "Can he have suspected—? But no, he knows nothing of all that; how should he? Yet it seems that he has but the slightest acquaintance with this girl and her brother. I wonder what led him to interest himself in them."

"She is a sweet girl," he continued, his thoughts taking another direction; "aye, and a pretty one too, though not to be compared with her mother. I should like it well if—But there, what is the good of building such castles in the air? Young men never choose as their guardians wish them. If I let myself hope for such a thing, my experience would be similar to that of most match-making elders."

Stanley Erith was surprised that the rector of Trematon should call upon him early the next morning, but he felt the kindness that prompted the visit. He was less at ease with strangers than was his sister, but his shyness soon vanished before Mr. Seaton's friendliness. He was as pleased with the courtly, kindly gentleman as was Grace, and the two quickly became well acquainted.

The brother and sister were invited to lunch at the rectory on the following day. They did so, and liked the rector even better as they saw him in his home.

Though he had few visitors of his own age, Mr. Seaton was always ready to entertain Arthur's friends. He was fond of young people, and got on well with them.

The rector talked much of his nephew, who, it was plain, was very dear to his uncle. Arthur's sayings and doings were related as though they were of the utmost importance.

Grace listened with a curious thrill of interest. She half longed, half dreaded to see this remarkable young man. It seemed so strange that he should have been able to furnish such accurate information concerning herself when she knew absolutely nothing of him.

After luncheon, the rector drove his guests to Ashburton, and showed them the old house facing a green chase, and backed by spreading woods, which had been the home of their mother's girlhood.

It was a lovely drive they took. At first, the way lay across the broad, breezy moors, brilliant with heather and gorse, then through deep Devonshire lanes, winding amidst beech-woods, they descended into Ashburton, a quaint, picturesque little town, with a fine church. The road home rose sharply above the bed of a rapid moorland river, dashing through a rocky defile. Trees met overhead, wooded heights soared above; each bend of the way revealed some fresh glimpse of Nature's wildest, most romantic beauty.

How Grace enjoyed it all! But perhaps the chief pleasure the day had for her was that she felt in listening as they drove along to what Mr. Seaton told her about her mother's early life. His words were few and guarded, but they had the deepest interest for Grace. And something in the way in which he spoke of her, convinced the girl that her mother had been very dear to him.

At the entrance to Torhill, Grace and her brother alighted and said good-bye to Mr. Seaton.

As he drove away alone, Grace confided to Stanley that she felt as if she had known the rector all her life.

"He is a dear old man," she said, warmly.

"Not so very old, either," returned Stanley.

But to Grace, anyone who had passed sixty appeared patriarchal.

One morning a few days later, Grace took her way to the village shop, leaving Stanley in the house busy with letters.

The shop was the smallest place that could possibly be dignified by such a name. Considering its limited space, it was wonderful what a heterogeneous collection of articles were sold within. The window, in which samples of almost every description of goods were displayed, measured about three feet square. Not more than three customers could stand at a time between the counter and the door, and these were in constant danger of bringing down on them the canisters, loaves, cakes, etc., piled in the background. As the business of the General Post Office was also carried on at this establishment, it may be imagined that the shopkeeper, a comely, good-natured woman, led a busy life.

Grace was the only customer this morning, and Miss Nosworthy was disposed to chat as she waited on her.

"No, miss," she said, "I've none but this dandelion coffee; the people 'bout here likes it better than any other, 'cept the gentry, of course, and they orders theirs from town. Sorry I can't oblige you, but I've none other. Fruit? Ah! No, miss—that I don't sell. There's little fruit to be had here for love or money. People just grows enough for theirselves, that's all."

"Then I must do without," said Grace, smiling. "I'll leave the parcel, please, Miss Nosworthy, and call for it presently."

"Very well, miss. It's a lovely morning for a walk. Mr. Arthur looked in just now and he said the same. You'll have heard, I daresay, that young Mr. Seaton came home last night."

"I knew that he was expected," replied Grace, colouring a little, she could not have told why.

"My! How pleased the parson 'll be to have him home again. He is set on him, to be sure; couldn't be more so if it were his own son. Mr. Arthur's like the apple of his eye, so to speak. And I will say there isn't a nicer, pleasanter-spoken young gentleman to be found anywhere. Always the same, see him when you will. He looked in just now, as full of his nonsense as ever. He loves to make fun of my shop, that he do. Nothing would do, but he must have some of my 'bull's eyes,' but he'd gived them all away to the school-children before he was half-way across the green."

Here the entrance of another customer interrupted Miss Nosworthy's flow of talk, and Grace made her escape. She turned towards the rugged pile of rocks that rose behind the church. The top of the tor commanded a beautiful view of the country for miles round, and Grace loved to ascend it and enjoy the prospect whilst the morning was still fresh.

But as she made her way upwards by a winding path through bracken and gorse, she perceived that someone had preceded her and taken possession of the height. On the top-most rock sat a young man clad in grey tweed, and wearing a peaked cap. No need to ask who this individual might be. Grace was sure he was none other than Arthur Seaton. Not wishing to intrude herself upon his notice, she gave up the idea of ascending at present, and turning from the path, busied herself with gathering some clusters of the mountain ash berries, which were beginning to glow a deep crimson.

She wandered on over the broken ground at the foot of the hill, carefully refraining from looking up, but aware none the less that the individual perched on the rock above was observing all her movements. Grace was wondering how long he would remain there, and was determined that she would approach no nearer to him, when an unlooked-for incident frustrated her intentions.

Like many girls who have been reared in towns, Grace had an unconquerable dread of horned animals. To pass even the mildest of cows required of her an exercise of courage and self-mastery worthy of an act of heroism. It may be imagined, therefore, what her terror was when a shout roused her to the consciousness that a whole herd of the rough moorland cattle were rushing down a slope on her right, and apparently making straight for her.

Grace gave a cry, and, turning, dashed in amongst the bracken and heather, scrambling over rocks and bushes with some wild idea of climbing straight up to the top of the tor, in spite of the bare, perpendicular sides which the rocks here presented to her. But in a minute, she stumbled and fell upon her face in the heather. With that, she gave herself up for lost, and lay expecting at each moment to feel the horrid hoofs trampling on her. But no such experience ensuing, she soon sprang up and looked around her, and, lo! there was no cause for alarm at all.

The herd was at a distance now, near the gate of a field, attended by a boy on a pony, who had driven them down with such precipitance from their pasture. It was clear that they had had no hostile intentions with regard to her, and as Grace began to recover from her fright, she felt much ashamed of herself.

She glanced at the top of the rocks. No one was visible there. The next minute, she perceived that Arthur Seaton had found some rapid mode of descending, and was advancing towards her through the heather.

Grace felt dreadfully confused and shame-faced as she met his glance, which expressed the kindest solicitude.

"I am sorry you have had such a fright," he said. "It was very stupid of that boy to drive those creatures down on you like that. He should have known better."

"He could not see me—it was my fault," murmured Grace. "I was the stupid one to be so easily frightened."

"Not at all. Most ladies would be frightened. It is only natural when one is not used to country life. I am afraid you feel quite shaken."

"No, thank you; I shall be all right in a moment," said Grace, seating herself on a rock, and pushing back her hat that the breeze might cool her brow.

The next minute, she began to laugh.

"I can't help thinking," she said, "how absurd it must have looked to you to see me running away from nothing. Did you see me fall?"

"I did," he said gravely, but with an amused twinkle in his eyes; "and when you did not rise, I thought you had struck your head against a rock, and were lying stunned. You did not hurt yourself in falling, I trust."

"Not in the least. I was simply too terrified to rise. I thought the creatures were upon me. Oh, how my brother will laugh at me when I tell him!"

"Your brother? Mr. Erith, I presume? I cannot be mistaken in thinking you Miss Erith."

"Nor I in taking you for Mr. Arthur Seaton?"

"No. We are indebted to the cattle for an informal introduction. Will you not come to the top, Miss Erith? There is a fine breeze, and the hills are looking lovely."

She willingly agreed, and he led the way by the easiest path.

"This is beautiful!" Grace exclaimed, as they gained the summit, and she stood looking round on the wide prospect. "What a long way one can see! Each time I come up here, it seems to me more lovely than before."

"Then you are pleased with Trematon?"

"Indeed I am. It is the loveliest little place I have ever seen."

He looked gratified.

"By-the-bye," continued Grace, "I believe I owe my acquaintance with Trematon to you. Mr. Seaton says you recommended me to him, but I am puzzled to think how you knew that I could play. I cannot remember that I ever met you at Cambridge."

Her companion displayed some embarrassment.

"Oh, as to that," he said, hurriedly, "I heard about you, and about your brother's illness, you know, from a man at Cambridge."

"He must have known us very well," said Grace, innocently. "It was one of Stanley's friends, I suppose?"

"Oh, he knew you well, of course," returned Arthur Seaton, still more hurriedly. "Is your brother really better now, Miss Erith? Does the air of Trematon suit him?"

"Oh, yes; it is marvellous what it has done for him. He was good for very little when he came, but now he can walk miles, his headaches are gone, and his appetite is something quite alarming. I never saw anyone change so much in such a short time."

"I am very glad to hear that," he said, heartily. "I believe in the virtues of Trematon air." He was about to add that she looked better than when he last saw her, but happily he recollected himself in time. It was a satisfaction to him to see that the careworn look was gone from her face, and it was bright and glad, as a girl's should be, whilst the sun had given it a most becoming bloom.

"I am looking forward to making your brother's acquaintance," said Arthur Seaton. "My uncle has been speaking most highly of him. He has quite won my uncle's heart, I can assure you."

"Mr. Seaton has been most kind to us," said Grace, earnestly; "he has treated us as friends, not strangers. Indeed, my brother and I have great cause to be grateful to you for bringing us here. If you knew all, you understand how sincerely I say this."

Arthur coloured, under the consciousness that he knew far more than she supposed.

"You are quite mistaken," he said, hastily. "The obligation is all on our side; we should be grateful to you for coming to this out of the world place. My uncle has been telling me how beautifully you play, and how well the singing went on Sunday."

"I am very glad if he was pleased," said Grace. "But now I must be getting home. I came up to the village to do some shopping, but, as you are probably aware, it is not possible to do much in that way at Trematon. It is rather startling to find yourself at a place where good coffee cannot be purchased, nor fruit had for love or money, as Miss Nosworthy assures me. Still, these are minor inconveniences, and can be got over."

"I am glad you think so. Miss Nosworthy is not very enterprising, I am afraid. She is very cautious in stocktaking. Five pounds would buy everything she has in her shop, and rather more. But, Miss Erith, I intend to ride to Ashburton this afternoon, so I hope you will let me bring you from there whatever you require. There is a good grocer's shop in the town."

"You are very kind, but indeed I could not think of it," said Grace, earnestly. "I can order the coffee by post; there is no need to trouble you."

"It would be no trouble—a pleasure," he urged. "Do let me be of service to you in this trifling way."

But Grace was resolute in declining. She could not bear to think of his riding back from Ashburton laden with parcels for her.

They ascended the hill, and Grace called at the shop for her purchases, which Arthur insisted on carrying for her to the entrance of Torhill. He excused himself from entering at that hour, but said he hoped to see her brother on the following day.

Grace soon told her brother all about her meeting with Arthur Seaton.

"And you liked him?" he said.

"Yes," was her response; "he is really almost as nice in his way as his uncle."

"Not stuck up?"

"Oh, no; he offered to bring me some coffee from Ashburton."

"Then you should have let him do so; that was wretched stuff we had this morning."

"I did not like he should have the trouble," said Grace; "and we can get it almost as soon by post."

"Did he tell you how he came to know about us?"

"No—not exactly. He said it was from a friend of yours, but he did not mention the name."

That evening, after twilight had fallen on the outer world, and Mrs. Sparks had brought into the little sitting-room the lamp which every night, to Grace's distress, attracted from the darkness outside, and lured to their destruction many moths, the sound of horse's hoofs was heard coming down the rough lane.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Sparks entered with an elated air, and placed on the table a broad, shallow basket, in which some magnificent pears, and several clusters of equally fine grapes, were tastefully arranged amid vine leaves.

"Mr. Arthur's compliments, miss," she said, "and he's taken the liberty of bringing you a little fruit."

Grace and Stanley looked at each other in astonishment. She seemed at a loss what to say.

"It is very good of Mr. Seaton, I am sure," said Erith, warmly. "What splendid fruit! Is he at the door?"

"Oh, no, sir; he rode away at once."

"Then we must try to thank him to-morrow. It is really too kind of him."

"Just like Mr. Arthur, sir. He's for ever doin' kind things."

"So it seems. Well, Grace," turning to his sister as Mrs. Sparks closed the door, "you told me Miss Nosworthy said that fruit was not to be had here for love or money, but it appears you can get it for love."

Grace coloured hotly, and begged him not to be so absurd.