Chapter V: Quite Too Utterly

"A dim Ideal of tender grace
In my soul reigned supreme;
Too noble and too sweet, I thought,
To live, save in a dream—
Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me
from thy dear eyes."
A. A. PROCTER.

THE winding glen in its tangled beauty, far surpassed ordinary English types of scenery. It might almost have served for a Swiss ravine, but for the lack of enclosing mountains; and, indeed, the range of great hills, not many miles away, where the river had its birth, might not inaptly have been called "mountains," at least as an act of courtesy.

Banks, rising on either side of the gorge to a height of two hundred feet and more, were carpeted thickly with moss, decked with ferns, and clothed with trees which descended to the very brink of the swirling stream, there to overhang its surface. The path led through a prolonged bower of foliage, occasional gleams of sunshine creeping through. Gnarled roots projected themselves fantastically; and large flat stones, now high and dry, showed the wash of the water in flood-time.

Cyril grew timid at the nearness of the path to the steep lower bank. He slid his hand into Jean's, and she did not rebuff the appeal, for Jem had taught her a lesson. She put him on the side away from the stream, and held his fingers protectingly.

Jem did not mark this. Usually he saw everything; but his whole attention was given to Evelyn. Her delight with the exquisite tints, the lights and shades of the gorge, was pretty as a study; and it meant more than a study to Jem. She did not use up a vocabulary of adjectives, but the closed lips parted, the violet eyes deepened, the blush-rose tint of her cheeks grew bright. She went slowly—it could not be too slowly for Jem!—devouring with earnest gaze every detail of light and shadow. Jem was enchained with the grace of her movements, the more remarkable from utter absence of self-consciousness. He had never come across any one like her before, though the girls he had known were in number legion.

Still Evelyn said nothing till they reached a wilder part, less shut in. Trees grew scanty, and the rocks were steep and bare, while the stream rushed swiftly through a straitened bed, foaming past with a sweet high note. Then she did say "Oh!" and her eyes went in a swift appeal for sympathy to Jem. Not in the least because he was Jem, but only because in her joy she wanted a response from somebody.

Jem could hardly be expected to understand exactly how things were. He realised only that a new world was opening out before him—a new world in the shape of Evelyn Devereux. If he had not been already taken captive, this one glance would have done the business. Such a pair of great violet eyes, liquid, radiant, fringed all round with even lashes, turned full upon him, as if he, and he alone, could enter into her delight—what chance had he? And yet he was nothing to Evelyn. She would have bestowed the same look upon almost anybody who had happened to stand in his place at the moment. It was simply the natural expression of her pleasure.

Jem was a devotee of Nature commonly; but the sole item of Nature which he had eyes for on this particular day was a human item. The fair scenery of the gorge was lost upon him. He forgot even the presence of the children, and saw only Evelyn.

She had the dumb response she wanted, and went on, thinking no more about him. Jem was content not to talk. His one wish was to be allowed to walk beside Evelyn indefinitely, watching the play of feeling in her face. But this could not last; and somewhere in his mind, he was counting on five minutes of her free attention, when they should have crossed the rustic bridge, into the path which led away from the gorge, straight to the Ripley Brow grounds. The gorge itself would take a sharp bend just after the bridge, becoming then the second arm or branch of the letter V, and growing for a while even more rugged and wild in character, before it flattened and sobered down.

When, however, the bridge had been crossed, and Jem's hopes were high, a clerical figure could be seen striding down the glen towards them.

"Mr. Trevelyan!" exclaimed Evelyn.

She had taken, as already intimated, a strong girlish fancy to the Rector; and, as also intimated, the fancy was being fed by opposition. Left alone, it might have sunk into insignificance. Stamped upon, it was sure to flourish.

"How do you do?" said Mr. Trevelyan. He had always a curt and rigid manner, but a certain softness crept into his eyes as he bent them on Evelyn; for no man could be grim to Evelyn Devereux.

Jem received a handshake, and a brief, "Heard you were coming."

"Have you been for a walk?" asked Evelyn wistfully.

"On business. Not pleasure. A man ill in cottage."

"And you are going home down the gorge?"

"No; I have another visit to pay beyond your sapling plantation."

"O then you were coming our way; so I need not trouble Mr. Trevelyan any longer. He has been so kindly taking care of us through the glen. Thanks; I am so much obliged to you for coming all this distance," she said, giving her hand to Jem with bewitching graciousness. "It has been lovely."

Jem submitted to her decision with lifted cap, and did not betray the depth of his disappointment. Evelyn would scarcely have seen it, if he had, for she was busied with her new companion.

"Jean, it is nearly time for you to go home," said Mr. Trevelyan, as he turned away.

The tiny baronet, with a parting glance at Jean, trotted in the rear of the retiring two. He was desperately in awe of Mr. Trevelyan, and seldom by choice approached within fifty yards of him; so Evelyn was likely to have what she thoroughly enjoyed, a tête-à-tête talk with the Rector. His characteristic air of dry attention did not repel her, as it would have repelled many girls; and there was nothing small or nagging about his severity. She felt the man to be thoroughly genuine in all he said or did. If the path of duty should lead him through fire and water, he would follow it unhesitatingly. Whatever his faults might be—and faults, of course, he had, being human—self-indulgence was not one of them. Evelyn's keen insight read him truly.

Jem would have given all he possessed, which was not much, to follow Evelyn along the path, and into the "Brow" grounds; no matter at what distance. But gentlemanly feeling rendered this impossible. He stood like a statue, gazing fixedly till the three had vanished, unconscious of Jean's watchful attention.

"Well—" he said at length, and he made an effort to pull himself together, to awake to common life once more. "Well, Jean?"

"Do you think Evelyn very pretty?" asked Jean, with a child's directness. "Is that why you stare at so?"

Jem felt ruffled. His worst enemy could not lawfully accuse him of anything so objectionable as "staring."

"Rather a rude remark, Jean!"

"I don't mean to be rude. But you did," asserted Jean.

"I beg your pardon! Looking is not staring. A gentleman never stares."

"Do you think her very pretty?" repeated Jean, dropping what she counted an unimportant question.

"Yes. Don't you?"

"Not so much as some people."

Jem was amused. He planted himself with his back against a tree, and scanned curiously the straight supple child.

"Who is prettier than Miss Devereux, among your acquaintances?"

Jean was puzzled. "Miss Devereux isn't pretty. She's too old. Aunt Marie says she is fifty."

"Oh, I see. But I mean Miss Evelyn Devereux. I say, Jean, don't you go about talking Of Miss Devereux as fifty years old. She wouldn't like it."

"Aunt Marie said so."

"You needn't quote Aunt Marie. Come—who is prettier in your estimation than Miss Evelyn Devereux?"

The answer was delayed. Jean seemed to be weighing the matter. She said at length composedly:

"You!"

Jem did laugh. He had a pleasant musical laugh, round and full like his voice. It rang out now, not loudly but irresistibly. Jem held on to a bough, and bent with his merriment; while his eyes danced, and fairly ran over with tears of fun.

"Jean, you are past everything. It's the best compliment I ever had in my life," cried Jem, nearly convulsed.

"It's true," sturdily answered Jean.

Jem mastered himself, though every muscle in his face was twitching yet.

"Are you sure you don't mean Oswald?"

"Oh no. Oswald says boys are never pretty; only brave. But I think men are pretty sometimes."

"What do you find pretty in me? Eh?"

Jean found response easy. "Your eyes are pretty," she said. "They look so funny. And your mouth is pretty, only you're getting a horrid moustache. And I like the way you do your hair. It's got a nice wave just on the forehead. And you laugh so often. Nobody's pretty that doesn't smile."

"But Miss Evelyn Devereux smiles."

"Oh, not like you."

"What a pity Jean doesn't smile more!"

"I shouldn't be pretty, anyhow."

Jem could not contradict this. He patted her arm.

"Never mind. You are a nice little girl, and I like you. What is to be your next step?"

"Now? I'm going home to lessons."

"Not holidays yet!"

"I don't have holidays. I wish I could. Aunt Marie says they are such waste of time."

"I'll see if I can't beg you off a day or two. Come along! Yes, this minute!"

Jean's face of wondering delight was worth inspection. A passing question slid through Jem's mind—was she so plain, after all? But he did not trouble himself to answer the question. He was longing to get away from everybody, that he might dream over his new vision of beauty. Perhaps not many in his place would have voluntarily put aside the longing, to beg a treat for a child; and he half regretted his own offer the next instant, though he never thought of drawing back. Jem was essentially kind-hearted.

Together they went to the Rectory; and Jem pleaded so successfully that four whole days were granted. This was Friday. Lessons should not begin again till the Thursday following. Jean heard in a maze of silent rapture. Five days of uninterrupted freedom, counting Sunday! Freedom to devote herself to Oswald!

Jem did a good deal of walking and fishing those days; and a good deal more of dreaming. Whatever else he might have in hand, Evelyn was never out of his mind.

He saw her each day, one way or another. Sometimes it was only a glimpse, of which Evelyn knew nothing. Once they met in the road, and had a little chat. Once General Villiers took him to the Brow for afternoon tea, and Jem was in her presence for an hour. It all meant to Evelyn—nothing. To Jem it meant—everything.