Architects -- Fiction; Castles -- Conservation and restoration -- Fiction; Love stories; Wessex (England) -- Fiction
‘Don’t go on purpose to show me--when you are there on your own account
I will come in.’
‘I shall be there in half-an-hour.’
‘Very well,’ said Paula. She looked out of a window, and, seeing Miss De
Stancy on the terrace, left him.
Somerset stood thinking of what he had said. He had no occasion whatever
to go into the chapel of the castle that day. He had been tempted by her
words to say he would be there, and ‘half-an-hour’ had come to his lips
almost without his knowledge. This community of interest--if it were not
anything more tender--was growing serious. What had passed between them
amounted to an appointment; they were going to meet in the most solitary
chamber of the whole solitary pile. Could it be that Paula had well
considered this in replying with her friendly ‘Very well?’ Probably not.
Somerset proceeded to the chapel and waited. With the progress of the
seconds towards the half-hour he began to discover that a dangerous
admiration for this girl had risen within him. Yet so imaginative was
his passion that he hardly knew a single feature of her countenance well
enough to remember it in her absence. The meditative judgment of things
and men which had been his habit up to the moment of seeing her in
the Baptist chapel seemed to have left him--nothing remained but a
distracting wish to be always near her, and it was quite with dismay
that he recognized what immense importance he was attaching to the
question whether she would keep the trifling engagement or not.
The chapel of Stancy Castle was a silent place, heaped up in corners
with a lumber of old panels, framework, and broken coloured glass. Here
no clock could be heard beating out the hours of the day--here no
voice of priest or deacon had for generations uttered the daily
service denoting how the year rolls on. The stagnation of the spot was
sufficient to draw Somerset’s mind for a moment from the subject which
absorbed it, and he thought, ‘So, too, will time triumph over all this
fervour within me.’
Lifting his eyes from the floor on which his foot had been tapping
nervously, he saw Paula standing at the other end. It was not so
pleasant when he also saw that Mrs. Goodman accompanied her. The latter
lady, however, obligingly remained where she was resting, while Paula
came forward, and, as usual, paused without speaking.
‘It is in this little arcade that the example occurs,’ said Somerset.
‘O yes,’ she answered, turning to look at it.
‘Early piers, capitals, and mouldings, generally alternated with deep
hollows, so as to form strong shadows. Now look under the abacus of this
capital; you will find the stone hollowed out wonderfully; and also in
this arch-mould. It is often difficult to understand how it could be
done without cracking off the stone. The difference between this and
late work can be felt by the hand even better than it can be seen.’ He
suited the action to the word and placed his hand in the hollow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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