Now it was very pleasant for me to ride, as I did a good deal, with my
Cousin Dorothy; for her father, for a great part, rode with the men and
cracked stories with them. For journeying with a person sets up a great
deal of intimacy; and acquaintance progresses at least as swiftly as
the journey itself. She spoke to me very freely of her father, though
never as a daughter should not; and told me how distressed she was
sometimes at the quantity of ale and strong waters that he drank. She
told me also how seldom it was that a Catholic could hear mass at Hare
Street: sometimes, she said, a priest would lie there, and say mass in
the attic; but not very often; and sometimes if a priest were in the
neighbourhood they would ride over and hear mass wherever he happened to
be. The house, she said, lay near upon the road, so that they would hear
a good deal of news in this way. But she told me nothing of another
matter--for indeed she could not--which distressed her; though I
presently guessed it for myself, as will appear in the course of this
tale.
My horse, Peter (as I had named him after the Apostle when I bought him
at Dover), was pretty weary as we came in sight of the church of Hormead
Parva; for I had given him plenty to do while I was in London; and he
stumbled three or four times.
"We are nearly home," said my Cousin Dorothy; and pointed with her whip.
"It is pleasant to hear such a word," I said: "for, as for me, I have
none."
She said nothing to that; and I was a little ashamed to have said it;
for nothing is easier than to touch a maid's heart by playing Othello to
her Desdemona.
"I have no business to have said that, cousin," I went on presently:
"for England is all home to me just now."
"I hope you will find it so, cousin," she said.
The country was pretty enough through which we rode; though in no ways
wonderful. It was pasture-land for the most part, with woods here and
there; and plenty of hollow ways (all of which were marked upon the map
with great accuracy), by which drovers brought their sheep to the
highway. I saw also a good many fields of corn. The hills were lowish,
and ran in lines, with long valleys between; and there was one such on
the right as we came to Hare Street, through which flowed a little
stream, nearly dry in the summer.
The house itself was the greatest house in the village, and lay at the
further end of it upon the right; sheltered from the road by limes, in
the midst of which was the gateway, and the house twenty yards within.
My Cousin Tom came up with us as we entered the village, and shewed me
with a great deal of pride his new iron gate just set up, with a twisted
top.
"It is the finest little gate for ten miles round," he said, "and cost
me near twenty pound."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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