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Updated: June 19, 2025
I thought, even the last evening the very last evening that John returned from Enderley, and his wife went down to the stream to meet him, and they came up the field together, as they had done so for many, many years; ay, even then I thought I saw his eyes turn to the spot where a little pale figure used to sit on the door-sill, listening and waiting for him, with her dove in her bosom.
No artist ever painted a more attractive picture than these two made stepping briskly across the wind-swept uplands; she with her sparkling dark eyes, her great mass of brown curls escaping from her hood, and John with his frank, ruddy face, and his fine, swinging, manly figure. Ursula's father, who had come here ailing, died at the cottage, and was buried in Enderley churchyard.
Sleeping, beyond the power of any human voice to waken them, under the daisies of a child's grave at Enderley. I know not if this was right but it was scarcely unnatural. In that heart, which loved as few men love, and remembered as few men remember, so deep a wound could never be thoroughly healed.
With his easy, happy temper, generous but uncertain, and his showy, brilliant parts, he was not nearly so much to be depended on as the grave Edwin, who was already a thorough man of business, and plodded between Enderley mills and a smaller one which had taken the place of the flour mill at Norton Bury, with indomitable perseverance.
"And I do believe, by common patience and skill, a man might make his fortune with it at those Enderley cloth-mills." "Suppose you try!" I said in half jest, and was surprised to see how seriously John took it. "I wish I could try if it were only practicable. Once or twice I have thought it might be. The mill belongs to Lord Luxmore. His steward works it.
"She would have been quite a woman now. How strange! My little Muriel!" And he walked thoughtfully along, almost in the same footprints where he had been used to carry his darling up the hillside to the brow of Enderley Flat.
"Well, we'll stay that is, if you are happy, John." "Thoroughly happy; I like the dashing rides to Norton Bury. Above all, I like coming back. The minute I begin to climb Enderley Hill, the tan-yard, and all belonging to it, drops off like an incubus, and I wake into free, beautiful life. Now, Phineas, confess; is not this common a lovely place, especially of a morning?"
I rode, and John sauntered beside me along the footpath, now and then plucking a leaf or branch off the hedge, and playing with it, as was his habit when a lad. Often I caught the old smile not one of his three boys, not even handsome Guy, had their father's smile. He was telling me about Enderley Mill, and all his plans there, in the which he seemed very happy.
That day Miss March departed, and we remained at Enderley alone. It was winter-time. All the summer-days at Enderley were gone, "like a dream when one awaketh." Of her who had been the beautiful centre of the dream we had never heard nor spoken since.
"We must go back again to Enderley," she said decidedly. So, giving Muriel into her father's arms, she led the way, and, a melancholy procession, we again ascended the hill to Rose Cottage door. Without any discussion, our plans were tacitly changed no more was said about going home to dear Longfield. Every one felt, though no one trusted it to words, that the journey was impossible.
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