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Updated: May 31, 2025
At the same time the sudden slight misgiving he had been conscious of in the Bishop's presence ran through him again. He feared he knew not what; and as he walked to the station the remembrance of Meynell's expression mingled with the vague uneasiness he tried in vain to put from him. Meynell walked home by Forked Pond to Maudeley.
After all, he reached Upcote in good time before dinner, and remembering that he had to inflict a well-deserved lecture on the children who had been caught injuring trees and stealing wood in his plantations, he dismissed the carriage and made his way, before going home, to the cottage, which stood just outside the village, on the way from Maudeley to the Rectory and the church.
He struggled on, the powers of mind and body flagging, till one night, when he had been nearly a week at Maudeley, Rose came to him one evening, and said with a smile that had in it just a touch of sweet mockery "My dear friend, you are doing no good here at all! Go and see Mary!" He turned upon her, amazed. "She has not sent for me." Rose laughed out.
Maudeley House, behind them, a seemly Georgian pile, with a columnar front, had the good fortune to belong to a man not rich enough to live in or rebuild it, but sufficiently attached to it to spend upon its decent maintenance the money he got by letting it.
It was as though behind the spoken conversation they carried on another unheard. And the unheard presently broke in upon the heard. "You mentioned Elsmere just now," said Barron, in a moment's pause, and with apparent irrelevance. "Did you know that his widow is now staying within a mile of this place? Some people called Flaxman have taken Maudeley End, and Mrs. Flaxman is a sister of Mrs.
"Do for heaven's sake stop her reading these books!" she said impatiently one evening to Mary, when she had taken leave of Catharine, and her niece was strolling back with her toward Maudeley. "What books?" "Why, lives of bishops and deans and that kind of thing! I never come but I find a pile of them beside her. It should be made absolutely illegal to write the life of a clergyman!
But this and other recollections, not dissimilar, soon passed away, under the steady assault of thoughts far more compelling.... He took the bridle-path through Maudeley, and was presently aware, in a clearing of the wood, of the figure of Meynell in front of him. The Rector was walking in haste, without his dogs.
I say!" he bent forward, looking into his hostess's face with his small, vivacious eyes "how long are you going to be here at Maudeley?" "We have taken the house for a year," said Rose, surprised. "Will you give me a parish nurse for that time? It won't cost much, and it will do a lot of good," said the Rector earnestly.
The woods and glades of Maudeley, the village street, the field paths, began to be for her places of magic, whence at any moment might spring flowers of joy known to her alone. To see him pass at a distance, to come across him in a miner's cottage, or in Miss Puttenham's drawing-room these rare occasions were to her the events of the summer weeks.
Breakfast at the White House, Upcote Minor, was an affair of somewhat minute regulation. About a fortnight after Mr. Barron's call on the new tenants of Maudeley Hall, his deaf daughter Theresa entered the dining-room as usual on the stroke of half-past eight. She glanced round her to see that all was in order, the breakfast table ready, and the chairs placed for prayers.
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