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Updated: May 31, 2025
He went his way back, speedily, taking a short cut over Loughrigg to his cottage. His thoughts, as he climbed, were very full of Mrs. Sarratt. But they were the thoughts of an artist of a man who had studied beauty, and the European tradition of beauty, whether in form or landscape, for many years; who had worked
To be vouched for by Hester Martin, the 'wise woman' and saint of a country-side, was enough. It was understood that the poor little widow had been commended to the care of William Farrell and his sister, by the young husband whose gallant death was officially presumed by the War Office. Of course, Mrs. Sarratt, poor child, believed that he was still alive that was so natural!
A few months ago, it was geology; and we used to go out for walks with a hammer and a bag. Last year it was the-ology! Our poor clergyman, Mr. Richardson, was no match for Bridget at all. She could always bowl him over. 'Somehow all the "ologies" seem very far away don't they? murmured Sarratt, after they had laughed together.
Ah, here is your husband. George Sarratt entered, looking in some surprise at their very prompt visitor, and a little inclined to stand on his guard against a patronage that might be troublesome. But Farrell explained himself so apologetically that the young man could only add his very hearty thanks to his wife's. 'Well, I really must be off, said Farrell again, looking for his hat.
He had often asked himself whether he would wish to be loved as Mrs. Sarratt evidently loved her husband; whether he could possibly meet such a claim upon his own sensibility. But to-day he thought he could meet it; to-day he thought it would be agreeable.
And before re-entering the house, he stood a minute or two in the road, letting the fresh wind from the fells beat upon his face, and trying the while to stamp on memory the little white house where Nelly lay, the trees overhanging it, the mountain tops beyond the garden wall. 'Is Mrs. Sarratt in? asked Miss Martin of Mrs. Weston's little maid, Milly.
'I suppose she thought it would be all over in a day or two, she said, half-absently. The Sister looked puzzled. 'And that it would be better not to risk the effect on his wife? Of course Mrs. Sarratt does look dreadfully delicate. So you don't think it was a mistake? It's very difficult to see how it could be!
My captain, J. F. Sarratt, of Company G, Second Ohio, as brave and true-hearted a soldier as ever lived, earnestly entreated me not to go; but finding my determination was fixed, he bade me an affectionate farewell. Seldom have I parted with more emotion from any one than these war-worn veterans.
And a vivid recollection of Nelly Cookson as a girl had induced him to accept. He had been present indeed at the Sarratt wedding, and could never forget Nelly as a bride, the jessamine wreath above her dark eyes, and all the exquisite shapeliness of her slight form, in the white childish dress of fine Indian muslin, which seemed to him the prettiest bridal garment he had ever seen.
Her last words softly spoken produced a kind of shock of joy in Sarratt. He sat motionless, hearing the echo of them, till she reappeared. When she came back, she had taken off her serge travelling dress and was wearing a little gown of some white cotton stuff, with a blue cloak, the evening having turned chilly, and a hat with a blue ribbon.
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