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Updated: June 23, 2025
Thornburgh's state is easier imagined than described. The walk to Shanmoor need not be chronicled. The party kept together. Robert fancied sometimes that there was a certain note of purpose in the way in which Catherine clung to the vicar. If so, it did not disquiet him. Never had she been kinder, more gentle.
The wind was freshening, the clouds were coming up fast from the westward; over the summit of High Fell and the crags on either side, a gray straight-edged curtain was already lowering. 'It will hold up yet a while, she thought, 'and if it rains later we can get a carriage at Shanmoor and come back by the road.
Mayhew, the black-browed vicar of Shanmoor, and the room seemed to be pervaded by Mrs. Seaton's strident voice. Her strong natural reserve asserted itself, and her face settled again into the slight rigidity of expression characteristic of it. She rose and prepared to move farther into the room. 'We must listen, she said to him, smiling, over her shoulder.
And at the Shanmoor tea Catherine herself had discussed the picnic, offering, in fact, to guide the party to a particular ghyll in High Fell, better known to her than anyone else. 'Oh, of course it's our salvation in this world and the next that's in the way, thought Rose, sitting crouched up in a grassy nook in the garden, her shoulders up to her ears, her chin in her hands.
A second later they were on the fell-side climbing a rough stony path, which in places was almost a watercourse, and which wound up the fell towards a tract of level swampy moss or heath, beyond which lay the descent to Shanmoor.
She hesitated, and began to speak with difficulty, her eyes on the ground. But by the time they were in the main Shanmoor path again, and she was not so weakly dependent on his physical aid, her spirits too returned. Pacing along with her hands behind her, she began by degrees to throw into her accounts of her various visits and performances plenty of her natural malice.
On that day she had walked over to Shanmoor in a fever of dumb rage and despair, to claim from her betrayer the fulfilment of his promise of marriage. He had laughed at her, and she had fled home in the warm rainy dusk, a prey to all those torturing terrors which only a woman in extremis can know.
She had shown it in the way in which at first she had tried to keep herself and Robert Elsmere apart. And then; beyond the departure from Shanmoor she seemed to lose the thread of her own history. Memory was drowned in a feeling to which the resisting soul as yet would give no name. She laid her head on her knees trembling.
But no wrestle had ever been so hard as this. And with what fierce suddenness had it come upon her! She looked back over the day with bewilderment. She could see dimly that the Catherine who had started on that Shanmoor walk had been full of vague misgivings other than those concerned with a few neglected duties. There had been an undefined sense of unrest, of difference, of broken equilibrium.
'Don't fancy it at all, she said, laughing. 'It is a very small and very natural incident of one's life here. Look back, Mr. Elemere; the rain has beaten us! He looked back and saw the great Pike over Shanmoor village blotted out in a moving deluge of rain.
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