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Updated: June 20, 2025
Through deep lanes with many cottages, and here and there a very ugly little chapel, over steep hills, up which Turner and Wynnie and I walked, and along sterile moors we drove, stopping at roadside inns, and often besides to raise Connie and let her look about upon the extended prospect, so that it was drawing towards evening before we arrived at our destination.
It was a little gem of nature, complete in effect. The ladies were full of pleasure. Wynnie, forgetting her usual reserve, broke out in frantic exclamations of delight.
Before we reached the breakwater, I found that Wynnie was following behind us. We stopped in the middle of it, and set Connie down, as if I wanted to take breath. But I had thought of something to say to her, which I wanted Wynnie to hear without its being addressed to her. "Do you see, Connie," I said, "how far off the water is?" "Yes, papa; it is a long way off.
"You are thinking of Wynnie," I said. "Yes. It is hard to make one sad for the sake of the rest." "True. But it is one of the world's recognised necessities." "No doubt." "Besides, you don't suppose Percivale can stay here the whole winter. They must part some time." "Of course. Only they did not expect it so soon." But here my wife was mistaken. I went to my study to write to Weir.
That Wynnie, at least, was, her next question made evident. "What you say about a law of nature and a law of the Spirit makes me think again how that walking on the water has always been a puzzle to me." "It could hardly be other, seeing that we cannot possibly understand it," I answered. "But I find it so hard to believe. Can't you say something, papa, to help me to believe it?"
I saw that the subject on his easel suggested that of which Wynnie had been making a sketch at the same time, on the day when Connie first lay on the top of the opposite cliff. But he was not even looking in the same direction now. "Do you mind having your work seen before it is finished?"
I told Wynnie to run to the house, and send Walter to help me to carry Connie home. She went, and, until Walter came, I talked to Mr. Percivale as if nothing had happened. And what made me feel yet more friendly towards him was, that he did not do as some young men wishing to ingratiate themselves would have done: he did not offer to help me to carry Connie home.
I was contemplating it fixedly, when a little stifled cry from Wynnie made me start and look round. Her face was flushed, yet she was trying to look unconcerned. "I thought we were quite alone, papa," she said; "but I see a gentleman sketching." I looked whither she indicated. A little way down, the bed of the ravine widened considerably, and was no doubt filled with water in rainy weather.
Wynnie darted a quick glance at me, caught my eyes, which was more than she had intended, and blushed; sought refuge in a bewildered glance at Percivale, caught his eye in turn, and blushed yet deeper. He plunged instantly into conversation, not without a certain involuntary sparkle in his eye. "Did you go to see Mrs. Stokes this morning?" he asked. "No," I answered.
"And I might venture to answer that Shakspere being true to nature always, as you say, papa knew very well how absurd it would be to represent a woman's feelings as under the influence of the juice of a paltry flower." "Capital, Wynnie!" said her mother; and Turner and I chimed in with our approbation. "Shall I tell you what I like best in the play?" said Turner.
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