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Updated: May 31, 2025
Moreover, she was barely civil to them, and evidently better pleased to say ‘good-by,’ than ‘how do you do.’ But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she did not make her appearance at church on Sunday; and she—Eliza, that is—will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of her—you know, Gilbert, she can do anything.
‘What was Arthur doing when you came away?’ ‘He was with Miss Millward, where you left him—all right, but hoping mamma would not be long away. You didn’t intrust him to me, by-the-by,’ I grumbled, ‘though I had the honour of a much longer acquaintance; but Miss Millward has the art of conciliating and amusing children,’ I carelessly added, ‘if she is good for nothing else.’
‘I thought,’ continued he, ‘I’d just look in upon you as I passed, and taste your home-brewed ale. I’ve been to call on Mrs. Graham.’ ‘Have you, indeed?’ He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis—‘I thought it incumbent upon me to do so.’ ‘Really!’ ejaculated my mother. ‘Why so, Mr. Millward?’ asked I.
‘I believe it is natural for our unamiable sex to dislike the creatures,’ replied I; ‘for you ladies lavish so many caresses upon them.’ ‘Bless them—little darlings!’ cried she, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, turning round and overwhelming her sister’s pet with a shower of kisses. ‘Don’t, Eliza!’ said Miss Millward, somewhat gruffly, as she impatiently pushed her away.
I remember it well, for I was walking home from the vicarage with no less remarkable a personage than Miss Eliza Millward by my side.
Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, and tried to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the table, in obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose. ‘Now take your tea,’ said she; ‘and I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing. I’ve been to call on the Wilsons; and it’s a thousand pities you didn’t go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!’
I only stayed to put away my gun and powder-horn, and give some requisite directions to one of the farming-men, and then repaired to the vicarage, to solace my spirit and soothe my ruffled temper with the company and conversation of Eliza Millward. ‘Mary—Mary! put them away!’ Eliza was hastily saying, just as I entered the room.
The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly gentleman, who placed a shovel hat above his large, square, massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand, and incased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters,—or black silk stockings on state occasions.
‘No, I think not,’ observed Rose; ‘for she didn’t seem very disconsolate after all; and she’s excessively pretty—handsome rather—you must see her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.’ ‘Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza’s, though not more charming.
It was down this that they poured the precious ore; and below here the carts stood to wait their lading, and carry it millward down the mountain. The whole cañon was so entirely blocked, as if by some rude guerilla fortification, that we could only mount by lengths of wooden ladder, fixed in the hillside.
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