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Updated: June 1, 2025
And when he stood up on Sundays to preach in Murewell Church, the worn and spiritual look of the man, and the knowledge warm at each heart of those before him of how the rector not only talked but lived, carried every word home. This strain upon all the moral and physical forces, however, strangely enough, came to Robert as a kind of relief.
He thought, suddenly, with a sting of regret, of the confiding child who had flushed under his praise that Sunday evening at Murewell. 'Superb! he said, but half mechanically. 'I had no notion a winter's work would have done so much for you. Was Berlin as stimulating as you expected?
And she knew that he stood again on the stairs at Murewell in that September night which gave them their first-born, and that he thanked God because her pain was over. An instant's strained looking, and, sinking back into her arms, he gave two or three gasping breaths, and died. Five days later Flaxman and Rose brought Catherine home. It was supposed that she would return to her mother at Burwood.
Murewell was no name of happy omen to her she had passed the darkest hours of her life there. In the end Robert asked for delay, which was grudgingly granted him. Then he and his mother and friend fled over seas: he feverishly determined to get well and cheat the fates.
But whether from oblivion, or from some instinct of grim humour towards Catherine, whom he had always vaguely disliked, the squire said not one word about his wife to Robert in the course of their talk of Madame de Netteville. Catherine took pains with her dress, sorely wishing to do Robert credit. She put on one of the gowns she had taken to Murewell when she married.
Meyrick puts it cautiously, but it may be the end! Catherine looked at him in despair. 'Robert, you are like a ghost yourself, and I have sent for Dr. Edmondson. 'Put him off till the day after to-morrow. Dear little wife, listen; my voice is ever so much better. Murewell air will do me good. She turned away to hide the tears in her eyes.
Had they left their Murewell life to be near the theatres, and kept at arm's length by supercilious great ladies? 'We are very far from the Park, she answered with an effort. 'I wish we weren't for my little girl's sake. 'Oh, you have a little girl! How old? 'Sixteen months. 'Too young to be a nuisance yet. Mine are just old enough to be in everybody's way. Children are out of place in London.
So said the vision; and carrying the passion of it deep in his heart the rector went his way, down the long stony hill, past the solitary farm amid the trees at the foot of it, across the grassy common beyond, with its sentinel clumps of beeches, past an ethereal string of tiny lakes just touched by the moonrise, beside some of the first cottages of Murewell, up the hill, with pulse beating and step quickening, and round into the stretch of road leading to his own gate.
Robert Elsmere, the Rector of Murewell, in Surrey, had made a scandal in the Church, when Meynell was still a lad, by throwing up his orders under the pressure of New Testament criticism, and founding a religious brotherhood among London workingmen for the promotion of a simple and commemorative form of Christianity.
Since his departure Robert had made the keeping up of his correspondence with the squire a binding obligation, and he was to-night chiefly anxious to go to Madame de Netteville's that he might write an account of it to Murewell. Still the squire's talk, and his own glimpse of her at Murewell, had made him curious to see more of the woman herself.
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