XXI. 'UPON THE HILL HE TURNED'
Having entered into this solemn compact with his son, the elder
Loveday's next action was to go to Mrs. Garland, and ask her how the
toning down of the wedding had best be done. 'It is plain enough
that to make merry just now would be slighting Bob's feelings, as if
we didn't care who was not married, so long as we were,' he said.
'But then, what's to be done about the victuals?'
'Give a dinner to the poor folk,' she suggested. 'We can get
everything used up that way.'
'That's true' said the miller. 'There's enough of 'em in these
times to carry off any extras whatsoever.'
'And it will save Bob's feelings wonderfully. And they won't know
that the dinner was got for another sort of wedding and another sort
of guests; so you'll have their good-will for nothing.'
The miller smiled at the subtlety of the view. 'That can hardly be
called fair,' he said. 'Still, I did mean some of it for them, for
the friends we meant to ask would not have cleared all.'
Upon the whole the idea pleased him well, particularly when he
noticed the forlorn look of his sailor son as he walked about the
place, and pictured the inevitably jarring effect of fiddles and
tambourines upon Bob's shattered nerves at such a crisis, even if
the notes of the former were dulled by the application of a mute,
and Bob shut up in a distant bedroom--a plan which had at first
occurred to him. He therefore told Bob that the surcharged larder
was to be emptied by the charitable process above alluded to, and
hoped he would not mind making himself useful in such a good and
gloomy work. Bob readily fell in with the scheme, and it was at
once put in hand and the tables spread.
The alacrity with which the substituted wedding was carried out,
seemed to show that the worthy pair of neighbours would have joined
themselves into one long ago, had there previously occurred any
domestic incident dictating such a step as an apposite expedient,
apart from their personal wish to marry.
The appointed morning came, and the service quietly took place at
the cheerful hour of ten, in the face of a triangular congregation,
of which the base was the front pew, and the apex the west door.
Mrs. Garland dressed herself in the muslin shawl like Queen
Charlotte's, that Bob had brought home, and her best plum-coloured
gown, beneath which peeped out her shoes with red rosettes. Anne
was present, but she considerately toned herself down, so as not to
too seriously damage her mother's appearance. At moments during the
ceremony she had a distressing sense that she ought not to be born,
and was glad to get home again.
The interest excited in the village, though real, was hardly enough
to bring a serious blush to the face of coyness. Neighbours' minds
had become so saturated by the abundance of showy military and regal
incident lately vouchsafed to them, that the wedding of middle-aged
civilians was of small account, excepting in so far that it solved
the question whether or not Mrs. Garland would consider herself too
genteel to mate with a grinder of corn.
In the evening, Loveday's heart was made glad by seeing the baked
and boiled in rapid process of consumption by the kitchenful of
people assembled for that purpose. Three-quarters of an hour were
sufficient to banish for ever his fears as to spoilt food. The
provisions being the cause of the assembly, and not its consequence,
it had been determined to get all that would not keep consumed on
that day, even if highways and hedges had to be searched for
operators. And, in addition to the poor and needy, every cottager's
daughter known to the miller was invited, and told to bring her
lover from camp--an expedient which, for letting daylight into the
inside of full platters, was among the most happy ever known.
While Mr. and Mrs. Loveday, Anne, and Bob were standing in the
parlour, discussing the progress of the entertainment in the next
room, John, who had not been down all day, entered the house and
looked in upon them through the open door.
'How's this, John? Why didn't you come before?'
'Had to see the captain, and--other duties,' said the trumpet-major,
in a tone which showed no great zeal for explanations.
'Well, come in, however,' continued the miller, as his son remained
with his hand on the door-post, surveying them reflectively.
'I cannot stay long,' said John, advancing. 'The Route is come, and
we are going away.'
'Going away! Where to?'
'To Exonbury.'
'When?'
'Friday morning.'
'All of you?'
'Yes; some to-morrow and some next day. The King goes next week.'
'I am sorry for this,' said the miller, not expressing half his
sorrow by the simple utterance. 'I wish you could have been here
to-day, since this is the case,' he added, looking at the horizon
through the window.
Mrs. Loveday also expressed her regret, which seemed to remind the
trumpet-major of the event of the day, and he went to her and tried
to say something befitting the occasion. Anne had not said that she
was either sorry or glad, but John Loveday fancied that she had
looked rather relieved than otherwise when she heard his news. His
conversation with Bob on the down made Bob's manner, too, remarkably
cool, notwithstanding that he had after all followed his brother's
advice, which it was as yet too soon after the event for him to
rightly value. John did not know why the sailor had come back,
never supposing that it was because he had thought better of going,
and said to him privately, 'You didn't overtake her?'
'I didn't try to,' said Bob.
'And you are not going to?'
'No; I shall let her drift.'
'I am glad indeed, Bob; you have been wise,' said John heartily.
Bob, however, still loved Matilda too well to be other than
dissatisfied with John and the event that he had precipitated, which
the elder brother only too promptly perceived; and it made his stay
that evening of short duration. Before leaving he said with some
hesitation to his father, including Anne and her mother by his
glance, 'Do you think to come up and see us off?'
The miller answered for them all, and said that of course they would
come. 'But you'll step down again between now and then?' he
inquired.
'I'll try to.' He added after a pause, 'In case I should not,
remember that Revalley will sound at half past five; we shall leave
about eight. Next summer, perhaps, we shall come and camp here
again.'
'I hope so,' said his father and Mrs. Loveday.
There was something in John's manner which indicated to Anne that he
scarcely intended to come down again; but the others did not notice
it, and she said nothing. He departed a few minutes later, in the
dusk of the August evening, leaving Anne still in doubt as to the
meaning of his private meeting with Miss Johnson.
John Loveday had been going to tell them that on the last night, by
an especial privilege, it would be in his power to come and stay
with them until eleven o'clock, but at the moment of leaving he
abandoned the intention. Anne's attitude had chilled him, and made
him anxious to be off. He utilized the spare hours of that last
night in another way.
This was by coming down from the outskirts of the camp in the
evening, and seating himself near the brink of the mill-pond as soon
as it was quite dark; where he watched the lights in the different
windows till one appeared in Anne's bedroom, and she herself came
forward to shut the casement, with the candle in her hand. The
light shone out upon the broad and deep mill-head, illuminating to a
distinct individuality every moth and gnat that entered the
quivering chain of radiance stretching across the water towards him,
and every bubble or atom of froth that floated into its width. She
stood for some time looking out, little thinking what the darkness
concealed on the other side of that wide stream; till at length she
closed the casement, drew the curtains, and retreated into the room.
Presently the light went out, upon which John Loveday returned to
camp and lay down in his tent.
The next morning was dull and windy, and the trumpets of the --th
sounded Reveille for the last time on Overcombe Down. Knowing that
the Dragoons were going away, Anne had slept heedfully, and was at
once awakened by the smart notes. She looked out of the window, to
find that the miller was already astir, his white form being visible
at the end of his garden, where he stood motionless, watching the
preparations. Anne also looked on as well as she could through the
dim grey gloom, and soon she saw the blue smoke from the cooks'
fires creeping fitfully along the ground, instead of rising in
vertical columns, as it had done during the fine weather season.
Then the men began to carry their bedding to the waggons, and others
to throw all refuse into the trenches, till the down was lively as
an ant-hill. Anne did not want to see John Loveday again, but
hearing the household astir, she began to dress at leisure, looking
out at the camp the while.
When the soldiers had breakfasted, she saw them selling and giving
away their superfluous crockery to the natives who had clustered
round; and then they pulled down and cleared away the temporary
kitchens which they had constructed when they came. A tapping of
tent-pegs and wriggling of picket-posts followed, and soon the cones
of white canvas, now almost become a component part of the
landscape, fell to the ground. At this moment the miller came
indoors and asked at the foot of the stairs if anybody was going up
the hill with him.
Anne felt that, in spite of the cloud hanging over John in her mind,
it would ill become the present moment not to see him off, and she
went downstairs to her mother, who was already there, though Bob was
nowhere to be seen. Each took an arm of the miller, and thus
climbed to the top of the hill. By this time the men and horses
were at the place of assembly, and, shortly after the mill-party
reached level ground, the troops slowly began to move forward. When
the trumpet-major, half buried in his uniform, arms, and
horse-furniture, drew near to the spot where the Lovedays were
waiting to see him pass, his father turned anxiously to Anne and
said, 'You will shake hands with John?'
Anne faintly replied 'Yes,' and allowed the miller to take her
forward on his arm to the trackway, so as to be close to the flank
of the approaching column. It came up, many people on each side
grasping the hands of the troopers in bidding them farewell; and as
soon as John Loveday saw the members of his father's household, he
stretched down his hand across his right pistol for the same
performance. The miller gave his, then Mrs. Loveday gave hers, and
then the hand of the trumpet-major was extended towards Anne. But
as the horse did not absolutely stop, it was a somewhat awkward
performance for a young woman to undertake, and, more on that
account than on any other, Anne drew back, and the gallant trooper
passed by without receiving her adieu. Anne's heart reproached her
for a moment; and then she thought that, after all, he was not going
off to immediate battle, and that she would in all probability see
him again at no distant date, when she hoped that the mystery of his
conduct would be explained. Her thoughts were interrupted by a
voice at her elbow: 'Thank heaven, he's gone! Now there's a chance
for me.'
She turned, and Festus Derriman was standing by her.
'There's no chance for you,' she said indignantly.
'Why not?'
'Because there's another left!'
The words had slipped out quite unintentionally, and she blushed
quickly. She would have given anything to be able to recall them;
but he had heard, and said, 'Who?'
Anne went forward to the miller to avoid replying, and Festus caught
her no more.
'Has anybody been hanging about Overcombe Mill except Loveday's son
the soldier?' he asked of a comrade.
'His son the sailor,' was the reply.
'O--his son the sailor,' said Festus slowly. 'Damn his son the
sailor!'
