"Oh, then, pray let us go on," said Rachel, looking alarmed.
"To-morrow afternoon then, for I find there's another waterfall."
"Very well," said Rachel, resignedly.
"Or shall we cut the waterfall, and get on to Llan--something?"
"If you don't think we ought to see it."
"Ought?" he said, smiling. "What is the ought in the case? Why are we
going through all this? Is it a duty to society or to ourselves?"
"A little of both, I suppose," said Rachel.
"And, Rachel, from the bottom of your heart, is it not a trying duty?"
"I want to like what you are showing me," said Rachel.
"And you are more worried than delighted, eh?"
"I--I don't know! I see it is grand and beautiful! I did love my own
moors, and the Spinsters' Needles, but--Don't think me very ungrateful,
but I can't enter into all this! All I really do care for is your
kindness, and helping me about," and she was really crying like a child
unable to learn a lesson.
"Well," he said, with his own languor of acquiescence, "we are
perfectly agreed. Waterfalls are an uncommon bore, if one is not in a
concatenation accordingly."
Rachel was beguiled into a smile.
"Come," he said, "let us be strong minded! If life should ever become
painful to us because of our neglect of the waterfalls, we will set out
and fulfil our tale of them. Meantime, let me take you where you shall
be really quiet, home to Bishopsworthy."
"But your uncle does not expect you so soon."
"My uncle is always ready for me, and a week or two of real rest there
would make you ready for the further journey."
Rachel made no opposition. She was glad to have her mind relieved
from the waterfalls, but she had rather have been quite alone with
her husband. She knew that Lord and Lady Keith had taken a house at
Littleworthy, while Gowanbrae was under repair, and she dreaded the
return to the bewildering world, before even the first month was over;
but Alick made the proposal so eagerly that she could not help assenting
with all the cordiality she could muster, thinking that it must be a
wretched, disappointing wedding tour for him, and she would at least not
prevent his being happy with his uncle; as happy as he could be with
a person tied to him, of whom all his kindred must disapprove,
and especially that paragon of an uncle, whom she heard of like an
intensification of all that class of clergy who had of late been most
alien to her.
Alick did not press for her real wishes, but wrote his letter, and
followed it as fast as she could bear to travel. So when the train, a
succession of ovens for living bodies disguised in dust, drew up at the
Littleworthy Station, there was a ready response to the smart footman's
inquiry, "Captain and Mrs. Keith?" This personage by no means accorded
with Rachel's preconceived notions of the Rectory establishment, but she
next heard the peculiar clatter by which a grand equipage announces its
importance, and saw the coronetted blinkers tossing on the other side of
the railing. A kind little note of welcome was put into Rachel's hand as
she was seated in the luxurious open carriage, and Alick had never felt
better pleased with his sister than when he found his wife thus spared
the closeness of the cramping fly, or the dusty old rectory phaeton.
Hospitality is never more welcome than at the station, and Bessie's
letter was complacently accepted. Rachel would, she knew, be too much
tired to see her on that day, and on the next she much regretted having
an engagement in London, but on the Sunday they would not fail to meet,
and she begged that Rachel would send word by the servant what time Meg
should be sent to the Rectory for her to ride; it would be a kindness to
exercise her, for it was long since she had been used.