A more beautiful October morning than that of the next day never beamed
into the Welland valleys. The yearly dissolution of leafage was setting
in apace. The foliage of the park trees rapidly resolved itself into the
multitude of complexions which mark the subtle grades of decay,
reflecting wet lights of such innumerable hues that it was a wonder to
think their beauties only a repetition of scenes that had been exhibited
there on scores of previous Octobers, and had been allowed to pass away
without a single dirge from the imperturbable beings who walked among
them. Far in the shadows semi-opaque screens of blue haze made mysteries
of the commonest gravel-pit, dingle, or recess.
The wooden cabin at the foot of Rings-Hill Speer had been furnished by
Swithin as a sitting and sleeping apartment, some little while before
this time; for he had found it highly convenient, during night
observations at the top of the column, to remain on the spot all night,
not to disturb his grandmother by passing in and out of the house, and to
save himself the labour of incessantly crossing the field.
He would much have liked to tell her the secret, and, had it been his own
to tell, would probably have done so; but sharing it with an objector who
knew not his grandmother's affection so well as he did himself, there was
no alternative to holding his tongue. The more effectually to guard it
he decided to sleep at the cabin during the two or three nights previous
to his departure, leaving word at the homestead that in a day or two he
was going on an excursion.
It was very necessary to start early. Long before the great eye of the
sun was lifted high enough to glance into the Welland valley, St.
Cleeve arose from his bed in the cabin and prepared to depart, cooking his
breakfast upon a little stove in the corner. The young rabbits, littered
during the foregoing summer, watched his preparations through the open
door from the grey dawn without, as he bustled, half dressed, in and out
under the boughs, and among the blackberries and brambles that grew
around.
It was a strange place for a bridegroom to perform his toilet in, but,
considering the unconventional nature of the marriage, a not
inappropriate one. What events had been enacted in that earthen camp
since it was first thrown up, nobody could say; but the primitive
simplicity of the young man's preparations accorded well with the
prehistoric spot on which they were made. Embedded under his feet were
possibly even now rude trinkets that had been worn at bridal ceremonies
of the early inhabitants. Little signified those ceremonies to-day, or
the happiness or otherwise of the contracting parties. That his own
rite, nevertheless, signified much, was the inconsequent reasoning of
Swithin, as it is of many another bridegroom besides; and he, like the
rest, went on with his preparations in that mood which sees in his stale
repetition the wondrous possibilities of an untried move.