Heartsease | Page 8

the cathedral, whereat she looked shy and frightened, but Mr. Martindale set himself to re-assure her, and the polished gentleness of his manner soon succeeded.
They stood on the hill, overlooking the town and the vale of Itchen, winding away till lost between the green downs that arose behind their crested neighbour, St. Catherine's Hill, and in the valley beneath reposed the gray cathedral's lengthened nave and square tower, its lesser likeness, St. Cross, and the pinnacles of the College tower.
'A very pretty view,' said Mr. Martindale.
'The old buildings are very fine, but it is not like our own hills.'
'No, it is hard on Hampshire downs to compare them to Cumberland mountains.'
'But it is so sunny and beautiful,' said the bright young bride. 'See the sunshine on the green meadows, and the haymaking. Oh! I shall always love it.' John heard a great deal of happiness in those words. 'I never saw a cathedral before,' she added.
'Have you been over this one?'
'Yes, but it will be such a treat to go again. One can't take a quarter of it in at once.'
'No, it takes half a lifetime to learn a cathedral properly.'
'It is a wonderful thing,' she said, with the same serious face; then, changing her tone to one of eagerness, 'I want to find Bishop Fox's tomb, for he was a north-country bishop.'
John smiled. 'You are perfect in the cathedral history.'
'I bought a little book about it.'
Her knowledge was, he found, in a girlish state of keen interest, and not deficient, but what pleased him best was that, as they entered and stood at the west door, looking down the whole magnificent length of nave, choir, and chapel, the embowed roof high above, sustained on massive pillars, she uttered a low murmur of 'beautiful!' and there was a heart-felt expression of awe and reverence on her face, a look as of rapt thought, chased away in a moment by his eye, and giving place to quiet pensiveness. After the service they went over the building; but though eager for information, the gravity did not leave her, nor did she speak at once when they emerged into the Close.
'It is very impressive,' said John.
'I suppose you have seen a great many cathedrals?'
'Yes, many foreign ones, and a few English.'
'I wonder whether seeing many makes one feel the same as seeing one.'
'How do you mean?'
'I do not think I could ever care for another like this one.'
'As your first?'
'Yes; it has made me understand better what books say about churches, and their being like--'
'Like?'
She changed her sentence. 'It makes one think, and want to be good.'
'It is what all truly beautiful things should do' said John.
'Oh! I am glad you say so,' exclaimed Violet. 'It is like what Annette and I have wondered about--I mean why fine statues or pictures, or anything of that kind, should make one feel half sad and half thoughtful when one looks at them long.'
'Perhaps because it is a straining after the only true beauty.'
'I must tell Annette that. It was she that said it was so,' said Violet; 'and we wondered Greek statues gave one that feeling, but I see it must be the reason.'
'What statues have you seen?'
'Those at Wrangerton House. Lord St. Erme is always sending cases home, and it is such a festival day to go up and see them unpacked, and Caroline and Annette go and take drawings, and I like to wander about the rooms, and look at everything,' said Violet, growing talkative on the theme of home. 'There is one picture I like above all, but that is a sacred subject, so no wonder it should have that feeling in it.'
'What is it?'
'It is a Madonna,' she said, lowering her voice. 'A stiff old- fashioned one, in beautiful, bright, clear colouring. The Child is reaching out to embrace a little cross, and his Mother holds him towards it with such a sad but such a holy face, as if she foreboded all, and was ready to bear it.'
'Ah! that Ghirlandajo?'
'That is the name!' cried Violet, enchanted. 'Have you seen it?'
'I saw Lord St. Erme buy it.'
'Do you know Lord St. Erme?' said Violet, rather awe-struck.
'I used to meet him in Italy.'
'We wish so much that he would come home. We do so want to see a poet.'
John smiled. 'Is he never at home?'
'O, no, he has never been at Wrangerton since his father died, twelve years ago. He does not like the place, so he only comes to London when he is in England, and papa goes up to meet him on business, but he is too poetical to attend to it.'
'I should guess that.'
'I have done wrong, said Violet, checking herself; 'I should not have said that. Mamma told us that we ought never to chatter about his concerns.