St. George and St. Michael | Page 2

chimney sat a lady past the prime of life,
but still beautiful, though the beauty was all but merged in the
loveliness that rises from the heart to the face of such as have taken the
greatest step in life--that is, as the old proverb says, the step out of
doors. She was plainly yet rather richly dressed, in garments of an

old-fashioned and well-preserved look. Her hair was cut short above
her forehead, and frizzed out in bunches of little curls on each side. On
her head was a covering of dark stuff, like a nun's veil, which fell
behind and on her shoulders. Close round her neck was a string of
amber beads, that gave a soft harmonious light to her complexion. Her
dark eyes looked as if they found repose there, so quietly did they rest
on the face of the old man, who was plainly a clergyman. It was a small,
pale, thin, delicately and symmetrically formed face, yet not the less a
strong one, with endurance on the somewhat sad brow, and force in the
closed lips, while a good conscience looked clear out of the grey eyes.
They had been talking about the fast-gathering tide of opinion which,
driven on by the wind of words, had already begun to beat so furiously
against the moles and ramparts of Church and kingdom. The execution
of lord Strafford was news that had not yet begun to 'hiss the speaker.'
'It is indeed an evil time,' said the old man. 'The world has seldom seen
its like.'
'But tell me, master Herbert,' said the lady, 'why comes it in this our
day? For our sins or for the sins of our fathers?'
'Be it far from me to presume to set forth the ways of Providence!'
returned her guest. 'I meddle not, like some that should be wiser, with
the calling of the prophet. It is enough for me to know that ever and
again the pride of man will gather to "a mighty and a fearful head," and,
like a swollen mill-pond overfed of rains, burst the banks that confine it,
whether they be the laws of the land or the ordinances of the church,
usurping on the fruitful meadows, the hope of life for man and beast.
Alas!' he went on, with a new suggestion from the image he had been
using, 'if the beginning of strife be as the letting out of water, what shall
be the end of that strife whose beginning is the letting out of blood?'
'Think you then, good sir, that thus it has always been? that such times
of fierce ungodly tempest must ever follow upon seasons of peace and
comfort?--even as your cousin of holy memory, in his verses
concerning the church militant, writes:
"Thus also sin and darkness follow still The church and sun, with all
their power and skill."'
'Truly it seems so. But I thank God the days of my pilgrimage are
nearly numbered. To judge by the tokens the wise man gives us, the
mourners are already going about my streets. The almond-tree

flourisheth at least.'
He smiled as he spoke, laying his hand on his grey head.
'But think of those whom we must leave behind us, master Herbert.
How will it fare with them?' said the lady in troubled tone, and glancing
in the direction of the window.
In the window sat a girl, gazing from it with the look of a child who
had uttered all her incantations, and could imagine no abatement in the
steady rain-pour.
'We shall leave behind us strong hearts and sound heads too,' said Mr.
Herbert. 'And I bethink me there will be none stronger or sounder than
those of your young cousins, my late pupils, of whom I hear brave
things from Oxford, and in whose affection my spirit constantly
rejoices.'
'You will be glad to hear such good news of your relatives, Dorothy,'
said the lady, addressing her daughter.
Even as she said the words, the setting sun broke through the mass of
grey cloud, and poured over the earth a level flood of radiance, in
which the red wheat glowed, and the drops that hung on every ear
flashed like diamonds. The girl's hair caught it as she turned her face to
answer her mother, and an aureole of brown-tinted gold gleamed for a
moment about her head.
'I am glad that you are pleased, madam, but you know I have never
seen them--or heard of them, except from master Herbert, who has,
indeed, often spoke rare things of them.'
'Mistress Dorothy will still know the reason why,' said the clergyman,
smiling, and the two resumed their conversation. But the girl rose, and,
turning again to the window, stood for a moment rapt in the