The Cathedral

Joan'

s shaken up and jostled together every small village in Great Britain, Polchester still has some shreds of its isolation left t

red Barnstaple, to make the place more widely known, more commercially attractive. It was not until later that the golf course was laid out and the St. Leath Hotel rose on Pol Hill. But other things were tried--steamers on the Pol, char-à-bancs to various places of local interest, and so on--but, at this time, all these efforts failed. The Cathedral was too strong for them, above all Brandon and Mrs. Combermere were too strong for them. Nothing was done to encourage strangers; I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Combermere didn't pay old Jolliffe of "The Bull" so much a year to keep his hotel inconvenient and insanitary. The men on the Town Council were for the most part like the Canons, aged and conservative. It is true that it was in 1897 that Barnstaple was elected Mayor, but without Ronder I doubt whether even he would have been able to do very much. The town then revolved, so to speak, entirely on its own axis; it revolved between the two great events of the

unimportant details, to conceive him romantically. Falk, her brother, was romantic to her because she had seen so much less of him; her father she knew too well. For some time after F

lled, but Falk did not seem to mind this in the least. Hi

m, but nevertheless breakfast was there, on the table, however late he was. The cook and, indeed, all the servants adored him because, I suppose, he had no sense of class-difference at all and laughed and joked wit

t of the house would have made her miserable and apprehensive, but now it seemed to be all outside her and unconnected with her as though she had a life of her own that no one could touch

don't know what to

s appealed to for advice that

" she asked, trying to look

d startled look as though she had been speaking

idn't know that

r? Is it anything

.really I didn't know

, mother." Joan marvelled at

ing you ca

t I've been home for months and months simply with the i

't think that's quit

up. I'm going to dinner at the Castle, and I must hel

hat both Joan and her mother stared at one

aid, hurriedly recovering herself. "But you

ther would say," said Mrs.

ter just between you and me. I'm here to help you, and you

sed to go to tea with Miss Burnett this afternoon and now your father wants me to go with him to the Deaner

's quite time I took on some of the calling for you.

tulate on all sides at once. "Suppose you do go, dear. I'm sure it's very kind of you. And you might take those book

still five years old, mother. That's

ndeed must be going on behind the scenes to cause her mother to give in so quickly. She sat on her old faded rocking-chair, her hands crossed

a good preacher. He was a widower, and his sister-in-law kept house for him. Joan considered further on the great importance of these concessions; it made all the difference to everything. She was now to have a life of her own, and ev

is afternoon that they'll think I've bee

ncheon, for it was a gloomy meal. Only her father

ral green. There was, as there so often is in Polchester, a smell of the sea in the air, cold and invigorating. She paused for a moment and looked across at the Cathedral. She di

ful once more. There the second wonderful thing that day happened to her. She had taken scarcely a step down the hill when she came upon Mrs. Sampson. There was nothing wonderful about that; Mrs. Sampson, being the wife of a Dean who was much more retiring than he should be, was to be seen in public at all times and seasons, having to do, as it were, the work of two rather than one. No, the wonderful thing was that Joan suddenly realised that her terror of Mr

y wrong with the old, and Mrs. Sampson's sharpness of manner, her terrifying habit of rapping out a "Yes" or a "No," her gloomy view of boisterous habits and healthy appetites, made her one most truly to be avoided.

ning, Mrs

orning,

it a ni

think. Is your

ell, th

her my

, Mrs.

od-

od-

lue colour on a cold day, quivered, her thi

ad come to her, and, feeling rather that in another moment she would be punished

a few volumes of poetry and a few memoirs. Close to this table Miss Milton sat, wrapped, in the warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She hated children, myself in

e confessed that to-day, in spite of her success with Mrs. Sampson, she was nervous. She was nervous partly because she hated Miss Milton's red-rimmed eyes, and never looked at them if she could help it, but, in the main, because she knew that her mother wa

t week, but that she couldn't be sure." Was Joan strong enough n

s Milton did not look up, but continue

r has sent back these books. They

to her chilblained protection. "It's a little diffi

Sentimental Tom

lton was an

weetly pretty book--Roger Varibrugh's Wife,

, caught against her will by the r

afraid. There are s

ntimental Tommy this week. You promised her a month ago. I

ess, Miss Brandon. If you have any complaint, I'm sure the Library Committee will attend to it. It's to

surprised delight, to be angry. "Surely the last reader hasn't been three mo

son colouring turn

h books are out. They are in grea

an hated herself for blushing, especially before the odious Miss Milton, but there was a reason. One day in last October after morning service Joan and her mother had waited in the Cloisters to avoid a shower of rain. St. Leath had also waited and very pleasantly had talked to them both. There was nothing very alarming in

She had told herself that this was nothing but the merest, most obv

that very morning that her new courage and self-confidence had come to her? Th

ection for his three plain sisters, his determination to see things as they were, and his sense of humour, the last of these something quite his own, and always appearing in unexpected pla

s only an approval of his intentions, and there might have followed an awkward scene had his master not c

between indignation, fear and snobbery, d

ed the stocking into the farthest recesses of

apolo

Lord St. Leath," said Miss

ng. "He's as strong as Lucifer. Here, Andrew,

ed at Joan, and in so pleasant a way tha

led Andrew now, and the dog was slobbering

she ought to go but not knowing quite how to do so. He a

n and get that book you promised her. What's th

pocket and produ

n called Barrie. Silly name, but mother

d towards

hat's the book I've just

face was a c

r told me that you'd sent her a line to

said Joan, staring now straigh

on. "That is, there's a special copy.

r isn't it?"

With confused fingers Miss Milton sear

, "that there wouldn't he a copy for weeks. If you'd told me you were keeping one

ing his eyes very widely indeed, "that

y hard as though she had been running a long

Miss Brandon,...but I never heard such a thing. Does

ainly

had you to tell M

ed to pierce Joan's heart with a bright stiletto, had such a weapon been handy. She saw the softest, easiest, idlest job in the world slipping out of her fingers; she saw hersel

" she said in a trembling voice,

ad disappeared. "It doesn't matter a bit.

hing." He turned fiercely upon Miss Milton. "My mother shall know exactly what has happened. I'm sure she'd be horrified

the room. At th

you going down the Hig

t out of the room and down

bwebs of the Library hung behind Joan's consciousne

who was, however, already occupied with the distant

his indignation down the hill. Joa

oisoned. She ought indeed. No, poisoning's too good for her. Hung, drawn an

more about it. She has a difficult time, I expect, everybod

romised your

it would be in in a day or two. She never prop

ed his stick. "I hate women like that. No, she's no

escent that they arrived

are filled with mysterious riches. They could not talk very much here, and Joan was glad. She was too deeply excited to talk. At one moment St. Leath took her arm to guide her past a confused mob of bewildered sheep. The Glebeshire peasant

ng into one of the arcades. "I've always loved this

elves, partly because it was the densest and darkest of all the Arcades, never utterly to be pierced by our youthful eyes, partly because only two doors away were the sinister rooms of Mr. Dawson, the dentist. Here not

ry, always in a bonnet with green flowers, smiled and bobbed. The colours

n?" said Johnny. "If I give y

d a little of Mrs. Magn

what I get. Turn

r the "Hie!...Hie! Woah!" of the market-cries,

er with a Japanese doll, gay in a pink cotton fr

rn your bac

eized a nigger with bold red checks,

sents up. They paid, and wa

said Johnny, "just as l

ve got to call at a house on the oth

clutching her parcel, hurried, almost ran, indeed

a, and in the summer, this makes a pleasant and beautiful excursion. It is because of this that Seatown has, perhaps, some right to its name, because in one way and another sailors collect in the cottages and at the "Dog and Pilchard," that pleasant and democratic hostelry of which, in 1897, Samuel Hogg was landlord. Many visitors have been known to declare that Seatown was "too sweet for anything," and that "it would be really wicked to knock down the ducks of cottages," but "the ducks of cottages" were the foulest and most insanitary dwelling-places in the south of England,

t, and of Seatown, river and woods below it. It was said that it was up this very rocky street from the river, through the market, and up the High Street that the armed enemies of the Black Bishop had fought their way to the Cathedral

lked up some steps and found the house the last of three all squeezed together on the edge of the hill. The Rectory, because it was the last, stood square to all the winds of heaven,

ion. Her mind, so far as a perception of the outside world and its history went, was some way behind that of a Hottentot or a South Sea Islander. She had, from the day of her birth, been told by every one around her that she was stupid, and, after a faint struggle, she had acquiesced in that judgment. She knew that her younger sister, afterwards Mrs. Morris, was pret

then to lapse into a surprised and distressed stare. If her visitor made some s

ituation by brilliant talk, and she very quickly found herself staring at Miss Burnett's nose and longing to say something about it, as, for instance, "What a stronge nose you've got, Miss Burnett--see how it twitches!" or, "If you'll allow me, Miss Burnett, I'd just like to study your nose for a minute." Whe

with a foreign accent. "Oh, he must be a poet!" was her second thought about Mr. Morris, not because he dressed oddly or had long hair. She could not tell whence the impression came, unless it were in his strange, bewildered, lost blue eyes. Lost, bewildered--yes, that was what he was! With every movement of his slim, straight body, the impulse with which h

, because just now she was being excited by everything. She found at once that talking to him was the easiest thing in the world. Mr. Morris did not say very much; he sm

," she went on, "that you are so close to the mark

tched and had suddenly, even as Joan entered it,

us. We get the wind and rain, though. You should hear this place in a storm. But the house is strong enough; it's very sto

you been here

e were near Ashford in Kent for twelve years,

adder than it ought to be, "I think you'll like Polchester. I'm sure you will. And you've co

rilled as he should be by the thoug

-the Horticultural Show and a Ball in the Assembly Rooms, and all sorts of things. It's going to be my first ball thi

peated Mr. Mo

n through the town--elephants and camels, and Britannia in her chariot, and sometimes a cage with the lions and the tigers. Last

for her mother, who would never have talked about the Circus. Fortunately at that moment the tea came in; it was brought by a flushed and contemp

e violently than ever. Joan saw that her hand trembled as

nd the saffron cake praised, and Joan thought it was time to

ike the C

ered. "You should see it

te it--"

orris as

in his voice. They were both

nd you haven't lived here so long as we have. It seems to hang right over you, and it

view from our windo

"I was never in t

see it,"

s Brandon doesn't want to be bothered--when

, that's what I've always wanted. I looked at this house again and again wh

od-bye to M

you will soon come

oment at Mrs. Combermere's," said Mr.

t out w

he said. "Two flights.

was grey and only little faint wisps of blue still lingered above the dusk, but the white sky thr

uilding seemed to be perched on the very edge of the rock, almost, you felt, swinging in mid-air, and that so precariously that with one push of the finger you might send it stagge

wonderful

ing red with all the windows shining, or when all the stars are out or in moonlight... it's like a great ship sometimes, and some

n, turning away. "It doesn'

battles and the fights and the plunder--and it doesn't care

me and knock it

ould be there and the spirit of the Cathedral.... What do

pped s

You have known the Cathedral so long----" He paused

her to

said, smiling

as she walked away. What a