The Squire of Sandal-Side by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr


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Page 76

She came forward, shivering slightly, and stirred the fire. "How cold
and dreary you are! Mother, why don't you cheer up and do something? It
would be better for you than moping on the sofa."

"Suppose Julius had died six weeks ago, would you think of 'cheering
up,' Sophia?"

"Charlotte, what a shameful thing to say!"

"Precisely what you have just said to mother."

"Supposing Julius dead! I never heard such a cruel thing. I dare say it
would delight you."

"No, it would not; for Julius is not fit to die."

"Mother, I will not be insulted in my own house in such a way. Speak to
Charlotte, or I must tell Julius."

"What have you come to say, Sophia?"

"I came to talk pleasantly, to see you, and"--

"You saw me an hour or two since, and were very rude and unkind. But if
you regret it, my dear, it is forgiven."

"I do not know what there is to forgive. But really, Charlotte and you
seem so completely unhappy and dissatisfied here, that I should think
you would make a change."

"Do you mean that you wish me to go?"

"If you put words into my mouth."

"It is not worth while affecting either regret or offence, Sophia. How
soon do you wish us to leave?"

The dowager mistress of Sandal-Side had stood up as she asked the
question. She was quite calm, and her manner even cold and indifferent.
"If you wish us to go to-day, it is still possible. I can walk as far as
the rectory. For your father's sake, the rector will make us
welcome.--Charlotte, my bonnet and cloak!"

"Mother! I think such threats very uncalled for. What will people say?
And how can poor Julius defend himself against two ladies? I call it
taking advantage of us."

"'Taking advantage?' Oh, no! Oh, no!--Charlotte, my dear, give me my
cloak."

The little lady was not to be either frightened or entreated; and she
deigned Julius--who had been hastily summoned by Sophia--no answer,
either to his arguments or his apologies.

"It is enough," she cried, with a slight quiver in her voice, "it is
enough! You turn me out of the home he gave me. Do you think that the
dead see not? know not? You will find out, you will find out." And so,
leaning upon Charlotte's arm, she walked slowly down the stairway, and
into the dripping, soaking, gloomy afternoon. It was indeed wretched
weather. A thick curtain of mist filled all the atmosphere, and made of
daylight only a diluted darkness, in which it was hard to distinguish
the skeletons of the trees which winter had stripped. The mountains had
disappeared; there was no sky; a veil of chilling moisture and
depressing gloom was over every thing. But neither Charlotte nor her
mother was at that hour conscious of such inoffensive disagreeables.
They were trembling with anger and sorrow. In a moment such a great
event had happened, one utterly unconceived of, and unprepared for. Half
an hour previous, the unhappy mother had dreaded the breaking away from
her old life, and had declined to discuss with Charlotte any plan
tending to such a consummation. Then, suddenly, she had taken a step
more decided and unusual than had ever entered Charlotte's mind.

The footpath through the park was very wet and muddy. Every branch
dropped water. They were a little frightened at what they were doing,
and their hearts were troubled by many complex emotions. But fortunately
the walk was a short one, and the shortest way to the rectory lay
directly through the churchyard. Without a word Mrs. Sandal took it; and
without a word she turned aside at a certain point, and through the
long, rank, withered grasses walked straight to the squire's grave. It
was yet quite bare; the snow had melted away, and it had a look as
desolate as her own heart. She stood a few minutes speechless by its
side; but the painfully tight clasp in which she held Charlotte's hand
expressed better than any words could have done the tension of feeling,
the passion of emotion, which dominated her. And Charlotte felt that
silence was her mother's safety. If she spoke, she would weep, perhaps
break down completely, and be unable to reach the shelter of the
rectory.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 28th Jan 2026, 6:32