Chapter 5

CHARLOTTE.

"Oh, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day!"

"Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names
Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff,
Amygdaloid and trachyte."

When Charlotte again went to Up-Hill she found herself walking through a
sober realm of leafless trees. The glory of autumn was gone. The hills,
with their circular sheep-pens, were now brown and bare; and the plaided
shepherds, descending far apart, gave only an air of loneliness to the
landscape. She could see the white line of the stony road with a sad
distinctness. It was no longer bordered with creeping vines and patches
of murmuring bee-bent heather. And the stream-bed also had lost nearly
all its sentinel rushes, and the tall brakens from its shaggy slopes
were gone. But Silver Beck still ran musically over tracts of tinkling
stones; and, through the chilly air, the lustered black cock was
crowing for the gray hen in the hollow.

Very soon the atmosphere became full of misty rain; and ere she reached
the house, there was a cold wind, and the nearest cloud was sprinkling
the bubbling beck. It was pleasant to see Ducie at the open door ready
to welcome her; pleasant to get into the snug houseplace, and watch the
great fire leaping up the chimney, and throwing lustres on the carved
oak presses and long settles, and on the bright brass and pewter
vessels, and the rows of showy chinaware. Very pleasant to draw her
chair to the little round table on the hearthstone, and to inhale the
fragrance of the infusing tea, and the rich aroma of potted char and
spiced bread and freshly-baked cheese-cakes. And still more pleasant to
be taken possession of, to have her damp shoes and cloak removed, her
chill fingers warmed in a kindly, motherly clasp, and to be made to feel
through all her senses that she was indeed "welcome as sun-shining."

With a little shiver of disappointment she noticed that there were only
two tea-cups on the table; and the house, when she came to analyze its
atmosphere, had in it the perceptible loneliness of the absent master.
"Is not Stephen at home?" she asked, as Ducie settled herself
comfortably for their meal; "I thought Stephen was at home."

"No, he isn't. He went to Kendal three days ago about his fleeces.
Whitney's carpet-works have made him a very good offer. Did not the
squire speak of it?"

"No."

"Well he knew all about it. He met Steve, and Steve told him. The squire
has been a little queer with us lately, Charlotte. Do you know what the
trouble is? I thought I would have you up to tea, and ask you; so when
Sandal was up here this morning, I said, 'Let