Scenes of Clerical Life: Chapter 21

Chapter 21

On the 30th of May 1790, a very pretty sight was seen by the villagers
assembled near the door of Foxholm Church. The sun was bright upon the
dewy grass, the air was alive with the murmur of bees and the trilling of
birds, the bushy blossoming chestnuts and the foamy flowering hedgerows
seemed to be crowding round to learn why the church-bells were ringing so
merrily, as Maynard Gilfil, his face bright with happiness, walked out of
the old Gothic doorway with Tina on his arm. The little face was still
pale, and there was a subdued melancholy in it, as of one who sups with
friends for the last time, and has his ear open for the signal that will
call him away. But the tiny hand rested with the pressure of contented
affection on Maynard's arm, and the dark eyes met his downward glance
with timid answering love.

There was no train of bridesmaids; only pretty Mrs. Heron leaning on the
arm of a dark-haired young man hitherto unknown in Foxholm, and holding
by the other hand little Ozzy, who exulted less in his new velvet cap and
tunic, than in the notion that he was bridesman to Tin-Tin.

Last of all came a couple whom the villagers eyed yet more eagerly than
the bride and bridegroom: a fine old gentleman, who looked round with
keen glances that cowed the conscious scapegraces among them, and a
stately lady in blue-and-white silk robes, who must surely be like Queen
Charlotte.

'Well, that theer's whut I coal a pictur,' said old 'Mester' Ford, a true
Staffordshire patriarch, who leaned on a stick and held his head very
much on one side, with the air of a man who had little hope of the
present generation, but would at all events give it the benefit of his
criticism. 'Th' yoong men noo-a-deys, the're poor squashy things--the'
looke well anoof, but the' woon't wear, the' woon't wear. Theer's ne'er
un'll carry his 'ears like that Sir Cris'fer Chuvrell.'

'Ull bet ye two pots,' said another of the seniors, 'as that yoongster
a-walkin' wi' th' parson's wife 'll be Sir Cris'fer's son--he fevours
him.'

'Nay, yae'll bet that wi' as big a fule as yersen; hae's noo son at all.
As I oonderstan', hae's the nevey as is' t' heir th' esteate. The
coochman as puts oop at th' White Hoss tellt me as theer war another
nevey, a deal finer chap t' looke at nor this un, as died in a fit, all
on a soodden, an' soo this here yoong un's got upo' th' perch istid.'

At the church gate Mr. Bates was standing in a new suit, ready to speak
words of good omen as the bride and bridegroom approached. He had come
all the way from Cheverel Manor on purpose to see Miss Tina happy once
more, and would have been in a state of unmixed joy but for the
inferiority of the wedding nosegays to what he could have furnished from
the garden at the Manor.

'God A'maighty bless ye both, an' send ye long laife an' happiness,' were
the good gardener's rather tremulous words.

'Thank you, uncle Bates; always remember Tina,' said the sweet low voice,
which fell on Mr. Bates's ear for the last time.

The wedding journey was to be a circuitous route to Shepperton, where Mr.
Gilfil had been for several months inducted as vicar. This small living
had been given him through the interest of an old friend who had some
claim on the gratitude of the Oldinport family; and it was a satisfaction
both to Maynard and Sir Christopher that a home to which he might take
Caterina had thus readily presented itself at a distance from Cheverel
Manor. For it had never yet been thought safe that she should revisit the
scene of her sufferings, her health continuing too delicate to encourage
the slightest risk of painful excitement. In a year or two, perhaps, by
the time old Mr. Crichley, the rector of Cumbermoor, should have left a
world of gout, and when Caterina would very likely be a happy mother,
Maynard might safely take up his abode at Cumbermoor, and Tina would feel
nothing but content at seeing a new 'little black-eyed monkey' running up
and down the gallery and gardens of the Manor. A mother dreads no
memories--those shadows have all melted away in the dawn of baby's smile.

In these hopes, and in the enjoyment of Tina's nestling affection, Mr.
Gilfil tasted a few months of perfect happiness. She had come to lean
entirely on his love, and to find life sweet for his sake. Her continual
languor and want of active interest was a natural consequence of bodily
feebleness, and the prospect of her becoming a mother was a new ground
for hoping the best. But the delicate plant had been too deeply bruised,
and in the struggle to put forth a blossom it died.

Tina died, and Maynard Gilfil's love went with her into deep silence for
evermore.

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