The sight of her own fells and
streams, the sound of the Cumbrian "aa's," and "oo's," the scurrying of
the sheep among the fern, the breath of the wind in the Glendarra woods,
the scent of moss and heather--these things rilled her with just the same
thrills and gushes of delight as in her youth. Such thrills and gushes
were for her own use only; she never offered them for inspection by other
people.
She had no sooner looked at her letters, and chatted with her
housekeeper, on the day of her return, than clothed in her oldest gown
and thickest shoes, she went out wandering by herself through the October
dusk; ravished by the colour in which autumn had been wrapping the
Cumbrian earth since she had beheld it last; the purples and golds and
amethysts, the touches of emerald green, the fringes of blue and purple
mist; by the familiar music of the streams, which is not as the Scotch
music; and the scents of the hills, which are not as the scents of the
Highlands. Yet all the time she was thinking of Harry and Lydia Penfold;
trying to plan the winter, and what she was to do.
It was dark, with a rising moon when she got back to Duddon. The butler,
an old servant, was watching for her in the hall. She noticed disturbance
in his manner.
"There are two ladies, my lady, in the drawing-room."
"Two ladies!--Hurst!" The tone was reproachful. Victoria did not always
suffer her neighbours gladly, and Hurst knew her ways. The first evening
at home was sacred.
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