The Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid

Chapter 3

The day, as she had prognosticated, turned out fine; for weather-

wisdom was imbibed with their milk-sops by the children of the Exe

Vale. The impending meeting excited Margery, and she performed her

duties in her father's house with mechanical unconsciousness.

Milking, skimming, cheesemaking were done. Her father was asleep in

the settle, the milkmen and maids were gone home to their cottages,

and the clock showed a quarter to eight. She dressed herself with

care, went to the top of the garden, and looked over the stile. The

view was eastward, and a great moon hung before her in a sky which

had not a cloud. Nothing was moving except on the minutest scale,

and she remained leaning over, the night-hawk sounding his croud from

the bough of an isolated tree on the open hill side.

Here Margery waited till the appointed time had passed by three-

quarters of an hour; but no Baron came. She had been full of an

idea, and her heart sank with disappointment. Then at last the

pacing of a horse became audible on the soft path without, leading up

from the water-meads, simultaneously with which she beheld the form

of the stranger, riding home, as he had said.

The moonlight so flooded her face as to make her very conspicuous in

the garden-gap. 'Ah my maiden--what is your name--Margery!' he said.

'How came you here? But of course I remember--we were to meet. And

it was to be at eight--proh pudor!--I have kept you waiting!'

'It doesn't matter, sir. I've thought of something.'

'Thought of something?'

'Yes, sir. You said this morning that I was to think what I would

like best in the world, and I have made up my mind.'

'I did say so--to be sure I did,' he replied, collecting his

thoughts. 'I remember to have had good reason for gratitude to you.'

He placed his hand to his brow, and in a minute alighted, and came up

to her with the bridle in his hand. 'I was to give you a treat or

present, and you could not think of one. Now you have done so. Let

me hear what it is, and I'll be as good as my word.'

'To go to the Yeomanry Ball that's to be given this month.'

'The Yeomanry Ball--Yeomanry Ball?' he murmured, as if, of all

requests in the world, this was what he had least expected. 'Where

is what you call the Yeomanry Ball?'

'At Exonbury.'

'Have you ever been to it before?'

'No, sir.'

'Or to any ball?'

'No.'

'But did I not say a gift--a present?'

'Or a treat?'

'Ah, yes, or a treat,' he echoed, with the air of one who finds

himself in a slight fix. 'But with whom would you propose to go?'

'I don't know. I have not thought of that yet.'

'You have no friend who could take you, even if I got you an

invitation?'

Margery looked at the moon. 'No one who can dance,' she said;

adding, with hesitation, 'I was thinking that perhaps--'

'But, my dear Margery,' he said, stopping her, as if he half-divined

what her simple dream of a cavalier had been; 'it is very odd that

you can think of nothing else than going to a Yeomanry Ball. Think

again. You are sure there is nothing else?'

'Quite sure, sir,' she decisively answered. At first nobody would

have noticed in that pretty young face any sign of decision; yet it

was discoverable. The mouth, though soft, was firm in line; the

eyebrows were distinct, and extended near to each other. 'I have

thought of it all day,' she continued, sadly. 'Still, sir, if you

are sorry you offered me anything, I can let you off.'

'Sorry?--Certainly not, Margery,' be said, rather nettled. 'I'll

show you that whatever hopes I have raised in your breast I am

honourable enough to gratify. If it lies in my power,' he added with

sudden firmness, 'you SHALL go to the Yeomanry Ball. In what

building is it to be held?'

'In the Assembly Rooms.'

'And would you be likely to be recognized there? Do you know many

people?'

'Not many, sir. None, I may say. I know nobody who goes to balls.'

'Ah, well; you must go, since you wish it; and if there is no other

way of getting over the difficulty of having nobody to take you, I'll

take you myself. Would you like me to do so? I can dance.'

'O, yes, sir; I know that, and I thought you might offer to do it.

But would you bring me back again?'

'Of course I'll bring you back. But, by-the-bye, can YOU dance?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

'Reels, and jigs, and country-dances like the New-Rigged-Ship, and

Follow-my-Lover, and Haste-to-the-Wedding, and the College Hornpipe,

and the Favourite Quickstep, and Captain White's dance.'

'A very good list--a very good! but unluckily I fear they don't dance

any of those now. But if you have the instinct we may soon cure your

ignorance. Let me see you dance a moment.'

She stood out into the garden-path, the stile being still between

them, and seizing a side of her skirt with each hand, performed the

movements which are even yet far from uncommon in the dances of the

villagers of merry England. But her motions, though graceful, were

not precisely those which appear in the figures of a modern ball-

room.

'Well, my good friend, it is a very pretty sight,' he said, warming

up to the proceedings. 'But you dance too well--you dance all over

your person--and that's too thorough a way for the present day. I

should say it was exactly how they danced in the time of your poet

Chaucer; but as people don't dance like it now, we must consider.

First I must inquire more about this ball, and then I must see you

again.'

'If it is a great trouble to you, sir, I--'

'O no, no. I will think it over. So far so good.'

The Baron mentioned an evening and an hour when he would be passing

that way again; then mounted his horse and rode away.

On the next occasion, which was just when the sun was changing places

with the moon as an illuminator of Silverthorn Dairy, she found him

at the spot before her, and unencumbered by a horse. The melancholy

that had so weighed him down at their first interview, and had been

perceptible at their second, had quite disappeared. He pressed her

right hand between both his own across the stile.

'My good maiden, Gott bless you!' said he warmly. 'I cannot help

thinking of that morning! I was too much over-shadowed at first to

take in the whole force of it. You do not know all; but your

presence was a miraculous intervention. Now to more cheerful

matters. I have a great deal to tell--that is, if your wish about

the ball be still the same?'

'O yes, sir--if you don't object.'

'Never think of my objecting. What I have found out is something

which simplifies matters amazingly. In addition to your Yeomanry

Ball at Exonbury, there is also to be one in the next county about

the same time. This ball is not to be held at the Town Hall of the

county-town as usual, but at Lord Toneborough's, who is colonel of

the regiment, and who, I suppose, wishes to please the yeomen because

his brother is going to stand for the county. Now I find I could

take you there very well, and the great advantage of that ball over

the Yeomanry Ball in this county is, that there you would be

absolutely unknown, and I also. But do you prefer your own

neighbourhood?'

'O no, sir. It is a ball I long to see--I don't know what it is

like; it does not matter where.'

'Good. Then I shall be able to make much more of you there, where

there is no possibility of recognition. That being settled, the next

thing is the dancing. Now reels and such things do not do. For

think of this--there is a new dance at Almack's and everywhere else,

over which the world has gone crazy.'

'How dreadful!'

'Ah--but that is a mere expression--gone mad. It is really an

ancient Scythian dance; but, such is the power of fashion, that,

having once been adopted by Society, this dance has made the tour of

the Continent in one season.'

'What is its name, sir?'

'The polka. Young people, who always dance, are ecstatic about it,

and old people, who have not danced for years, have begun to dance

again, on its account. All share the excitement. It arrived in

London only some few months ago--it is now all over the country. Now

this is your opportunity, my good Margery. To learn this one dance

will be enough. They will dance scarce anything else at that ball.

While, to crown all, it is the easiest dance in the world, and as I

know it quite well I can practise you in the step. Suppose we try?'

Margery showed some hesitation before crossing the stile: it was a

Rubicon in more ways than one. But the curious reverence which was

stealing over her for all that this stranger said and did was too

much for prudence. She crossed the stile.

Withdrawing with her to a nook where two high hedges met, and where

the grass was elastic and dry, he lightly rested his arm on her

waist, and practised with her the new step of fascination. Instead

of music he whispered numbers, and she, as may be supposed, showed no

slight aptness in following his instructions. Thus they moved round

together, the moon-shadows from the twigs racing over their forms as

they turned.

The interview lasted about half an hour. Then he somewhat abruptly

handed her over the stile and stood looking at her from the other

side.

'Well,' he murmured, 'what has come to pass is strange! My whole

business after this will be to recover my right mind!'

Margery always declared that there seemed to be some power in the

stranger that was more than human, something magical and compulsory,

when he seized her and gently trotted her round. But lingering

emotions may have led her memory to play pranks with the scene, and

her vivid imagination at that youthful age must be taken into account

in believing her. However, there is no doubt that the stranger,

whoever he might be, and whatever his powers, taught her the elements

of modern dancing at a certain interview by moonlight at the top of

her father's garden, as was proved by her possession of knowledge on

the subject that could have been acquired in no other way.

His was of the first rank of commanding figures, she was one of the

most agile of milkmaids, and to casual view it would have seemed all

of a piece with Nature's doings that things should go on thus. But

there was another side to the case; and whether the strange gentleman

were a wild olive tree, or not, it was questionable if the

acquaintance would lead to happiness. 'A fleeting romance and a

possible calamity;' thus it might have been summed up by the

practical.

Margery was in Paradise; and yet she was not at this date distinctly

in love with the stranger. What she felt was something more

mysterious, more of the nature of veneration. As he looked at her

across the stile she spoke timidly, on a subject which had apparently

occupied her long.

'I ought to have a ball-dress, ought I not, sir?'

'Certainly. And you shall have a ball-dress.'

'Really?'

'No doubt of it. I won't do things by halves for my best friend. I

have thought of the ball-dress, and of other things also.'

'And is my dancing good enough?'

'Quite--quite.' He paused, lapsed into thought, and looked at her.

'Margery,' he said, 'do you trust yourself unreservedly to me?'

'O yes, sir,' she replied brightly; 'if I am not too much trouble:

if I am good enough to be seen in your society.'

The Baron laughed in a peculiar way. 'Really, I think you may assume

as much as that.--However, to business. The ball is on the twenty-

fifth, that is next Thursday week; and the only difficulty about the

dress is the size. Suppose you lend me this?' And he touched her on

the shoulder to signify a tight little jacket she wore.

Margery was all obedience. She took it off and handed it to him.

The Baron rolled and compressed it with all his force till it was

about as large as an apple-dumpling, and put it into his pocket.

'The next thing,' he said, 'is about getting the consent of your

friends to your going. Have you thought of this?'

'There is only my father. I can tell him I am invited to a party,

and I don't think he'll mind. Though I would rather not tell him.'

'But it strikes me that you must inform him something of what you

intend. I would strongly advise you to do so.' He spoke as if

rather perplexed as to the probable custom of the English peasantry

in such matters, and added, 'However, it is for you to decide. I

know nothing of the circumstances. As to getting to the ball, the

plan I have arranged is this. The direction to Lord Toneborough's

being the other way from my house, you must meet me at Three-Walks-

End--in Chillington Wood, two miles or more from here. You know the

place? Good. By meeting there we shall save five or six miles of

journey--a consideration, as it is a long way. Now, for the last

time: are you still firm in your wish for this particular treat and

no other? It is not too late to give it up. Cannot you think of

something else--something better--some useful household articles you

require?'

Margery's countenance, which before had been beaming with

expectation, lost its brightness: her lips became close, and her

voice broken. 'You have offered to take me, and now--'

'No, no, no,' he said, patting her cheek. 'We will not think of

anything else. You shall go.'