"Now,the 'Dies Irae.'--It will come,"he muttered,"to us all."The child struck a few notes,heavy and dolorous,filling the church like a thunder-cloud,then suddenly left off,and opening the flute-stop,burst into altogether different music.
"That is Handel--'I know that my Redeemer liveth.'"Exquisitely she played it,the clear treble notes seemed to utter like a human voice the very words:
"I know that my Redeemer liveth,and He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.
And though worms destroy this body,yet in my flesh shall I see God."With that she ceased.
"More,more!"we both cried.
"Not now--no more now."
And we heard her shutting up the stops and closing the organ lid.
"But my little Muriel has not finished her tune?""She will,some day,"said the child.
So she came down from the organ-loft,feeling her way along the aisles;and we all went out together,locking the church-door.
Lord Ravenel was rather sad that night;he was going away from Luxmore for some time.We guessed why--because the earl was coming.
Bidding us good-bye,he said,mournfully,to his little pet,"I wish I were not leaving you.Will you remember me,Muriel?""Stoop down;I want to see you."
This was her phrase for a way she had of passing her extremely sensitive fingers over the faces of those she liked.After which she always said she "saw"them.
"Yes;I shall remember you."
"And love me?"
"And love you,Brother Anselmo."
He kissed,not her cheek or mouth,but her little child-hands,reverently,as if she had been the saint he worshipped,or,perhaps,the woman whom afterwards he would learn to adore.Then he went away.
"Truly,"said the mother,in an amused aside to me,as with a kind of motherly pride she watched him walk hastily down between those chestnut-trees,known of old--"truly,time flies fast.Things begin to look serious--eh,father?Five years hence we shall have that young man falling in love with Muriel."But John and I looked at the still,soft face,half a child's and half an angel's.
"Hush!"he said,as if Ursula's fancy were profanity;then eagerly snatched it up and laughed,confessing how angry he should be if anybody dared to "fall in love"with Muriel.
Next day was the one fixed for the trial of the new steam-engine;which trial being successful,we were to start at once in a post-chaise for Longfield;for the mother longed to be at home,and so did we all.
There was rather a dolorous good-bye,and much lamenting from good Mrs.Tod,who,her own bairns grown up,thought there were no children worthy to compare with our children.And truly,as the three boys scampered down the road--their few regrets soon over,eager for anything new--three finer lads could not be seen in the whole country.
Mrs.Halifax looked after them proudly--mother-like,she gloried in her sons;while John,walking slowly,and assuring Mrs.Tod over and over again that we should all come back next summer,went down the steep hill,carrying,hidden under many wraps and nestled close to his warm shoulder,his little frail winter-rose--his only daughter.
In front of the mill we found a considerable crowd;for the time being ripe,Mr.Halifax had made public the fact that he meant to work his looms by steam,the only way in which he could carry on the mill at all.The announcement had been received with great surprise and remarkable quietness,both by his own work-people and all along Enderley valley.Still there was the usual amount of contemptuous scepticism,incident on any new experiment.Men were peering about the locked door of the engine-room with a surly curiosity;and one village oracle,to prove how impossible it was that such a thing as steam could work anything,had taken the trouble to light a fire in the yard and set thereon his wife's best tea-kettle,which,as she snatched angrily away,scalded him slightly,and caused him to limp away swearing,a painful illustration of the adage,that "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.""Make way,my good people,"said Mr.Halifax;and he crossed the mill-yard,his wife on his arm,followed by an involuntary murmur of respect.
"He be a fine fellow,the master;he sticks at nothing,"was the comment heard made upon him by one of his people,and probably it expressed the feeling of the rest.There are few things which give a man more power over his fellows than the thoroughly English quality of daring.
Perhaps this was the secret why John had as yet passed safely through the crisis which had been the destruction of so many mill-owners,namely,the introduction of a power which the mill-people were convinced would ruin hand-labour.Or else the folk in our valley,out of their very primitiveness,had more faith in the master;for certainly,as John passed through the small crowd,there was only one present who raised the old fatal cry of "Down with machinery!""Who said that?"
At the master's voice--at the flash of the master's eye--the little knot of work-people drew back,and the malcontent,whoever he was,shrunk into silence.
Mr.Halifax walked past them,entered his mill,and unlocked the door of the room which he had turned into an engine-room,and where,along with the two men he had brought from Manchester,he had been busy almost night and day for this week past in setting up his machinery.
They worked--as the Manchester fellows said they had often been obliged to work--under lock and key.
"Your folk be queer 'uns,Mr.Halifax.They say there's six devils inside on her,theer."And the man pointed to the great boiler which had been built up in an out-house adjoining.
"Six devils,say they?--Well,I'll be Maister Michael Scot--eh,Phineas?--and make my devils work hard."He laughed,but he was much excited.He went over,piece by piece,the complicated but delicate machinery;rubbed here and there at the brass-work,which shone as bright as a mirror;then stepped back,and eyed it with pride,almost with affection.