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None of the junior part of the family believed him guilty, but he had hunted the cows round the paddock, mounted on my donkey, had nearly shot the kitchen-maid with Griff’s gun, and, if not much maligned, knew the way to the apple-chamber only too well,—so that he richly deserved his doom, rejoiced in it himself, and was unregretted save by Martyn.  Clarence viewed him in the light of a victim, and tried to keep an eye on him, but he developed his talent as a ventriloquist, made his fortune, and retired on a public-house.

My mother would fain have had the vaults under the mullion rooms bricked up, but Mr. Stafford cried out on the barbarism of such a proceeding.  The mystery was declared to be solved, and was added to Mr. Stafford’s good stories of haunted houses.

And at home my father forbade any further mention of such rank folly and deception.  The inner mullion chamber was turned into a lumber-room, and as weeks passed by without hearing or seeing any more of lady or of lamp, we began to credit the wonderful freaks of the goblin page.

CHAPTER XVI
CAT LANGUAGE

 
Soon as she parted thence—the fearful twayne,
That blind old woman and her daughter deare,
Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slayne,
For anguish greate they gan to rend their heare
And beate their breasts, and naked flesh to teare;
And when they both had wept and wayled their fill,
Then forth they ran, like two amazèd deere,
Half mad through malice and revenging will,
To follow her that was the causer of their ill.’—
 

Spenser.

The Christmas vacation was not without another breeze about Griffith’s expenses at Oxford.  He held his head high, and declared that people expected something from the eldest son of a man of property, and my father tried to convince him that a landed estate often left less cash available than did the fixed salary of an office.  Griff treated all in his light, good-humoured way, promised to be careful, and came to me to commiserate the poor old gentleman’s ignorance of the ways of the new generation.

There ensued some trying weeks of dark days, raw frost, and black east wind, when the home party cast longing, lingering recollections back to the social intercourse, lamp-lit streets, and ready interchange of books and other amenities we had left behind us.  We were not accustomed to have our nearest neighbours separated from us by two miles of dirty lane, or road mended with excruciating stones, nor were they very congenial when we did see them.  The Fordyce family might be interesting, but we younger ones could not forget the slight to Clarence, and, besides, the girls seemed to be entirely in the schoolroom, Mrs. Fordyce was delicate and was shut up all the winter, and the only intercourse that took place was when my father met the elder Mr. Fordyce at the magistrates’ bench; also there was a conference about Amos Bell, who was preferred to the post left vacant by George Sims, in right of his being our tenant, but more civilised than Earlscombers, a widow’s son, and not sufficiently recovered from his accident to be exposed to the severe tasks of a ploughboy in the winter.

Mrs. Fordyce was the manager of a book-club, which circulated volumes covered in white cartridge paper, with a printed list of the subscribers’ names.  Two volumes at a time might be kept for a month by each member in rotation, novels were excluded, and the manager had a veto on all orders.  We found her more liberal than some of our other neighbours, who looked on our wants and wishes with suspicion as savouring of London notions.  Happily we could read old books and standard books over again, and we gloated over Blackwood and the Quarterly, enjoying, too, every out-of-door novelty of the coming spring, as each revealed itself.  Emily will never forget her first primroses, nor I the first thrush in early morning.

Blankets, broth, and what were uncomfortably termed broken victuals had been given away during the winter, and a bewildering amount of begging women and children used to ask interviews with ‘the Lady Winslow,’ with stories that crumbled on investigation so as to make us recollect the Rector’s character of Earlscombe.

However, Mr. Henderson came in the second week of Lent, and what our steps towards improvement introduced would have seemed almost as shocking to you youngsters, as what they displaced.  For instance, a plain crimson cloth covered the altar, instead of the rags in the colours of the Winslow livery, presented, according to the queer old register, by the unfortunate Margaret.  There was talk of velvet and the gold monogram, surrounded by rays, alternately straight and wavy, as in our London church, but this was voted ‘unfit for a plain village church.’  Still, the new hangings of pulpit, desk, and altar were all good in quality and colour, and huge square cushions were provided as essential to each.  Moreover, the altar vessels were made somewhat more respectable,—all this being at my father’s expense.

He also carried in the Vestry, though not without strong opposition from a dissenting farmer, that new linen and a fresh surplice should be provided by the parish, which surplice would have made at least six of such as are at present worn.  The farmers were very jealous of the interference of the Squire in the Vestry—‘what he had no call to,’ and of church rates applied to any other object than the reward of birdslayers, as thus, in the register—

It was several years before this appropriation of the church rates could be abolished.  The year 1830, with a brand new squire and parson, was too ticklish a time for many innovations.

Hillside Church was the only one in the neighbourhood where Holy Week or Ascension Day had been observed in the memory of man.  When we proposed going to church on the latter day the gardener asked my mother ‘if it was her will to keep Thursday holy,’ as if he expected its substitution for Sunday.  Monthly Communions and Baptisms after the Second Lesson were viewed as ‘not fit for a country church,’ and every attempt at even more secular improvements was treated with the most disappointing distrust and aversion.  When my father laid out the allotment grounds, the labourers suspected some occult design for his own profit, and the farmers objected that the gardens would be used as an excuse for neglecting their work and stealing their potatoes.  Coal-club and clothing-club were regarded in like manner, and while a few took advantage of these offers in a grudging manner, the others viewed everything except absolute gifts as ‘me-an’ on our part, the principle of aid to self-help being an absolute novelty.  When I look back to the notes in our journals of that date I see how much has been overcome.

Perhaps we listened more than was strictly wise to the revelations of Amos Bell, when he attended Emily and me on our expeditions with the donkey.  Though living over the border of Hillside, he had a family of relations at Earlscombe, and for a time lodged with his grandmother there.  When his shyness and lumpishness gave way, he proved so bright that Emily undertook to carry on his education.  He soon had a wonderful eye for a wild flower, and would climb after it with the utmost agility; and when once his tongue was loosed, he became almost too communicative, and made us acquainted with the opinions of ‘they Earlscoom folk’ with a freedom not to be found in an elder or a native.

Moreover, he was the brightest light of the Sunday school which Mr. Henderson opened at once—for want of a more fitting place—in the disused north transept of the church.  It was an uncouth, ill-clad crew which assembled on those dilapidated paving tiles.  Their own grandchildren look almost as far removed from them in dress and civilisation as did my sister in her white worked cambric dress, silk scarf, huge Tuscan bonnet, and the little curls beyond the lace quilling round her bright face, far rosier than ever it had been in town.  And what would the present generation say to the odd little contrivances in the way of cotton sun-bonnets, check pinafores, list tippets, and print capes, and other wonderful manufactures from the rag-bag, which were then grand prizes and stimulants?

Previous knowledge or intelligence scarcely existed, and then was not due to Dame Dearlove’s tuition.  Mr. Henderson pronounced an authorised school a necessity.  My father had scruples as to vested rights, for the old woman was the last survivor of a family who had had recourse to primer and hornbook after their ejection on ‘black Bartholomew’s Day;’ and when the meeting-house was built after the Revolution, had combined preaching with teaching.  Monopoly had promoted degeneracy, and this last of the race was an unfavourable specimen in all save outward picturesqueness.  However, much against Henderson’s liking, an accommodation was proposed, by which books were to be supplied to her, and the Church Catechism be taught in her school, with the assistance of the curate and Miss Winslow.

The terms were rejected with scorn.  No School Board could be more determined against the Catechism, nor against ‘passons meddling wi’ she;’ and as to assistance, ‘she had been a governess this thirty year, and didn’t want no one trapesing in and out of her school.’

She was warned, but probably did not believe in the possibility of an opposition school; and really there were children enough in the place to overfill both her room and that which was fitted up after a very humble fashion in one of our cottages.  H.M. Inspector would hardly have thought it even worth condemnation any more than the attainments of the mistress, the young widow of a small Bristol skipper.  Her qualifications consisted in her piety and conscientiousness, good temper and excellent needlework, together with her having been a scholar in one of Mrs. Hannah More’s schools in the Cheddar district.  She could read and teach reading well; but as for the dangerous accomplishments of writing and arithmetic, such as desired to pass beyond the rudiments of them must go to Wattlesea.

So nice did she look in her black that Earlscombe voted her a mere town lady, and even at a penny a week hesitated to send its children to her.  Indeed it was currently reported that her school was part of a deep and nefarious scheme of the gentlefolks for reducing the poor-rates by enticing the children, and then shipping them off to foreign parts from Bristol.

But the great crisis was one unlucky summer evening when Emily and I were out with the donkey, and Griffith, just come home from Oxford, was airing the new acquisition of a handsome black retriever.

Close by the old chapel, a black cat was leisurely crossing the road.  At her dashed Nero, stimulated perhaps by an almost involuntary scss—scss—from his master, if not from Amos and me.  The cat flew up a low wall, and stood at bay on the top on tiptoe, with bristling tail, arched back, and fiery eyes, while the dog danced round in agony on his hind legs, barking furiously, and almost reaching her.  Female sympathy ever goes to the cat, and Emily screamed out in the fear that he would seize her, or even that Griff might aid him.  Perhaps Amos would have done so, if left to himself; but Griff, who saw the cat was safe, could not help egging on his dog’s impotent rage, when in the midst, out flew pussy’s mistress, Dame Dearlove herself, broomstick in hand, using language as vituperative as the cat’s, and more intelligible.

She was about to strike the dog—indeed I fancy she did, for there was a howl, and Griff sprang to his defence with—‘Don’t hurt my dog, I say!  He hasn’t touched the brute!  She can take care of herself.  Here, there’s half-a-crown for the fright,’ as the cat sprang down within the wall, and Nero slunk behind him.  But Dame Dearlove was not so easily appeased.  Her blood was up after our long series of offences, and she broke into a regular tirade of abuse.

‘That’s the way with you fine folk, thinking you can tread down poor people like the dirt under your feet, and insult ’em when you’ve taken the bread out of the mouths of them that were here before you.  Passons and ladies a meddin’ where no one ever set a foot before!  Ay, ay, but ye’ll all be down before long.’

Griff signed to us to go on, and thundered out on her to take care what she was about and not be abusive; but this brought a fresh volley on him, heralded by a derisive laugh.  ‘Ha! ha! fine talking for the likes of you, Winslows that you are.  But there’s a curse on you all!  The poor lady as was murdered won’t let you be!  Why, there’s one of you, poor humpy object—’

At this savage attack on me, Griff waxed furious, and shouted at her to hold her confounded tongue, but this only diverted the attack on himself.  ‘And as for you—fine chap as ye think yourself, swaggering and swearing at poor folk, and setting your dog at them—your time’s coming.  Look out for yourself.  It’s well known as how the curse is on the first-born.  The Lady Margaret don’t let none of ’em live to come after his father.’

Griff laughed and said, ‘There, we have had enough of this;’ and in fact we had already moved on, so that he had to make some long steps to overtake us, muttering, ‘So we’ve started a Meg Merrilies!  My father won’t keep such a foul-mouthed hag in the parish long!’

To which I had to respond that her cottage belonged to the trustees of the chapel, whereat he whistled.  I don’t think he knew that we had heard her final denunciation, and we did not like to mention it to him, scarcely to each other, though Emily looked very white and scared.

We talked it over afterwards in private, and with Henderson, who confessed that he had heard of the old woman’s saying something of the kind to other persons.  We consulted the registers in hopes of confuting it, but did not satisfy ourselves.  The last Squire had lost his only son at school.  He himself had been originally second in the family, and in the generation before him there had been some child-deaths, after which we came back to a young man, apparently the eldest, who, according to Miss Selby’s story, had been killed in a duel by one of the Fordyces.  It was not comfortable, till I remembered that our family Bible recorded the birth, baptism, and death of a son who had preceded Griffith, and only borne for a day the name afterwards bestowed on me.

And Henderson, who was so little our elder as to discuss things on fairly equal grounds, had some very interesting talks with us two over ancestral sin and its possible effects, dwelling on the 18th of Ezekiel as a comment on the Second Commandment.  Indeed, we agreed that the uncomfortable state of disaffection which, in 1830, was becoming only too manifest in the populace, was the result of neglect in former ages, and that, even in our own parish, the bitterness, distrust, and ingratitude were due to the careless, riotous, and oppressive family whom we represented.

CHAPTER XVII
THE SIEGE OF HILLSIDE

 
‘Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar,
Represt ambition struggles round the shore;
Till, overwrought, the general system feels
Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels.’
 

Goldsmith.

Griffith had come straight home this year.  There were no Peacock gaieties to tempt him in London, for old Sir Henry had died suddenly soon after the ball in December; nor was there much of a season that year, owing to the illness and death of George IV.

A regiment containing two old schoolmates of his was at Bristol, and he spent a good deal of time there, and also in Yeomanry drill.  As autumn came on we rejoiced in having so stalwart a protector, for the agricultural riots had begun, and the forebodings of another French Revolution seemed about to be realised.  We stayed on at Chantry House.  My father thought his duty lay there as a magistrate, and my mother would not leave him; nor indeed was any other place much safer, certainly not London, whence Clarence wrote accounts of formidable mobs who were expected to do more harm than they accomplished; though their hatred of the hero of our country filled us with direful prognostications, and made us think of the guillotine, which was linked with revolution in our minds, before we had I beheld the numerous changes that followed upon the thirty years of peace in which we grew up.

The ladies did not much like losing so stalwart a defender when Griff returned to Oxford; and Jane the housemaid went to bed every night with the pepper-pot and a poker, the first wherewith to blind the enemy, the second to charge them with.  From our height we could more than once see blazing ricks, and were glad that the home farm was not in our own hands, and that our only stack of hay was a good way from the house.  When the onset came at last, it was December, and the enemy only consisted of about thirty dreary-looking men and boys in smock-frocks and chalked or smutted faces, armed only with sticks and an old gun diverted from its purpose of bird-scaring.  They shouted for food, money, and arms; but my father spoke to them from the hall steps, told them they had better go home and learn that the public-house was a worse enemy to them than any machine that had ever been invented, and assured them that they would get no help from him in breaking the laws and getting themselves into trouble.  A stone or two was picked up, whereupon he went back and had the hall door shut and barred, the heavy shutters of the windows having all been closed already, so that we could have stood a much more severe siege than from these poor fellows.  One or two windows were broken, as well as the glass of the conservatory, and the flower beds were trampled; but finding our fortress impregnable they sneaked away before dark.  We fared better than our neighbours, some of whom were seriously frightened, and suffered loss of property.  Old Mr. Fordyce had for many years past been an active magistrate—that a clergyman should be on the bench having been quite correct according to the notions of his younger days; and in spite of his beneficence he incurred a good deal of unpopularity for withstanding the lax good-nature which made his brother magistrates give orders for parish relief refused to able-bodied paupers by their own Vestries.  This was a mischievous abuse of the old poor-law times, which made people dispose of every one’s money save their own.  He had also been a keen sportsman; and though his son had given up field sports in deference to higher notions of clerical duty (his wife’s, as people said), the old man’s feeling prompted him to severity on poachers.  Frank Fordyce, while by far the most earnest, hardworking clergyman in the neighbourhood, worked off his superfluous energy on scientific farming, making the glebe and the hereditary estate as much the model farm as Hillside was the model parish.  He had lately set up a threshing-machine worked by horses, which was as much admired by the intelligent as it was vituperated by the ignorant.

Neither paupers nor poachers abounded in Hillside; the natives were chiefly tenants and employed on the property, and, between good management and beneficence, there was little real want and much friendly confidence and affection; and thus, in spite of surrounding riots, Hillside seemed likely to be an exception, proving what could he done by rightful care and attention.  Nor indeed did the attack come from thence; but the two parsons were bitterly hated by outsiders beyond the reach of their personal influence and benevolence.

It was on a Saturday evening, the day after Griff had come back for the Christmas vacation, that, as Emily was giving Amos his lesson, she saw that the boy was crying, and after examination he let out that ‘folk should say that the lads were agoing to break Parson Fordy’s machine and fire his ricks that very night;’ but he would not give his authority, and when he saw her about to give warning, entreated, ‘Now, dont’ze say nothing, Miss Emily—’

‘What?’ she cried indignantly; ‘do you think I could hear of such a thing without trying to stop it?’

‘Us says,’ he blurted out, ‘as how Winslows be always fain of ought as happens to the Fordys—’

‘We are not such wicked Winslows as you have heard of,’ returned Emily with dignity; and she rushed off in quest of papa and Griff, but when she brought them to the bookroom, Amos had decamped, and was nowhere to be found that night.  We afterwards learnt that he lay hidden in the hay-loft, not daring to return to his granny’s, lest he should be suspected of being a traitor to his kind; for our lawless, untamed, discontented parish furnished a large quota to the rioters, and he has since told me that though all seemed to know what was about to be done, he did not hear it from any one in particular.

It was no time to make light of a warning, but very difficult to know what to do.  Rural police were non-existent; there were no soldiers nearer than Keynsham, and the Yeomanry were all in their own homesteads.  However, the captain of Griff’s troop, Sir George Eastwood, lived about three miles beyond Wattlesea, and had a good many dependants in the corps, so it was resolved to send him a note by the gardener, good James Ellis, a steady, resolute man, on Emily’s fast-trotting pony, while my father and Griff should hasten to Hillside to warn the Fordyces, who were not unlikely to be able to muster trustworthy defenders among their own people, and might send the ladies to take shelter at Chantry House.

My mother’s brave spirit disdained to detain an effective man for her own protection, and the groom was to go to Hillside; he was in the Yeomanry, and, like Griff, put on his uniform, while my father had the Riot Act in his pocket.  All the horses were thus absorbed, but Chapman and the man-servant followed on foot.

Never did I feel my incapacity more than on that strange night, when Emily was flying about with Martyn to all the doors and windows in a wild state of excitement, humming to herself—

 
‘When the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray,
My true love has mounted his steed and away.’
 

My mother was equally restless, prolonging as much as possible the preparation of rooms for possible guests; and when she did come and sit down, she netted her purse with vehement jerks, and scolded Emily for jumping up and leaving doors open.

At last, after an hour according to the clock, but far more by our feelings, wheels were heard in the distance; Emily was off like a shot to reconnoitre, and presently Martyn bounced in with the tidings that a pair of carriage lamps were coming up the drive.  My mother hurried out into the hall; I made my best speed after her, and found her hastily undoing the door-chain as she recognised the measured, courteous voice of old Mr. Fordyce.  In a moment more they were all in the house, the old gentleman giving his arm to his daughter-in-law, who was quite overcome with distress and alarm; then came his tall, slim granddaughter, carrying her little sister with arms full of dolls, and sundry maid-servants completed the party of fugitives.

‘We are taking advantage of Mr. Winslow’s goodness,’ said the old Rector.  ‘He assured us that you would be kind enough to receive those who would only be an encumbrance.’

‘Oh, but I must go back to Frank now that you and the children are safe,’ cried the poor lady.  ‘Don’t send away the carriage; I must go back to Frank.’

‘Nonsense, my dear,’ returned Mr. Fordyce, ‘Frank is in no danger.  He will get on much better for knowing you are safe.  Mrs. Winslow will tell you so.’

My mother was enforcing this assurance, when the little girl’s sobs burst out in spite of her sister, who had been trying to console her.  ‘It is Celestina Mary,’ she cried, pointing to three dolls whom she had carried in clasped to her breast.  ‘Poor Celestina Mary!  She is left behind, and Ellen won’t let me go and see if she is in the carriage.’

‘My dear, if she is in the carriage, she will be quite safe in the morning.’

‘Oh, but she will be so cold.  She had nothing on but Rosella’s old petticoat.’

The distress was so real that I had my hand on the bell to cause a search to be instituted for the missing damsel, when Mrs. Fordyce begged me to do no such thing, as it was only a doll.  The child, while endeavouring to shelter with a shawl the dolls, snatched in their night-gear from their beds, wept so piteously at the rebuff that her grandfather had nearly gone in quest of the lost one, but was stopped by a special entreaty that he would not spoil the child.  Martyn, however, who had been standing in open-mouthed wonder at such feeling for a doll, exclaimed, ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry.  I’ll go and get it for you;’ and rushed off to the stable-yard.

This episode had restored Mrs. Fordyce, and while providing some of our guests with wine, and others with tea, we heard the story, only interrupted by Martyn’s return from a vain search, and Anne’s consequent tears, which, however, were somehow hushed and smothered by fears of being sent to bed, coupled with his promises to search every step of the way to-morrow.

It appeared that while the Fordyce family were at dinner, shouts, howls and yells had startled them.  The rabble had surrounded the Rectory, bawling out abuse of the parsons and their machines, and occasionally throwing stones.  There was no help to be expected; the only hope was in the strength of the doors and windows, and the knowledge that personal violence was very uncommon; but those were terrible moments, and poor Mrs. Fordyce was nearly dead with suppressed terror when her husband tried haranguing from an upper window, and was received with execrations and a volley of stones, while the glass crashed round him.

At that instant the shouts turned to yells of dismay, ‘The so’diers! the so’diers!’

Our party had found everything still and dark in the village, for in truth the men had hidden themselves.  They were being too much attached to their masters to join in the attack, but were afraid of being compelled to assist the rioters, and not resolute enough against their own class either to inform against them or oppose them.

Through the midnight-like stillness of the street rose the tumult around the Rectory; and by the light of a few lanterns, and from the upper windows, they could see a mass of old hats, smock-frocked shoulders, and the tops of bludgeons; while at soonest, Sir George Eastwood’s troop could not be expected for an hour or more.

‘We must get to them somehow,’ said my father and Griff to one another; and Griff added, ‘These rascals are arrant cowards, and they can’t see the number of us.’

Then, before my father knew what he was about—certainly before he could get hold of the Riot Act—he found the stable lantern made over to him, and Griff’s sword flashing in light, as, making all possible clatter and jingling with their accoutrements, the two yeomen dashed among the throng, shouting with all their might, and striking with the flat of their swords.  The rioters, ill-fed, dull-hearted men for the most part—many dragged out by compulsion, and already terrified—went tumbling over one another and running off headlong, bearing off with them (as we afterwards learnt) their leaders by their weight, taking the blows and pushes they gave one another in their pell-mell rush for those of the soldiery, and falling blindly against the low wall of the enclosure.  The only difficulty was in clearing them out at the two gates of the drive.

When Mr. Fordyce opened the door to hail his rescuers he was utterly amazed to behold only three, and asked in a bewildered voice, ‘Where are the others?’

There were two prisoners, Petty the ratcatcher, who had attempted some resistance and had been knocked down by Griff’s horse, and a young lad in a smock-frock who had fallen off the wall and hurt his knee, and who blubbered piteously, declaring that them chaps had forced him to go with them, or they would duck him in the horse-pond.  They were supposed to be given in charge to some one, but were lost sight of, and no wonder!  For just then it was discovered that the machine shed was on fire.  The rioters had apparently detached one of their number to kindle the flame before assaulting the house.  The matter was specially serious, because the stackyard was on a line with the Rectory, at some distance indeed, but on lower ground; and what with barns, hay and wheat ricks, sheds, cowhouses and stables, all thatched, a big wood-pile, and a long old-fashioned greenhouse, there was almost continuous communication.  Clouds of smoke and an ominous smell were already perceptible on the wind, generated by the heat, and the loose straw in the centre of the farmyard was beginning to be ignited by the flakes and sparks, carrying the mischief everywhere, and rendering it exceedingly difficult to release the animals and drive them to a place of safety.  Water was scarce.  There were only two wells, besides the pump in the house, and a shallow pond.  The brook was a quarter of a mile off in the valley, and the nearest engine, a poor feeble thing, at Wattlesea.  Moreover, the assailants might discover how small was the force of rescuers, and return to the attack.  Thus, while Griff, who had given amateur assistance at all the fires he could reach in London; was striving to organise resistance to this new enemy, my father induced the gentlemen to cause the horses to be put to the various vehicles, and employ them in carrying the women and children to Chantry House.  The old Rector was persuaded to go to take care of his daughter-in-law, and she only thought of putting her girls in safety.  She listened to reason, and indeed was too much exhausted to move when once she was laid on the sofa.  She would not hear of going to bed, though her little daughter Anne was sent off with her nurse, grandpapa persuading her that Rosella and the others were very much tired.  When she was gone, he declared his fears that he had sat down on Celestina’s head, and showed so much compunction that we were much amused at his relief when Martyn assured him of having searched the carriage with a stable lantern, so that whatever had befallen the lady he was not the guilty person.  He really seemed more concerned about this than at the loss of all his own barns and stores.  And little Anne was certainly as lovely and engaging a little creature as ever I saw; while, as to her elder sister, in all the trouble and anxiety of the night, I could not help enjoying the sight of her beautiful eager face and form.  She was tall and very slight, sylph-like, as it was the fashion to call it, but every limb was instinct with grace and animation.  Her face was, perhaps, rather too thin for robust health, though this enhanced the idea of her being all spirit, as also did the transparency of complexion, tinted with an exquisite varying carnation.  Her eyes were of a clear, bright, rather light brown, and were sparkling with the lustre of excitement, her delicate lips parted, showing the pretty pearly teeth, as she was telling Emily, in a low voice of enthusiasm, scarcely designed for my ears, how glorious a sight our brother had been, riding there in his glancing silver, bearing down all before him with his good sword, like the Captal de Buch dispersing the Jacquerie.