Not even doing that
much, so that the old lady were busy and pleased, he would quietly
swallow what was given him, merely taking a corrective dip of hands
and face into the great bowl of dried rose-leaves, and into the
other great bowl of dried lavender, and then would go out, as
confident in the sweetening powers of Cloisterham Weir and a
wholesome mind, as Lady Macbeth was hopeless of those of all the
seas that roll.
In the present instance the good Minor Canon took his glass of
Constantia with an excellent grace, and, so supported to his
mother's satisfaction, applied himself to the remaining duties of
the day. In their orderly and punctual progress they brought round
Vesper Service and twilight. The Cathedral being very cold, he set
off for a brisk trot after service; the trot to end in a charge at
his favourite fragment of ruin, which was to be carried by storm,
without a pause for breath.
He carried it in a masterly manner, and, not breathed even then,
stood looking down upon the river. The river at Cloisterham is
sufficiently near the sea to throw up oftentimes a quantity of
seaweed. An unusual quantity had come in with the last tide, and
this, and the confusion of the water, and the restless dipping and
flapping of the noisy gulls, and an angry light out seaward beyond
the brown-sailed barges that were turning black, foreshadowed a
stormy night. In his mind he was contrasting the wild and noisy
sea with the quiet harbour of Minor Canon Corner, when Helena and
Neville Landless passed below him.
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