Veronique

There was a long silence. Tense with anxiety and hope, and shaken by his great love so long held in check, John fought to keep himself steady to her need.
"No need to make up your mind now, Veronique," he said gently. "I'll wait in Dunedin for your answer for as long as you like."
"John," she whispered, still with her face hidden, "why didn't you tell me before that you loved me?"
"Because it did not seem right to tell you. You see, until just lately you weren't grown-up."
"Was it hard to wait?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "it was hard."
She was silent again, and he wondered agonizedly if she was antagonized by his past control, his present reserve. He need not have worried. She was pondering on the nature of his love, that, like Papa's, put the other person first. That was a thing that Frederick had never done.
Then she asked irrelevantly, "How did you know that Papa and I called our valley the Country of the Green Pastures?"
"Your father told me. But long ago, when I was a little boy, I called it that myself."
"The Twenty-third Psalm was the first I learned to say by heart," said Veronique. "Uncle Samuel taught it to me."
"The first I learned, too," said John. "And it's still my favorite."
"Mine too," said Veronique. "We think alike about lots of things, don't we?"
"Naturally," mumbled John. " 'For we were nurst upon the self-same hill, fed the same flock...' "
Suddenly she turned to him, lifting a transfigured face, and slipped her arms round his neck. "Your country is my country," she said.
Regardless of who might be passing by in the street he flung his arms about her, while old familiar words sprang to his lips as the pledge of faith. " 'The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.' "

From GREEN DOLPHIN STREET
A Novel by ELIZABETH GOUDGE

William

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns

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Ceci was abruptly stopped by Mr. Brooke in the dramatic departure from what she thought a very off-putting conversation. She left her friends feeling almost humiliated by Samuel Redford's part in the dialogue. She would never admit it to herself, but there was also a quiet, lingering feeling of disappointment in her new acquaintance. She loved the country, her country,and its people, but nearly everyone she knew, excluding Marie Tout, her parents, and in some ways, Marguerite, expected a woman to be a meek, uneducated bumpkin. In the back of her mind, hidden behind her festering grudge against the well-to-do class, she'd hoped this gentleman possessed a more liberal viewpoint and might, if not argue her point, at the very least sympathize with it. But she was wrong, and in a way, it was a relief. She felt that if he had stood to her standards, she would be a traitor; first, because she had found a fault in the society of country folk she held so dear and belonged so thoroughly to, and second, because of the tiresome vow she'd made to herself and to the love she had for her sister to forever loathe the prideful upper crust.
Her mind was so engrossed with these thoughts that she hardly heard Mr. Brooke call her name until he was suddenly directly before her; she stopped mid-step, startled.
"Oh, Miss Moore-- are you alright? You're not leaving--?"
Poor Mr. Brooke.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Brooke. A terrible headache has just come upon me, and I'm afraid I'll have to retire early. It was a lovely party, though. You always give the most beautiful evening parties, you know."
Ceci said this hurriedly, for she was dismayed by dear Mr. Brooke's disappointment, but knew she could not stay.
"Well, dear, if you would just take a glass of wine, I'm sure--"
"No, no. Please," Ceci interrupted quickly, closing her eyes and pressing painfully at her temples, "I'm sure I'll be quite ill if I don't get home soon."
Quite suddenly, Mr. Corran Lennox was at her elbow. "Miss Moore, I'm terribly sorry-- are you alright?"
His anxious look sent a frustrating mixture of relief and annoyance through Ceci's mind.
"Quite, thank you," she replied, stiffening again. Why must he grasp my elbow like that as if I were about to swoon away?
"She says she has head-pains," Mr. Brooke said, with a sudden grin.
"Has she?" Mr. Lennox turned to Ceci. "Have you? May I walk you home? I only have my horse, but you might ride him--"
Ceci frowned. In a minute, she really was going to have a headache.
"You do begin to look ill, Miss Moore," Mr. Brooke said, hiding a grin behind a mask of worry and concern. "I believe you should let Mr. Lennox escort you home. It is most gracious of him, and your parents would be grateful, at this hour."
Ceci raised a hand to her head. Oh, for heaven's sake.
"Do let me take you home. Please," Mr. Lennox's grip on her elbow tightened slightly.
Well, if you're going to make that much fuss, Cecil thought. But what in heaven's name is that Brooke grinning for?
"I'm very much obliged," Ceci said finally, allowing Mr. Lennox to turn her in the direction of the house once more. "Mr. Brooke, be so kind as to tell Marguerite I've gone home with a little headache. Perhaps," a twinkle lit up her eyes for an instant, "You could suggest Christopher Tout to take her home?"
"Yes, yes, certainly." Mr. Brooke agreed vehemently, grinning ear to ear.

Though her mother and father had raised her to aspire to brains over beauty, Ceci always knew they would never approve of her secret inclination to wear men's trousers in order that she might ride. Really ride, not side-saddle, as young ladies were supposed to. Whipping wind always did wonders for her health.
Corran Lennox, expert equestrian, noticed that inclination in the way she mounted his horse; he smiled to himself. So far, this young woman had blasted away many misgivings he'd had in his thoughts after they'd met. He really was impressed by her, almost to admiration. She possessed a spirit that frightened away men who got a glimpse of it; but on the contrary, she had an inherent warmth and happy personality that drew people to her. Her careless laughter contradicted her sharp, thoughtful mind, a mind that had been built on a sound (though nontraditional) education. Yet, all of this fit comfortably into one person. In short, this was a young woman of paradox.
She immediately corrected her mistake, and mussed-up her dress to sit side-saddle. The poor horse looked almost as uncomfortable (with a lady on his back) as she did.
"If you feel faint, do tell me so at once. I'd hate for you to fall off and do harm to yourself." Corran looked up anxiously beneath his broad-rimmed blue hat.
"I'm perfectly well, Mr. Lennox. You needn't be afraid that I'll fall." Despite the comical nature of his hat, Ceci frowned down at him.
Corran took the lead, patted his horse's shoulder and began down the road.
Silence was never a thing Ceci could bear comfortably. Especially with someone near to a stranger. She said,"If you don't mind, Mr. Lennox, might I ask what you thought of Mr. Redford's conversation just now?"
"By 'Mr. Redford's conversation,' do you mean the way you bullied the poor fellow, or the way he answered your questions?"
Though he said this with a light, teasing manner, Ceci couldn't help but be indignant. It appeared very clearly in her voice.
"I'm sure I don't know what you could mean by bullying."
"You were merely trying to make a point, I know." Mr. Lennox said. "I only wonder, as you and Mr. Redford are such long acquaintances, why you took the trouble to wheedle away at the man when you must have already known what his answers would be. So, I suppose, to answer your question, I thought the conversation to be very curious."
He couldn't see it in the darkness, but Ceci was blushing furiously.
"Mr. Lennox," she said, gritting her teeth in anger, "I know it is the custom of such gentlemen as you to humble others with an arrogantly impressive display of conversation, but I must tell you I find it to be terribly ungracious and quite hateful."
Corran stopped. He turned round and looked up again at Ceci from beneath his hat, now askew.
"And what," he said, with an edge of cold in his voice, "would bring you to make such an assumption about me? How would you propose to know me so well?"
"Because you come from a society typical of such behavior, Mister Lennox." Ceci replied, spitting the words.
"Typical, really?" Corran paused. Then he shook his head and in silence, continued leading the horse down the lane.
Ceci was unnerved by his silence. Her anger continued to seethe, and underneath it, a growing sense of guilt that only made her more frustrated.
Of a sudden, Corran stopped again and looked up at Ceci. "Well, Miss Moore," his voice was very quiet, and despite the silent street, Ceci had to lean down a bit to hear. "I must tell you that when I first met you, I thought I saw such great kindness in you--real warmth, the kind I find so appealing in my country acquaintances. But I think you've proved that first impression quite wrong; and as for my behavior, I believe it hasn't been half so high and mighty as yours. " He turned now, walking slowly. "How does that little passage in the Bible go? Something about a splinter in your neighbor's eye?"
Now the guilt really did pervade Ceci's thoughts. In fact, it took her completely over. She had behaved monstrously. It was unkind to make a fool of poor Sam Redford. And to try and justify it in such a way...

... the journey down the lane seemed to draw out for ages. The whole long way, Ceci reflected and became more and more unnerved and upset.
Finally, they came to her house, and quietly she said, "We've reached my home, Mr. Lennox."
Mr. Lennox carefully and silently helped her dismount and walked her down her own walkway. Near to the great oak front door, Ceci said, "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Lennox."
Corran nodded politely, avoiding her gaze as he turned to leave, until she said--almost in a whisper, "Before you go, I must apologize," she took a step forward with a contrite countenance, "for my appalling behavior. It was... most unkind and impolite. And really-- you must know, Mr. Lennox-- not a true example of my usual character."
Mr. Lennox smiled. "I know," he said.

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Corran William Lennox had spent the better part of two days lost in painful thought concerning the interview he'd had with Sir Edward. Thank the Lord his dear father still retained excellent health. Thank heaven he was allowed a few years to settle these terrifying prospects in his mind and grow accustomed to the bulk of inheritance that would lay on his shoulders. Those were the thoughts that he clung to.
Lost in thought soon became unbearably restless; against his first impulse, he decided to attend his good friend Brooke's evening dance. He could put the heavy troubles away for a time, enjoy himself and come back to them later. He sent along a note of his acceptance of Mr. Brooke's invitation, apologizing for the lateness.
To put off the constantly reappearing worries of late, Corran wore his brightest colors that evening: deep blue with a striped green and light-blue vest, a bright blue cap, and an orange blossom in his lapel. He looked a little eccentric, he supposed, but the colors made his mood a little lighter. He laughed at the expression on Pearl's face as he passed her on his way to the stables.
He could see, hear, and smell the activity, excitement and gaiety before he reached the little farm manor. How he enjoyed leaving behind the cold stuffiness of his social circle for the warm gentleness of country folk and their assemblies. He had undoubtedly been born into the wrong social class.
Mr. Brooke overflowed with joyful grins and words upon his arrival. Corran smiled gratefully at his friend's earnest attentions. Brooke offered introductions without even being asked, and Corran was grateful for that as well. He had never quite grasped the art of introductions with strangers.
Mr. Brooke knew exactly whom Mr. Lennox should meet; she stood, stiff and straining on one side of the lawn, in quiet conversation with friends. Mr. Brooke thought it the greatest thing in the world that his two favorite party guests should meet. Corran recognized, even before they formally met, the book girl he'd passed on the road to town that morning's ride, the girl who'd immediately struck him and stuck in his mind. Her cold formality could not fool him; her hand was soft and obliging of its own accord as he bent over it. It seemed she could not be frigid if she wanted to; her own intrinsic warmth betrayed her, and Corran recognized it immediately. Clever Mr. Brooke quickly ushered Corran away to make more new acquaintances, and Cecil was left to reflect on first impressions.
For Corran's part, he could not help but cement one eye, one ear, and one area of his thoughts to the book girl for the rest of the evening. Every significant movement, reaction and conversation he caught and turned over and over in his mind. It wasn't terribly difficult. Standing on the opposite side of the lawn, conversing with a group of new (and eager) acquaintances, he could easily pick out her voice, and especially her laughter. Every other word began with laughter. He wished at times to know what was so damned funny that she should laugh so profusely. He began to pass off the Miss Moore as a member of the ridiculous order of females, of the giddy, featherbrained character. What other conclusion could one draw from a woman who laughed all together too often? And especially at social gatherings?

The nerve, Ceci thought, her thoughts seething. Brazen arrogance of the man to show up at poor Mr. Brooke's private party just to revel in the natural adoration of decent country folk. It's disgusting, the appalling vanity of this order of society weasels. She had not even the will power to plaster a smile to her face as he bent over her hand. She received his politeness with an icy nod. Poor Mr. Brooke stood beside the two of them, grinning like a fool. If she had an invisible boot or a pitchfork, she'd send this Mr. Lennox on his way, away from her. The minute he turned his back, she scowled. Marguerite, who had never seen her cousin in such an attitude before, was taken aback. Marie only looked confused. Christopher only looked at Marguerite.
When Ceci turned back to her company of friends, she almost laughed at the curious looks on their faces. She forgot her anger and annoyance for the moment, and that suddenly put her at ease.
"Well, let me tell you who would match our Mr. Corran William Lennox best of our humble little party, since he seems to be so desperate for feminine adoration. I believe Sophia Mills would make him the perfect mate."
Maria let out a hearty gaffah. "Miss Sophia Mills? She has a brain the size of a bird's!"
Marguerite, in all her self-righteous dignity, looked shocked.
"Yes, and so I said, perfect; for she has the beauty with no brains. You know gentlemen, especially of Mr. Lennox's character, prefer a woman that complements his looks. They're always loathe to bother with a woman who might challenge him or provide an alternate opinion. Men can never get on well with a woman who possesses a strong mind."
"But you know, Ceci," Maria objected, "gentlemen, especially those like our new friend Mr. Lennox must have a wife who is good in society, one who will speak very little, but speak it well and will always be persuaded to agree with him, so that he can always get his way."
"And so?" Ceci asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, "who would fit that description? Beautiful, brainless, agreeable and a society belle?"
"Susanna Greggs." Maria replied with a smirk.
Ceci laughed with abandon. "Susanna? Oh, Maria, you are cruel. She's such a timid girl! Mr. Lennox would bully the poor thing till she'd be too afraid to open her mouth!"
Maria considered, and nodded.
"If not Sophia Mills and most definitely not Miss Greggs, then the woman is--"
At this point in the conversation, Ceci was interrupted by Samuel Redford, William Redford and Corran Lennox.
"Have you met this fellow?" Sam said to Ceci, gesturing behind him at Mr. Lennox.
Ceci nodded without expression. Oh, why in heaven's name would they bring him over here once more?
"A dandy chap, he is," William said.
Oh yes, thought Ceci, let's spread our words like true country cretins, that he might have more to deepen his self-importance.
"I'm sure," replied Ceci, clasping her hands together with self-contained fury.
"Did I hear Miss Greggs mentioned just now?" Sam said. The whole of the countryside knew (very well indeed) his devotion for Susanna Greggs.
Maria stifled a smirk. "Yes, actually. We were just discussing--"
Will interrupted. "Well, we all know who among us's taken a fancy to her!" Ceci suspected he said this before his cousin had a chance to enumerate the young woman's many charms, as he had a habit of doing.
Ceci laughed at the surprised and annoyed expression on Sam's face, but her laugh died away quickly when she caught Mr. Lennox's intent glance. Her clasped hands tightened again. "Mr. Redford," She said, addressing Samuel. "How would you act if Susanna quite suddenly refused to attend church?"
"How do you mean?" Sam asked, looking confused.
"If she expressed an averse opinion of the Anglican Church and stated an intent to enter a different Christian denomination?" Ceci kept an eye on Mr. Lennox's looks and movements.
"Leave the Anglican Church?" Sam said, aghast. "What? You mean, if she wanted to become... Catholic?"
"Yes, perhaps, Catholic. Or of the Lutheran persuasion. Tell me, what would you do?"
"Well," Sam said, looking upset, "I would refuse to marry her, I suppose. No wife of mine will be a Catholic... or one of the John Calvin, Martin Luther tribe."
"No?" Ceci said, feigning surprise.
"She--she hasn't spoken of such an idea to you, has she?" Sam said, leaning forward in frightened, hushed tones.
"No, not to me she hasn't. I just wonder, Mr. Redford, why you would refuse to marry a woman you obviously admire, simply because she believed or expressed something contrary to your own persuasion?" Ceci let a tiny grin touch her eyes, for Corran's expression at her side was one of surprise, and... could it be? Indignation?
"Miss Moore, erm, with respect," (Sam was ever the gentleman) "What woman has the just right to make decisions adverse to her man's?"
Ceci raised an eyebrow. She always knew this to be Samuel's standpoint, as most men of her acquaintance, but to hear it spoken aloud peaked her annoyance. "And so, Mr. Redford, you prefer a woman to be timid, quiet and agreeable?"
"Well..." Samuel stopped for a moment and looked slightly unbalanced.
"Good. I'll tell Susanna you said so." Cecil nodded politely to Mr. Lennox and left them, making her way stiffly across the lawn.

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Joyful, whistling Mr. Brooke strolled down the cobblestones to meet his guests. His favorite among them was the young Miss Moore, for her presence always made a pleasurable time. Arm in arm with her cousin Marguerite, her laughter fluttered through the air before her like a herald as she made her way up the lane. Smiling broadly, Mr. Brooke eagerly sent forward a hand to receive hers for a kiss. She laughed again. The little farm manor, so sweetly situated between field and meadow, was Ceci's favorite country villa and Mr. Brooke's soirees ever promised a delightful evening.
As ever, the manor was spectacular: lit with a thousand beeswax candles and glittering with chandelier prisms and the sparkles of ladies' gowns. The wood floors were waxed to mirror-perfection and the gold and white of decorative drapery spread a warmth through the rooms. A little string quartet played in the corner, and the lovely music carried easily through the hall. Ceci cast her eyes about for familiar faces. There was Sam Redford in the midst of some profound political discussion; he certainly didn't waste time, Ceci noted. And there, Mr. Redford's cousin William, forever the antagonist. Certainly they would be arguing the same worn out issues that continually plagued the country class. Ceci had learned long ago not to enter into conversation with this particular duo, for neither of them listened to differing opinions and were constantly repetitious.
Ceci jumped; suddenly by her side appeared James Carter; wickedly, he bent close to her ear so that her dark curls brushed the tip of his nose, and whispered a request for a dance. The sudden invasion unnerved her, but she hid her discomfort with a smile and a nod. To note here, Ceci's smile appeared at the corners of her mouth, but did not quite reach her eyes; Marguerite alone noticed it. Marguerite also noted her cousin's over-eager steps while she danced and the way she avoided catching James' eyes, averting her glance as she skipped her way through the crowd.
When the music died away again to the sound of appreciative applause, Mr. Brooke made a show of opening the great windowed oak doors and ushering his guests out onto the veranda and moonlit lawn. Moonlit, for this was a night when the grand harvest moon sat just above the horizon, which glowed a rich orange. Discomfort died away from Ceci's pale face and she sighed happily. The evening air cooled her nerves and she smiled at her cousin. Around them, elegant women with feathers and fans milled arm-in-arm with dark-suited gentlemen. Whispers in the air became laughter and conversation again, and the little quartet re-situated itself on the lawn, lit by the candlelight through the oak doors. Milling herself, Ceci found Marie Tout and her brother Christopher engaged in argument about whether the city or the country was better in the summer or the winter months. Ceci always enjoyed Marie's company; though she bore an altogether plain appearance, she had a perfectly amiable personality and always made her laugh. And her brother Christopher, a tall, handsome, dark-haired fellow was—she was quite sure—in love with her Marguerite. No doubt Marguerite returned the sentiment, though both were so bothersomely shy and indecisive that nothing had yet been done about it. And so Marie and Cecil often made it their end to attempt to leave the two alone together or goad them into conversation on particular subjects. Tonight, with pale, silent Marguerite at her elbow, Ceci began to talk of a friend who had set her wedding date for the late summer months, but had decided after much consideration to hold the ceremony in the country.
Marie quickly piped up with, “Oh yes. I am sure she was right; weddings, you know, are so much pleasanter in the fresh open air of the country, in both summer and wintertime. After all, who would want a ceremony stuffed up in a crowded church outside a busy street? Not terribly romantic, indeed. What do you think, Marguerite? If it had been your wedding, summer in the country?”
Marguerite bit her lip. “I think I would agree that in the summer, a wedding in the country would be much more agreeable. But I do enjoy the city. It's um—very busy and exciting. There's always so many things to do.” Her face peered up at Christopher's for just an instant. He looked uncomfortable.
Marie grinned at Ceci. “You know, we shall never ask your opinion, Chris. Men are never allowed their opinion concerning such things, since tradition holds that the poor bride must manage all the wedding plans!”
Ceci giggled. “It's too true,” she said. “I'll make note of it when your time comes, Marguerite. You'll have my help, at least.”
Marguerite blushed.
“Oh, how exciting it would be to have a wedding!” Marie exclaimed. “We haven't had anyone married in months and months. Not since Clement Hall and Diana Newberry were married last year; and they moved away!”
“It would be nice, wouldn't it, to have a wedding.” Ceci laughed again at poor Christopher and Marguerite's unnerved expressions, both simultaneously trying to catch and avert each other's glances.
Marie laughed (with wicked undertones) along with Ceci. “A wedding and then a christening!”
Ceci was a little surprised at Marie's audacity; but after all, he was her brother.
Ceci suddenly became aware of a hush spreading through the crowd of guests. A few awkward laughs hung in the silenced air; Ceci looked about to see the reason.
There was a fellow standing in the oakwood doorway, speaking animatedly with Mr. Brooke, who beamed and frowned in succession. The hush tapered away as a feminine rush of whispers broke out.
“Who in heaven's name...?” Ceci said, staring fixedly at the young man. She'd certainly never seen him before but felt oddly that she'd encountered his personage once earlier.
Marguerite and Marie both knew at once. “Oh, Ceci,” Marie began, a little exasperated. “Did you not hear Mr. Brooke speaking of the gentleman? The man couldn't shut up about him.”
Ceci gave her a blank look. “His name is Corran William Lennox. He lives on that enormous estate on the other side of town. His father is Sir Edward Lennox, of a very old and wealthy family.” This information was whispered to Ceci by the ever-present Marguerite. She didn't notice, but at her side, Christopher gave her a surprised look. Marguerite continued, “His father's estate is worth thousands; Mr. Corran Lennox is the most eligible bachelor in the north country and he hasn't even reached five and twenty yet.” Christopher's look became more worried then surprised.
Ceci touched Marguerite's arm appreciatively and leaned around to attempt to get a better look at the man. I hope he's homely, she thought. It'd be easier to detest him and all his wealth and airs if he's unbearably ugly.
In this, she was unfortunately disappointed.