Nell, of Shorne Mills | Page 4

and Molly will hear you if you want her before the time."
Mrs. Lorton sighed deeply in acknowledgment, and Nell left the room.
She had been bright and girlish enough while romping with her brother,
but the scene with her stepmother had left its impression on her face;
the dark-gray eyes were rather sad and weary; there was a slight droop
at the corners of the sweetly curved lips; but the change lent an
indescribable charm to the girlish face. Looking at it, as it was then, no
man but would have longed to draw the slim, graceful figure toward
him, to close the wistful eyes with a kiss, to caress the soft hair with a
comforting hand. There was a subtle fascination in the very droop of
the lips which would have haunted an artist or a poet, and driven the
ordinary man wild with love.
Mrs. Lorton had called Shorne Mills a "hole," but as a matter of fact,
the village stood almost upon the brow of the hill down which ran the
very steep road to the tiny harbor and fishing place which nestled under
the red Devon cliffs; and barbaric as the place might be, it was
beautiful beyond words. No spot in this loveliest of all counties was
more lovely; and as yet it was, so to speak, undiscovered. With the
exception of the vicarage there was no other house, worthy the name, in

the coombe; all the rest were fishermen's cots. The nearest inn and
shops were on the fringe of the moor behind and beyond the Lorton's
cottage; the nearest house of any consequence was that of the local
squire, three miles away. The market town of Shallop was eight miles
distant, and the only public communication with it was the carrier's cart,
which went to and fro twice weekly. In short, Shorne Mills was out of
the world, and will remain so until the Railway Fiend flaps his
coal-black wings over it and drops, with red-hot feet, upon it to sear its
beauty and destroy its solitude. It had got its name from a flour and
timber mill which had once flourished halfway down the coombe or
valley; but the wheels were now silent, the mills were falling to pieces,
and the silver stream served no more prosaic purpose than supplying
the fishing folk with crystal water which was pure as the stars it
reflected. This stream, as it ran beside the road or meandered through
the sloping meadows, made soft music, day and night, all through the
summer, but swelled itself into a torrent in the winter, and roared as it
swept over the smooth bowlders to its bridegroom, the sea; sometimes
it was the only sound in the valley, save always the murmur of the
ocean, and the shrill weird cry of the curlew as it flew from the sea
marge to the wooded heights above.
Nell loved the place with a great and exceeding love, with all the love
of a girl to whom beauty is a continual feast. She knew every inch of it;
for she had lived in the cottage on the hill since she was a child of
seven, and she was now nearly twenty-one. She knew every soul in the
fishing village, and, indeed, for miles around, and not seldom she was
spoken of as "Miss Nell, of Shorne Mills;" and the simple folk were as
proud of the title as was Nell herself. They were both fond and proud of
her. In any cottage and at any time her presence was a welcome one,
and every woman and child, when in trouble, flew to her for help and
comfort even before they climbed to the vicarage--that refuge of the
poor and sorrowing in all country places.
As she swung to the little gate behind her this morning, she paused and
looked round at the familiar scene; and its beauty, its grandeur, and its
solitude struck her strangely, as if she were looking at it for the first
time.

"One could be so happy if mamma--and if Dick could find something
to do!" she thought; and at the thought her eyes grew sadder and the
sweet lips drooped still more at the corner; but as she went up the hill,
the fine rare air, the brilliant sunshine acted like an anodyne, and the
eyes grew brighter, the lips relaxed, so that Smart's--the butcher's--face
broadened into a smile of sympathy as he touched his forehead with a
huge and greasy finger.
"Sweetbreads! No, no, miss; I've promised the cook up at the
Hall----There, bless your heart, Miss Nell, don't 'ee look so
disappointed. I'll send 'em--yes, in half an hour at most. Dang me if it
was the top brick off the chimney I reckon you'd get 'ee,