Robert Elsmere

Robert Elsmere [with accents]

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Title: Robert Elsmere
Author: Mrs. Humphry Ward
Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8737] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on August 6,
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ELSMERE ***

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[Italics are indicated by underscores.]
[Transcriber's note: In one section, marked by **, two Greek letters,
delta and epsilon, are transcribed as de. The allusion is to a poem by
Browning -- 'A Grammarian's Funeral']
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Robert Elsmere
by
Mrs. Humphrey Ward
Author of "Miss Bretherton"

BOSTON: DeWOLFE, FISKE & CO., 365 Washington Street

Dedicated to the memory Of MY TWO FRIENDS
SEPARATED, IN MY THOUGHT OF THEM, BY MUCH
DIVERSITY OF CIRCUMSTANCE AND OPINION; LINKED, IN
MY FAITH ABOUT THEM, TO EACH OTHER, AND TO ALL THE
SNINING ONES OF THE PAST, BY THE LOVE OF GOD AND
THE SERVICE OF MAN:
THOMAS HILL GREEN
(LAYE PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD)
Died March 26, 1882
AND
LAURA OCTAVIA MARY LYTTELTON
Died Easter Eve, 1886
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BOOK I.
WESTMORELAND.

CHAPTER I
.
It was a brilliant afternoon toward the end of May. The spring had been
unusually cold and late, and it was evident from the general aspect of
the lonely Westmoreland valley of Long Whindale that warmth and
sunshine had only just penetrated to its bare, green recesses, where the
few scattered trees were fast rushing into their full summer dress, while
at their feet, and along the bank of the stream, the flowers of March and
April still lingered, as though they found it impossible to believe that
their rough brother, the east wind, had at last deserted them. The
narrow road, which was the only link between the farm-houses
sheltered by the crags at the head of the valley, and those far away
regions of town and civilization suggested by the smoke wreaths of
Whinborough on the southern horizon, was lined with masses of the
white heckberry or bird-cherry, and ran, an arrowy line of white
through the greenness of the sloping pastures. The sides of some of the
little books running down into the main river and, many of the
plantations round the farms were gay with the same tree, so that the
farm-houses, gray-roofed and gray-walled, standing in the hollows of
the fells, seemed here and there to have been robbed of all their natural
austerity of aspect, and to be masquerading in a dainty garb of white
and green imposed upon them by the caprice of the spring.
During the greater part of its course the valley of Long Whindale is
tame and featureless. The hills at the lower part are low and rounded,
and the sheep and cattle pasture over slopes unbroken either by wood
or rock. The fields are bare and close shaven by the flocks which feed
on them; the walls run either perpendicularly in many places up the
fells or horizontally along them, so that, save for the wooded course of
the tumbling river and the bush-grown hedges of the road, the whole
valley looks like a green map divided by regular lines of grayish black.
But as the walker penetrates further, beyond a certain bend which the
stream makes half-way from the head of the dale, the hills grow steeper,
the breadth between them contracts, the enclosure lines are broken and

deflected by rocks and patches of plantation, and the few farms stand
more boldly and conspicuously forward, each on its spur of land,
looking up to or away from the great masses of frowning crag which
close in the head of the valley, and which from the moment they come
into sight give it dignity and a wild beauty.
On one