The Misses Mallett

The Misses Mallett (The Bridge
Dividing) [with accents]

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Title: THE MISSES MALLETT
Author: E. H. YOUNG
Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8131] [This file was first posted on
June 17, 2003]
Edition: 10

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THE MISSES MALLETT
(The Bridge Dividing)
by E. H. Young

Contents
BOOK I ROSE
BOOK II HENRIETTA
BOOK III ROSE AND HENRIETTA

Book I: Rose
§ 1
On the high land overlooking the distant channel and the hills beyond it,
the spring day, set in azure, was laced with gold and green. Gorse
bushes flaunted their colour, larch trees hung out their tassels and
celandines starred the bright green grass in an air which seemed
palpably blue. It made a mist among the trees and poured itself into the
ground as though to dye the earth from which hyacinths would soon
spring. Far away, the channel might have been a still, blue lake, the
hills wore soft blue veils and, like a giant reservoir, the deeper blue of
the sky promised unlimited supplies. There were sheep and lambs
bleating in the fields, birds sang with a piercing sweetness, and no
human being was in sight until, up on the broad grassy track which
branched off from the main road and had the larch wood on one side
and, on the other, rough descending fields, there appeared a woman on
a horse. The bit jingled gaily, the leather creaked, the horse, smelling

the turf, gave a snort of delight, but his rider restrained him lightly. On
her right hand was the open country sloping slowly to the water; on her
left was the stealthiness of the larch wood; over and about everything
was the blue day. Straight ahead of her the track dipped to a lane, and
beyond that the ground rose again in fields sprinkled with the drab and
white of sheep and lambs and backed by the elm trees of Sales Hall.
She could see the chimneys of the house and the rooks' nests in the elm
tops and, as though the sight reminded her of something mildly
amusing, the smoothness of her face was ruffled by a smile, the
stillness of her pose by a quick glance about her, but if she looked for
anyone she did not find him. There were small sounds from the larch
wood, little creakings and rustlings, but there was no human footstep,
and the only visible movements were made by the breeze in the trees
and in the grass, the flight of a bird and the distant gambolling of
lambs.
She rode on down the steep, stony slope into the lane, and after
hesitating for a moment she turned to the right where the lane was
broadened by a border of rich grass and a hedge-topped bank. Here
primroses lay snugly in their clumps of crinkled leaves and, wishing to
feel the coolness of their slim, pale stalks between her fingers, Rose
Mallett dismounted, slipped the reins over her arm and allowed her
horse to feed while she stooped to the flowers. Then, in the full
sunshine, with the soft breeze trying to loosen her hair, with the flowers
in her bare hand, she straightened herself, consciously happy in the
beauty of the day, in the freedom and strength of her body, in the smell
of the earth and the sight of the country she had known and loved all
her life. It was long since she had ridden here without encountering
Francis Sales, who was bound up with her knowledge of the country,
and who, quite evidently, wished to annex some of the love she
lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which made her smile