The Squire of Sandal-Side | Page 5

"I know your knock, however you vary it. Nobody knocks like you. I
suppose no two people would make three taps just the same." She was
far too polite to yawn; but she made as much of the movement as she
could not control, and then put a mark in her book, and laid it down. A
very different girl, indeed, was she from her younger sister; a stranger
would never have suspected her of the same parentage.
She had dark, fine eyes, which, however, did not express what she felt:
they rather gave the idea of storing up impressions to be re-acted upon
by some interior power. She had a delicate complexion, a great deal of
soft, black hair compactly dressed, and a neat figure. Her disposition
was dreamy and self-willed; occult studies fascinated her, and she was
passionately fond of moonlight. She was simply dressed in a white
muslin frock, with a black ribbon around her slim waist; but the ribbon
was clasped by a buckle of heavily chased gold, and her fingers had
many rings on them, and looked--a very rare circumstance--the better
for them. Having put down her book, she rose from her chair; and as
she dipped the tips of her hands in water, and wiped them with
elaborate nicety, she talked to Charlotte in a soft, deliberate way.
"Where have you been, you and father, ever since daybreak?"
"Up to Blaeberry Tarn, and then home by Holler Beck. We caught a
creel full of trout, and had a very happy day."
"Really, you know?"
"Yes, really; why not?"
"I cannot understand it, Charlotte. I suppose we never were sisters

before." She said the words with the air of one who rather states a fact
than asks a question; and Charlotte, not at all comprehending, looked at
her curiously and interrogatively.
"I mean that our relationship in this life does not touch our anterior
lives."
"Oh, you know you are talking nonsense, Sophia! It gives me such a
feel, you can't tell, to think of having lived before; and I don't believe it.
There, now! Come, dear, let us go to dinner; I'm that hungry I'm fit to
drop." For Charlotte was watching, with a feeling of injury, Sophia's
leisurely method of putting every book and chair and hairpin in its
place.
The sisters' rooms were precisely alike in their general features, and yet
there was as great a relative difference in their apartments as in their
natures. Both were large, low rooms, facing the sunrise. The walls of
both were of dark oak; the roofs of both were of the same sombre wood;
so also were the floors. They were literally oak chambers. And in both
rooms the draperies of the beds, chairs, and windows were of white
dimity. But in Sophia's, there were many pictures, souvenirs of
girlhood's friendships, needlework, finished and unfinished drawings,
and a great number of books mostly on subjects not usually attractive to
young women. Charlotte's room had no pictures on its walls, and no
odds and ends of memorials; and as sewing was to her a duty and not a
pleasure, there was no crotcheting or Berlin-wool work in hand; and
with the exception of a handsome copy of "Izaak Walton," there were
no books on her table but a Bible, Book of Common Prayer, and a very
shabby Thomas à Kempis.
So dissimilar were the girls in their appearance and their tastes; and yet
they loved each other with that calm, habitual, family affection, which,
undemonstrative as it is, stands the wear and tug of life with a
wonderful tenacity. Down the broad, oak stairway they sauntered
together; Charlotte's tall, erect figure, bright, loose hair, pink dress, and
flowing ribbons, throwing into effective contrast the dark hair, dark
eyes, white drapery, and gleaming ornaments of her elder sister.

In the hall they met the squire. He was very fond and very proud of his
daughters; and he gave his right arm to Sophia, and slipped his left
hand into Charlotte's hand with an affectionate pride and confidence
that was charming.
"Any news, mother?" he asked, as he lifted one of the crisp brown trout
from its bed of white damask and curly green parsley.
"None, squire; only the sheep-shearing at the Up-Hill Farm to-morrow.
John of Middle Barra called with the statesman's respects. Will you go,
squire?"
"Certainly. My men are all to lend a hand. Barf Latrigg is ageing fast
now; he was my father's crony; if I slighted him, I should feel as if
father knew about it. Which of you will go with me? Thou, mother?"
"That, I cannot, squire. The servant lasses are all promised for the
fleece-folding; and it's a poor house that won't keep one woman busy in
it."
"Sophia and Charlotte will