The Somerset reporter., 1900-12-27
c.o.c.c.o.o.oc.o.o.o.c.o.:
BY THE LYCH GATE
A Story of One Who Married For
Wealth and beauty.
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whose slopes. long years ago, came
pious Miles. who translated the Bible,
and who was called by the simple folk
Miles of Coyerdale. after the place Of
his birth.
Very calm and peaceful the little dale
lies under the shadow OF the great
hills. whose SUBMITS are purple In the
sweet summertide with their royal
mantle of fragrant heather and where
the curlew and the golden plovers
cry alone break the gentle stiffness
that rests over the little world beyond
the haunts of restless activity and bur
rylng life.
There Is no railway In quiet Cover
dale. no town to which the country
folk may wend their way. no shops save
the wonderful village emporium, where
everything in a very small way may be
obtained, but where few fashions come
to startle the gayer minded Of the
maidens, or strange new devices In
necktles to dazzle the vision Of the
country lads.
To peep into the world necessltates q
journey under the shelter of the lone
hillsides. along bonny lanes, intwined
with pink aud creamy tinted honey
suckle, and green with waving ferns
past the quaint Inn. whose sign is
famous but long ago race horse, called
in the cannY Yorkshire tongue the
Lady Bah. and, finally, across the moor
Into horse loving Middleham, where
are people and shops, and many inns
with curiously painted signposts the
Black Swan aud its brother, the White
Swan, and many others too
But down in Coverdale there is Il
beautiful old church. set Ike jewel
In its surrounding Of stately trees and
blossoming hedges. with the quiet
greenness of Gods acre lying stretched
about 1t. and the singing of natures
choristers In the sweet air around a
place of peacefulness and repose. where
earth's burdens may fall from one for
q little space and heavens benson light
softly on such of its children as stay to
pray and think awhile.
There is a quaint lych gate at the en-
trance to the holy spot. a carved halt
ing place of oak set tenderly by some
good man of the dalespeople-a squire
of the olden days who loved his home
and his neighbors and his God full
well, | think, aud sought to beautify
the church In which he and his had
worshiped SO long
And down the fair avenue Of trees
II -, 4 Io+
church lie the remains of what WAS
once the proud abbey Of Coverdale.
where the monks said masses and cul-
tiyated their garden and tended the
souls and bodies of the poor and needy
in the dale.
countryside. and so thought a man
who viewed it lovingly and pointed out
all its changeful lights and shadows
and all its pretty peeps Of field and
river to his wife
They had only been married a little
while, a few short weeks, and had
elected to spend their honeymoon in
some of the quaint corners Of England;
hence their journeying thlther to this
sequestered nook among the bills and
the far stretched moorlands In their
yelling of regal purple. The man loved
1t already with the artist love which
sees the beautiful SO quickly and feels
II SO strongly. and the woman-well.
she saw the beauties, too. but she was
growing a little weary OF pretty sights.
and she was very pretty and spoiled her.
self and perhaps little Jealous Of ad-
miration wasted which might have
been diverted homeward
SO she stood by the quaint relics Of
the abbots and mailed knights at Gov
erdale. where two quaint forms guard
a doorway as perchancs their originals
guarded some stronghold in the old
fighting days long gone. and her white
gown fell over the gray stones and
nasturtiums In the garden which sur
rounds the old walls and arches and
she wondered If her husband had near
ly finished his sketch and whether they
should stay at Middleham for a day or
two or go on farther to Wensleydale.
lam rather tired OF admlring places"
she said to herself little impatiently,
and then, never can remember who
lived In the castles and abbeys. How
uncomfortable they must have BEEN
And then-for she was only very
young bride. too-she felt sorry for
having been impatient, even in her
thoughts. toward her husband, and she
turned to speak to him with an even
sweeter smile than usual on her pretty
lips, for her husband was a genius in
his way. a thinker and an author, and
every one had envied her when she
married him in spite of her wealth.
All there was a pitiful ring in the
story-poor ard nameless. but clever;
beating himself to pieces In his eager
attempts to win femr single handed,
and rich and beautiful the woman with
the fairylike figure and exquisite face
who had given the man her gold.
And. ah. n more pitiful note still. aud
the man remembers that some one has
once long ago talked of this very spot,
with Its quaint surroundings and its
old world atmosphere, in the ime that
might have been and is not
He closed his sketchbook, with a
sigh, and turned to the white robed
loneliness of his wife with a murmur-
ed apology for having kept her wait
ing, and then together they passed
down the avenue that leads to the road
again.
But he was very silent and his wife