THE SANDS
Our was not in the of the town: on entering A—— from the north-west there is a of respectable-looking houses, on each of the broad, white road, with narrow of garden-ground them, Venetian to the windows, and a of steps leading to each trim, brass-handled door. In one of the largest of these my mother and I, with such ladies as our friends and the public to to our charge. Consequently, we were a from the sea, and from it by a of and houses. But the sea was my delight; and I would often the town to obtain the of a walk it, with the pupils, or alone with my mother the vacations. It was to me at all times and seasons, but in the wild of a sea-breeze, and in the of a morning.
I early on the third after my return from Ashby Park—the sun was through the blind, and I how it would be to pass through the town and take a on the while the world was in bed. I was not long in the resolution, slow to act upon it. Of I would not my mother, so I downstairs, and the door. I was and out, when the church clock a to six. There was a of and in the very streets; and when I got free of the town, when my was on the and my the broad, bay, no language can the of the deep, clear of the sky and ocean, the on the of by green hills, and on the smooth, wide sands, and the low out at sea—looking, with their of and moss, like little grass-grown islands—and above all, on the brilliant, waves. And then, the purity—and of the air! There was just to the value of the breeze, and just wind to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the come to the shore, and sparkling, as if wild with glee. Nothing else was stirring—no was visible myself. My were the to press the firm, sands;—nothing had them since last night's had the marks of yesterday, and left them and even, where the water had left it the of and little streams.
Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, I walked along, all my cares, as if I had to my feet, and go at least miles without fatigue, and a of to which I had been an entire since the days of early youth. About half-past six, however, the to come to air their masters' horses—first one, and then another, till there were some dozen and five or six riders: but that need not trouble me, for they would not come as as the low which I was now approaching. When I had these, and walked over the moist, sea-weed (at the of into one of the of clear, salt water that them), to a little with the sea it, I looked again to see who next was stirring. Still, there were only the early with their horses, and one with a little dark of a dog him, and one water-cart out of the town to water for the baths. In another minute or two, the would to move, and then the of regular and ladies would be to take their walks. But such a might be, I not wait to it, for the sun and the sea so my in that direction, that I but one glance; and then I again to myself with the and the of the sea, against my promontory—with no force, for the was by the sea-weed and the beneath; otherwise I should soon have been with spray. But the was in; the water was rising; the and were filling; the were widening: it was time to some footing; so I walked, skipped, and to the smooth, wide sands, and to to a in the cliffs, and then return.
Presently, I a me and then a dog came and to my feet. It was my own Snap—the little dark, wire-haired terrier! When I spoke his name, he up in my and for joy. Almost as much as himself, I the little in my arms, and him repeatedly. But how came he to be there? He not have from the sky, or come all that way alone: it must be either his master, the rat-catcher, or somebody else that had him; so, my caresses, and to his likewise, I looked round, and beheld—Mr. Weston!
"Your dog you well, Miss Grey," said he, the hand I offered him without what I was about. "You early."
"Not often so early as this," I replied, with composure, all the of the case.
"How do you purpose to your walk?"
"I was of returning—it must be almost time, I think."
He his watch—a gold one now—and told me it was only five minutes past seven.
"But, doubtless, you have had a long walk," said he, the town, to which I now to my steps; and he walked me.
"In what part of the town do you live?" asked he. "I discover."
Never discover? Had he to do so then? I told him the place of our abode. He asked how we in our affairs. I told him we were doing very well—that we had had a to our after the Christmas vacation, and a still at the close of this.
"You must be an instructor," he observed.
"No, it is my mother," I replied; "she so well, and is so active, and clever, and kind."
"I should like to know your mother. Will you me to her some time, if I call?"
"Yes, willingly."
"And will you allow me the of an old friend, of looking in upon you now and then?"
"Yes, if—I so."
This was a very answer, but the truth was, I that I had no right to anyone to my mother's house without her knowledge; and if I had said, "Yes, if my mother not object," it would appear as if by his question I more than was expected; so, she would not, I added, "I so:" but of I should have said something more and more polite, if I had had my about me. We our walk for a minute in silence; which, however, was (no small to me) by Mr. Weston upon the of the and the of the bay, and then upon the A—— over many other places of resort.
"You don't ask what me to A " said he. "You can't I'm rich to come for my own pleasure."
"I you had left Horton."
"You didn't hear, then, that I had got the of F——?"
F—— was a village about two miles from A——.
"No," said I; "we live so out of the world, here, that news me through any quarter; through the medium of the —— Gazette. But I you like your new parish; and that I may you on the acquisition?"
"I to like my a year or two hence, when I have I have set my upon—or, at least, some steps such an achievement. But you may me now; for I it very to have a all to myself, with nobody to with me—to my plans or my exertions: and besides, I have a house in a neighbourhood, and three hundred a year; and, in fact, I have nothing but to complain of, and nothing but a to wish for."
He looked at me as he concluded: and the of his dark to set my on fire; to my own discomfiture, for to at such a was intolerable. I an effort, therefore, to the evil, and all personal of the by a hasty, ill-expressed reply, to the that, if he waited till he was well in the neighbourhood, he might have opportunities for his want among the of F—— and its vicinity, or the visitors of A——, if he so a choice: not the by such an assertion, till his answer me aware of it.
"I am not so as to that," said he, "though you tell it me; but if it were so, I am particular in my of a for life, and I might not one to me among the ladies you mention."
"If you perfection, you will."
"I do not—I have no right to it, as being so from perfect myself."
Here the was by a water-cart past us, for we were now come to the part of the sands; and, for the next eight or ten minutes, and horses, and asses, and men, there was little room for social intercourse, till we had our upon the sea, and to the road leading into the town. Here my offered me his arm, which I accepted, though not with the of using it as a support.
"You don't often come on to the sands, I think," said he, "for I have walked there many times, and evening, since I came, and you till now; and times, in through the town, too, I have looked about for your school—but I did not think of the —— Road; and once or twice I inquiries, but without the information."
When we had the acclivity, I was about to my arm from his, but by a of the was that such was not his will, and desisted. Discoursing on different subjects, we entered the town, and passed through streets. I saw that he was going out of his way to me, the long walk that was yet him; and, that he might be himself from of politeness, I "I I am taking you out of your way, Mr. Weston—I the road to F—— in another direction."
"I'll you at the end of the next street," said he.
"And when will you come to see mamma?"
"To-morrow—God willing."
The end of the next was nearly the of my journey. He stopped there, however, me good-morning, and called Snap, who a little to his old or his new master, but away upon being by the latter.
"I won't offer to him to you, Miss Grey," said Mr. Weston, smiling, "because I like him."
"Oh, I don't want him," I, "now that he has a good master; I'm satisfied."
"You take it for that I am a good one, then?"
The man and the dog departed, and I returned home, full of to for so much bliss, and praying that my might not again be crushed.
