Stephen was much
moved, and held tight to his arm, her heart beating. But in the time she
was getting accustomed to the place. Her eyes, useless at first on
coming out of the bright sunlight, and not able to distinguish anything,
began to take in the shape of the place and to see the rows of great
coffins that stood out along the far wall. She also saw with surprise
that the newest coffin, on which for several reasons her eyes rested, was
no longer dusty but was scrupulously clean. Following with her eyes as
well as she could see into the further corners she saw that there the
same reform had been effected. Even the walls and ceiling had been swept
of the hanging cobwebs, and the floor was clean with the cleanliness of
ablution. Still holding Harold's arm, she moved over towards her
mother's coffin and knelt before it. Harold knelt with her; for a little
while she remained still and silent, praying inwardly. Then she rose,
and taking her great bunch of flowers placed them lovingly on the lid of
the coffin above where she thought her mother's heart would be. Then she
turned to Harold, her eyes flowing and her cheeks wet with tears, and
laid her head against his breast. Her arms could not go round his neck
till he had bent his head, for with his great height he simply towered
above her. Presently she was quiet; the paroxysm of her grief had
passed. She took Harold's hand in both hers, and together they went to
the door. With his disengaged hand, for he would not have disturbed the
other for worlds, Harold put out the lights and locked the door behind
them. In the church she held him away from her, and looked him fairly in the
face. She said slowly:

'Harold, was it you who had the crypt cleaned?' He answered in a low
voice:

'I knew you would want to go again!' She took the great hand which she held between hers, and before he knew
what she was doing and could prevent her, raised it to her lips and
kissed it, saying lovingly:

'Oh, Harold! No brother in all the wide world could be kinder. And--and--'
this with a sob, 'we both thank you; mother and I!' CHAPTER VI--A VISIT TO OXFORD


The next important move in the household was Harold's going to Cambridge. His father had always intended this, and Squire Norman had borne his
wishes in mind. Harold joined Trinity, the college which had been his
father's, and took up his residence in due course. Stephen was now nearly twelve. Her range of friendships, naturally
limited by her circumstances in life, was enlarged to the full; and if
she had not many close friends there were at least of them all that was
numerically possible. She still kept up to certain degree the little
gatherings which in her childhood were got together for her amusement,
and in the various games then instituted she still took a part. She
never lost sight of the fact that her father took a certain pleasure in
her bodily vigour. And though with her growing years and the conscious
acceptance of her womanhood, she lost sight of the old childish fancy of
being a boy instead of a girl, she could not lose sight of the fact that
strength and alertness are sources of feminine as well as of masculine
power. Amongst the young friends who came from time to time during his holidays
was Leonard Everard, now a tall, handsome boy. He was one of those boys
who develop young, and who seem never to have any of that gawky stage so
noticeable in the youth of men made in a large pattern. He was always
well-poised, trim-set, alert; fleet of foot, and springy all over. In
games he was _facile princeps_, seeming to make his effort always in the
right way and without exertion, as if by an instinct of physical
masterdom. His universal success in such matters helped to give him an
easy debonair manner which was in itself winning. So physically complete
a youth has always a charm. In its very presence there is a sort of
sympathetic expression, such as comes with the sunshine. Stephen always in Leonard's presence showed something of the common
attitude. His youth and beauty and sex all had their influence on her. The influence of sex, as it is understood with regard to a later period
of life, did not in her case exist; Cupid's darts are barbed and winged
for more adult victims. But in her case Leonard's masculine superiority,
emphasised by the few years between their age, his sublime self-belief,
and, above all, his absolute disregard for herself or her wishes or her
feelings, put him on a level at which she had to look up to him. The
first step in the ladder of pre-eminence had been achieved when she
realised that he was not on her level; the second when she experienced
rather than thought that he had more influence on her than she had on
him. Here again was a little morsel of hero worship, which, though based
on a misconception of fact, was still of influence. In that episode of
the crypt she had always believed that it was Leonard who had carried her
out and laid her on the church floor in light and safety. He had been
strong enough and resolute enough to do this, whilst she had fainted! Harold's generous forbearance had really worked to a false end. It was not strange, therefore, that she found occasional companionship
with the handsome, wilful, domineering boy somewhat of luxury. She did
not see him often enough to get tired of him; to find out the weakness of
his character; to realise his deep-seated, remorseless selfishness. But
after all he was only an episode in a young life which was full of
interests. Term after term came and went; the holidays had their
seasonable pleasures, occasionally shared in common. That was all. Harold's attitude was the same as ever. He was of a constant nature; and
now that manhood was within hail the love of his boyhood was ripening to
a man's love. That was all. He was with regard to Stephen the same
devoted, worshipping protector, without thought of self; without hope of
reward. Whatever Stephen wished Harold did; and Stephen, knowing their
old wishes and their old pleasures, was content with their renewal. Each
holiday between the terms became mainly a repetition of the days of the
old life. They lived in the past. Amongst the things that did not change was Stephen's riding dress. The
scarlet habit had never been a thing for everyday wear, but had from the
first been kept for special occasions. Stephen herself knew that it was
not a conventional costume; but she rather preferred it, if on that
account alone. In a certain way she felt justified in using it; for a
red habit was a sort of tradition in the family. It was on one of these occasions that she had gone with Harold into the
churchyard where they had heard the discussion regarding God and the
Angels. * * * * *

When Stephen was about sixteen she went for a short visit to Oxford. She
stayed at Somerville with Mrs. Egerton, an old friend of her mother's,
who was a professor at the college.