She slept a long time, and when she awakened Mrs. Medlockhad bought a lunchbasket at one of the stations and theyhad some chicken and cold beef and bread and butter andsome hot tea. The rain seemed to be streaming down moreheavily than ever and everybody in the station wore wetand glistening waterproofs. The guard lighted the lampsin the carriage, and Mrs. Medlock cheered up very muchover her tea and chicken and beef. She ate a great dealand afterward fell asleep herself, and Mary sat and staredat her and watched her fine bonnet slip on one side until sheherself fell asleep once more in the corner of the carriage,lulled by the splashing of the rain against the windows.
It was quite dark when she awakened again. The trainhad stopped at a station and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her.
"You have had a sleep!" she said. "It's time to openyour eyes! We're at Thwaite Station and we've got a longdrive before us."Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open whileMrs. Medlock collected her parcels. The littlegirl did not offer to help her, because in Indianative servants always picked up or carried thingsand it seemed quite proper that other people should wait on one.
The station was a small one and nobody but themselvesseemed to be getting out of the train. The station-masterspoke to Mrs. Medlock in a rough, good-natured way,pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion which Maryfound out afterward was Yorkshire.
"I see tha's got back," he said. "An' tha's browt th'
young 'un with thee.""Aye, that's her," answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking witha Yorkshire accent herself and jerking her head overher shoulder toward Mary. "How's thy Missus?""Well enow. Th' carriage is waitin' outside for thee."A brougham stood on the road before the littleoutside platform. Mary saw that it was a smart carriageand that it was a smart footman who helped her in.
His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of hishat were shining and dripping with rain as everything was,the burly station-master included.
When he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman,and they drove off, the little girl found herself seatedin a comfortably cushioned corner, but she was not inclinedto go to sleep again. She sat and looked out of the window,curious to see something of the road over which shewas being driven to the queer place Mrs. Medlock hadspoken of. She was not at all a timid child and she wasnot exactly frightened, but she felt that there was noknowing what might happen in a house with a hundred roomsnearly all shut up--a house standing on the edge of a moor.
"What is a moor?" she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.
"Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you'll see,"the woman answered. "We've got to drive five miles acrossMissel Moor before we get to the Manor. You won't seemuch because it's a dark night, but you can see something."Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darknessof her corner, keeping her eyes on the window. The carriagelamps cast rays of light a little distance ahead of themand she caught glimpses of the things they passed.
After they had left the station they had driven through atiny village and she had seen whitewashed cottages and thelights of a public house. Then they had passed a churchand a vicarage and a little shop-window or so in a cottagewith toys and sweets and odd things set our for sale.
Then they were on the highroad and she saw hedges and trees.
After that there seemed nothing different for a longtime--or at least it seemed a long time to her.
At last the horses began to go more slowly, as if theywere climbing up-hill, and presently there seemed to beno more hedges and no more trees. She could see nothing,in fact, but a dense darkness on either side. She leanedforward and pressed her face against the window justas the carriage gave a big jolt.
"Eh! We're on the moor now sure enough," said Mrs. Medlock.
The carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-lookingroad which seemed to be cut through bushes and low-growingthings which ended in the great expanse of dark apparentlyspread out before and around them. A wind was risingand making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound.
"It's--it's not the sea, is it?" said Mary, looking roundat her companion.
"No, not it," answered Mrs. Medlock. "Nor it isn't fieldsnor mountains, it's just miles and miles and miles of wildland that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom,and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep.""I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were wateron it," said Mary. "It sounds like the sea just now.""That's the wind blowing through the bushes," Mrs. Medlock said.
"It's a wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though there'splenty that likes it--particularly when the heather's in bloom."On and on they drove through the darkness, and thoughthe rain stopped, the wind rushed by and whistled and madestrange sounds. The road went up and down, and severaltimes the carriage passed over a little bridge beneathwhich water rushed very fast with a great deal of noise.
Mary felt as if the drive would never come to an endand that the wide, bleak moor was a wide expanse of blackocean through which she was passing on a strip of dry land.
"I don't like it," she said to herself. "I don't like it,"and she pinched her thin lips more tightly together.
The horses were climbing up a hilly piece of roadwhen she first caught sight of a light. Mrs. Medlocksaw it as soon as she did and drew a long sigh of relief.
"Eh, I am glad to see that bit o' light twinkling,"she exclaimed. "It's the light in the lodge window.
We shall get a good cup of tea after a bit, at all events."It was "after a bit," as she said, for when the carriagepassed through the park gates there was still two milesof avenue to drive through and the trees (which nearlymet overhead) made it seem as if they were drivingthrough a long dark vault.
They drove out of the vault into a clear spaceand stopped before an immensely long but low-builthouse which seemed to ramble round a stone court.
At first Mary thought that there were no lights at allin the windows, but as she got out of the carriageshe saw that one room in a corner upstairs showed a dull glow.
The entrance door was a huge one made of massive, curiouslyshaped panels of oak studded with big iron nails and boundwith great iron bars. It opened into an enormous hall,which was so dimly lighted that the faces in the portraitson the walls and the figures in the suits of armormade Mary feel that she did not want to look at them.
As she stood on the stone floor she looked a very small,odd little black figure, and she felt as small and lostand odd as she looked.
A neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who openedthe door for them.
"You are to take her to her room," he said in a husky voice.
"He doesn't want to see her. He's going to Londonin the morning.""Very well, Mr. Pitcher," Mrs. Medlock answered.
"So long as I know what's expected of me, I can manage.""What's expected of you, Mrs. Medlock," Mr. Pitcher said,"is that you make sure that he's not disturbed and that hedoesn't see what he doesn't want to see."And then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircaseand down a long corridor and up a short flightof steps and through another corridor and another,until a door opened in a wall and she found herselfin a room with a fire in it and a supper on a table.
Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously:
"Well, here you are! This room and the next are where you'lllive--and you must keep to them. Don't you forget that!"It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at MisselthwaiteManor and she had perhaps never felt quite so contraryin all her life.