'A bonfire,' said Mr. Kendal. 'If we had remembered that it was the
5th of November, we would not have stayed out so late.' The next
moment he drew up the horses, exclaiming, 'Mr. Hope, will you have a
lift?'
Mr. Hope, rather to the ladies' surprise, took the vacant place
beside Sophy, instead of climbing up to the box. He had been to see
his intended parish, and was an enviable man, for he was as proud of
it as if it had been an intended wife, and Albinia, who knew it for a
slice of dreary heath, was entertained with his raptures. Church,
schools, and parsonage, each in their way were perfection or at least
promised to be, and he had never been so much elevated or so
communicative. The speechless little curate seemed to have vanished.
The road, as may be remembered, did not run parallel with the curve
of the river, but cutting straight across, entered Bayford over the
hill, passing a small open bit of waste land, where stood a few
cottages, the outskirts of the town.
Suddenly coming from an overshadowed lane upon this common, a glare
of light flashed on them, showing them each other's faces, and
casting the shadow of the carriage into full relief. The horses
shied violently, and they beheld an enormous bonfire raised on a
little knoll about twenty yards in front of them, surrounded by a
dense crowd, making every species of hideous noise.
Mr. Kendal checked the horses' start, and Mr.
Pages:
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734