IT MAY BE TRUE.
A NOVEL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY MRS. WOOD.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE,
1865.
[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]
IT MAY BE TRUE.
CHAPTER I.
ASHLEIGH.
Had'st thou lived in days of old,
O, what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
And thy humid eyes that dance
In the midst of their own brightness,
In the very fane of lightness;
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning;
In a dainty bend they lie
Like the streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Keats.
The village of Ashleigh is situated in one of the most lovely andromantic of the English counties; where mountains, valleys, woods and[Pg 2]forest trees appear to vie with each other in stately magnificence. Thevillage is literally embosomed amongst the trees. Lofty elms, majesticoaks, and wide-spreading beech trees grow in and around it. On one side,as far as the eye can reach, are mountains covered with verdure, withall their varied and lovely tints of green. On the other side the viewis partially obstructed by a mass of forest trees growing in clumps, orforming an arch overhead, through which nevertheless may be gained apeep of the distant sea, with its blue waves, and sometimes the whitesails of a ship; or, on a clear day, even the small fishermen's boatscan be distinguished dotted here and there like small pearls.
Ashleigh has its country inn and ivy-mantled church, with the smallhouse dignified as the Parsonage, close by. Other houses are sprinkledhere and there down the green lanes, or along the road, shaded by itslofty elms, at the end of which, on a small eminence, stands the Manoror "Big House," as the villagers call it.
It is a large, brick building, but with nothing grand or imposing aboutit; in fact, but for the lovely grounds and plantations on a small scalearound, the clematis, jasmine and other beautiful creepers, too numerousto mention, trained up its walls, and hanging in luxuriant festoonsabout the porch, and the dark ivy which almost covers the roof, thewhole of one side, and part of the front itself, it would be an ugly,unwieldy-looking edifice; as it was, everything appeared bright andgladsome.
Before you reach the village, a bridge crosses a small stream whichflows from the hill-side, and after winding gracefully and silentlythrough the midst, passes by the mill and being just seen like a longthin thread of silver in the distance, is lost in the rich meadowsbeyond.
It was the beautiful spring time of the year:—
"The delicate-footed May,
With its sl