Though this was well known, no one of Mr.
Chantrey's parishioners had gone to him for counsel; for he was a grave,
stern, silent man, whose opinion it was difficult to guess at and
impossible to fathom. He was unmarried, and kept no servant, except the
housekeeper who had been left in charge of the rectory. All society he
avoided, especially that of women. His abruptness and shyness in their
presence was painful both to himself and them. To Mrs. Bolton, however,
he was studiously civil, and to Sophy, his friend's wife, he would
gladly have shown kindness and sympathy, if he had only known how. He
often watched her tracing the narrow footworn track to her baby's grave,
and he longed to speak some friendly words of comfort to her, but none
came to his mind when they encountered each other. No one in Upton,
except Ann Holland, had seen, as he had, how thin and wan her face grew;
nor had any one noticed as soon as he had done the strangeness of her
manner at times, the unsteadiness of her step, and the flush upon her
face, as she now and then passed to and fro under the yew-trees.
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