The towns around the Golden Valley didn't think much of one another,— as if combin'd in a League, not for Trade, but for purposes of Envy, Spite, and Vendetta. Living in a Paradise, they chose to enact a Purgatory, where the new Mill-Money flowing in seem'd not to preserve the Equi?librium of Meanness and Stultification they all thought they'd reach'd, so much as to knock all lop-sided again. The precise Geography of the Water-shed was now primary,— where Races might go, for Wheels to be driven and Workshops to be run from them...'twas like coming before the Final Judge and discovering that good and useful Lives, innocence of Wrong-doing, purity of Character, count for far less, than what He really wishes of us, something we have no more suspected than anyone in the Valley had ever imagin'd that the Flow of Water through Nature, along a Gradient provided free by the same Deity, might be re-shap'd to drive a Row of Looms, each working thousands of Yarns in strictest right-angularity,— as far from Earthly forms as possible,— nor that ev'ry stage of the 'Morphosis, would have its equivalent in Pounds, Shillings, and Pence.
"Yet some will wish but to flee,— to Gloucester, to London, to Amer?ica,— anywhere but this Sink of village bickering." So, at least, did Charles represent his Needs for a future outside the Valley. Rebekah gazed back, an enigma to him, Eve in paradise,— or Eurydice in hell, yet to learn, after it was too late, where she'd been.. .his mind rac'd with ancient stories. How could he allow that she might have her own story? How could he not choose the easier road, and refer her to some male character, the love-crazy Poet, the tempted Innocent? Was he supposed to light a pipe, pick her up, settle back, and read her all at one sitting? Was this what women wanted? Whom could he ask?
Had he gone to his father, already retreating into the unstirr'd Labyrinths of deafness (though they'd been shouting at each other all their lives), had the elder Charles for once showed some sympathy, who knows where they might have taken it? Instead, accepting that he must not love this young man as he had once, secretly, with all the mindless surrender of a mother, loved Charlie the baby, taking Charles Jr.'s arm, he would have steered him down a gradient of noise till they could shout comfortably. They'd be standing by the little pond, ducks drifting, gnats aswarm— "Is she yawny then, too? Nobody's going to marry you, you young fool, unless there's something really wrong with her. What do women want? A good provider, not some stargazer who won't grow up."
"If the Position at Greenwich—
"Sam Peach is not your friend. For every effort he makes on yen-behalf, there will be a price, and you may not enjoy paying it when it falls due."
All subjunctive, of course,— had young Mason gone to his father, this might have been the conversation likely to result.
They found a Hill-Top and pick-nick'd. Mason, she had already notic'd, search'd ever in the smoky distance, beyond the Observatory, and the winding of the River, for the East India Docks. "Do you dream of the far Indies?" she ask'd finally. "I do. I wish we might go."
He'd been in fact just about to tell her. It delighted him, this wordless Transgression of Cause and Effect. Aloud, "So we might." And her face turn'd to him. "What are you doing on the sixth of June 1761?"
Innocently expectant, "Oh, I'd have to look in my Calendar of
Engagements Are you inviting me off to the Indies, then?"
"Sumatra, if we're lucky."
"If we're not?"
"Dunno. Hounslow Heath?"
"I meant,— would you go alone? Leave me here?”
'"Twould have to be together."
She was looking at him closely. He meant something else, but she couldn't quite see what. "Would we sail in an Indiaman?"
"Halfway 'round the world."
"Aye, and back,— and would we be Nabobs?"
"Alas, my 'Bekah, nor even chicken Nabobs,— though we might put aside enough to bespeak an Orrery, perhaps find employment as Opera?tors, appearing in Public Rooms up and down the Coaching Routes."
"You won't have this job any more? Stargazer's Apprentice, or what?ever it be."
"The Work has to go on," he told her. "Down here, the Rivalry with France, keen as ever,— out There, the Timeless, ev'rything upon the Move, no pattern ever to repeat itself.... Someone at Greenwich, ev'ry Night the Sky allows, must open the Shutters to its Majesty, and go in again to the unforgiving Snout and secure the Obs. If not me. someone."
"I can't believe Dr. Bradley wouldn't want you back."
"You see how he is,— his Age how merciless. By the time we return'd, we might no longer be able to look to his support."
"This sounds like Politics, 'Heart. I thought you gaz'd at Stars, and thought higher thoughts, you people."
"Arh, Arh! Alas,— not exactly. Astronomy is as soil'd at the hands of the Pelhamites as ev'ry other Business in this Kingdom,— and we ever at the mercy of Place-jobbery, as much as any Nincompoop at Court."
"Why, Disgruntlement. I had no idea."
Neither had he. "Kiss me anyway."
"Never kiss'd a.. .Placeman before."
"Play your Cards handsomely, ye shall have what we call the New?castle Special."
"Humm.... And I shall learn Malay, Hindoo, Chinese, too. I'll be like one of those talking parrots. Oh, Mopery, you think I talk too much now, but Eastward bound, I shall never give those patient Ears a moment of rest, and you, unfortunate Lord, must suffer it, tho' count it a blessing my Wish was not to take lessons upon the Bag-pipes...."
As if this middle-aged Gothicism of Mason's were but some of the Residue, darken'd and sour'd, of an earlier and more hopeful Bottling of Self, he tells Dixon of how, one night near the Solstice, courting, they
 decided to ride South, to view Stonehenge by moonlight,— she close and snug upon the Pillion, wind rushing by, those expressive arms, all his back a-shiver and fingers aching,— presently falling in with the ancient Welsh cattle route call'd the Calfway, that ran from Bisley down to Chal-ford and up the other side of the Valley, toward the Salisbury Plain,— a day, a night, love beneath Hedges, sleep, another day,— arriving a few hours before sunset upon Midsummer Eve.
She was restless. She mov'd closer to him. "Charlie. It's very old, isn't it. What is it?"
"The old stargazers us'd it."
"It's too familiar. I've this feeling.. .1 know the place, and it knows me. Could it be our ancestors? even so long ago, in your family, or mine?"
"Oh, we've been millers and bakers forever,— yet it might be some o' yours."
"We did have relations hereabouts."
"Then depend upon it,— if you mark the mass of these Stones, there must've once been full employment 'round here, and for many Years,— some of yours were bound to've been in on it...but dear oh dear, now won't Tongues be a-wag from Bisley to Stroud,— 'Lord in thy Mercy, he's married a Druid!''
Their rhythm suddenly laps'd, hearing him speak the Verb lately so much upon her mind,— and more so than upon her lips,— having left her, for a moment, abash'd.
He snapp'd his Fingers. "But of course, you are Druid, aren't you,— frightfully awkward, tho' how would I've known, you don't look Druid particularly,— not as if I'd examin'd you as to religious beliefs or any?thing, is it.... So! Druid! Well, well,— do you still, ehm, put people in those wicker things, and set them on fire? hmm? or have you had a Reformation of your Faith as well?" He was smiling companionably, as if expecting some reply to this.
By surprize, she allow'd herself a merry laugh, made a fist, and slowly but meaningfully brought it to his Mouth. "And in Sapperton they'll say, 'Lord in thy Mercy, she's married an Idiot.''
And as they ascended for the first time to the Observatory, she gave Charlie another of her open-handed smacks upon the Wig-top. ............