The Argosy — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IO Lhe Master of Greylands. inland road again. As to London, it was so far off, or seemed so in those quiet, non-travelling days, that the villagers would as soon have expected to make a journey to the moon. The first object to be seen on entering Greylands from Stilborough, was the small church ; an old stone building on the left hand, with its grave-yard around it. On the opposite side of the road the cliffs rose high, and the sea could not be seen from them. ‘The Reverend John Marston held the living of Greylands in conjunction with St. Mark’s at Stilborough: the two had always gone together, and the combined income was but poor. Mr. Marston was fond of fox-hunting in winter, and of good dinners at all seasons: as many other parsons were. Grey- lands did not get much benefit from him. He was non-resident, as the parsons there had always been, for he lived at St. Mark’s. Of course, with two churches and only one parson to serve both, the services could but clash, for nobody can be doing duty in two places at once. Once a month, on the zhird Sunday, Mr. Marston scuffled over to Greylands to hold morning service, beginning at twelve, he having scuffled through the prayers (no sermon that day) at St. Mark’s first. On the three other Sundays he held the Greylands service at three in the afternoon. So that, except for this Sunday service, held at somewhat uncertain hours—for the easy-going parson did not always keep his time, and on occasion had been known to fail altogether—Greylands was absolutely without pastoral care. Descending onwards—an abrupt descent—past the church, the cliffs on the right soon ended abruptly, and the whole village, lying in its hollow, seemed to burst upon you. It was very open, very wide just there. The beach lay flat and bare to the sea, sundry fishing-boats being generally high and dry there: others were out at sea, catching fish. Huts and cottages were built on the side of the rocks ; and some few on the beach. On the left, looking straight across the wide road to the beach and the sea, stood the Dolphin Inn, past which the coach road branched off inland again. The village street—if it could be called a street—continued to wind on, up the village, the Dolphin Inn making the corner, between the street and the inland coach-road. Let us follow this street. It is steep and winding, and for a short distance solitary. Half way up the ascent, on the left, and built on the sea-coast, rises ‘the pile of old buildings called the Grey Nunnery. This pile stands back from the road across a narrow strip of waste land on which grass grows. The cliff is low there, understand, and the Grey Nunnery is built mght at its edge, so that the waves dash against its lower walls at high water. The back of the building is to the road, the front to the sea. A portion of it is in ruins; but this end is quite habitable ; and.in it/live some ladies, twelve, who are called the Grey Sisters, or sometimes the (CO) —_) Grey Ladies, and who devote themselves to charity and ta Ging prod An) ’