A SAD blow, was this quarrel between her father and Ned Somers,
to Kate Rhoneland; for so fierce and bitter was the anger of the
old man, whenever he was alluded to, and so opprobrious were the
epithets which he showered upon him, that at last his name was
never mentioned between them. But had Kate forgotten him? or had
she forgotten the day on which he had accidentally met her in
the street, and had turned about, and walked at her side; and
had, among other things, casually told her that he loved her more
than all the world beside? Or had she forgotten how she, in the
same casual manner, had uttered a few words in reply; but how, or
what they were, she knew not; except that they made his eyes grow
bright with smiles, as he whispered in her ear, that she was 'his
own dear little Kate, and had made him very happy;' and that they
had loitered on, hour after hour, quite forgetting that she had
any where to go, or any thing to do, or any thing to speak of, or
think of; or that there was any one else in the wide world but
themselves? No, no. Kate had forgotten none of these things. A
happy day was that! They talked over occurrences which had taken
place long before. They explained away trifling difficulties, and
misunderstandings, which had been the source of much thought and
anxiety to both; and which (although Kate did not confess thus much)
had often caused her eyes to fill with tears, when she was alone,
and there were none to see her; and which accounted for the bright
drops which her father had sometimes discovered on her cheek as she
lay asleep, when he came to take a last look at her, at night; and
which had caused him to ponder and dream until he forgot them amid
his own troubles. Thus was that day spent; a green spot in memory.
Through quiet, out-of-the-way streets, they took their way; through
quarters which the bustle of the world never reached, and where
the rumbling of the city was heard only in the distance, like the
hum of a mighty hive; beneath tall trees with their long branches
drooping to the earth, as if to protect the soil which made them so
great and beautiful as they were; and their deep green leaves, now
glittering with sunlight, now dark in shadow, hanging motionless, or
quivering on their slender stems, with a scarcely audible sound,
as if whispering to each other; and through the thick foliage
were glimpses of the blue sky, with here and there a fleecy cloud
loitering on its broad bosom, like a sail at sea; while beneath,
the earth was checkered with a mosaic of light and shadow. Who can
tell the happiness of those young hearts on that day! Who can tell
why sky and earth seemed so beautiful; and even the faded old houses
about them, pent up in dim streets with great trees nodding over
them like dozing sentinels, seemed to wear a gay, glad look?
How much they had to say! And yet when it was said, and they had
parted, and Kate was recalling it to mind in her own room, how
little there was in it! How familiarly she had leaned on his arm, as
if she had known him from childhood! and how fondly he looked down
in her face! and how strange it seemed to call him Ned, whom she
had never before addressed except as Mr. Somers. Yet, 'Ned' sounded
better. Much better than 'Mr. Somers;' and so did 'Kate,' than 'Miss
Rhoneland.' Poor little Kate! There was much food for thought in all
that had passed that day; much food for happy thought. All that had
occurred was dreamed over; and never had time flown by so rapidly.
How surprised she had been, on hearing a clock striking the hour,
to discover that he and she had been walking together for four long
hours, and that Ned, like a downright-vagabond, as he was, and as
she told him that he was, had contrived (she of course not being
aware of the matter) to get her at the longest possible distance
from home; so that, when they returned it took them a good hour to
get back; nor did he even then, as she shrewdly suspected, select
the most direct course; but as she was not certain on this point,
she said nothing about it; but merely told him, 'that she would be
careful the next time she trusted herself to his guidance;' which no
doubt she was.
Well! the happiest day in our lives must have an end; and that day,
which certainly was the happiest one in the life even of Kate,
who, up to that time, had had little to make life other than a
bright dream, at last came to an end; or at least the time which
most contributed to make it all that it was, was past, and Ned
Somers was gone, having escorted her to the door and even into the
entry, from which, however, he retreated with some precipitancy on
discovering that he had inadvertently, for the first time in his
life, pressed his lips to hers, and that if he remained there, the
same inadvertent offence might be repeated to an indefinite extent;
an occurrence which, of course, under present circumstances, could
not fail to be in the highest degree lacerating to the feelings of
both.
She never spoke to her father about what Ned had said; for Ned had
told her that he did not wish to ask her of him until he could look
him in the face, and tell him 'that he could support her as she
always had been accustomed to be supported; and that it was his
daughter, and only his daughter, that he asked.' He told her, too,
that that time would come soon, and that they were both young, (for
Kate was then barely sixteen,) and Kate had said, 'Oh yes, entirely
too young to get married,' although Somers had differed from her
on that score; but from that day forth, Ned had constantly been at
the house at all hours, until he was regarded as one of themselves,
and grew to be almost as great a favorite with the old man as with
Kate herself; and both looked hopefully forward to the time when
Ned's prospects, which were already brightening fast, should be
firmly established, without anticipating obstacles of any kind from
Rhoneland.
Things had gone on thus until Michael Rust came; and with him
came a change in all else. There was evidently something between
him and Rhoneland, hidden from all others, which had a powerful
influence upon the latter, who more than once spoke to Kate of
the great wealth of their new guest, inculcating upon her respect
and deference to him. At other times the old man spoke to her of
observing a strict economy; of saving every farthing, to lay it up
in case of need, speaking of gold as if it were omnipotent; and
seeming to gloat over it with a miser's hunger; yet such had never
been his disposition until Michael Rust came. But that was not all;
for, although it would almost have broken her heart to see the
fine-soul'd old man, which her father always had been, sinking down
into a mere machine for hoarding dollars, with no other instinct
or aim in life; it was not that, however, which lay heaviest at
her heart. From what had dropped from him at intervals, she knew
that there was a stronger bond between him and Rust than the mere
obsequiousness which avarice pays to wealth. There was the quick,
restless motion of the body when Rust's name was mentioned; the
watchful, irresolute glance of the eye when he was present; ever
ready to detect his slightest movement, like the look of a person
ever in fear, and ever on his guard against attack. There was the
nervous, anxious desire to propitiate, to anticipate any thing which
he might desire; to remove any thing which might give offence; and
unaccompanied by any of those tokens of good-will which indicate
that these acts spring from the heart and not from the fears; all
showing that whatever tie might connect them, it was not that of
love on the part of Rhoneland.
At last Rust, who for a long time had troubled himself about none
but Rhoneland, seemed to discover that he had a daughter, and that
that daughter was exceedingly beautiful, and that the old man doted
on her. He also discovered that a certain young man by the name of
Edward Somers came to the house frequently; much more frequently
than was proper for a young man not connected with the family, and
not desirous of being connected with it; and not having any thing in
particular to bring him there, as Ned certainly did not say that he
had. Having made this discovery, and thinking it desirable to get
Somers out of the way, he set to work to attack his character, not
openly, but in that most assassin-like of all modes, by throwing
out mysterious innuendoes; by occasional whispers in the ear of old
Rhoneland, and by repeating rumors which he had heard; but which
of course he did not believe, and which he mentioned only that his
friend Jacob might know what absurd stories were afloat. They were
never repeated, however, in the presence of Kate, but only to the
old man when he and Rust were alone; Rhoneland, however, stood out
stoutly for his young friend. He said, 'that he had seen much of
him, and never any thing amiss; that the reports were lies, for
there were great liars in the world, and he did not believe them.'
Neither did Rust. 'He was astonished that people would circulate
such tales; for from all that he had seen of Ned, he was a fine,
frank, open-hearted fellow, although he must confess, that all who
seemed so were not so; and that he had not liked Ned at first,
for he thought that he had a 'down look,' (which, by the way, was
rather remarkable, as Ned always held his head peculiarly erect,
as if to look all the world in the face.) Rust, however, kept at
work, rasping, and rubbing, and picking away at Ned's character;
inventing a thousand things which had never happened, and whispering
to the old man, under promises of secresy, remarks which Ned had
made of him, which were not very respectful, and which Rust was
surprised (considering what a fine fellow Ned was, although others
had a different opinion of him) that Ned should make. Whatever may
have been the cause of his want of success, it is certain that
it was not very great, until the conversation with Harson opened
Rhoneland's eyes for the first time to a fact which he had never
before suspected; that Ned's visits were paid to his daughter and
not to himself; and that his child had given her affections to him.
On the back of that came the encounter with Michael Rust, and his
insinuations, that Ned was hovering round his daughter with the
purpose of dragging her from him, and deserting her when there was
no hope left for her but the grave.
No wonder then that when Somers was driven from the house, the old
man hugged his daughter in his arms, and wept over her, and kissed
her fair forehead, and pressed her face to his bosom, and rested his
cheek upon her head, while his whole frame shook with heavy sobs,
of mingled joy and indignation; nor that he kept near her the whole
of that day, scarcely suffering her to quit his sight, locking the
house door and always opening it himself when there was a knock,
lest it should be Somers, returning to lure his child from him. Over
and over again he begged her not to leave him; conjuring her not
to see Somers again, and telling her that Ned was a scoundrel, and
that the only mode of saving herself from destruction was by never
meeting him again.
And did Kate never see Somers again? But once and only once. She
knew that her father wronged him. She knew how long and patiently he
had been waiting and working for her. She knew too that Michael Rust
had his own designs upon her; for she was not blind, and Michael
Rust's admiration was too undisguised, and his speech too devoid of
concealment to leave her in doubt. She knew too, although he had
studiously concealed it from her, that he was Ned's enemy, and that
he wished to rid himself of a rival; and she strongly suspected
that he was at the bottom of this whole matter. She knew all this,
and she thought, that now that the worst had taken place, that Ned
should know it too; for she had hitherto concealed much of it, lest
it should lead to difficulties between Somers and her father's
guest. But nothing was to be gained by concealment now; and she
felt, that to see Somers, to tell him all that she knew, all that
she had seen, all that she had heard, and all that she suspected,
was but her duty, and that to refrain from doing so would be very,
_very_ wrong. If she erred, it was an error which many will forgive.
And under this conviction, she met him again, with her young heart
full almost to bursting. She met him to tell him every thing that
she knew or suspected of Rust, and his plans with reference to
herself, and to caution him against him; to tell him to watch him;
but above all, to incur no risk himself; to tell him that he and she
must meet no more until he could vindicate his name to her father;
to assure him, whatever others might say, or do, or think, that she
believed not the slanders circulated against him; to beg him, that
whatever others might say of her, or whatever attempts might be made
to separate them, or whatever tales might be fabricated to make him
doubt her faith and love, to believe them not; to set them down as
the base coinage of a baser heart; and to believe that she loved
him still; that in her heart of hearts he was still the same to her
that he always had been; and that he ever would be, until that heart
ceased to beat. She said this, and she said a thousand times more,
for she was meeting him with the full resolve to meet him no more;
with the full knowledge that their parting must be at all events a
long one, perhaps a final one.
They went over the same spots which they had lingered over in
happier days; the same out-of-the-way haunts, where there were
few to observe them; under the same old trees which stretched out
their long branches, now naked and stripped of foliage; along the
same bye-streets which they had selected on the day when he first
learned that she loved him. They spoke but little; for all that Ned
could do was to assert that the tales which had been repeated to her
father were false; to wonder who the slanderer was, breathe forth
vengeance against him, and to suggest the propriety of belaboring
Rust soundly, and running the risk of the flogging falling on the
right shoulders. And all that Kate could say in return was to repeat
her utter disbelief in every thing that went to show that Ned was
not all that she had supposed and wished him to be.
Thus the day lingered on; and the time came for parting. They
said but little, for there were no bright prospects to cheer them
on: a few words of encouragement faintly spoken, for their hearts
whispered that they were vain; a few broken words of hope, uttered
in so sad a tone that they seemed a mockery; a stifled 'God bless
you, Kate!' as he pressed her to his heart; a 'Good by, Ned,' half
sobbed, and they parted, and Kate hurried to her own room; and
hiding her face in her hands wept the bitterest tears that she had
ever shed in her life. But the agony was over; they had parted; and
now she told her father that they had met; and why; and that they
were to meet no more until he could vindicate himself. The old man
heard her out, contrary to her expectations, without an expression
of anger, and merely said, that 'it was very well, as it was; that
she did right to see him no more;' and that was all.