CAPTAIN JACK'S APOLOGY
THE sun was shining gloriously overhead, the sky was blue, the snow
hard and crisp underfoot, and of wind there was only enough to give
a barely perceptible movement to the topmost twigs of the leafless
trees. It was an ideal winter's morning for walking, and as Kathleen
Mountford looked on the beautiful picture spread before her windows,
she determined to enjoy it more fully out-of-doors.
"It is of no use asking you to walk with me, aunt," she said,
addressing Mrs. Ellicott.
"If I were a few years younger, Kitty, there is nothing I should enjoy
so much as a long brisk walk with you. But when I do go out with young
people, I always feel that I am like a clog to their heels. At my slow
pace, I should starve and shiver in the keen air, and the worst of it
is a young companion would shiver with me, and be longing all the while
to keep up her circulation by movements better befitting her years. I
shall nurse the fire to-day, my dear, and battle against the feeling of
envy that will intrude into the minds of old folks as they witness the
movements of the young."
"It must be hard, aunty, especially when any one has led an actively
useful life like yours."
"We ought to remember that we have been young, and I, for one, can
thank God as I look back, since He has left me bright memories of a
healthy, happy girlhood, free from serious anxieties of any kind. You,
Kathleen, are laying up such memories day by day."
"You can hardly say that my girlhood has been all brightness," replied
Kathleen, in a low voice, and with a sudden look of gravity on her fair
face. "When one has lost both parents years and years before one grew
much beyond childhood, there has been sorrow enough to fling a veil
over much of its brightness."
"True, darling. But God has left you so many mercies, and you have had
no unloved girlhood."
"I know that, aunty. Still, with neither parent, brother, nor sister,
the best places in my heart are hopelessly empty, though others are
wonderfully filled."
Mrs. Ellicott saw Kathleen's look of affection, as the girl bent to
kiss her tenderly, and she was deeply moved. She was very nearly
replying—
"The best place of all has yet to be tenanted, and when you bestow your
affection on one who is to be the partner of your future life, you will
be less sensible of the vacant places which trouble you now;" but she
refrained from uttering this thought, and only returned her niece's
caress with added tenderness.
Soon Kathleen shook off the momentary sadness, and said—
"I am afraid my walk must be a solitary one, for Geraldine has
breakfasted in her room, and is trying to ward off a threatening cold.
If I call at Oakwood, and try to coax Hetty Stapleton to join me, she
will keep me indoors to listen whilst the trio growl at the frost which
has prevented to-day's hunting, or she will take so long to dress that
lunch-time will be upon us before we are ready to start. I will e'en go
alone, and try to be satisfied for once with the company of Nature."
"You will have beauty enough to interest you, Kitty, if you keep your
eyes open to it."
"I am becoming less blind than I was, thanks to you and Ger, who have
made me ashamed of myself by the way in which you extort enjoyment from
everything. The blades of grass, the simplest wild flowers, the shapes
of the trees, the lights and shadows on hill and dale, the changing
clouds, or the absence of them, bird, beast, and insect, sights and
sounds, all go to make up your enjoyment. It is glorious to be born
with such a faculty for extorting pleasure from everything. It is next
best to be with those who have it, and who strive to stir up others to
share their pleasure, though the taste may be lacking."
"Yours was not lacking, Kitty. It was only dormant, and needed
awakening and cultivating."
"Thank you, aunty. Anyway, I shall enjoy my walk this morning without
Hetty Stapleton, for I have decided not to call at Oakwood. You
knew that Hetty had come to spend the winter with her brother and
sister-in-law, did you not?"
"I believe you told me, dear, but I am not sure."
"It was not I, it was Aylmer who mentioned that she was come to stay
for some months, when he was with us the other evening. I was glad
of the news, for I like Hetty, and have always found her a pleasant
companion, though she is five years older than I am."
"I like her too," replied Mrs. Ellicott. "She has plenty of
common-sense, and though her face is not a handsome one, it bears on
it the stamp of a true nature. I could never imagine Hetty Stapleton
capable of littleness or meanness in any shape. I wish she lived at
Oakwood, for your sake, Kitty."
"So do I, aunty. Girls, of the sort to make friends of, are few indeed
within walking distance of home, and by your own account Hetty would
be the perfection of one. Sensible, true, incapable of meanness, and,
most important of all, not too handsome, she would leave nothing to be
desired," said Kathleen, with an arch look on her face as she alluded
to Hetty's personal appearance. "Now I must go, or I shall lose my
walk. Take care of yourself, there's a dear."
Away went Kathleen alone, a little to her aunt's regret. Mrs. Ellicott
had purposely held her in talk, half hoping that Mr. Matheson would
make his appearance and offer to accompany her, as he had spoken of
calling during the morning. Perhaps Kathleen would meet him before she
passed out of the grounds, and in that case Aylmer would certainly
offer his escort.
Mrs. Ellicott went to the window and watched her niece's
rapidly-retreating figure until she could see it no longer, then
resumed her easy-chair by the fire, where for some time she sat alone
and in deep thought.
Though no word had passed between Geraldine and herself respecting
Aylmer Matheson's devoted affection for his ward, both had divined it.
But Mrs. Ellicott never for a moment dreamed that Aylmer had won the
heart of her own daughter, without seeking it. Indeed, no one would
have guessed this, least of all Aylmer himself. Only Kathleen had
occasionally twitted her cousin by jesting allusions to Mr. Matheson's
perfections, and Geraldine's evident appreciation of them. But even she
had been silenced by her cousin's gentle replies and calmness of manner
whenever Aylmer's name was mentioned.
"She cares nothing about Aylmer, except as a sort of adopted brother,"
had been Kathleen's mental conclusion.
"I wish she did, and that he cared for her. They would make a model
couple, and suit each other to perfection. But the wrong people are
constantly getting mated, and I suppose there is no help for it.
However, Ger may be sure that she will never have a rival in me."
This last thought was passing through Kathleen's mind as she left the
Hall and started on her walk. By the time she passed beyond her own
boundaries, she found herself wondering whether the owner of Monk's How
had returned, or if there were any truth in the report that he was not
likely to be seen again in the neighbourhood of Hollingsby, unless his
empty pockets were refilled by some extraordinary piece of good fortune.
Then Kathleen began to dream on her own account. She pictured Captain
Jack as having another side to his character—a brighter, better, purer
one than that which was open to the world. Evil reports were always
exaggerated. Let people get hold of a little scandal, and it grew with
every pair of lips the tale passed through. Lovers of slander delighted
to show the worst side of a character, that they might the more readily
find listeners. It was horrible to think how much more willing people
were to pull characters to pieces than to give any one credit for what
was good in them, much less to imagine any person's inner life could be
better than what was on the surface.
Captain Jack was handsome. No one could deny that. Every one said he
had wasted his wife's fortune, but few told how Mrs. Torrance had
always believed in her husband, and that with all his faults he had
loved her while living, and mourned her early death.
Captain Jack idolized his boy, yet nobody gave him a good word for
this. All shook their heads, and said Ralph was being ruined by
companionship with his father, and the friends he gathered round him,
instead of being treated like a child and placed under a wise teacher
to be fittingly instructed.
"They forget that poor Captain Torrance would be alone if he sent the
boy away. He must have some one to cheer him, and if his friends are
not everything that could be wished, that is partly the fault of his
position. He has neither sister, wife, nor brother. A household with no
good woman to guide it must be all wrong," decided the girl in her own
mind.
Kathleen did not herself look at both sides of the question, or
consider that, unless Captain Torrance's character made him unfit
for the society of good men, or that his tastes disinclined him for
theirs, he might as well have such under his roof as those whom he
invited. That, failing wife or female relative, he might have engaged
a lady of suitable age to manage his household, watch over his boy,
and receive his guests. But the girl was in the mood to excuse every
fault of her absent hero, and even to think how delightful it would be
for some girl, good, beautiful, and rich, to prove an angel of mercy
to Jack Torrance. To lure him away from evil companions by the greater
attraction of her purer life, and a whole-hearted, self-devoted love.
To be a real mother to a fine boy, whom Kathleen pictured as growing up
to repay her by his more than filial affection, and proving a credit to
her training. To pay Jack Torrance's debts, so that he might make a new
beginning, owing no man anything, except a great debt of love to his
rescuer, which he would pay by a life-long devotion. Yet this would not
be payment, only an exchange, for the ministering angel would give as
much as she received in the way of affection.
"I am sure Captain Torrance might be—"
But the progress of Kathleen's day-dream was at this moment interrupted
by a smart groom, no other than Jem Capes, who touched his hat
respectfully and paused just in front of her, thus intimating that he
had a message to deliver.
It was not a verbal one. Jem touched his hat a second time, held out a
letter, and said—
"I was going straight to the Hall with this, miss, but seeing you
coming along, I thought I'd better ask if I should give it to you, or
go on there with it."
Jem saw Miss Mountford's face flush as she held out her hand for the
letter, saying, "I may as well take it, and spare you the trouble of
carrying it to the house. If an answer is required I will send it
later."
"No trouble at all, miss. My master, Captain Torrance, said there would
be no answer. He only got back last night. Master Ralph hasn't been
very well."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Kathleen. "I hope he is better."
"Yes, ma'am, miss, I mean. My master thinks the country air will put
him to rights again. Is there any message I can take, or—"
"Nothing, thank you."
The groom touched his hat, and retraced his steps to Monk's How.
"You are soon back," said Captain Torrance, who was inspecting his
horses, and saw Capes coming towards the stable.
"I met the lady, sir, and I took the liberty of asking whether she
would have the letter, or if I should carry it to the Hall. She took
it, sir."
"Is Miss Mountford well?" asked the captain, with affected carelessness.
"She looked very handsome, sir, if I may take the liberty to say as
much, and I never saw a beautifuller colour on any young lady's cheeks
than there was on hers after she took the letter. She was a little pale
when I first saw her. She was walking, and by herself, sir."
The effect of this artful speech was sufficiently apparent to the
groom, in the gratified expression which overspread his master's face,
but Captain Jack made no further remark about Miss Mountford for the
moment. He had some instructions to give on stable matters, then, as he
turned away, he said—
"You must have saved yourself half the walk by delivering the letter on
the way."
"Just about half, sir;" and Capes proceeded to describe the exact
spot at which he met the young lady, and hazarded a guess as to the
direction in which she was going. He did not need to be told that this
was just the information which his master wished but would not ask for,
and he smiled to himself as he saw Captain Torrance leave the grounds
a few minutes later, though his face had hitherto been as stolid as
possible. Master and man looked equally unconscious of any secret
understanding between them, but each read the thoughts of the other.
"The captain will just manage to meet the young lady by taking a little
round, and he is stepping out," said Capes to himself, as he watched
his master.
"The rascal read me like a book," was the captain's conclusion, "and
answered every question I wished to ask, without my needing to utter a
word. He is a sharp fellow, and appears devoted to my interest; but,
all the same, he would throw me over or betray me to-morrow, if by so
doing he could advance his own. Never mind, I can take care of myself;
and when Jem Capes ceases to be of use to me I shall get rid of him."
Meanwhile Kathleen was hurrying onward with the letter, which she
held tightly concealed in her muff. She was longing to read it, but
conquered the inclination to break the seal until she could do so
without being observed. She felt herself trembling with surprise and
excitement. It seemed so strange, that when her thoughts were wholly
occupied by the writer, a message from him should be so suddenly
placed in her hand. He was near when she believed him to be far-away.
Kathleen's guardians had rejoiced at Captain Torrance's unexpected
absence. Kathleen herself had been disturbed and rendered anxious
by it, and whilst all around her imagined that it was a matter of
indifference to her whether he returned or not, she had bestowed a
larger share of her thoughts upon him than at any previous time. Part
of these have been unveiled. But Kathleen had gone further, and in the
depth of her own heart she had pictured herself as being the instrument
of saving Captain Jack from himself; and changing him, his home, and
his boy. She had heard, too, often, how many tens of thousands would
be absolutely hers a twelvemonth hence, hoarded during the last years
of her father's retired life and her own minority. The money was mere
dross now—of no use to anybody—and Kathleen almost loathed it on this
account. But what a glorious thing it would be if, by the judicious
expenditure of a part of it, a new life could be opened for Captain
Jack!
She forgot, poor girl, that this man had spent his own patrimony, and
that another girl, good, pure, and unselfish, had dedicated to him her
life and her fortune, with the same object in view, but all in vain.
Kathleen soon reached a quiet lane, which led to a field-path by
which she meant to return home. There was beauty enough all around to
attract her admiration, but she saw none of it now. Her thoughts were
concentrated on the letter, and the moment she felt herself secure from
observation she opened it, and read as follows:—
"Monk's How, December 4."
"DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,"
"Before I left home, nearly a month ago,
I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for an
act which I shall never cease to regret. The thought
of it has haunted me continually, and I have
sat down, again and again, in order to express
my penitence in writing, yet have feared to do so."
"I have no excuse to offer. It is not enough
to say that I meant only to pay a sportsman's
compliment, and to give you a momentary pleasure.
I ought to have known better. Nay, I cannot plead
ignorance, I did know better, yet acted as though
you were made of the same stuff as most of the
girls I have met. In offering what I did, I must
have caused you acute suffering and wrung your
tender heart, which I would have saved from sorrow
at the cost of my life. I can now only own my fault
and express my deep regret. I dare not ask you to
forgive my barbarity."
"Believe me, dear Miss Mountford,"
"Your devoted servant,"
"JOHN TORRANCE."
Kathleen's eyes were moist as she finished reading Captain Jack's
effusion. Coming as a sequel to her previous train of thought, it was
calculated to produce a great impression on the mind of a romantic
girl, already predisposed in the writer's favour.
To Kathleen the letter opened a view of Captain Torrance's inner self
which agreed with her own fanciful conception of his character. Of
course he had acted on the spur of the moment in sending what he did,
but second thoughts had shown him that he had made a mistake; no doubt
he knew her poor mother's story, though it was not likely that an
event which had happened so many years before, and when he was out of
England, would at first come into his mind. Her refusal of his offering
and reply to his letter would bring back the half-forgotten tale, and
then how sorry he had been! To think that for a month he had grieved
about his mistake—Kathleen could use no harsher word in mentally
referring to it, and would have acknowledged it, but could not find
courage to write. And now he had written, his regret and self-reproach
were touching in the extreme.
Kathleen deposited the precious letter in the depths of her pocket,
and went on her way with shining eyes and elastic step. All the world
seemed the brighter for the message which had come to her. She was
no longer indifferent to the sunlight which made the snow-crystals
sparkle like diamonds. The darkest days of the year had yet to come,
but Kathleen almost fancied that there was a promise of spring in the
cloudless sky, and in the sense of happiness which pervaded her whole
being.
The next half-mile was quickly traversed, and approached a turnstile
she hesitated whether to continue her walk by the field-path, or to
take a short cut more public road to the Hall. A moment later, and
before she had settled the question, she found herself face to face
with Captain Torrance.