SKETCHERS AND SKETCHES.
How well I remember the philosophic contempt for wealth with which I
awoke the following morning! Here, I thought, is grace, refinement,
and good breeding, in unpretending guise, the very simplicity that
surrounds them seems to give additional force to their effect--nothing
appears out of place, no London bred cook or butler ever turned out
a more delicious or better served repast, than Vernon's dinner
yesterday. What is the magic of all this? Winter is a curious specimen
of humanity, yet he filled up his niche in the little party as no one
else could; nor can I fancy him out of his element in any society.
What an extraordinary contrast between Kate and that little deformed
organist! Unfortunate creature, and yet he appears perfectly happy!
With what _empressement_ the old Colonel and his sweet granddaughter
welcome him. And Kate herself, there is so much happiness in the
calm repose of her countenance, and her brilliant smile; one would
imagine her to be of fortune's favourites, the most favoured, yet
what a life of complete retirement she must lead. She said she had
not worn an evening dress for two years, till at that lucky ball. Is
her society made up of a brace and a half of oddities and a big dog?
I wonder how my sister Mary or Lady Georgina Lorton, or fifty others
of my acquaintance, would stand such a life. They talk of a couple
of months at the family seat, as if it was a life-long banishment on
some desolate island. Yes, it must be a terrible life for her, cut off
from all the _bienséances_ of society--but where could I have spent so
pleasant an evening? Where else have been so little bored by hacknied
conversation? Thus I wandered through the vast field of speculation,
opened up to my imagination by my yesterday's adventure. I could not
bring myself to compassionate Vernon for his evident change of fortune,
such a companionship and such a cottage must be well worth Dungar with
all its beauties. Though, to be sure, he would have had Kate there; her
manner, too, so unlike that of most women I had met. It never appeared
to challenge admiration or to expect _les petits soins_; all was frank,
cordial, kindly, real, yet monstrously unflattering to one's _amour
propre_; though at times there was a tinge of coquetry in her way of
evading, or turning into ridicule any attempt at a compliment. She
certainly is charming, and I must make the best of my time while I am
here; I suppose I must return to-morrow, so--
"Mr. Winter"--said the waiter.
"Good morning, Captain Egerton," said that worthy personage, apparently
through a thicker stratum of mashed potatoes than ever, "I thought I'd
catch you before you started on any explorations."
"You are very good; I am particularly fortunate in securing such a
cicerone."
"I am very happy to be of any use to you; sketching, I fancy, is not a
common taste among men of your profession?"
"I have encountered a good many draughtsmen among my brothers in arms,
and it is always a useful accomplishment for military men, but I do not
think it is a common taste in my profession."
"No, the learned professions have no room for beauty in their crowded
life, and the idleness of yours is generally too strenuous for--but I
am blunt."
"You say but the truth, Mr. Winter; yet we are not on the whole
as black as we are painted. Who is? This old town seems rich in
antiquities."
"Yes, there is nothing in England like it, and, as Miss Vernon says,
its solemn rugged towers and churches give the idea of a calm but stern
old age after a stormy impetuous youth."
"How agreeable Colonel Vernon is; I was very glad to meet him again."
"Yes, he is a perfect specimen of a style fast disappearing. I always
wish to see him at the head of some noble establishment, because I am a
fool--much better for him as it is."
This was uttered with great impatience of manner, and I listened to it
with no small amazement.
"Better?" I echoed.
"Yes, sir," reiterated Winter sharply, "it takes a severer bit to break
a high mettled steed into useful paces than your half breeds require!
But do you feel inclined for a stroll this morning?"
I replied in the affirmative, and we sallied forth together.
I walked on silently, revolving my companion's last sentence, and
voting it terribly harsh, yet not liking to draw him into any
discussion of it, as I felt instinctively that we viewed life through
different media.
He led the way through a narrow gloomy street, overhung by the upper
stories of the houses, and garnished with a species of gallery, to
which these projections served as a roof.
"There," said he, pausing, "is the old residence of the Bishops of
----, and a very curious building it is."
I looked with great interest at the heavy carved gables, adorned with
royal and episcopal arms, and divided into compartments containing
carved representations of Adam and Eve, a tree and a serpent, all of
equal dimensions, Cain and Abel, Balaam and his Ass, Abraham, in trunk
hose, about to sacrifice Isaac on a small reading desk, with various
other specimens of carving. The wooden pillars supporting the fabric
over the gallery I have mentioned were carved and twisted into the most
grotesque and awsome shapes, which only some tortured spirit could have
imagined!
"This alone is worth a visit," said I, after a long and curious gaze.
"What may be the age of this building?"
"That is not easy to say. The initials on that centre scutcheon, 'J.
R.,' you see, would lead us to suppose it was not older than the
beginning of the seventeenth century, but it has always appeared to me
that these letters and the coat of arms they surmount are of a more
modern date than the other ornaments on the building or the building
itself; but though I have searched some old chronicles I cannot satisfy
myself on the subject."
"At all events it shall be No. 1 of my sketches. Have you no favourite
theory as to its date?" I asked.
"No, I always endeavour to curb imagination."
"And you an artist!" said I.
"Yes," he replied, "in my studio imagination is a welcome guest, but
even there she must submit to the bridle. She may create materials for
a subject, but should never be allowed to tamper with those already in
existence?"
"I do not like your view on this point; surely imagination is the
source of much exquisite and innocent pleasure?"
"I see," said Winter, "you will side with my fair antagonist, Miss
Vernon; she talks whole volumes of the prettiest fantasies on this
subject, and never has patience to hear my solemn assurance that
imagination, though a grand and glorious gift, requires strong
coercion. But then we never agree, although we are fast friends."
"My dear Sir," I exclaimed, with some warmth, "you and I may require
to rein up ours occasionally, but I do not suppose Miss Vernon's
imagination ever presents any but the holiest images."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Winter, "ha! ha! Kate is a more than commonly good
girl, but she's not an angel;--I would not love her half so well if
she was! And, take my advice, do not tell her your opinion of her,
or in spite of her having nearly as brilliant a fancy as your own,
she'll make you laugh at yourself!" I had too much _savoir faire_ not
to receive this sally with a smiling acknowledgment of its wisdom,
although it grated on my feelings; and in my heart I experienced a
sensation approximating to a lively hatred to my intelligent cicerone,
who continued--"I have made several sketches of this old house, but
I find that carved front does not tell well in a picture; large
proportions, plenty of light and shade, are what we want for effect."
From this point a neighbouring flight of steps conducted us to the
walls, from which we gazed on many a lovely picture; Winter expatiating
on their peculiar beauties as a connoisseur dwells on the excellences
of some oft-studied _chef d'oeuvre_ of art.
"As for the legends," said he, "in which every inch of this ground is
rich, you must get Miss Vernon to tell them to you; I would make a sad
_olla podrida_ of them were I to try; but she is perfect in it, and,
with Gilpin's assistance, has acquired some large additions lately."
"That Mr. Gilpin seems an oddity," I observed.
"Yes, poor fellow! and yet if his form was as straight as his heart,
you would find few as beautiful. It would be impossible to tell all
the good he does, and that with the miserable stipend of an Organist.
_Carambo!_ he might put our pampered priests to the blush, if such a
thing were possible."
"He seems to be a great favourite with the Colonel and Miss Vernon,"
said I.
"Yes," returned Winter, "there is no one ranks so high in Miss Vernon's
estimation. What between his music and misfortunes, he has got the
_entrée_ of her heart completely. His father was a clergyman of a
respectable north country race, blessed, of course, with small means
and a large family. I fancy poor Gilpin's must have been a sorry lot
among a number of rough Northumberland lads; his deformity shut him
out from arms, church, bar, and every profession; so he draws an
indifferent existence from the art he so much loves. An invalid sister
lived here with him. It seems their better-to-do brothers remembered to
forget their unaspiring relatives, and the quiet neglected organist and
his sister were all in all to each other, until about a year after the
Vernons settled here, when, after a long and steady decline, she died
in the same gentle unobtrusive manner she had lived, and poor Gilpin
has been a lonely man since."
"It is impossible," continued Winter, striking his stick against
the ground and speaking more thickly, which I began to perceive he
usually did when excited, "it is impossible to describe Kate Vernon's
thoughtful delicate kindness to the poor forlorn creature; faith, sir,
it makes me ready to admit she is an angel when I think of it."
I mentally retracted my previous conclusions touching the speaker.
"Humph, ha!" said Mr. Winter, wiping his forehead, "I wonder what
induced me to prose away about an unfortunate hump-backed organist to a
moustached man of fashion; I am a great fool!"
"Mr. Winter," said I, gravely, "you must think moustaches and fashion
terrible petrifiers of the heart, if you imagine such a tale as you
have just sketched could excite no interest or sympathy in mine;
believe me, there are few so thoroughly good for nothing, and I trust I
am not in the minority."
"_Cospetto_" exclaimed the impetuous little man, "I don't think you
are; and, Captain Egerton, do not set me down as a gruff uncourteous
dog. You see what I am when I let out; am I not right to keep both bit
and bridle on my imagination? Now I must leave you, as I have some
business to attend--rather an unusual thing for me. I'll trot you out
to-morrow, or any time you like, but I think I have put you on the best
track for the present."
"Thanks to your judicious guidance; yes, I have enjoyed the ramble I
assure you."
"Well," resumed he, "in disavowal of fashion and petrifaction, will you
drink tea with Mrs. Winter and myself at half-past six this evening.
I'll make the Vernons come. I have lived so much on the Continent that
I cannot get into the absurdity of fashionable English dinner hours,
but take mine when my stomach cries cupboard, which is generally at two
o'clock."
"I shall be most happy," said I.
"Well, good morning, be diligent; by the way look in early, shew me the
result of your labours, and take a peep at my studio."
"A thousand thanks, yes."
It was still early, too early I thought for a visit to the Priory
House, so arming myself with sketch book and pencil, I returned to an
old tumble down carriers' inn, which had struck my eye while rambling
with Winter, and commenced transferring it to paper; while my mind
was filled with another picture, that drawn by Winter, of the lonely
deformed organist and the angelic kindness of Kate Vernon.
"What a fate!" I exclaimed aloud; but with the sounds of my own voice,
came the recollection of the peculiarly peaceful expression of his
face! There was no misery of look, none of that restlessness which
the perpetual mortification of such a life might well be expected to
produce. "No, he is happy! happier perhaps than I am, with youth and
health and this straight strong frame, and my rightful place among
the nobles of the land; and wealth--_halte la!_ have I wealth? Yes,
compared with him, but by no means sufficient to marry. Then I never
dreamt of marrying. No! I have every thing, and this poor fellow
nothing, and yet, would he change with me? By Jove, I'd take the long
odds he has not a dunning tailor; that's an item in my 'haves,' and his
'has nots,' I forgot to enumerate; but its must now be time to call on
Kate.
"To greet the heart that yearns for thee."
I cannot get that air out of my head."
The sun, which had all the morning been obscured by heavy clouds, shone
out with the brilliancy and warmth of June rather than September. As
I entered the little garden before Colonel Vernon's cottage I paused
a moment in the vain endeavour to decipher the inscription over the
gateway; a B, a C, and a very faint D were all I could make out.
"The masther's out, but Miss Kate's within, Sir," was Nurse's reply to
my queries.
"And I hope you are quite well yourself, Mrs. O'Toole," said I, in a
state of beatitude.
"Indeed, an' I am, sir, glory be to God," and she opened the door,
saying familiarly, "here's the Captin, Miss Kate."
Miss Vernon was seated at a writing table in the window, copying out
of the large dusky book the organist had given her. The window was
open, and the light breeze gently stirred the white muslin curtains,
and brought a thousand delicious odours from the garden and fields;
while beyond it river and rocks, and swelling upland and woods, and the
distant spire of a village church, lay bathed in a flood of glowing
golden light, which seemed to endue every object with beauty by the
sole agency of colour.
Kate rose to receive me with her sparkling smile, dispelling the gentle
gravity which always characterised her countenance when in repose, and
made it so strangely different according as her mood changed.
"Then you have missed grandpapa," said she, giving me her hand, "I told
him I thought you would be out from what I heard you say to Mr. Winter
last night."
A quick impulse of vanity suggested--"could she have remained at home
in expectation of my advent?" but a glance at her bonnet and shawl, as
if just thrown off, and the slight disorder in the rich masses of her
hair, completed my conviction that she had but just come in.
"How sorry I am to have missed Colonel Vernon," said I, hypocritically;
"I have been all the morning rambling about with your friend Mr.
Winter, and have to thank you for introducing me to so admirable a
guide."
"I knew you would like him; but sit down, I am sure grandpapa will
return soon. I see he did not intend to go farther than your Hotel, or
he would have taken Cormac."
And she pointed to the grave old hound, who lay stretched in the
sunshine before the window and had partly risen on my appearance.
I drew a chair opposite Miss Vernon, who resumed her occupation.
"I am writing out the parts of some chants separately," said she, "not
a very absorbing employment; Mr. Gilpin wishes his choir to get them
up, and I volunteered my services."
"Rather troublesome," said I, absently.
"Oh no," said she, "I have nothing particular to do just now, and it is
so dull to be idle."
"I fancy A----, delightful as it is in our antiquarian or picturesque
point of view, must be rather too tranquil a sojourn for so
accomplished a valseuse as yourself."
"I should have quite as little society anywhere else, and not half so
many real _agrémens_; I never find it dull."
"How does the Colonel amuse himself?"
"Ah!" cried Miss Vernon with great earnestness, "I often think of
that; it is such a change for him; such a total break-up of all his
accustomed ways. I am often at my wits end to amuse him, yet he bears
it wonderfully; how do you think him looking?"
"Wonderfully well! never better, but in this sweet place with you he
cannot be unhappy."
"God forbid he should--a little sad sometimes."
She was silent for a few moments, and then resumed her pen. I cannot
describe how charming this visit was to me. Miss Vernon's little white
hand wrote on busily all the time, while sometimes glancing up at me,
but generally looking at her work. I felt none of the _gêne_ of a
formal _tête à tête_, where the visitor and visited sit both upright,
compelled to stare at each other; but leaning back in my chair, I
talked and gazed at my ease.
"I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses that I am in calm
conversation with the _incognita_ who so puzzled me," I resumed after a
pause.
"Yes, it is very curious, but still more so that the discovery of our
mutual acquaintance with Lady Desmond led to no _dénouement_," said my
companion.
"I knew her no further than meeting her frequently in society in
Dublin, where I was about four years ago, with a cousin of mine, who
was on the staff."
"She is a second cousin of grandpapa's, and I was a good deal with her
just before we came here: not long, I fancy, after you had known her;
and knowing how general her parties and invitations were, I really
at one time imagined I might have met you at some of them: I little
thought what a much older acquaintance I was dancing with."
"She is a handsome woman," I observed, "and, I fancy, not unlike
Colonel Vernon."
"How brilliant and how kind she is," she exclaimed, "I often wonder the
hurried life she leads gives her space to breathe! I doubt if she has
time to be happy."
"Happy! Miss Vernon: do you think happiness is to be found in the
stagnation that some dignify with the name of tranquillity? My
least distinct idea of happiness is the hopeful exertion of every
faculty--mental and physical--in search of what we never find; but
inaction is misery."
"There is some truth in what you say," replied she, "but all my
ideas of happiness here and hereafter, are concentrated in the word
'peace!'"--and she paused, and gazed out into the sunshine with such
an expression of calm,--of harmony, if I may so term it--that I felt
tempted to ask her what spell had stilled her heart into such deep
repose.
"Did you make any sketches this morning?" she asked, rousing herself
from her thoughts.
"One or two rough outlines; but I think I could make a very good
picture from this spot," said I, rising to look through the window.
"Then," said Miss Vernon eagerly, "pray, pray do, Captain Egerton, and
give it to me; it will be an inexpressible pleasure to me to have some
memento of this quiet, happy spot, when I am, perhaps, far away."
"I will set about it to-morrow; but have you any notion of leaving
A----?" I asked.
"Oh no,--I only spoke from a presentiment I often feel, that we will
not always rest calmly in this quiet nook; the waters of life will
rise some day, and sweep us out again into the noise and tumult of the
world!"
Here the old dog, disturbed by my movement, slowly raised himself, and
entering by the window, laid his large stern head, with a sort of sigh,
on his mistress's arm.
"Ah, Cormac, good old friend," said she, putting her arm caressingly
round him, "no tumult, however rough, shall separate us; you and I,
and grandpapa, and nurse, a goodly company, _n'est ce pas?_"--
"Captain Egerton," said she, rallying and laughing, "don't quiz my
presentiments, but sketch me this scene."
"With the greatest pleasure; and now I remember, I have some old
drawings of Dungar somewhere: I'll look out for them, and bring them
over here the next time I come."
"Oh thanks, a thousand hearty thanks: they will be treasures to me,
indeed, and to grandpapa! When will you come again?"
"I can hardly hope for a repetition of my delightful visit for ten days
or a fortnight: but on the first possibility of leave I will return."
"Do you know I took a long walk with nurse this morning; we had some
business in that wood I showed you from the dining room, and I saw so
many beautiful pictures _en route_; I must show you the walk. I do not
think Mr. Winter knows it very well, we cross a delightful ferry to
get to it, and--"
The door opened and the Colonel entered.
"Ah! Egerton, I have just been to your hotel, they told me you had
gone out only a few minutes before, and I thought it likely you would
make your way over here; I met Winter, Kate, and he dragged me off
to pass sentence on a pony he wants to buy, which he described as a
quiet, gentle animal Mrs. Winter might herself drive; but I saw at a
glance that the creature was blind of one eye, at least, and I strongly
suspect he is broken winded; however, I rather fancy Winter has set
his heart on the purchase, for the pony has a shaggy picturesque
appearance, and would look charmingly in a sketch, with a few autumnal
trees. Oh! I feel a little fagged;--and have you done much in the way
of sketching, this morning, Egerton?"
"No, indeed, Colonel, I do not feel sufficiently at home here yet; I
have not got my eye familiarised to the style of the place; I intend
to make great progress to-morrow. I cannot tell you how charmed I am
with this old town, it is so utterly dissimilar to Carrington, and its
abominations."
"Ah!" said the Colonel, "the tone of society is not very thorough-bred
there, I suppose; but are you quite just in judging the worthy
citizens, by a standard they were never intended either by nature or
art to reach?"
"That is a question I have never asked myself, and probably never
shall."
"Good breeding," continued Colonel Vernon, "must be innate often;
there's Winter, you see, he has evidently risen from the ranks, yet one
feels at ease in his society, and free from all chance of his rubbing
you up the wrong way, as _parvenus_ are apt to do."
"Winter belongs to a class distinct from, and superior to class
distinctions."
"We are allies, from this moment, Captain Egerton," said Miss Vernon.
"By the way, Kate, Mrs. Winter wants you to drink tea with her this
evening; I have promised for you and myself," observed her grandfather.
"Of course, I like to drink tea at the abbey gardens; everything is so
pleasant and friendly; are you to be of our party, Captain Egerton?"
"I am happy to say, yes."
"Then you had better join our early dinner, for Winter piques himself
on keeping continental hours, and I believe his tea is considerably
earlier than a London _dejeunér_" said the Colonel.
"Many thanks, my dear sir, but I have already eaten a substantial
luncheon, and intend acquitting myself with credit at Mrs. Winter's tea
table."
"Oh!" said Miss Vernon, laughing, "some prophetic vision must have
warned you, that she is famous for hot cakes."
"New style of life this, eh! Egerton?"
"I enjoy it extremely, and you Colonel. I cannot fancy any thing more
opposite to your life in Ireland."
"True, true," he replied, "yet I am very happy. Then, at my age,
a placid routine, unexciting, and calm, is naturally congenial; I
sometimes wish for a little more fellow-feeling on particular points
than Winter or even Gilpin can offer me. Kate is generally a great
sympathiser, but I confess, my dear Egerton, that a little chat with
you on old times and topics does me infinite good."
"Captain Egerton says he will come back soon again, grandpapa, and
bring me some sketches he has of dear Dungar."
"A treasure trove, Kate! But must you leave us so immediately?"
"I regret to say my leave expires to-morrow evening; I must return to
Carrington, but will take the last train, half-past eight I think; and
now I will say good-bye until this evening, Colonel. I want to get a
few more outlines into my portfolio before Mrs. Winter's hot cakes are
ready. _Au revoir_, Miss Vernon."
The Colonel and Cormac accompanied me to the door, which Nurse opened
with a gracious smile. "Not a step further, Colonel Vernon, you are
fatigued; Mrs. O'Toole, I commend the Colonel to your care, adieu."
And as I walked away I heard confused and glowing eulogiums pronounced
by Mrs. O'Toole on some person or persons unknown, in which she seemed
to dwell particularly on the facility of distinguishing between "The
rale ould ancient stock, and ye'r musherooms," terms of approbation my
vanity somehow or other appropriated, though the connection was by no
means clear.
With military punctuality I was raising the well burnished brass
knocker which adorned Winter's door as the cathedral clock chimed six.
A trim little damsel answered the summons, and informed me with a
rather frightened air, that "Missis was in." She ushered me up stairs
to a large, handsomely furnished room, where sat Mrs. Winter in the
identical cap she had worn at the ball. I could have sworn to it in any
court in the kingdom.
She received me with the slight nervousness of manner I had before
observed, but we had hardly exchanged salutations when Winter appeared,
and carried me off to his studio. "While there was any light," he
said, "it was well worth a visit." Studies of trees in every season,
architectural drawings of great beauty, rugged old men and women, rosy
chubby children, some few strong deep subjects--a mine of pictorial
wealth; and the grand characteristic of each and all was truth; nothing
seemed beneath his pencil, nor a single object misplaced on his canvas.
I felt that a glance at his studio revealed the man more than the most
elaborate description of his character could have done. I began to
understand his views of imagination.
Mr. Winter had just pronounced it becoming too dark to judge fairly his
productions, when the little maid entered and informed him that tea and
the company were waiting; we returned to the drawing room, where we
found the Colonel and Miss Vernon, Gilpin, and a tall dried up looking
woman in a yellow turban, assembled round a large table, which groaned,
or ought to have groaned, under piles of delicately brown hot cakes,
multitudes of little round pats of butter, each adorned with a cowslip
in bas relief, and a massive tea equipage. There was a cheerful buzz of
conversation, with a pleasant accompaniment of hissing from a portly
tea urn that sent forth volumes of steam.
The gentlemen rose to greet us, and Winter, passing to the turbanned
lady, expressed his pleasure at seeing her, adding--
"I do not think you know Miss Cox, Captain Egerton? The Honourable
Captain Egerton; Miss Araminta Cox."
Somewhat to my surprise the lady gave herself the trouble of rising to
make me a profound curtsey. I secured a seat between Mrs. Winter and
Kate, and joined in the general conversation, which took a very merry
turn on our appearance, in consequence of Winter having discovered
that Kate and Gilpin had been wofully taken in about some old stone
inscribed with Saxon or Runic characters, they had raved of for a
week, and which turned out to be frightfully modern. Kate, however,
retaliated by quizzing him on his intended purchase of a pony, more
fit for a picture than a phaeton; and clapped her hands in triumph,
when Winter disclosed the fact that, contrary to the Colonel's warning,
he had absolutely completed the purchase. Much laughter and ingenuity
were called forth by these rival charges, but we all found the gravity
and earnestness with which Winter repelled Kate's attacks upon his new
steed irresistible.
"At all events, Mr. Winter, it is not half so disgraceful to be cheated
by an almost obliterated inscription on a stone, as to be taken in
by a horse-dealer. We deceived ourselves, but you have not even that
consolation; you fell a victim to the devices of a groom," concluded
Kate, pushing her chair from the tea-table, and rising.
"_Per di Bacco!_" exclaimed Winter thickly, and with the greatest
energy, "the Colonel is mistaken; I tested the eyes; I tied a
handkerchief over the best looking of the two and led him up and down,
and he walked, sir, without the slightest hesitation! Tell me he is
minus an eye after that!"
We received this conclusive evidence with a roar of laughter that
disturbed the murmured conference Mrs. Winter and Miss Cox had
maintained during our argument, fragments of which had reached my
ears occasionally, indicating strong disapprobation of some unhappy
individuals.
"Do you play whist, Captain Egerton?" enquired our hostess, as the trim
damsel was removing the goodly array which had suffered considerably
under our united efforts.
"Hardly ever, Mrs. Winter; and when I do I get so rowed by my partners
that I am glad to abandon the attempt altogether."
"We generally make up a whist table; the Colonel and Mr. Winter like a
rubber."
"Do you play, Miss Vernon?"
"Yes, with a degree of science seldom equalled; therefore I rarely
honour Mrs. Winter's whist table."
"We'll have that trio first, Miss Vernon," rejoined Mr. Winter. "Gilpin
get the flute ready."
During the little bustle of bringing flute and violin into tune with
the piano, I approached the performers.
"How did you like the hot cakes?" asked Kate.
"I think I gave ocular demonstration of my opinion," I replied,
laughing.
"What are you going to play?"
"_Prendi l'anell' ti dono._"
"I thought that was a duet?"
"So it is; the flute and violin take first and second, the piano is a
mere accompaniment; you will be pleased with it."
"How droll Winter is! His experiment on the pony was truly original."
"Yes, and his habit of pointing his discourse with foreign
exclamations; he acquired the habit abroad, and complains he cannot do
without expletives to express his feelings, but that English oaths are
too blasphemous, while all the people in A---- are firmly convinced
that his strange outbursts are far too bad to be translated."
"Now then, Miss Vernon," said Mr. Winter, "if you have finished that
conference with Captain Egerton--"
"_Maestro mio_, I am ready."
Winter gave a flourish of his bow and stamped his foot; Miss Vernon
played a brilliant prelude, and they began.
I sat in a pleasant dreamy state, listening to the music, and
indistinctly observing there was something wanting in Mr. Winter's
handsome drawing room that Kate Vernon's had; as if neatness was there
kept in her proper position of handmaid to the Graces; but here she
appeared to have risen up against her mistresses, and driven them out
of doors with a duster! I was disturbed from this placid state of mind
by the nodding of Miss Araminta Cox's yellow turban most distractingly
out of tune; and finding it insupportable I was about to change my
position, when the performance came to a conclusion.
The whist party now arranged themselves, leaving the piano to Kate,
Gilpin, and myself; and after a little desultory conversation Miss
Vernon acceded to our request for a song.
"The Serenade," I petitioned.
"You will be tired of that; I will give you a newer song." And she sung
us a little sparkling Neapolitan air full of expression and piquancy.
Winter had brought it from Italy, she said, and then we talked of his
studio, and his whims, and then we glanced at national characteristics,
and a hundred pleasant general topics. I felt surprised at the current
of deep thought that flowed through all the organist said; there
was much originality, too, in his observations; altogether our talk
insensibly assumed a grave tone, yet it was interesting, for we were
not making conversation. The conviction that my companions viewed life
differently from myself somewhat inclined me to silence. They seemed
to possess in themselves some source of internal satisfaction, of
constant interest, unaccountable to me, and utterly dissimilar to the
alternations of feverish excitement and profound ennui in which my days
and those of almost all my companions were passed.
Meanwhile the whist party progressed, with an occasional outburst from,
and overhauling of the tricks by, Winter, and divers complimentary
remarks from the Colonel to the ladies; finally a tray of sandwiches
and wine and water ended the entertainment.
"What is the name of the white pony, Mr. Winter?" said Kate.
"Whatever you like."
"Spatter the Dew," suggested the Colonel.
"That is quite poetical, grandpapa."
"My father had a horse called Toby," said Miss Araminta Cox in a
mincing voice.
"Cyclops, they say, had only one eye," I observed.
"I tell you he has the use of two," said Winter hastily.
"That is not quite clear, and Cyclops is a fine sounding name," said
Kate, "I vote for Cyclops, and I shall drink his health in a glass of
your gooseberry wine, Mr. Winter."
"Cyclops, be it then," sighed Winter resignedly. "Captain Egerton,
you must drink Miss Vernon's toast, but not in her beverage; here's
some port wine I'll answer for, I bought it myself in Oporto." We all
drank success to Cyclops, and bidding our kind host and hostess good
night, strolled home by moonlight. Ah! a delicious walk. Gilpin took
the Colonel's arm, and Kate accepted mine. The glorious moon, not yet
risen to her highest altitude, threw out the lacelike tracery of the
cathedral towers into strong relief--silvering the walls here and
there, leaving large masses of deep shadow, while the old gateways and
arches looked like openings into an abyss of darkness. A few light
clouds floated in the deep blue sky. We walked on for some moments in
silence.
"The last time your hand rested on my arm, Miss Vernon, I little
thought I should so soon discover what you would not reveal."
"How?"
"Do you not remember how perversely you kept silence when I wanted to
find out your abode?"
"Oh, yes," with a laugh, "I was so afraid you would have found out
my trick, that I took care to obey poor Mrs. Winter's commands. How
strangely it all turned out!"
Not much more passed between us until we passed the old church yard,
where the organist left us.
"Scarcely late enough for ghosts," said the Colonel, with a smile, "but
Kate would rather like to meet one."
"Not I," said Miss Vernon; "anything troubled, as ghosts always are,
would be terribly out of place this calm heavenly night; though to be
sure we have a black monk who walks up and down our garden from sunset
till cock crow."
"There is something strangely attractive in the romantic antiquity
of your domicile. I fancy it must exercise some influence on one's
spirits," said I, smiling.
"Indeed, Captain Egerton, I often tell grandpapa that I am sure we are
influenced by locality as well as everything else."
We paused at the wicket gate.
"I was endeavouring to make out that inscription this morning, Colonel,"
said I.
"You can almost read it now, the moon shines so full upon it," observed
Kate. "If you knew the text you would have made it out at once. See, at
this side there is the _Beati mundo corde_ quite plain, and round here
can you not trace _Deum videbunt_?"
"Ah, yes; of course, now you point it out."
"This is the proper light to read it by," said Miss Vernon,
thoughtfully, "and do you know I sometimes like to think the
entrance to our house is, as it were, sanctified by that beautiful
sentence--'Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God!'"
"Ah, enthusiast!" said her grandfather, laughing and shaking his head,
"Dragoons do not quite comprehend such fancies."
I could see the soft colour mount into her cheek as if she had betrayed
herself.
"Do you believe him, Miss Vernon?" I asked eagerly.
"I do not know; good night."
"Good night, Egerton, you dine with us to-morrow; you can take the train
to Carrington afterwards, you know."
"Thank you, Colonel, with pleasure; good night."
The wicket closed on them, and I remained for some minutes in the
full, clear, calm light, gazing at the half-defaced letters, and
recalling the tones of Miss Vernon's expressive and musical voice, as
she pronounced the (as I thought) appropriate words which formed the
inscription. And then I strolled on slowly to my hotel, thinking more
seriously than is usual to me, and finally fell asleep and dreamt I was
riding across the sea to Dungar on Winter's white pony, which did not
strike me as anything uncommon.