A NEW WORLD.
However kind and true by nature, a man who has risen to, can never
quite understand the feeling, of one who has fallen from higher
fortunes; the seeming trifles which can elate, or depress, are but
trifles to the former; nor can any amount of sincere friendship ever
reveal to him the saddening effect which some insignificant occurrence,
he would scarcely perceive, produces on the other; he cannot dream
with what terrible and intense conviction, the sudden consciousness
of total change, flashes on the mind that had happily half-forgotten
it, at some accident of daily life, to him, nothing, in itself, a
mere "_contretemps_," which, in brighter days would have only raised a
smile, but which is now too sure an indication of the current; straw
though it be.
And Winter, with all his real, steady affection, for Kate, felt
half angry with her for the obstinacy with which she adhered to her
intention of travelling by the first class in the railway. He could not
comprehend, what she could so well feel, that the moral effect produced
on her grandfather, by a long journey in a conveyance, which would,
every moment, bring the utter change of his fortunes and position, so
forcibly before him, would far more than counterbalance the few pounds
saved.
"But," reiterated Winter, "the colonel is well and remarkably strong
for his age, he would not find the journey in the least fatiguing by
the second class; and, my dear girl, I want to impress on you the
necessity of conforming, at once, to the changes Heaven has been
pleased to send you. Procrastination is always bad, but in the present
case peculiarly injurious."
"Yes, Mr. Winter, I know all that, and as to the fatigue, that is not
what I think of; but imagine how wretched grandfather would feel--no,
you cannot imagine--but would it be worth while, for the sake of the
difference, to let him receive so bad an impression of his new position
at the very outset, and so rudely. He will have enough to suffer. Let
him have an easy start; in short this is one of the very few points on
which I cannot accept of your guidance; and all I will add is, I hope
you will, though unconvinced, acquiesce in my decision, and not mention
this controversy to grandpapa."
"'Pon my word, Miss Vernon, you put me down, right royally," said he,
laughing, and yet surprised at the air of quiet firmness with which she
announced her determination.
"My own, dear, kind master! Ah, when shall I have an argument with you
again? But you will write to me often, and sometimes come to London."
"I will, I will indeed. Ah, Kate, I did not know how much you had
twined yourself round this tough old heart of mine, till I found I was
to lose my bright pupil. You had better make over Cormac to me, till
you have a house of your own?"
"Oh, no, no, we should be incomplete without my dear old dog! Besides,
I promised him he should join us as soon as possible."
"Promised the dog; and you look as grave as a judge."
"Yes, I said to him yesterday, 'I am not going to leave you long
behind, dear Cormac,' and he looked up at me with his honest eyes, as
though he trusted me so implicitly; I could not deceive him."
"Kate, you have too much imagination for the battle of life, get rid
of some of it, I advise you."
"Get rid of it! And shall I pursue my way more successfully, if I clip
the wings that might sometimes help to waft me over rough places."
"You are incorrigible! You see your fancy is going to cheat you out
of nearly five pounds in this railroad business. I wish you would be
advised by me; and, indeed, strictly speaking, it is your duty to
conform as soon as possible to circumstances."
"My strict duty! Oh, Mr. Winter, I abjure strictness, it is a thing
of mathematical precision, gone, vanished with the old dispensation;
which, providing rules for all and every thing, left no room for those
exquisite shades and tints without which, life, as well as pictures,
would have neither truth nor beauty. I never like to think how much
or how little I ought to do; there is one maxim on this point, that
supplies to me the absence of every other. 'Freely ye have received,
freely give,' Why should I pain another, to fulfil to the letter, an
unimportant duty? But, I have settled that point."
"Well, well, you are right in intention at all events, and now I must
say good morning, what are you going to do?"
"Why, I have finished my preparations; and as grandpapa is going with
you about the luggage, I intend hearing the evening service in the
Cathedral; vespers, (I like the name, popish though it be) for the last
time. Ah, _Maestro mio_, to-morrow."
"Don't talk of it, but I'll tell Mrs. Winter she may expect you in an
hour. _Au revoir._"
Kate strolled slowly through the churchyard, and mounted the steps;
stood for some minutes gazing at the well-known scene from the city
wall, thinking, "how and when shall I see it again! What awaits me
in the new world into which I am about to plunge!" Then turning
to the right, she followed the rather tortuous way, formed by the
time worn ramparts, until she reached the narrow alley which led to
the cathedral. The entrance to the cloisters at this spot, was a
low vaulted passage, which communicated, in ancient times, with the
servants' offices, and formed an angle with a lofty chapel, now used
as an ante-room; and here Kate again paused, as if to take the scene
into her memory. To the Chapter house, opposite the end opening on
the cloisters, was a beautiful window, showing through its lace-like
and still perfect tracery, the soft, green grass which clothed the
quadrangle formed by the cloisters, and a thorn tree grew close against
its mullions, and even thrust its branches, so delicately green, with
the first fresh and unspeakable tints of spring, through their many
openings; contrasting its fair youth, with the solemn grey and massive
stones around it. A bright gleam of sunshine, which fell slanting, it
up one half the chapel, through which Kate advanced, leaving the other
in shadow. The unbroken stillness, the air of deep repose, which
pervaded the old pile, gave something of its own calm to her feelings,
which had been a little ruffled by the thousand anticipations her
argument with Winter had called up. The hour of evening prayer was not
yet arrived, and she stood for a while gazing at the exquisite effects
of light and shade, till the perfect silence woke up her fancy, and she
smiled to think, that it would scarce surprise her, to see a plumed
and helmetted shadow fall on the stream of sunshine, which bathed the
pavement with a flood of gold, and even were the shadow followed by a
substantial mailed form, with knightly spurs, and cross-hilted sword,
it would seem but natural, here.
The distant sound of the organ warned her that the service was about to
begin, and she was soon kneeling in the quiet nook she usually occupied.
The next morning they left A----.
"The last journey I made by rail-road was with you to Carrington," said
Kate to Winter.
She was looking a little pale, and a certain anxious nervousness made
her tremble in every limb; but she kept up very cheerfully.
They were standing on the platform at the railway station, waiting for
the train, which, starting from some newer and more important place,
only gave a few hurried, breathless moments to poor old anti-locomotive
A----.
The Colonel was looking a shade more elegant even than usual, in a
large cloak, which hung gracefully round his tall, erect form. There
was their luggage all ticketed and piled up, all of home that could be
packed into trunks; and Kate felt singularly desolate at the idea of
being thus, for the first time, without any sanctuary, however humble,
to which, as to an ark, she might retreat, when the fountains of the
great deep, of sorrow or of disappointment, were broken up; and Mrs.
Winter was there with a well-packed basket of sandwiches, and wine and
water; but poor Gilpin had been so unwell since his imprudent visit
to the Priory, that he had been obliged to leave the Winters to do
the parting honours, alone, to their valued friends. Nor can we omit
to mention Mrs. O'Toole, who, in a black silk bonnet, snowy cap, and
substantial cloth cloak, albeit it was early June, looked the very
model of a respectable old family-servant; over one arm hung Miss
Vernon's shawl, and, in her left hand, she carried a blue band-box,
containing divers and sundry articles thrust into it, at the last
moment, and secured by a red silk handkerchief.
"Yes," returned Winter, in reply to Kate's observation, "we were a
merry trio; but we little anticipated the adventure you contrived to
get up."
"It was all very curious," said Kate, with a sigh, as her thoughts flew
back to that pleasant evening, and its still pleasanter _dénouément_.
A shrill, piercing whistle! The porters stood, not to their arms, but
to their trunks.
"Up-train coming," said one of them, warningly, to our little party.
"Now then, don't be in a hurry, Colonel--get the tickets all right,"
said Winter; and the huge, hissing, relentless monster of an engine,
rushed panting by the platform. "Do you get in and settle yourselves,
Colonel; Mrs. O'Toole and I will see to the luggage."
The Colonel obeyed; but Kate stood by the carriage door. Winter soon
bustled back, and in more than usually husky tones, observed--
"All right--there goes the bell."
"Dearest Mrs. Winter," cried Kate, clasping that worthy little woman
in her arms; "good bye;" and the tears she had long, with difficulty,
restrained, poured down her cheeks; then turning to the kind, rough
artist, she, somewhat to his surprise, bestowed an equally affectionate
embrace on him, with such childlike simplicity and sincere feeling,
that he was inexpressibly touched. "My kind love to Mr. Gilpin; and, I
need hardly say, take care of Cormac."
"God bless you, dear Kate," from both the Winters, and she was hurried
into the carriage, where nurse was already seated. A jerk back, and
then forward, and they were swept away from the kind faces that looked
so eagerly after them.
As long as the neighbouring scenery presented any familiar features,
Kate looked mournfully and wistfully through the window; but soon, too
soon, they were flying beyond the limits of her longest walks; and
when the distant height, crowned by Mowbray Castle, longest visible,
because the highest point in the surrounding country, disappeared, she
dismissed her regrets, turned resolutely from the contemplation of
past happiness, and determined to let no selfish grief, no personal
consideration whatever intervene between her heart and its great task.
Comforting and supporting her grandfather.
"And you feel quite well, quite comfortable, dear grandfather."
"Yes, love. Why, this is as good as any private carriage; you know I am
quite a novice in rail-road travelling. How do you like it, Nelly?"
"Faith, an' it's an illigant coach intirely; but, Miss Kate, jewel, did
iver ye see anything so fast as the hedges do be runnin'?"
"Yes," laughed the Colonel, "London will be down here presently!"
There is little ever to relate of a journey by rail--at least, at the
time of which we write, when excursion trains and concussions were
not quite such every-day events as in 1851-2. Little occurred to vary
the even tenor of their course. Speed was slackened, bells rung, and
incomprehensible names bawled out at the due number of stations. One
or two companions were added to, and diminished from their number,
with whom the Colonel entered, urbanely, into conversation, and, about
two o'clock, offered them refreshment, from Mrs. Winter's well-stored
basket, which was thankfully accepted by his fellow-travellers, who set
him down, in their private opinions, as some condescending nobleman
of philanthropic habits, and enjoyed his sandwiches and sherry with
redoubled goût. Could they have known, he was a broken gentleman,
and an Irish one to boot, how soon "urbane condescension" would have
changed, to pushing forwardness, and the gracious offer of a sandwich,
to some deep design of getting up an acquaintance, with ulterior
objects possibly still more dreadful.
At length, the closer ranks of houses and increasing hubbub of hissing
engines, and departing trains, warned them, they were fast approaching
the great metropolis.
The quiet and ease of their journey was at an end, the moment
they stepped from the retirement of the carriage into the bustling
confusion of the platform, beyond which a line of cabs were drawn
up, the length of which positively appalled Kate, as indicative of
the immense crowd amongst whom they would have to struggle for their
luggage. The additional difficulty of darkness was superadded to those
already arising from crowd and hurry; for they had not left A---- until
considerably past noon.
"Och, Holy Virgin! how are we iver to get the thrunks in sich a
scrimmige!" ejaculated Mrs. O'Toole.
"We must look for the van they put them in at A----," said Kate, who
was trembling with nervous anxiety, and depressed, at feeling how
unfitted she was for so bustling a scene.
"Jest don't be walkin off wid the masther's portmanty," said Mrs.
O'Toole, laying a vigorous grasp on the arm of a railway porter.
"Is this here yer's?"
"Yes, an' so is the black wan, an' the wan wid the leather cover in the
van, &c."
And soon the civil and expeditious porters had placed all their luggage
in a goodly pile.
"Now," said the Colonel, "for the transit to Bayswater."
"Cab, sir?"
"Yes, two."
The Colonel and Kate led the way with their light parcels, and nurse
followed with an overflowing cargo.
It is a strange sensation, that of whirling through unknown streets by
gas light. The complete ignorance of where you are going, the seemingly
miraculous facility with which you are whisked round innumerable
turnings, the flaring gas-light before the meaner shops, and short
intervals of gloomy, respectable quarters.
Kate felt all this strongly, and sat gazing at the busy crowded
streets, holding her grandfather's hand, and scarcely breathing. It
seemed as though she had never felt the changes that had occurred in
their lot before, and wearied by the journey, and the busy days that
preceded it, she experienced that dread fluttering sensation, half
fear, half excitement that made her long, oh, how intensely, for some
familiar face to welcome them, some strong calm friend into whose arms
she might throw herself, and feel _safe_.
But, "fate forbid such things to be," and a curtseying landlady
received them in all the glories of an "afternoon toilette," with an
elaborate front, cunningly secured with three rows of narrow black
velvet round the head, and a profusion of cherry-colored ribbons in her
cap.
"Here, Hester, carry up the carpet bags; Mr. Langley was here to-day
ma'am, and said we might hexpect you about height o'clock, but it's
near nine now; what would you please to take? I'll have candles lighted
in a moment."
And she ushered them into a small parlour, furnished with a most
obdurate looking horse-hair sofa, six horse hair chairs, ranged round
the walls, an impracticable arm chair, and a small round table,
covered with a bright red cloth; a diminutive looking glass over the
mantel-piece, on which were displayed a few cheap ornaments, and
a chiffonnier of mock rose-wood, with warped doors, completed the
inventory.
"Tea, I think, Kate, will be the most acceptable refreshment. If you
will be so good as to let us have some tea, Mrs. Mrs. ----."
The Colonel paused.
"Crooks," said the amiable lady.
"Ah, yes, Mrs. Crooks."
"Certainly, sir," and she retired, as the servant entered, with two
tall candles, unsteadily thrust into very short candlesticks.
It is unnecessary to describe the wretchedness of such an arrival, the
total derangement of all established comforts, and London lodging-house
tea and milk! and the professional rapidity, with which the servant
clatters down the plates, and deals out the knives, the ill-cleaned
Britannia metal tea-pot, the pale, market looking butter, all, all so
unlike home.
Nurse, who had taken Miss Vernon's _sac de nuit_, to her room, now came
to the rescue.
"Ah, don't be breakin yer heart sthrivin to make tay, an' the wather
not half biled. There," smelling the tea which Kate had put out, and
setting it down with a look of disgust. "Athen, 'tis little iv ye kem
from Chayney, any how. Sure I put a dust iv the rale sort into me
ban-box the last thing, an it's well them villains at that moiderin
Station, didn't lose it an' me box' an all, have a taste iv buthered
toast, here, me good girl, just bile up that kittle, an when it's bilin
mad, run up wid it; stay, I'll go down meself."
And Mrs. O'Toole prepared them a very refreshing cup of tea, which they
insisted on her sharing; and largely did she contribute to enliven
their first repast in the mighty metropolis, by her shrewd, caustic
remarks on the various little events of their journey.
"Sure it's so quiet, we might think ourselves in the Priory," she said,
after a pause. "Another bit of toast, Miss Kate, ye'r white wid the
journey, and the scrimmage, alanah."
"Yes," replied the Colonel, "it is singularly quiet here."
"But listen to that distant, continuous roar," said Kate, "what is it?"
she asked of the girl, who was removing the tea things.
"Plase ma'am it's the 'busses."
They were located in one of the numerous "Albert Groves," or "Victoria
Terraces," which congregate near, and diverge from the main Bayswater
Road.
After some more desultory conversation, the little party retired to
the rest they so much needed. Kate and nurse first carefully arranging
the Colonel's room; but long after she had laid her head on the hard
and diminutive lodging-house pillow, Kate's busy fancy kept sleep
aloof--the fact that she was actually in London, was almost incredible,
that the dreaded parting with the Winters, and the Priory--the terrible
exchange of all the sweet sanctities of home, for the uncertainties
and insecurity of lodgings--that all this so long anticipated, was
absolutely accomplished; and that from this time forward, a new world
of action--of reality--of sober, stern existence, lay before her. Such
thoughts as these were potent enemies to sleep. Then her last visit to
the great city, and its gaieties, and studies presented themselves;
and Lady Desmond's probable return--followed by a natural chain of
associations; and finally, the Priory, with its pretty garden; and the
neighbouring woods, in all their glories of autumn--as they looked the
day she found Fred Egerton seated with her grandfather, rose before her
mind's eye; and all the pleasant incidents of that happy time, unrolled
themselves before her--clearly at first, but, at length strangely
mingled with memories of Dungar, and older days still. Once or twice
she strove to reunite the broken chain of thought; but slowly they all
faded, and the hours of a short summer's night sped on their way; and
gradually her spirit woke from the first, deep sleep that fell upon it;
and wearied by the heaviness that had of late weighed it down, fled
joyously to the scenes of its early childhood; and summoned to its
side, the friends it loved--until a flood of morning sunshine pouring
into her room, woke her; and her eyes fell upon the broad comely
countenance of Mrs. O'Toole.
"Athen, the blessin' iv Christ on ye, jewel; sure the angels was
whisperin' to ye in Heaven--ye wor smilin' so swate in your sleep."
"Oh, nurse, why did you awake me? so soon I mean."
"Soon," ejaculated Mrs. O'Toole, "sure it's nine o'clock, so it is, an'
you that was always up at seven--"
"Nine! is it possible? But, nurse, are morning dreams always true?"
"Sure, I told ye so a hundred times, an' ye always laughed at me, was
it dreamin' ye wor, alanah?"
"Yes; of Dungar, and of such strange--but go, dear nurse--I will ring
soon for you. Have you seen grandpapa this morning? How did you sleep
yourself?"
"He's not rung his bell yet; an' I was as snug as any duchess."
To Kate's infinite delight, morning displayed a garden, some ten feet
square, in front of their new abode, sufficient to satisfy the elastic
conscience of the builder, in calling the row of houses, in which it
was situated, "Victoria Gardens." True, it was not in that perfection
of keeping, so grateful to eyes susceptible of the beautiful; but still
the green of a few ragged lilacs, and laburnums, with the perfume of a
mignionette bed, was most refreshing; and so much better than anything
she had ventured to hope for--that she felt inexpressibly cheered.
The Colonel too, had slept well--at least, till daylight, when he had
been rather disturbed by the screams of a parrot, a great pet, Mrs.
O'Toole informed them, of their landlady. Breakfast over, and the
_Times_, secured for her grandfather, Kate was soon immersed in a long,
confidential letter to Winter and his wife.
Their late breakfast had encroached, more than she thought, upon the
morning, and she felt surprise when the landlady announced Mr. Langley;
and Winter's old friend entered. He was a long, pale man, with lightish
hair, and whey coloured whiskers; his manners, cold and shy, impressed
Kate with an uneasy feeling, that it would be impossible to set him at
ease.
"Very much obliged by your early visit," said the Colonel, rising, with
his usual suave cordiality. "We have to thank you for procuring for
us, such comfortable apartments--my granddaughter, Miss Vernon."
Mr. Langley bowed, and in so doing, upset a ricketty chair, whereupon,
he endeavoured to restore it to its former position, and in the
struggle, dropped his hat and gloves; at last his composure a little
restored, by the graciousness of his new acquaintances, he gathered
courage to ask, coldly, after Winter, and still more slightly for his
wife, to which the Colonel replied, by giving very copious details,
of their friends, and Kate thought he listened with more interest
than he ventured to express in words; some general conversation then
ensued--their journey, and the old city of A----, were discussed. Mr.
Langley glanced once or twice at his hat, which had unfortunately got
into an inaccessible corner, and Kate began to fear that this first
interview, to which she had looked, as to a mine of information,
whereby to form her plans, and guide her future proceedings, would pass
away in the vain repetition of polite nothings; while the Colonel, in
his high-bred anxiety to entertain his visitor, seemed to forget there
was any more serious subject to discuss, beyond the decline of the
drama, or the prospects of the ministry.
It was always with extreme reluctance that Kate, ever broached any
subject, connected with the realities of their position, in the
presence of her grandfather, now that all the necessary changes had
been made; and to this natural difficulty, was added the awkwardness
of introducing important queries, apropos to nothing. At last, taking
advantage of a pause in the Colonel's eloquence, of which Mr. Langley
seemed inclined to avail himself, to depart, she plunged boldly,
because desperately, into the subject uppermost in her thoughts.
"I am most anxious to lose no time in endeavouring to get pupils. Mr.
Winter mentioned to you, I suppose?"
"Yes;" said Langley, turning to her with more of complacency, than his
manner had hitherto exhibited, his painter's eye, probably caught by
her expressive countenance, and graceful figure. "Yes, he mentioned
your intention--and I--that is, I hope you will not disapprove; I told
some friends of mine, professors of music, and they wish to hear you
play; and then they will be able to judge how far they can forward your
views."
"Thank you," cried Kate, glancing nervously at the Colonel, to whose
high and usually pale forehead the color rose at this proposed
exhibition of his refined, noble, and graceful grandchild; "you are
most kind to have anticipated my arrival; but," she added, covering her
face playfully with her hands, "I never shall have courage for such an
exhibition, such an ordeal!"
"But if they never hear you perform, how can they recommend you?" asked
Langley, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"I did but jest," replied Kate, "and am ready to do whatever you may
recommend."
"Of course, if it is repugnant to Miss Vernon, however friendly and
judicious your suggestion, Mr. Langley, I cannot permit her," began the
Colonel, in disturbed accents.
"Dearest grandpapa, this matter is between Mr. Langley and myself--you
may listen--but are not to interfere. Am I not right, Mr. Langley?"
He bowed, startled into silent admiration, by the extreme beauty of her
smile.
"I am silenced," said the Colonel.
"Winter mentioned," resumed Langley, after a moment's pause, "that
you were a pupil of Hermann's; I would advise your renewing your
acquaintance with him; he is one of the first masters, in the
fashionable world, at present."
"I fully intend writing to him to-morrow, and--"
"Why not to-day?" interposed Langley, with increasing warmth. "And
merely ask him to appoint an interview--be sure you see him--writing is
of little use--besides he has a daughter--I mean two--amiable girls,
I am told--indeed I know one of them. Miss Vernon," addressing the
Colonel, "can, therefore, call on him with perfect propriety, for he
could never otherwise see her, his time is so much occupied."
The Colonel, again reddening to the roots of his hair, made a silent
inclination of his head, too much overcome at the idea of Kate's
being compelled to call on any man, to be able to infringe upon her
injunction.
"Unfortunately," resumed Langley, "I have no one to do the honors of my
house; but my sister, who lives close by here, intends to do herself
the pleasure of calling on you, Miss Vernon, and hopes to fix some
evening, when I can introduce you to some professional friends--but I
see you have no piano."
"We shall be most happy to make your sister's acquaintance; my piano
is still at A----; but I hope to have it early next week--only I am
sure I cannot think where it can stand in this diminutive chamber."
"But it is essential; you so soon lose the facility of execution.
Winter tells me, you play well; and he is no mean judge."
"I trust you may be of the same opinion; but the degree of perfection
required from musicians appals me!"
"Nothing mediocre goes down now," returned Langley, with an emphasis,
not very encouraging. "And as I believe I have paid you a long visit,"
rising nervously; "my sister would have accompanied me, but one of her
little boys is ill. I hope she may soon be released--I mean, be able
to call on you. She knows several people about here, all with young
families. Ah, good morning, Miss Vernon, good morning, sir."
"I shall take an early opportunity of returning your visit," said the
Colonel, accompanying him to the door.
"Pray do; and as Mr. Winter tells me, Miss Vernon is a lover of
paintings, perhaps she might like to take a look at my studio?"
"Oh, thank you," cried Kate, who had followed them. "I shall be
delighted."
"Good morning, then."
"This seems promising, dear grandpapa," said Kate, settling back to her
writing, with a sunny smile. "I am so glad I saw Mr. Langley, before I
closed my letter; he appears friendly, though certainly not brilliant."
"Promising, Kate," cried the Colonel, playing nervously with his
glasses, and holding the paper aside in one hand, "promising! It is
unutterably repugnant to my feelings to think, that you will have
to exhibit your _paces_, or your performance rather, to secure the
suffrages of a set of fiddlers, and to wait upon a fat German, who,
I remember, used to seem to abjure water, and wore a ring on his
thumb. This Mr. Langley seems to forget what is due to a gentlewoman
altogether, or to be totally ignorant of it. And, only that I was
afraid of vexing you, my love, I would have told him so. Cold-blooded
John Bull!"
"I should indeed have been greatly distressed had you done so," said
Kate. "You know, dearest and best, I am only known to him in my new
character; and is it not unreasonable to be displeased with him,
because he endeavours, according to his judgment, which I believe to be
the true one, to forward my views!"
"Instinct might have told him, yours was a peculiar case! to tell you
to call on a German music-master!"
"Pooh, grandpapa, as Mr. Winter would say, if you and I were staying
at the 'Clarendon,' _en route_ to Paris, you would be the first to
encourage me in paying a visit to my old master, why--"
"It is a totally different thing, this old German--"
"True, and it may be prejudice; but, under the circumstances, I would
prefer visiting a German to an English music-master. My own, dear
grandpapa, we must be content to lose the shadow, if we can secure the
substance; and now I must proceed to finish my letter."
Hastily finishing her long, crossed epistle to the Winters, she
proceeded to pen a billet to Hermann, recalling herself to his
recollection, and expressing a strong desire for an interview with
him; this was placed _selon les règles_ in an envelop, when a grand
difficulty presented itself--the address--"He used to live in Baker
Street, but I forget the number." She rung.
"Would Mrs. Crooks be so good as to let me see a directory?"
"Please 'em, she's not got one."
"How provoking! and it is just post hour!"
"Send that note on chance," suggested the Colonel; "and we can get the
right address from Langley, if it fails."
"Good," she replied; and sent both her epistles at once to the post.
The day, notwithstanding the promise of the morning, proved wet; but
Langley's long visit, and her long letter, made it pass quickly to
Kate. She now put away her writing materials, singing snatches of her
favourite songs, to her grandfather's surprise, and looking bright as
an embodied gleam of sunshine; the idea of speedy action was cheering
beyond measure, to her energetic, earnest spirit; and though it may
lower her in the estimation of sentimentalists and evangelicals, she
was too young and too light-hearted, not to feel considerable pleasure,
at the idea of a _soirée_ at Langley's sister's.
"Are ye ready for yer dinner, Miss Kate? an' would the masther mind the
girl layin' the cloth?" enquired Mrs. O'Toole, putting in her head.
"Certainly not," replied the Colonel.
"I have not seen you all day, nurse," said Kate, "what have you been
doing."
"I wint out to get some chops for yer dinners, an' the thief iv a
butcher asks me nine-pince a pound for thim. 'Is it jokin' ye are,'
ses I, 'mum,' ses he, as if he was bothered. 'Is it plum cake ye do
be feedin' yer sheep on,' ses I, 'to go be afther askin' nine-pince a
pound for thim chops,' ses I, wid that he ups and he ses, his mate was
the best an' the chapest in the place, an' I'd get nothin' ondher it;
an' sure enough I wint to ivery butcher widin' two miles, an' sorra one
iv thim ud give the chops for less, an' some asked more; there's London
for ye! But it ud break yer heart to see the woman sthrivin' to brile
thim on the hanful iv coals in wan corner iv the grate, I wish ye'd
spake to her to let me cook for yes, but--" Nurse suddenly paused, and
held up her hand to enforce silence, as an approaching jingle announced
the coming dinner apparatus.
"Have you dined yourself, dear nurse?" asked Kate.
"Sure I tuck a cup iv tay, an' an egg, sorra sich an egg iver I seen!
Ye know it's a fast day, Miss Kate."
Their dinner was soon despatched; the half cold, half raw chops, so
different from their simple yet tempting fare at home, offering little
to induce its prolongation. After its removal, Kate looked wistfully
from the window.
"It does not rain now, grandpapa, would you not like a stroll into
Kensington Gardens? I should like so much too, to find out some
library, for how shall we get over this evening without music, or work,
or books, or chess. Oh, I forgot, nurse has unpacked the chess-board."
"I am not inclined for walking, or chess, either, my love; indeed I am
singularly knocked up; I should like a book, however."
"But I am sure a little walk would do you good, dear grandpapa."
"No, my dear, I will take a sleep, and, if you like to go out, nurse
can go with you, it will be a pleasure to her too."
After settling the Colonel to the best of her ability in the
impracticable arm-chair; Kate summoned Mrs. O'Toole, who most readily
obeyed her call, heartily tired of the society of Mrs. Crooks, for, as
she said emphatically, "there's no divarshin in thim English!"
After enquiring their way to the nearest circulating library, Kate
and Mrs. O'Toole set out on their exploring expedition. The rain had
ceased, and a rich, yellow, evening sun shone out in full lustre.
"How new everything looks here, nurse," said Kate, when they had walked
a few minutes in silence, "how different from dear old A----."
"In troth it does, Miss Kate; but thim gardens, as they call thim,
is mighty fine, an' did ye iver see sich dawshy little houses, wid
balconies afore?"
"Never, indeed, they give me the idea of handsomely ornamented
mansions, seen through an inverted telescope, for there is a little of
everything about them."
"Athen wan, good, ould, red stone house, like what was in A----, is
worth a score iv thim."
The extreme newness of everything, notwithstanding its prettiness and
neatness, was displeasing to Kate's eye, accustomed, as it had been, to
the mellow tints and picturesque irregularity of A----.
It is remarkable how much more congenial, both to heart and mind, are
indefinite and irregular outlines; as if the more perfect finish,
was all too cramped, too finite to satisfy the boundless and formless
imaginations of man's heart; as Tupper beautifully says,
"Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin,
Would have looked with half their wonder on a perfect pile?
And wherefore not--but that light tints, suggesting unseen beauties,
Fill the complacent gazer with self grown conceits?"
The library was, without much difficulty, found, and the demure damsel,
who there represented the muses, in reply to Kate's enquiries, handed
her a catalogue, in which she soon lost herself, as one usually does in
the vain attempt to discover favorite authors, widely separated by an
inexorable alphabetical arrangement.
"Have you nothing by the authoress of 'The Cup and the Lip?'" asked
Kate.
"Yes, ma'am, but it's out; this work is a good deal called for,"
presenting a volume open at the title page.
Kate glanced at it, 'Zarifa, a Tale of the Passions.'
"No, thank you," said Miss Vernon.
"Just got this in, ma'am; 'Trials and Trifles, by one who has
experienced both.'"
"Let me look at it, if you please. Ah, this is rather too sentimental.
Have you the 'Knight of Gwynne'?"
"Yes'm."
"Then I will take it; and pray send the 'Times' every morning, to No.
-- Victoria Gardens, for Colonel Vernon, if you please."
A rather stout gentleman, with longish fair hair, and an umbrella under
his arm, who had entered the shop a few minutes before, and stood with
two letters in his hand, waiting until the shopwoman was at leisure to
attend to him, and in a position that commanded an excellent view of
Kate's profile; started at these words.
"Vernon,!" said he, in good English, but with a foreign accent. "Do I
speak to my gentle pupil? Ah, you remember."
"Mr. Herman!" she exclaimed, after a moment's hesitation, "how
fortunate! how happy I am to have met you; I have just written to you."
"It is most curious," resumed her _ci-devant_ master, shaking her hand
warmly and respectfully, "I do not think I ever entered a shop in
this neighbourhood before, but I have just come from Madame M----'s
establishment, where I, for my sins, give lessons once a-week; and you,
have you been long in town? How is the Graffin, your cousin? I suppose
with you?"
"No, she is at Florence, I am with grandpapa, close to this. We only
arrived in London, yesterday, and I have already written a note to
you, though I had forgotten your precise address."
"Oh, the old place, Baker Street, No. 33. And you want lessons again?
Well, you did me great credit, and though I have not one moment in the
day disengaged, except to snatch a hasty meal, I'll break through my
regulations, and give you the evening hour."
"Thank you very much," said Kate, interrupting, with difficulty, the
flow of his eloquence, "but I do not want to take lessons; I wrote to
ask you to appoint a day and hour, when I might call on you--any hour
will suit me--then I will tell you the object of my visit."
"Call upon me!" repeated Hermann, with surprise, "well, well, I am
afraid I must not offer to save you that trouble, for I am in such
request just at present. Ah, if you would not mind calling so early as
twelve o'clock, I generally snatch a hasty lunch, at that hour. If I am
not at home when you come, my daughter will endeavour to entertain you
until my return, and now I must run away."
"But what day, Mr. Herman?" cried Kate, anxiously.
"Oh, the day after to-morrow, I shall have a little more time;
infinitely pleased to have met you, dear lady, and to perceive you have
the same appearance of good health as----. Hey! ho!" shouted the good
natured musico, rushing breathlessly after an omnibus, into which an
active conductor, rapidly crammed him, and he was swept off.
This little adventure quite excited Kate, and although capable of
exerting great self-command, her temperament was too finely organised,
not to be both nervous and sensitive; so the arm she passed through
nurse's was not the steadiest, as they turned to leave the shop.
"Och, what makes ye thrimble so, agra?"
"Do I tremble, nurse? I suppose it must be the surprise of meeting Mr.
Herman; how fortunate? I accept it as a good omen!"
"Faith, he's mighty like a pear--so big at one end, an' small at the
other. Sure he's like the side iv a house round the shoulders, an' his
two little feet u'd stand in a tay cup, an' what wide throwsers he has!"
"Do you not remember him when we were at Lady Desmond's three years
ago?"
"Och now, was that the Garman that used to be tachin ye the piania?"
Kate nodded.
"Och then, my gracious, but he's grawn very fat."
Miss Vernon was too much engrossed by her own reflections on the
probable result of this rencontre, to encourage nurse's garrulity, till
the beauty of the magnificent old trees in Kensington, drew her from
her thoughts, and she pointed her companion's attention to the long
alleys, with their graceful leafy arches, that stretch along each side
of the broad walk from the Bayswater entrance.
And deeply did Mrs. O'Toole enjoy the confidential chat in which her
idolized nurseling indulged her, especially the perspective of an
evening party.
"Sure it's taydious to be always alone with an ould gintleman like the
master. God bless him any how, though faith it's himself is the height
of good company."
"I never tire of him, nurse."
"No, in coorse not; but, Miss Kate, jewel, ye'll be lavin him some day,
with some grand lord, ye'll see at thim parties."
"I do not fancy lords are so very plentiful at the Bayswater
_soirées_," replied Kate, laughing at nurse's simplicity.
"A then, ye'll never see wan that's grander or pleasanter, nor the
Captin; I niver tuck to any one as I tuck to him; to see the illigant
bould step iv him, an the bright face iv him, an' he as tindher
hearted as an infant. Och sure, Miss Kate, there's some fairy gift
about a rale gentleman! Jist hear wan say, 'how are ye,' an ye feel the
better iv it, as if he was in airnest, an plaised to see ye. But wan iv
thim squireens! faith it's like rubbin the coat iv a cat the wrong way,
to hear wan iv thim sthrivin to spake civil!"
"Very true nurse, there is some mysterious charm about good manner,
but it must spring from the heart, and I believe when all are true
christians, all will be real gentlemen."
"Athin, is it sarious ye are, Miss Kate?"
After a little more conversation, they returned to the Colonel, whom
they found awake, but still reclining with an air of lassitude, in
the arm chair. Kate at once, and with much animation, commenced an
account of her meeting with Herman, but the indifference with which her
grandfather received the intelligence, so important in her estimation,
checked her ardour, and seemed to throw her back on herself; it is
indeed wonderful the effect which sympathy or no sympathy produces.
The Colonel's coldness did not alter the fact of the lucky rencontre,
or of Herman's kindness of manner, and yet it seemed to dissolve her
air castles, about numerous pupils, friendly associates, and a happy
busy life of useful occupation, not unmingled with amusement, into a
chilling mist, as night winds condense the vapours, which have been
spread by the sun's heat.
"Well let us have tea my dear, what book did you get?"
"'The Knight of Gwynne,' grandpapa."
"Ah, I suppose that is meant for my old friend, Maurice Fitzgerald, it
will remind me forcibly of days I had better forget."
"I hope it will amuse you," said poor Kate, the tears springing to her
eyes, at such unwonted depression and contrariety, on her grandfather's
part.
Tea over; and the remaining day-light of a summer's evening--which, in
town, has anything but a cheering effect--shut out, Miss Vernon lit the
candles, and, after a diligent search, unearthed a small and rather
delapidated footstool, from beneath the sofa, which she placed under
the Colonel's feet, endeavouring, with unwearied sweetness, to cheer
him, and draw him from himself, and his position, till, at length, he
gave the wished-for command--
"Read some of that book for me, my dear."
"Yes, dearest grandpapa; and as poor nurse is all alone, among
strangers, may I ask her to bring in her work, and listen too?"
"Certainly--certainly."
This was quickly done; and Kate's object, to provide amusement for
the Colonel, fulfilled, as nurse's shrewd remarks on whatever subject
was brought before her, were sure to interest and amuse her indulgent
master.
He leaned back his head, and closed his eyes, as if but half inclined
to listen; soon, however, the varied modulations of Kate's musical,
intellectual voice, and the sound of familiar names, fixed his
attention, and transported him, in imagination, to other scenes and
other times; and, at length, fully drawn from the contemplation of
the present, it was with something of his old brightness of eyes, and
lightness of step, that the Colonel retired for the night.
"Well, Nelly, those were pleasant times, and right good fellows. I
think Lever has hit off some of them capitally; yet I could give him a
few hints, hey? Kate, good night, my love--I will take a walk with you
to-morrow."
And Kate laid her head on her pillow, blessing Lever for having
effected by his light-hearted, familiar style, what no writer,
however profound, or grand, pathetic, or even religious, would in all
probability have accomplished.