AN ADVENTURE AND A SURPRISE.
Autumn was now rapidly merging into winter, the unbroken routine of
Kate's life only lent swifter wings to time, for events like marked
distances serve often but to show our tardy progress. Sometimes
Langley would look in for half an hour's chat, and Galliard still more
rarely; but though formerly so fond of society, their visits seemed
now more than the Colonel wished for, or was equal to; and although
she never permitted the dreadful thought to dwell on her mind, yet the
consciousness that he was unusually silent, and averse to move, that
his cheek had lost its firm, round, ruddy look; and that he often sent
his dinner away untouched, would seize her, with a sense of anguish.
Nurse, with love's quick perception, always stoutly denied that any
thing ailed him.
"It 'ill do nayther iv thim any good to be thinkin that a way," she
would say to herself. "Miss Kate the crayther, has enough to put up
with, an' as to me poor darlin' masther, it 'ud take a better cordial
than iver kem out iv a 'poticary's shop to do him any good."
These apprehensions about her grandfather were weighing heavily on
Kate's heart. One humid, gloomy afternoon she was returning home after
giving some music lessons, escorted, as usual, by her faithful Cormac;
as she hurriedly crossed the road, (for it was late), at Kensington
Gore, to enter the gardens by the gate near the ancient and diminutive
barrack, usually occupied by a small party of Light Dragoons, two
gentlemen stopped opposite to it. One a large, heavy, man, mounted on
a splendid, dark chesnut horse, whose broad chest and clean, strong
muscular limbs showed him to be a weight carrier; the rider's back
was to the gardens, and his eyes fell on Kate and her companion, as
she came up; the other, about middle height, slight, distinguished
looking, but simply dressed, stood on the footway leaning his right
arm on the neck of his friend's horse, and occasionally waving his
left hand as if to enforce his words; the peculiar turn of this last
described individual's head, and the careless arrangement of his wavy
hair reminded Kate of Egerton, or rather stamped him as belonging to
Egerton's class; for one of the indications of gentlemanlike appearance
is the turn of the head and the manner of wearing the hat.
"By George! what a splendid dog!" exclaimed the equestrian,
interrupting his companion, who turning slowly round, caught a glimpse
of Kate, as she passed; her color heightened by her rapid walk, and
Cormac, as usual, keeping close to her side. A new keeper was standing
at the gate, as she was about to enter, and said, civilly, though
authoritatively--
"No dogs admitted, ma'am."
"But he always accompanies me," said Kate, "and never frightens any
one, not even the birds, the last keeper never objected to his coming
through."
"But my orders are strict; and he is such a large dog."
"Well, I really cannot go back again," continued Miss Vernon, smiling,
and shaking her head. "I saw a lady go in just before me, with a dog."
"Yes, but she had a string to him."
"Oh, I can soon manage that," cried Kate, fastening one end of her
handkerchief to Cormac's collar. "Now may I go through?"
The man smiled, and made way for her.
While stooping, to fasten the handkerchief, the gentleman we have
above described, as leaning across the neck of his friend's horse,
walked past, glancing at Kate, quickly and keenly; she did not observe
him, but turning up the broad walk proceeded towards home, lost in a
wandering maze of sweet and bitter thought. As she approached the water
near the Palace, she paused a moment to notice a peripatetic duck of
large dimensions, and brilliant plumage, for whom she generally carried
a bit of bread or biscuit, and who made long marches in quest of
dainties, that might possibly be missed by adhering closely to his more
natural element. Cormac sat down gravely, while his mistress addressed
a few words of apology to her feathered pensioner.
"No bread or biscuit to-day, poor duck, but I will not forget you
to-morrow."
And she stood looking at the creature, as it waddled awkwardly round
and round her, quite regardless of the dog. At that moment the
gentleman before mentioned came up beside her, and slightly raising
his hat, said, politely and easily--
"How is it that you are alone?"
Kate turned quickly, and met a piercing gaze from a pair of deep
set, but stern looking black eyes. She was naturally courageous, and
the idea of any one intentionally insulting her never occurred to
her mind; the stranger's tone too, was perfectly well-bred, and his
words, such as might be addressed to some familiar acquaintance; so,
without hesitation, or the slightest apprehension or embarrassment, and
meeting his bold glance steadily, she replied, calmly, with a slight
inclination of the head--
"You mistake me, I do not know you," and moved on towards home. To her
surprise, however, the stranger kept by her side, and after a moment's
silence, apparently somewhat surprised at her composure, he resumed,
softening still more a very musical and refined voice--
"You are both right and wrong; I do not mistake you for any other
person, but I am unfortunately unacquainted with you, and unless I take
a bold step, such as I have now done, may remain so; therefore, pray
forgive me."
Kate walked on in silence, her heart throbbing with indignation; to be
addressed by a stranger, and one too, apparently, of her own rank in
life; one whom, under different circumstances, would, perhaps, have
been presented by some smiling or dignified hostess. These thoughts
flashed liked lightning through her brain, and left no room for fear,
as she kept a resolute silence. After another short pause, the stranger
again turning his cold, sallow, but intellectual countenance towards
hers resumed--
"It is absurd your persevering in this unbroken silence; I generally
carry out my resolves; and to exchange a few sentences with a person
not formally introduced to you, cannot possibly be an injury; speak, I
entreat you, give me but the slightest clue to your name and position,
and I will speedily contrive the necessary introduction--will not that
satisfy you?" he added, in a slightly sarcastic tone, and suddenly
placing himself in her way: she stopped, and keeping still silent, for
a moment more, to collect her thoughts, and get the fiery indignation
that swelled her heart under controul.
"Sir," said she, deliberately, and with a determination of tone and
manner that surprised him, "unless your appearance sadly belies you,
you should be too much a gentleman not to feel by instinct that I
am a lady; your excuses for your presumptuous insolence only adds
to it, but," she continued, with a curl of the lip, and a flash
of indignant contempt from her dark grey eyes, that deepened them
to blue, "I laugh at your attempt to stop me! Here, Cormac," to
the hound, who had already uttered one or two ominous growls, she
untied the handkerchief; "watch him, good dog, and if he stirs--" she
stopped, and looking once more full in the stranger's face, turned
suddenly, so as to place the hound between them, and walked lightly
away, yet not too fast. The stranger, thus left planted, bit his lip,
then laughing slightly, attempted to pass the dog, who, in heraldic
attitude 'couchant,' kept his fierce eyes fixed on his charge, at whose
slightest movement he displayed his sharp, white fangs.
"Pshaw! what a mistake, to address such a girl, _sans ceremonie_; what
an awkward predicament! It would be absurd to enter into a contest with
such a brute, unarmed, for nothing," muttered Kate's admirer, who did
not look like a man deficient in courage. "Here, good dog, I say," and
he again attempted to pass, but Cormac sprang to his feet with a savage
growl, and again the haughty looking 'elegant' was baffled.
Meantime Kate's slight figure disappeared in the distance, and, a
moment after, Cormac pricking his ears at some sound, unheard by his
opponent, with a final growl, darted at full speed down the walk by
which his mistress had vanished. She was waiting a few paces beyond
the gate, where she had, to the best of her ability, uttered the
whistle, which had recalled her faithful guardian; and now hurrying her
pace almost to a run, they speedily reached home, but not before the
persevering stranger had caught sight of the flutter of her dress, as
she turned the corner of Victoria Gardens.
"How late you are, my child! you seem flushed and breathless."
"Yes, dear grandpapa, I was detained at Mrs. Potter's, and of course
that made me late with my other pupils; then I walked so fast; but I
will run up stairs and take off my bonnet."
"Oh, nurse!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into Mrs. O'Toole's arms,
"I have had such a fright--no, not a fright, but I am so indignant to
think that he should dare to--"
"Och, what is it, good or bad? take breath, asthore!"
And Kate, with many charges not to tell her grandfather, recounted her
adventure to nurse.
"Och, bad manners to him," exclaimed that sympathising confidante.
"The rale divil he was to go spake that away to a lady like you; bad
luck to his impidence; did he think ye'd thank him for wantin' to know
ye? I wish I come across him, faith I'd make his hair stand on ind,
the schamin' vagabone. But why are ye cryin', avick, about a thief
iv a pickpocket? I'll go bail it's yer purse he wanted; sure a rale
gintleman ud know betther!"
"I can't help it, nurse! they are the bitterest tears I ever shed, not
on account of that wretched man, but to think that such a thing ever
occurred, and may occur again."
"Sorra bit iv it, I'll go wid ye me own self ivery day to Potter's an'
the other place, an' let me see if me gintleman dare say pays to ye!
Whist! och, jewel, there's the masther callin--dhry yer eyes."
For several days the faithful Nelly escorted her young mistress in her
walks, but the adventurous stranger never appeared; and, by degrees,
Kate began to look upon her fright and indignation as an unpleasant but
unreal phantom.
One evening Kate had yielded to the entreaties of Mrs. Storey and her
juvenile olive branches, to join a birth-day merry-making, in honor
of the son and heir having attained his eighth year; and for once she
left her grandfather to read alone. Nurse, of course, guarded her
during her short transit between their abode and that of her host's,
and having carefully removed her nursling's shawl and bonnet, plodded
slowly homeward, to make the 'masther's tay,' for the birth-day fête
began at half-past six; thinking sadly enough of the past, and of her
dear master's sinking strength and spirits, she turned into the little
street or terrace in which they lived.
"Pray," said a very languid, gentlemanlike voice, close beside her.
"Pray, do you not live at No. -- down here?"
"May be I do, may be I don't," replied Mrs. O'Toole, eyeing the speaker
sharply, and with, what she considered, consummate caution.
"Well," returned her interrogator, whom, it is needless to say, was the
same individual whose insolence had so annoyed Kate, and whose really
elegant appearance would have enlisted her in his favour, but for her
prepossessions against him; "I presume you know your own residence;
at all events I shall feel obliged to you if you will let me know the
name of the young lady, whom you sometimes escort through Kensington
Gardens? Of course, as the utterance of it will cause considerable wear
and tear of your lungs, accept this remuneration."
"What is it ye want with her name?" asked Mrs. O'Toole.
"That cannot possibly concern you; tell it to me, and take this."
"Keep yer money," replied Mrs. O'Toole, with supreme disdain, "divil
another word, good nor bad, will ye get from me, till ye tell me what
ye want her name for."
"Ah," said the gentleman, musingly, "you seem so respectable a person,
I have no objection to tell you, that having unfortunately offended
the lady, by speaking to her in the Gardens, I am anxious this apology
should reach her hand," and he showed a note he held, "will you be the
bearer of it?" he continued, insinuatingly.
"I'll tell ye what it is," returned nurse, firing up in spite of her
determination to be cool and cautious, "I'll bear nayther yer notes nor
yer impidince; I'd like to see the man, woman, or child that daur be
carryin' notes for ye to Miss-- No matther," she continued, hastily
checking herself, "it's not the likes iv ye, an oudacious chap, that
daured to spake to yer betthers, widout, 'by yer lave or wid yer lave,'
she'd so much as look at. Faith, if I see a sign iv ye about the place,
to frighten me darlint, I'll just give ye up to the polis; I'll go bail
it's the spoons ye'r more used to be lookin' afther than the ladies,
though ye have a good coat on yer back, an' look as if it wasn't a
stranger to ye."
"My good woman," said the object of this tirade, with a half-surprised,
half-amused air, as Mrs O'Toole paused for breath, "You are the most
impracticable person I ever met; I do not understand you."
"Well then, I'll spake plain enough for ye. If ye were a gintleman,
ye'd niver have gone to spake to me darlin' young lady, in the way ye
did, the other day--ye'd have known yer own sort, an' the differ betune
a bit iv a dressmaker, and a raale lady; an' ye may look as fine, an'
as proud as ye like, but I'll see ye yet, gettin' up stairs to the
tune of Turn the Mill--so good-by te ye, an' ye may put yer note in
the fire; but if I see ye about here, be this book," kissing her hand,
"I'll give ye up to the polis, for a suspicious _characther_, that
has his eye on the plate!" And off walked Mrs. O'Toole, glowing with
triumph and honest indignation.
The stranger muttered something very like a curse; then, laughing
slightly, he said, half aloud, as if in the habit of speaking his
thoughts--
"The most extraordinary specimen of indignant virtue I ever
encountered--why, she is as incorruptible as the hound, and just as
fierce. So adieu, _ma belle_," tearing the note. "A Houri would not be
worth the trouble such guardianship entails; besides the ridicule of
appearing to the charges her eloquent duenna threatens." He thought
a moment, turned, and walked slowly back to the main road, where a
plainly appointed cab, with a horse of great beauty and value, and an
irreproachable tiger awaited him.
Kate thought nurse's movements unusually rapid, as they returned from
Mrs. Storey's, but that considerate personage said not a syllable of
her interview with the unknown, until that most confidential moment,
when the stiffness of drawing-room manner and costume is exchanged for
a _robe de chambre_, and Kate's long rich, brown tresses were submitted
to Mrs. O'Toole, and the brush.
"Sure, that dark browed divil was spyin' about whin I kem back fum
Storey's."
"What that dreadful man? who spoke?"
"Yes, agra, an', Miss Kate, fur all I tould him, I thought him a
pick-pocket--faith, I believe he's a gran' gintleman; I know be the
look iv him; see now, if he is'nt a lord, I never seen one, an' they
were as thick as parsley at Dungar. I was frightened to have the likes
iv him ramblin' about here, so I jist spoke up bould, an' pretended to
think he was a pick-pocket or the like, an' threatened him wid the
polis, an' I think I settled him any how."
"I have no doubt you acted quite right, dearest nurse, and I should
like to have heard you giving him 'his tag,' as you would term it; but
surely he will never take the trouble to come here again. I thought
it was only a passing impertinence--perhaps he was really sorry, and
wished to apologise--let us give him 'the benefit of a doubt;'" and so
they dismissed the subject, which slumbered for many months before--but
we must not anticipate.
Not many days after this break in the routine of their lives, as Kate
and the Colonel were one evening talking by the fire-light, of A----,
and the Winters--the sound of approaching wheels, broke the stillness,
which generally settled over Victoria-gardens, at the close of day. The
sound drew nearer, and suddenly ceased at their house.
"Some mistake," said Miss Vernon, as both she and her grandfather
paused in their conversation, to listen to that vague watchfulness, so
often felt by those whose hearts are full of the future, because the
present is sad; then the garden-gate creaked on its hinges, and heavy
steps approached rapidly, the bell was rung loudly, and though she
could not tell why, Kate's heart beat more quickly, as she listened
for the next sounds, for each movement, is clearly audible through the
slight walls of a modern built house in the outlets of London. The
door was opened, and a husky whispering ensued, to which the servant's
voice replied--"Yes, Mr. Vernon's at home;" and in another moment Mrs.
O'Toole's hearty tones were heard in joyous welcome.
"Athen, is it yerself that's in it? Masha, but it's the masther, an'
Miss Kate, will be proud to see ye. Walk in, ma'am--I'll settle the
cabman." Then the parlour-door was thrown wide open, and in walked
Mrs. Winter, in a large, plaid cloak--followed by a mass of coats and
comforters, over which twinkled joyously, the artist's little bead-like
eyes.
Then came the joyous confusion of question and answer, and wonder and
welcome; and Kate felt a sudden accession of life and strength.
"But to what do we owe this happy surprise?" she reiterated, as she
knelt at Mrs. Winter's feet, to change her boots, for a pair of warm
slippers.
"Indeed, my dear, it is one of Winter's fits; he would not let me
write, nor write himself--he said we might disappoint you, and
ourselves."
"Yes," broke in Winter, disencumbering himself of his numerous
wrappings, "I knew you--you would have been killing the fatted calf,
and roasting turkeys, and all sorts of things; and we should have been
late, and teased you with expectation, so I said, leave your pen
alone, Sue, and here we are; stopped at the first house with "furnished
apartments," on it, engaged them--then all right, ready for a dish
of tea, and chat; and then turn in--close here--Albert-place. Why,
Colonel, you do not look as if London agreed with you, but you _bella
miâ_, you look quite yourself."
"But what has induced you to visit the great Babylon?" said the
Colonel, when the first hubbub of welcome was over, and they were
assembled round the tea-table.
"We are going on the continent," said Mrs. Winter, with some importance.
"Is it possible?" cried Kate.
"You do not speak seriously?" said the Colonel.
"Why not? I've got a cold, and I've no idea of remaining to be cut off,
like poor Gilpin, by the east winds," returned Winter.
"Is that your only reason?" asked Kate.
"Why not exactly; but A---- has become such a desert, now that you and
Gilpin are gone; life is not worth having there."
"I do not like the idea of having the sea between us," said the Colonel.
"Nor I," added his grand-daughter,
"Nor I; but we will not be long away, and I intend to paint, while
abroad, such a picture, as will make the Royal Academicians die of
envy," said Winter.
"And," added Mrs. Winter, "we have let our house very advantageously to
a cousin of Canon Jones's, who commands the new regiment."
"But you will not run away too soon?" asked Kate.
"No, we shall remain three or four weeks in London."
"I am rejoiced to hear it," said the Colonel.
"Oh, delightful," cried Kate.
"We will talk over our plans to-morrow," said Winter, to-night, let us
hear of your own proceedings. How do you like my friend Langley?"
"Oh, I like him very much," returned Kate, "I am sure there is much
good in him, though he won't show it, and seems so cold and cautious
even with himself, that I dare not take it upon myself to say he will
be glad to see even you."
"Well, I can tell you he writes enthusiastically of you," replied
Winter.
"_Non e possibile!_"
And so the conversation flowed on in a thousand interrogative channels,
all indicative of the same warm and friendly interest, which, still
unabated, linked the _quartette_. Oh, how much more closely than the
ties of blood.
Winter, in obedience to a warning glance from Kate, reserved his
questionings, as to her success in teaching, for a _tête-à-tête_,
and his good little wife followed his example on this, as on all
other subjects. The poor organist's deathbed was re-described, and
the "grand following," as Mrs. O'Toole would term it, that graced
his funeral, discussed, and, in spite of the, to them, unaccustomed
fatigue of a journey, the interchange of intelligence was prolonged to
a late hour for travellers, and when they parted for the night, Kate
felt her own hopeful joyous self again; to think that such true and
tried friends were near, that she should meet them in the morning, and
once more be able to pour out the fears and anxieties which no want
of confidence in her grandfather, but a tenderness of affection too
considerate to grieve him, kept pent up within her own bosom, till
their weight oppressed her. Once more she would take counsel of that
clear, strong, warm-heart, which no self-interest, no conventional
falsity clouded or obscured. "And though their stay is but short," was
her concluding thought, as sleep closed her snowy lids, with its downy
weight, "thank God they _are_ come, I will enjoy their presence, and
not think of the sorrow of parting, until it comes."
But a young spirit must be somewhat initiated in grief, before it can
attain this philosophy, if it ever can be attained, for however the
heart may purpose to enjoy the present, and disregard the future,
there is still something of omnipresence in its nature, that gives an
actuality to anticipated joy or sorrow, it cannot wile away.
The period of the Winters' stay in London was one of great enjoyment
to Kate, for though what is termed the dead season, there were quite
enough of pictures to be seen and concerts to be heard to employ the
mornings, and sometimes the evenings, most agreeably, and until their
arrival, Kate had seen nothing of the Great Metropolis.
It seemed as if the advent of the warm-hearted, practical little artist
had broken the sad depressing spell which had been gathering closer
and closer round her spirit since she had left A----. Winter was a
stout and active pedestrian, and leaning on his arm, Kate bade defiance
to the most persevering and mysterious stranger that ever crossed
heroine's path. The Colonel too was wonderfully revived by the presence
of his kind and valued friends, and, strange to say, even Cormac, who
when left at A---- was too savage to be approached by his temporary
keeper, was most sociable and condescending with him in London.
One morning, Mr. Langley called, and after sitting in a sort of
preoccupied silence for some time, with some hesitation and much
awkwardness, suggested that he wished to invite his friend Winter and
his wife to dinner, and as the Colonel and Miss Vernon were so fond of
their society, perhaps they would consent to encounter the discomfort
of a bachelor's _ménage_ and meet them.
The Colonel and Kate assented most graciously, and the party,
reinforced by Galliard and Mr. and Mrs. Story, met the next day at
what Winter termed "grub hour."
Contrary to her expectations Kate spent a most agreeable day; Langley,
like many shy persons, shone in his own house, Winter was most
amusingly argumentative, Galliard witty, and the Colonel cheerful
and urbane as usual; while Mrs. Storey's repeated apologies for the
irregularities of a bachelor's _ménage_, and Mr. Winter's reiterated
assurances that every thing was in admirable order, kept up an under
current of polite common-place, that amused Kate exceedingly, by its
contrast to the prevailing tone of the conversation.
"You have visited the British Museum?" enquired Galliard.
"Only, once," said Kate, "and that hurriedly, I long to go again."
"There is a great lot of trash there," observed Winter.
"What treason," returned Galliard, "it has all cost money, and John
Bull is content."
"Of course," said Langley, "you will have your sneer at John Bull."
"Why not? I am, you know, half English."
"Come, Mr. Langley," said Kate, "the English you will admit, are not
very sparing of their neighbours."
"They do not make much allowance for any peculiarities, except their
own, certainly," remarked Colonel Vernon.
"You are in such a decided minority, you Celts, you had better hold
your tongues," cried Winter.
"But what is it you call trash, at the British Museum?" asked Kate.
"Oh, the mummies, and the wigs, and all that; such an _embarras_ of
mummies can hardly be conceived!" said Winter.
"I wish we could bring the Gheber mode of disposing of the dead into
fashion again; I shall certainly leave a clause in my will that my body
shall be burned," observed Galliard.
"Law, Mr. Galliard, what an idea," said Mrs. Storey.
"Why not? my dear madam."
"I always liked Zoroaster and the fire worshippers," said Kate, "their
system appears to me the least degrading of all ancient religions."
"Humph! Miss Vernon used to insist that the round towers of Ireland
were built by the Western Ghebers," remarked Winter.
"It is quite possible!" responded Galliard.
"Any thing so far beyond our historical period may be possible,"
observed Langley.
"Ah," said Galliard, "you consider them anterior to the Celtic
invasions, Miss Vernon?"
"The author, whose writings on the subject I have read, thought so,"
replied Kate.
"Galliard's strong point is Celtic antiquity," said their host.
"It is a subject full of profound and melancholy interest," he replied.
"Why melancholy?" asked Winter.
"Because," rejoined Galliard, "of the contrast between their past and
present."
"The strongest proof they were an inferior race," said Langley,
"otherwise they would not have given way so rapidly before the Saxons."
"A thoroughly English observation," cried Galliard. "You are poor and
powerless, therefore you deserve to be so."
"That's not a fair commentary," said Langley.
"There are two causes, which, to a reflective mind, sufficiently
explain, the deterioration of the Celtic race, morally and physically,"
observed Galliard, thoughtfully.
"And they are?" asked Kate.
"Their quick fancy, and unselfish nature."
"How do you make that out?" said Winter.
"First, the Saxon sees distinctly but one end or object, to the
attainment of which his every faculty is devoted. The Celt's livelier
imagination presents him with half a dozen, at all of which he grasps
with equal eagerness, and thus his powers are divided and dispersed.
Secondly, a Saxon's first thought is of himself, and in this he is
consistent; while, owing to the peculiarity of fallen humanity, the
Celt's self-forgetfulness is inconsistent; thus, place a Saxon where
you will, he possesses in himself a nucleus round which all his
energies, hopes, and projects centre; and having a centre, stands.
While the Celt works one day for himself, the next for a friend, the
next to spite an enemy, the next to do him a service, and so he is,
finally, nowhere. Your Saxon will have no objection to do all this in
a lump, if it does not interfere with his own interests," and Galliard
leaned back and took snuff.
"So," said Colonel Vernon, "our greatest errors spring from our noblest
qualities!"
"The noblest qualities of mankind! It is man's fate!" returned
Galliard.
"You argue ingeniously; but--" said Langley.
"But truly," interrupted Galliard. "What was it chained the French
nation to Napoleon? Imagination! What enabled Bruce to conquer Edward
at Bannockburn? Imagination! What rivets the heart of the Irish peasant
to the flattering demagogue, or arms his hand against his landlord?
Imagination!"
"And the want of a Cogitative nose," put in Winter.
"There's an upset for you, mounseer," said Mr. Storey.
"Really," said Mrs. Storey, "I think, Mrs. Winter, we had better leave
the gentlemen to fight it out."
They all rose.
"And," continued Galliard, as he opened the door, "though the want of
imagination may render the Saxon successful, its presence always makes
the Celt beloved."
"You are right," said Miss Vernon, as she passed him, with a bow.
But pleasant intervals soon come to an end, and the last week of Mr.
and Mrs. Winter's intended stay approached. Before it arrived, however,
Miss Herman paid Kate a visit, and introduced her to some additional
pupils, with whom, however, she agreed not to begin her lessons until
after her friends' departure.
"I cannot bear to think of losing you," said Kate, one cold, sharp
evening, Winter had walked to meet her, on her way back from Brompton.
"Do pray put off your departure till after Christmas, I have so dreaded
Christmas, alone in London, and you have nothing to hurry you away."
"Hum, let me see; I have already delayed a fortnight longer than I
intended, another week will not make much difference. Ha, you little
witch, I cannot say you nay; but after that not an hour."
"Ten thousand, thousand thanks, dear, kind friend; you have made me so
happy."
"Now we are _tête-à-tête_, tell me how affairs go on; any news of the
lawsuit?"
"Why yes, grandpapa gets frequent letters from Mr. Moore, who, it
seems, is always filing bills, and making motions, very slow ones, I
fear, for they never seem to produce any result."
Winter groaned.
"And yourselves? how is--how is--you know I am a bear--how is the
purse?"
Marvellously, considering how fast your hundred went; but nurse has
got quite into the London ways, and quite saves us a fortune now; and
my pupils, and the new ones! Oh, we shall do very well--if--if dear
grandpapa only could look like his own old self."
"Well, I have thirty pounds of his I must not run away with. Have you
Lady Desmond's cheque?"
"Yes, quite safe."
"Well, be sure you keep it; sickness may come, a thousand things. How
is your lady cousin?"
"Quite well; always, in her letters, talking of coming home, and never
coming."
"Just as I expected."
"And you are bent on wintering at Pau?"
"Yes, and in the spring we intend crossing the Pyrenees; I long to see
more of Spain; but, Kate, if you want me really, if, in short, illness
should--that is, should the time ever come, you might want a home, Sue
and myself look upon you as a daughter, write to me, at once, wherever
I may be."
"Good God! Mr. Winter, do you think grandpapa so ill? do you
anticipate--"
"Dear child, no, a thousand times no; but at parting I should like you
to feel that it is only distance that can separate us, and that at
any, and every time, I shall feel as a father towards you, and a proud
father!"
"My dear, dear friend! surely God has been very gracious to me; I will
not try to thank you in words, they sound so cold!"
They walked on in silence, which Winter broke, by exclaiming abruptly.
"That letter of nurse's son was most characteristic! There is some good
stuff in the writer."
Then, after another pause, as if he had expected some remark from Kate.
"It is odd Egerton should send it without a line; I cannot make it
out; only that letters seldom miscarry, I should say he had written a
despatch himself, independent of the other; but pooh, that is highly
improbable. Has Mrs. O'Toole replied to her son's epistle?"
"Yes, that is I acted as her secretary, last week; when do you think
the letter will reach Dennis?"
"Oh, heaven knows, they are up the country, and, I fancy, not very
settled; perhaps in two or three months."
Kate sighed.
"Hey! Miss Vernon, what was that sigh for?"
"Oh, I was thinking of last Christmas, we were a very pleasant party,
though poor Captain, I mean Major Egerton, was so terribly in the
blues about leaving England; and now how different everything is! how
silently and gradually a great gulf has been opened between the past
and the present!"
"Well, well, it is melancholy enough, not to be either a pleasant or a
profitable subject of cogitation. Forward, forward, as your favourite,
Longfellow, says,
'Let the dead past, bury it's dead,
Act, act, in the living present,
Heart within, and God o'er head!'"
"A word in season, how good it is!" returned Miss Vernon, smiling
pensively.
"Well, here we are, I wonder what Mrs. Winter will say to your powers
of persuasion?"
"She will be delighted--she dreads the journey."
"Pooh, not she; as long as I am with her, she thinks all must go well."
"A pattern wife!" sighed Kate.
"Yes; no wife can be happy if she does not feel this. Ah, Kate, Kate, I
wish you had a good husband!"
"Like yourself! eh, Mr. Winter! but alas!"
"Now, no quizzing, if you please! I'm glad we are at the end of our
_trajet_, if you are going to laugh at me."
The gradually silent change in the Colonel's health and spirits,
which had escaped the every-day watchfulness of even Kate's tender
guardianship, struck Winter, whose perception was quickened by the, to
him, unshaded transition from light to gloom, caused by the cessation
of their daily intercourse, with grief and dismay; nor did he rest
until he had persuaded his venerated friend to accompany him to an
eminent physician, though the Colonel protested, he had not a single
symptom of which he could reasonably complain. The doctor felt his
pulse, looked at his tongue, and tried his lungs, asked a good many
questions, seemingly irrelevant, as to his spirits, &c., wrote a short
prescription, recommended horse exercise, took his fee, and bowed them
out. Winter looked dissatisfied; and as he handed the Colonel into the
cab, which was waiting for them, suddenly recollected he had forgotten
his snuff-box, he returned to the room, but in vain, for the bland
physician merely repeated--"Nothing physical, I assure you, sir--mental
depression--imaginative disorder."
"Have you found your box?" asked the Colonel, with a significant smile,
at least, to Winter's conscience it appeared so. The worthy artist
reddened, and replied, gruffly, in the affirmative.
Kate never before felt so profoundly sad, as the day the Winters
started for Dover. When she had parted from them at A----, there was
the bustle and excitement of the journey, and the expected arrival at a
new place, to divert her thoughts. Now she had full time to feel, how
much alone she was, how much dependent on her own judgment, her own
strength, her own efforts.
The travellers did not leave till after an early dinner, and the long,
desolate evening, its usual occupations broken in upon and deranged,
dragged its weary length slowly by, though the Colonel, by a brave
effort, seemed more cheerful than usual, and talked of Paris, and the
people he had known there, and of Bordeaux, and how the claret used
to be smuggled into the west of Ireland, of Hoche, and of the French
invasion. And Mrs. O'Toole brought in her work, and both endeavoured to
keep up their darling's heart.
She could only remember that it was the anniversary of Egerton's
departure for India, and that to-morrow she was to give an early lesson
to her new pupils.
"Good night, dearest grandpapa, and do not forget to take your bottle,
you coughed a great deal to-day."