_Kate and Royal_
The hearthstone of the Silverthorns was cold. Before it sat Kate,
with her throbbing head between her hands. Up and down the country
had been raging the conflicting armies. Her father, her grandfather,
Jack, Royal, had gone forth to battle, but not one had returned to her.
Where were they? She shivered, though the mild May evening brought
little chill in it. Her supper was forgotten. The day had passed like
a nightmare; and now at evening, with the triumphing Americans in
possession, she felt deserted, lonely, despairing. If but one of her
friends would come and bring her news; if but one would return to
comfort her! In a dull way she felt that she must not leave her post
lest she be needed. "But how foolish! how foolish!" she said aloud.
"They cannot come back into the enemy's country; it isn't their country
any more."
She aroused herself wearily, and went to the door. The peace of evening
was over the landscape. Bloody scenes of revenge and warfare seemed
far enough away, but the loveliness of the view only brought tears to
the girl's eyes, and she went inside again, sitting dejectedly down at
the table and resting her head upon her arms.
The daylight faded, and as darkness came on from out of the stillness
of the night some one stealthily approached, stood for a moment
listening, then pushed open the door. Kate, hearing the sound, sprang
to her feet and held out two trembling hands. "Royal!" she cried,
"Royal!" There was such longing and relief in her tones that he
gathered her to his heart without a question.
"My poor lonely darling, my poor little Kate! Why have you stayed here
by yourself? It was not safe, Kate." He laid her head against his
breast, and kissed her white forehead.
"But you?" she asked. "Is it safe for you?"
"Safe enough. It is quiet now."
"My father, and Jack, and grandfather--what of them?"
He was silent a moment before answering. "Jack and Major Silverthorn
are prisoners. Your father--" he paused again, and held her closer.
"Can you bear to hear it, dearest?"
"Yes, yes," she whispered, clinging to him.
"He was mortally wounded. We took him to a house not far from here. We
will lay him to rest in the morning."
Kate broke away from him and stretched out helpless hands. "Where is my
comfort?" she moaned. "I am all alone, all alone."
Royal took the cold hands in his. "Dearest Kate, I told your father I
would take care of you. You will let me, Kate?"
She gazed at him with wide unseeing eyes. "No, no!" She made a gesture
which sent him back a step, and her head moved painfully from side to
side.
To see her suffering was more than Royal could bear, and he came to her
side again and possessed himself of her hand. "Do you mean that you do
not love me, Kate?" he asked, in a low, troubled tone. She was silent,
but kept her face turned from him and covered by her free hand. "You
know, Kate dearest, you must know that I love you, that I have loved
you from the first. It does not seem a time to speak of it, but--I
thought to-night--when I came in, that you loved me, too. And you do
not, Kate?"
"I must not," she replied, still sobbing.
"It does not seem a time to speak of it," Royal repeated, "but your
father was so troubled for you, and I told him I would cherish you,
love you, care for you, if you would be my wife, Kate; and he was
glad, and told me to give you his blessing. If you do not love me,
Kate, I will not worry you again."
She turned her sad eyes upon him. "I must not," she repeated.
"You will tell me why? Why must you not? Have I a right to know?"
"Victorine," she said faintly. "It is to her you should tell your love."
"Victorine? I have told her of my love."
Kate looked at him wildly. Her mouth twitched, and she asked in a
hysterical gasp, "Then why? then why?" She turned from him and sat down
on the doorstep, sobbing again in a pitiful, helpless way.
Royal looked at her in a sort of wonder, then he sat down by her side.
"I have told her, Kate. I told her long ago. She is the only one who
knows about it; and she said she would love you, too, and if anything
happened to me, she promised that she would be to you as a sister. You
see--you know how things are at home; I could not tell them there, and
so I told Victorine. I have always gone to her with my secrets ever
since we were children together, and so it was natural that I should
give her my confidence. Do you care that I did? that she knew it before
I told you? Poor little heart, I should not disturb you with this; but
I did hope--I thought--your father thought, that perhaps I could bring
you a little comfort."
Then Kate turned to him with a sigh and laid her hand in his. "You do
comfort me, Royal. No one else could bring me a gleam of light in this
dark hour; no one but you."
"And you will let me carry out your father's wish? I will tell you,
my dearest: when he was wounded, and we found how serious it was, we
took him to one side, and after a little were able to bear him to a
farmhouse near by. His great concern was for you and Sue, and I felt
that I ought to tell him of my feeling for you, and that I thought
perhaps you might care a little; and he was pleased. He said he would
give you to me if you were willing, and he asked me to come at once and
tell you so. He wanted so to see you before he should go, but we knew
it would be too late by the time you could reach him, and it seemed
to comfort him to have me stay by his side to the last. He wished--he
asked that there should be no delay in our right to belong to each
other. He asked that I would take you for my wife before we gave him
our last farewell." He paused for Kate's answer, but she made none.
"I would have told you long ago," he went on; "but sometimes you were
so cold and seemed to shun me, and I felt that you did not want to
hear what I had to tell. I was afraid you did not care."
"I cared always," Kate spoke very quietly now, "but I thought I
understood that you were to marry Victorine, and it seemed a natural
arrangement--"
"Victorine? Why, I never thought of her as a wife; as a saint, an
angel, so pure and holy, but--" He shook his head. "As I told you, she
has always been my confidante, my counsellor. I have never spoken of
love to her, except of my love to you, and she has encouraged me and
urged me not to give you up; she has assured me that I might hope to
win you, has given me courage, and confidence, and hope, as a sweet
sister might do. She bade me tell you, if ever I did win your love,
that if you could consent to make me happy, that she would feel that
you conferred a happiness upon her, and that it would be for her
happiness as well as mine."
"She said that?"
"Yes. You believe it?"
"I believe you."
"And you will not send me away from you?"
"No. But can I go to him?" she asked wistfully.
"Yes. You must not stay here alone. We will go together. They are
expecting us. You will try to sleep to-night. You can be sure that it
is I who am watching."
They walked away into the spring night, following a beaten path across
fields till a white farmhouse gleamed out of the dim green, and into
this they passed, Kate's joy swallowed up in her great grief.
It was a solemn little company that stood in the presence of death
to witness the entering upon a new life of Royal and Kate; and the
clergyman who united the two turned from the marriage service to that
for the burial of the dead. Friend and foe alike stood by the grave to
do honor to the soldier, Robert Silverthorn.
It was General Porter himself who offered Royal his hand when giving
him his parole, though shaking his head and saying, "I didn't expect to
see the son of my friend Walter Reyburn in this plight." Yet he wished
him happiness, and told him he was fortunate in winning such a bride.
It was afternoon of the same day that Royal and Kate, sitting in front
of the Silverthorns' house, saw two figures ride up, and descried
Victor and Marianne to be the riders. Marianne was off her horse in a
twinkling. "Royal is here!" she cried. "We have been so anxious about
him. Why didn't you come and report your safety, you bad child?"
Her brother looked at Kate. "I had other things to do." He took Kate's
hand in his. "This is my wife, Marianne. Come and give her a sisterly
greeting."
Marianne stood stock still in astonishment for a second, then she ran
forward and clasped Kate in her arms. "Dear Kate, I am so glad." She
held her off at arm's length. "Tell me all about it. I think you were
very, very unkind not to ask me to be present, and not to let me know
long ago that you meant to marry my brother. But you look so sad. What
has happened?"
Kate's eyes filled, and Marianne looked at her brother for explanation.
"Kate is fatherless," he said, in a low tone.
Instantly Marianne's arms were again about the girl. "Dear Kate, dear
Kate. Ah, how sad! I see; that is why you married so quietly. You must
let us comfort you, for now you have our father and mother for yours."
She paused, for she wondered if this step of Royal's would further
estrange his father. "I came over on purpose to have you go back with
me. Sue and mother are both at grandmother's. Sue would have come with
me, but I was ready to start off as soon as she arrived, and so we
thought it best not to wait. And now that we have Royal safe, it will
make the meeting of the family that much more complete."
At this moment Victor, who had been tying the horses, came up, and
Marianne pounced upon him, crying: "Victor, what do you think? They are
married, these two. Is it not a surprise, and with Sue at the house,
is it not fortunate?" Then she remembered the sad news of which Sue had
yet to be told, and she was silent. Royal beckoned Victor aside, and
Marianne sat down by Kate to hear all that she had to tell.
An hour or two later the expectant company at Madame Desvouges's were
startled by Marianne's announcement: "Here we are, mother. Royal we
have found, and Kate, too; and what do you think? It is no more Kate
Silverthorn, but Kate Reyburn. She is Royal's wife."
But Kate had flown to Sue, and was clasped in her sister's arms.
"Sue, Sue," sobbed she, "he is gone from us forever; our dear father
we shall never see more on earth. And, oh, Sue, it is all so sad! my
wedding-day, and such a grief to carry!" The two sisters did not hear
nor heed the consternation which Marianne's announcement had made.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Madame Desvouges. "Ungrateful boy, do not come here
with a wife. A wife, indeed! And what right have you to take a wife
without your parents' consent? I will not have it. Victorine, where are
you? Do you hear, Victorine? The ungrateful has a wife. Ah, I am an old
woman to be thus ignored, set aside. He should have consulted me, me;
and I would have told him the impossibility of it. No, no, take her
away. I will not welcome her. Where is my daughter? Take me to my room."
Victorine, as pale as a ghost, stepped between the uplifted hands that
would seem to drive away Royal. There was the smile of a martyr upon
the girl's face as she held out both hands to the young man. "Bring
your wife to me, Royal," she said, "that I may wish her the joy she
deserves, and that I may share her sorrow. I am glad, glad of your
happiness; I have prayed for it night and day." Royal stooped to kiss
her, and with a little quivering indrawing of her breath she turned her
cheek to him and received his caress silently. Then she sought Kate,
sitting with Sue in one corner, and after giving her gentle words of
greeting and of sympathy, Victorine slipped from the room, and they saw
her no more.
Marianne followed her mother, who had led the tottering steps of the
old lady from the room. "You will be good to Kate, even if grand'mère
is not," Marianne urged. "Think, mother, her father died but yesterday;
and what a sad wedding-day for her! We should not make it more sad.
And Royal has long loved her, and you know yourself how dear and
lovely a girl she is. If you will give her a loving welcome, it will
make both of your children happy after this long parting." And though
Mrs. Reyburn's own disappointment was great, she had the wisdom to see
that the fault was neither Royal's nor Kate's, but that it lay within
themselves, who had set their hearts upon a thing that could not be
brought about.
So she followed her daughter, Madame Desvouges shrieking after them:
"Do not bring her to me. I will not receive her. I will not have her
under my roof. I will not come from my room till she leaves the house."
The shrill voice reached Kate's ears this time, and she turned white
and then red, shrinking back when Mrs. Reyburn appeared.
"You must not mind my mother," said that good woman. "She is old, and
cannot understand that these children of mine are grown up and are old
enough to decide some matters for themselves. You have had a great
sorrow, my daughter, and I hope you believe that you have all our
sympathy. I am very glad Royal has not brought us a stranger, but some
one whom we already know and love."
This was very sweet for Kate to hear, but she could not forget those
piercing tones, declaring Madame Desvouges's disappointment. She felt
ill at ease while she remained in the house.
His grandmother's attitude had the effect of antagonizing Royal, and
he strode off to her room, insisting that she should hear him, and
declaring that he had never asked any one to receive his wife, and that
they were sufficient for each other.
"You talk of my defying you, grand'mère, of my disobedience, when
you have never forbidden me to marry. It was but the other day you
encouraged me to consider it, saying that it was high time I was
looking out for a wife. I don't understand this opposition, and I shall
not subject my wife to any such treatment. You need not fear that we
will remain. Of all times, to treat her unjustly when she has become
orphaned and has none to look to but to us. I expected more gentleness
from my grandmother, who has always treated me so tenderly."
He did not wait for a reply, but slammed the door after him, and left
her in tears. Yet he was somewhat mollified by his mother's gentle
acceptance of this new daughter, and by Marianne's evident happiness in
having Kate for a sister.
"I have always wanted a sister," she told Kate, "and I would choose you
above any one."
"Not above Victorine," Kate added.
"Well, that is different. I love her dearly, of course, but she is
older and does not seem the companion that you do. I must tell Sue that
mother wants her to feel that she can return home with us to-morrow,
and that she must not leave till she goes to Kentucky with her husband."
"But she is going home with me," Kate told her. "We will be happier so.
She is heart-broken at having gone away without a word of farewell to
father, and reproaches herself for acting in such haste."
"But she has been very happy with Fred."
"Yes, and father was content that she should have gone. He sent her
such loving messages, but all the more she reproaches herself. Royal
has tried to comfort her by telling her that father sent word that
she must not fret, for he did not blame her, and that he had never
forbidden her to marry. He said he loved her not one bit the less. It
was so like father to think of her and not of himself. He had such a
great loving heart that he was always readier to excuse than to blame."
The tears fell from Kate's eyes, and Marianne put her arms around her.
"I know," she said. "I know how hard it must be, but he would be glad
if he could see you and Sue here together, and could know that each has
the love of the man who of all others is dearest to her."
"Yes," sighed Kate, "that is one comfort; and another is that all of
you but your grandmother have been so good to me. I hope some day even
Madame Desvouges will be reconciled. It is very hard for old people to
give up, and I know she had other plans for Royal."
"Yes, I know what you mean," Marianne returned, thoughtfully, "but
that never could have been. I know it, Kate, and you mustn't let that
trouble you."
That Sue would go back to their old home with her, that Marianne was
pleased, that Victorine had welcomed her, and that Mrs. Reyburn had
received her as a daughter, was indeed Kate's comfort; and she felt
that, sadly as she must always remember her wedding-day, that she could
also gather from it memories of much sympathy, consideration, and
affection.
Mr. Reyburn had not appeared; he was busy with his military duties.
Fred had been able to join them, and Kate felt in the face of
the displeasure shown upon her account, that she could have a
fellow-feeling for her brother-in-law, who, after all, had erred, but
because of his love for Sue. He was so brotherly, so sympathetic,
so concerned for her, that she could not have the heart to show him
ill-will; and when he professed himself glad that Sue wanted to stay
with her sister in the old home, Kate lost all feeling of resentment.
When told of this new exhibition of independence on the part of his
son, Captain Reyburn at first made no comment; then he remarked, "He
might have done worse." He had always liked Kate, and the fact that
Sue had been for all these months an inmate of his house, increased
his feeling of friendliness for her sister. He met Kate and Sue on
the road one day and stopped them. "When this war is over I hope we
shall see something of each other," he said. "My son has not asked
my congratulations upon his new possession, but he has them just the
same." He bowed and passed on, and Kate looked at Sue. "Well, what do
you think of that?" she asked.
"I think," said Sue, "that you may be the bond that is needed to unite
those two."
"I hope so," said Kate, fervently.