SHADOW AND LIGHT.
John Girdlestone's private residence in Eccleston Square was a large and
substantial house in a district which the wave of fashion had passed
over in its westward course. It might still, however, be said to be
covered by a deposit of eminent respectability. The building was stern
and hard, and massive in its external appearance, but the interior was
luxury itself, for the old merchant, in spite of his ascetic appearance,
was inclined to be a sybarite at heart, and had a due appreciation of
the good things of this world. Indeed, there was an oriental and almost
barbarous splendour about the great rooms, where the richest of
furniture was interspersed with skins from the Gaboon, hand-worked ivory
from Old Calabar, and the thousand other strange valuables which were
presented by his agents to the African trader.
After the death of his friend, Girdlestone had been as good as his word.
He had taken Kate Harston away from the desolate house at Fulham and
brought her to live with him. From the garrets of that palatial edifice
to the cellars she was at liberty to roam where she would, and do what
she chose. The square garden too, with its smoke-dried trees and faded
lawn, was at her disposal, in which she might walk, or work, or read.
No cares or responsibilities were imposed upon her. The domestic
affairs were superintended by a stern housekeeper, who bore a quaint
resemblance to Girdlestone himself in petticoats, and who arranged every
detail of housekeeping. The young girl had apparently only to exist and
to be happy.
Yet the latter item was not so easy as it might seem. It was not a
congenial atmosphere. Her whole society consisted of the stern,
unemotional merchant and his vulgar, occasionally brutal, son.
At first, while the memory of her father was still fresh, she felt her
new surroundings acutely, contrasting, as they did, with her happy
Fulham home. Gradually, however, as time deadened the sting, she came
to accommodate herself to circumstances. The two men left her very much
to her own devices. Girdlestone was so engrossed in his business that
he had little time to inquire into her pursuits, and Ezra, being
addicted to late hours, was seldom seen except at breakfast-time, when
she listened with awe to his sporting slang and cynical comments upon
men and manners.
John Girdlestone had been by no means overjoyed upon the return of the
Dimsdales from Edinburgh to learn that his ward had been thrown into the
company of her young cousin. He received her coldly and forbade her to
visit Phillimore Gardens for some time to come. He took occasion also
to speak of Tom, and to assure her that he had received very serious
accounts as to his spiritual state. "He is addicted to all manner of
debasing pursuits," he remarked, "and it is my particular wish that you
should avoid him." Learning that young Dimsdale was in London, he even
took the precaution of telling off a confidential footman to walk behind
her on all occasions, and to act either as an escort or as a sentry.
It chanced, however, that one day, a few weeks after her return, Kate
found an opportunity of recovering her freedom. The footman had been
despatched upon some other duty, so she bethought herself that a book
was to be bought and some lace to be matched, and several other
important feminine duties to be fulfilled. It happened, however, that
as she walked sedately down Warwick Street, her eyes fell upon a very
tall and square-shouldered young man, who was lounging in her direction,
tapping his stick listlessly against the railings, as is the habit of
idle men. At this Kate forgot incontinently all about the book and the
lace, while the tall youth ceased to tap the railings, and came striding
towards her with long springy footsteps and a smiling face.
"Why Cousin Tom, who would have thought of meeting you here?" she
exclaimed, when the first greetings had been exchanged. "It is a most
surprising thing."
It is possible that the incident would not have struck her as so very
astonishing after all, had she known that Tom had spent six hours a day
for the last fortnight in blockading the entrances to Eccleston Square.
"Most remarkable!" said the young hypocrite. "You see, I haven't
anything to do yet, so I walk about London a good deal. It was a lucky
chance that sent me in this direction."
"And how is the doctor?" Kate asked eagerly. "And Mrs. Dimsdale, how is
she? You must give my love to them both."
"How is it that you have never been to see us?" Tom asked reproachfully.
"Mr. Girdlestone thinks that I have been too idle lately, and that I
should stay at home. I am afraid it will be some little time before I
can steal away to Kensington."
Tom consigned her guardian under his breath to a region warmer even than
the scene of that gentleman's commercial speculations.
"Which way are you going?" he asked.
"I was going to Victoria Street to change my book, and then to Ford
Street."
"What a strange thing!" the young man exclaimed; "I was going in that
direction too." It seemed the more strange, as he was walking in the
opposite direction when she met him. Neither seemed inclined to make
any comment upon the fact, so they walked on together. "And you have
not forgotten the days in Edinburgh yet?" Tom asked, after a long pause.
"No, indeed," his companion answered with enthusiasm. "I shall never
forget them as long as I live."
"Nor I," said Tom earnestly. "You remember the day we had at the
Pentlands?"
"And the drive round Arthur's Seat."
"And the time that we all went to Roslin and saw the chapel."
"And the day at Edinburgh Castle when we saw the jewels and the armoury.
But you must have seen all these things many times before? You could
not have enjoyed it as much as we did for the first time."
"Oh yes, I did," Tom said stoutly, wondering to himself how it was that
the easy grace with which he could turn compliments to maidens for whom
he cared nothing had so entirely deserted him. "You see, Kate--well--you
were not there when I saw them before."
"Ah," said Kate demurely, "what a beautiful day it is? I fancied in the
morning that it was going to rain."
Tom was not to be diverted from his subject by any meteorological
observations. "Perhaps some time your guardian will allow the dad to
take you on another little holiday," he said hopefully.
"I'm afraid he won't," answered Kate.
"Why not?"
"Because he seemed so cross when I came back this last time."
"Why was he cross?" asked Tom.
"Because--" She was about to say that it was because she had been
brought in contact with him; but she recollected herself in time.
"Because what?"
"Because he happened to be in a bad temper," she answered.
"It is too bad that you should have to submit to any one's whims and
tempers," the young man said, switching his stick angrily backwards and
forwards.
"Why not?" she asked, laughing. "Everybody has some one over them.
If you hadn't, you would never know right from wrong."
"But he is unkind to you."
"No, indeed," said Kate, with decision. "He is really very kind to me.
He may appear a little stern at times, but I know that he means it for
my own good, and I should be a very foolish girl if I resented it.
Besides, he is so pious and good that what may seem a little fault to us
would appear a great thing in his eyes."
"Oh, he is very pious and good, then," Tom remarked, in a doubtful
voice. His shrewd old father had formed his own views as to John
Girdlestone's character, and his son had in due course imbibed them from
him.
"Yes, of course he is," answered Kate, looking up with great wondering
eyes. "Don't you know that he is the chief supporter of the Purbrook
Street Branch of the Primitive Trinitarians, and sits in the front pew
three times every Sunday?"
"Ah!" said Tom.
"Yes, and subscribes to all the charitable funds, and is a friend of
Mr. Jefferson Edwards, the great philanthropist. Besides, look how good
he has been to me. He has taken the place of my father."
"Hum!" Tom said dubiously; and then, with a little pang at his heart,
"Do you like Ezra Girdlestone too?"
"No, indeed," cried his companion with energy. "I don't like him in the
least. He is a cruel, bad-hearted man."
"Cruel! You don't mean cruel to you, of course."
"No, not to me. I avoid him as much as I can, and sometimes for weeks
we hardly exchange a word. Do you know what he did the other day?
It makes me shudder even to think of it. I heard a cat crying pitifully
in the garden, so I went out to see what was the matter. When I got
outside I saw Ezra Girdlestone leaning out of a window with a gun in his
hands--one of those air-guns which don't make any noise when they go
off. And there, in the middle of the garden, was a poor cat that he had
tied to a bush, and he had been practising at it for ever so long.
The poor creature was still alive, but oh! so dreadfully injured."
"The brute! What did you do?"
"I untied it and brought it inside, but it died during the night."
"And what did he say?"
"He put up his gun while I was untying it, as if he had half a mind to
take a shot at me. When I met him afterwards he said that he would
teach me to mind my own business. I didn't mind what he said though, as
long as I had the cat."
"Spoke like that, did he?" said Tom savagely, flushing up to his eyes.
"I wish I saw him now. I'd teach him manners, or--"
"You'll certainly get run over if you go on like that," interrupted
Kate.
Indeed, the young man in his indignation was striding over a crossing
without the slightest heed of the imminent danger which he ran from the
stream of traffic.
"Don't be so excitable, Cousin Tom," she said, laying her gloved hand
upon his arm; "there is nothing to be cross about."
"Isn't there?" he answered furiously. "It's a pretty state of things
that you should have to submit to insults from a brutal puppy like that
fellow Ezra Girdlestone." The pair had managed by this time to get
half-way across the broad road, and were halting upon the little island
of safety formed by the great stone base of a lamp-post. An
interminable stream of 'buses--yellow, purple, and brown--with vans,
hansoms, and growlers, blocked the way in front of them. A single
policeman, with his back turned to them, and his two arms going like an
animated semaphore, was the only human being in their immediate
vicinity. Amid all the roar and rattle of the huge city they were as
thoroughly left to themselves as though they were in the centre of
Salisbury Plain.
"You must have a protector," Tom said with decision.
"Oh, Cousin Tom, don't be foolish; I can protect myself very well."
"You must have some one who has a right to look after you." The young
man's voice was husky, for the back part of his throat had become
unaccountably dry of a sudden.
"You can pass now, sir," roared the constable, for there was a momentary
break in the traffic.
"Don't go for a moment," Tom cried, desperately detaining his companion
by the sleeve of her jacket. "We are alone here and can talk. Don't
you think--don't you think you could like me a little bit if you were to
try? I love you so, Kate, that I cannot help hoping that my love is not
all lost."
"All clear now, sir," shouted the constable once more.
"Don't mind him," said Tom, still detaining her on the little-island.
"Since I met you in Edinburgh, Kate, I have seemed to be walking in a
dream. Do what I will, go where I will, I still have you before my eyes
and hear your sweet voice in my ears. I don't believe any girl was ever
loved more dearly than I love you, but I find it so hard to put into
words the thoughts that I have in my mind. For Heaven's sake, give me
some little gleam of hope to carry away with me. You don't dislike me,
Kate, do you?"
"You know that I don't, Cousin Tom," said the young lady, with downcast
eyes. He had cornered her so skilfully against the great lamp that she
could move neither to the right nor to the left.
"Do you like me, then, Kate?" he asked eagerly, with a loving light in
his earnest grey eyes.
"Of course I do."
"Do you think you could love me?" continued this persistent young man.
"I don't mean all at once, and in a moment, because I know very well
that I am not worthy of it. But in time don't you think you could come
to love me?"
"Perhaps," murmured Kate, with averted face. It was such a very little
murmur that it was wonderful that it should be audible at all; yet it
pealed in the young man's ears above the rattle and the clatter of the
busy street. His head was very near to hers at the time.
"Now's your time, sir," roared the semaphoric policeman.
Had Tom been in a less exposed position it is possible that he might
have acted upon that well-timed remark from the cunning constable.
The centre of a London crossing is not, however, a very advantageous
spot for the performance of love passages. As they walked on, threading
their way among the vehicles, Tom took his companion's hand in his, and
they exchanged one firm grip, which each felt to be of the nature of a
pledge. How sunny and bright the dull brick-lined streets appeared to
those two young people that afternoon. They were both looking into a
future which seemed to be one long vista of happiness and love. Of all
the gifts of Providence, surely our want of knowledge of the things
which are to come upon us is the most merciful, and the one we could
least dispense with!
So happy and so light-hearted were these two lovers that it was not
until they found themselves in Warwick Street once more that they came
down from the clouds, and realized that there were some commonplace
details which must be dealt with in one way or another.
"Of course, I may tell my own people, dearest, about our engagement?"
Tom said.
"I wonder what your mother will say?" answered Kate, laughing merrily.
"She will be awfully astonished."
"How about Girdlestone?" asked Tom.
The thought of the guardian had never occurred to either of them before.
They stared at each other, and Kate's face assumed such an expression of
dismay that her companion burst out laughing.
"Don't be frightened, darling," he said. "If you like, I'll go in and
'beard the lion in his den.' There is no time like the present."
"No, no, dear Tom," she cried eagerly. "You must not do that." It was
impossible for her to tell him how especially Girdlestone had cautioned
her against him, but she felt that it would never do to allow the two to
meet. "We must conceal our engagement from Mr. Girdlestone."
"Conceal our engagement!"
"Yes, Tom. He has warned me so often against anything of the sort, that
really I don't know what he would do if he knew about it. He would
certainly make it very uncomfortable for me to live with him. Remember
I am nearly twenty now, so in a little more than a year I shall be
entirely free. That is not very long."
"I don't know about that," Tom said doubtfully. "However, if you will
be more comfortable, of course that settles the question. It seems
rather hard, though, that we should have to conceal it, simply in order
to pacify this old bear."
"It's only for a time, Tom; and you may tell them at home by all means.
Now, good-bye, dear; they will see you from the windows if you come
nearer."
"Good-bye, my darling."
They shook hands and parted, he hurrying away with the glad tidings to
Phillimore Gardens, she tripping back to her captivity with the lightest
heart that she had felt for a weary time. Passers-by glanced back at
the bright little face under the bright little bonnet, and Ezra
Girdlestone, looking down at her from the drawing-room window, bethought
him that if the diamond speculation should fail it would be no hardship
to turn to his father's word.