OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
Lord Effingham's visits were constant and apparently welcome, for Kate
soon began to observe a restlessness in her cousin, when the hour at
which he usually made his appearance passed without his arrival. At
first, Kate had taken her work or book to her own room or to the Palace
Garden, when his name was announced, but Lady Desmond had soon cut off
her retreat by observing--
"You must act chaperone for me, dear Kate, but if strangers are so
repugnant to you, I will tell Lord Effingham, and he shall not come
here any more."
And Miss Vernon knew very well, whatever her inclination might be, what
was expected. Yet there was much in their visitor's conversation that
drew her out of herself, and interested her by force of contrast to her
own views, although the indolence of depression rendered her averse to
the exertion of argument. Besides, Lord Effingham was often apparently
unconscious of her presence, and scarcely ever addressed himself to
her, so much so, that Lady Desmond had thought herself called upon to
make a sort of apology for him.
Yet Kate more than once caught his eyes fixed upon herself, and
felt that her few occasional observations were listened to with an
attention all the deeper for its unobtrusiveness; in short, she felt
certain he remembered her, and watched for some indication, either of
consciousness or resentment on her part, while each day rendered her
more at ease, as she observed his attentions to her cousin.
The quiet routine of their lives was seldom interrupted.
Lady Desmond sometimes went to town, and generally Lord Effingham's
name figured in the same list of distinguished fashionables present
at balls, dinners, &c., with her own. Kate began to think that their
present intercourse had fallen into a natural channel of indifference,
and that the bold stranger of Kensington Gardens, was totally merged in
the high-bred reserved earl; but she was mistaken.
One morning a feverish cold confined Lady Desmond to her bed, and the
Hampton Court doctor threatened her with every ill "that flesh is heir
to," if she did not, by care and submission to a few days seclusion,
nip the growing disorder in the bud. Kate was anxious and uneasy about
her, the very thought of a sick room made her heart ache.
"Do not look so unhappy about me, love," said her cousin, "it is my
will to remain here; I want solitude, I want freedom from external
influences; you shall read to me good books."
"Milord, his compliments, is very unhappy to hear your ladyship is ill,
and begs to know particularly how you are."
"Oh! Kate, run down to him, will you, dearest, say I am too unwell to
see him, for a week to come, at least; you will--observe--there go,
darling."
Kate obeyed, neither with alacrity or reluctance, Lord Effingham had
almost ceased to be connected in her mind with the audacious stranger
who had addressed her, and although this was the first time she had met
him alone, since that occurrence, it was with perfect composure she
returned his salute, and met his eager scrutinising glance without a
shade more of colour tinging her pale cheek.
"I am inconsolable at hearing of Lady Desmond's indisposition," said
Lord Effingham, before Kate could address a word to him. "How did she
catch cold? Has she good advice!"
"I do not think her very ill," replied Miss Vernon, "a little care and
quiet is all she requires; but she desires me to say, she fears she
will not be able to see you for some days; next week, if you should be
in this neighbourhood, probably you will find her reinstated in our
usual morning room."
"Of course I shall make enquiries every day for the health of my
charming friend."
And as Kate could not avoid thinking there was something of a sneer in
the smile and tone with which these words were spoken, they revived all
her antipathy to the dark browed peer. Anxious to dismiss him, yet not
wishing to show it, she stood a moment, undecided, when Lord Effingham,
with a sudden change of voice and expression, from the measured tone
and listless look, with which he usually spoke, to one of animation and
earnestness, exclaimed--
"No, Miss Vernon, I cannot go yet, though you indicate your desire that
I should, by standing. I cannot let the opportunity, I have so long
sought, pass, without ascertaining whether your memory is as imperfect
as mine is vivid."
"If you mean," returned Miss Vernon, raising her eyes to his with the
calmness now so habitual to her, "if you mean that you met me before,
and that I forget it, you are mistaken; I remember that very unpleasant
circumstance perfectly."
He was evidently annoyed by her candour and tranquillity.
"I regret to find you still resent my conduct, you at least might
excuse it."
Kate smiled.
"I do not resent it now; since that," she continued, "I have gone
through much affliction, I have experienced real grief and sorrow,
such as reduce all petty annoyances to their proper level; but why
revert to what is past."
"To ask you to--not exactly to forgive, but to acknowledge that my bold
attempt to grasp the inexpressible pleasure of your acquaintance was
not so heinous."
"Really, Lord Effingham, I should be obliged to you not to continue
this conversation any further; I do not suppose it possible for you to
comprehend the effect produced on my mind by your audacity; pardon me,
but it is the only word that sufficiently expresses my impression of
your conduct on the occasion to which you allude. Let it be forgotten,
I would not for worlds disturb my cousin with any revelation so
likely----"
"Yes," interrupted Lord Effingham, absently, "I perceived, at a glance,
that the fair widow was ignorant of the affair, but be it as you
choose, for the future, only, if you are to continue her inmate, take
my advice, and withhold the disclosure altogether."
And he smiled with an expression of insolent power, that made Kate's
heart thrill with indignation.
"My Lord, I do not require a stranger's advice, what to confide to, or
what to withhold from my earliest and dearest friend; you must excuse
me, I have left Lady Desmond alone."
"One moment," cried Lord Effingham, springing to the door, "we meet
again as friends? You must not refuse to give me bulletins of your
cousin's health in person."
"I have no wish to embroil the even tenor of my life, about what can
concern me no more, I wish you a good morning, my Lord."
He held the door open, and bowed low, as she passed out, then returning
to the place where she had stood, remained a moment in silent thought,
gnawing his under lip.
"By----," he at length muttered, "I would hate her if I could; if she
was less lovely; her supreme disdain of my admiration was so real,
and her indifference! Yet her cousin is more beautiful, and would have
_acted_ the part perfectly, but all the time I should have felt it was
only the graceful acting of my slave; this is real, this girl is free
as air, and I feel as if afloat in some new and unexplored ocean, where
my compasses are at fault, and the stars no longer those I used to
steer by."
He looked absently through the window till the animated fiery glance
faded into a cold, sneering smile, then slowly descending to the hall
door, mounted his horse, and gallopped across the park at full speed.
Kate's heart was beating faster when she returned to Lady Desmond's
room than when she left it; there was something of insolence and
conscious power in Lord Effingham's manner, that was totally strange
and repugnant to her; this short interview with him had recalled all
the sore feeling of resentful indignation and wounded pride, that had
so galled her on their first meeting, and though she felt, rather than
reasoned, that it would be most unwise to disclose the _rencontre_ to
Lady Desmond, she was indescribably provoked to think there was any
thing like a secret between her and the proud, bold Earl.
"Well, dear Kate, how did Lord Effingham take his sentence of
banishment?"
"He did not take it at all; he said he would ride over every day, to
make enquiries in person."
"And did he tell you any news?"
"No."
"He never tells news! How unlike the present race of babblings into
which our aristocracy has degenerated."
"Why, what does he do?"
"Ah, Kate, he is no favourite with you; I see his foreign indifference
to unmarried women has prejudiced you."
"No, indeed, I neither like nor dislike him, but there is something in
his face, and voice, and manner, I could never trust."
"Lord Effingham does not pretend to be a pattern man, and certainly he
is, when he likes it, a most agreeable member of society," returned
Lady Desmond, rather coldly. "But will you answer that note of Lady
Elizabeth's, I cannot, of course, dine with her."
And Kate perceived, by this sudden change, that her cousin did not like
to pursue the subject.
True to his word, Lord Effingham rode over every day to make his
enquiries for Lady Desmond, in person, and Kate resolutely secluded
herself during the few moments of his stay, in her cousin's or her own
chamber.
One morning the invalid was sufficiently well to receive two or three
dear (fine lady) friends. Kate stole away from their gossip, to her an
unknown tongue, and established herself on a shady seat, commanding a
view of the park, her book lay idly in her hand, and lulled by the
hum of the insects, and the gentle rush of the water from one pond to
another, she gave herself up to the past.
"How poor dear grandpapa would have delighted in this place; how Georgy
would have cheered him, and now it is too late!"
And the bitterness of sorrow softened for a while in new scenes, and
the increased occupation of the last few days, came back all freshly to
her mind; every look, every tone of her beloved parent, was recalled
with a distinctness that made her heart ache, and the emptiness and
aimlessness of her present life stood out vividly before her.
"Ah, forgive me great Father, if I cannot yet, with perfect submission,
say, 'Thy will be done, help me, strengthen me.' She involuntarily
raised her eyes as she murmured these last words, half aloud; and they
met those of Lord Effingham, which wore a grave and more earnest look
than usual, as if Kate's slight form, with its mourning garb, and her
pale calm face, its expression, spiritualised by the thoughts that
occupied her mind, had struck his hard nature with some new sense of
truth and beauty.
"Forgive my intrusion," said he, advancing with his usual easy
self-assured air, "they told me Miss Vernon was out, and as you have
hitherto allowed me to languish, on such meagre reports of your
cousin's health, as I could gain from Mademoiselle Louise, I ventured
to seek a personal interview with you, _al fresco_."
"Lady Desmond will probably see you on Monday, my Lord. Mrs. Cranbourne
and her sister were admitted to-day," returned Kate, with quiet
politeness.
"Yes," said Lord Effingham, absently, "pray Miss Vernon, can you, and
will you give me, _le mot de l'enigme_."
"I do not understand you."
"What was the cause of Lady Desmond's illness, or rather her sudden
fancy for the retirement of her own chamber?"
"My cousin, unfortunately, caught cold on Thursday; she sat near an
open window, at one of the Ancient Concerts, and----."
"My dear Miss Vernon, that is the official report, but I want to know
why she chooses to submit to the martyrdom, which confinement and
inaction is to her, rather than receive me?"
"You imagine then, that her illness is pretended to avoid you? if
your curiosity lasts over to-morrow, I will ask her, and give you her
solution of the enigma."
Lord Effingham laughed scornfully.
"I do not jest," continued Kate, simply. "I shall repeat to her, both
what you have said, and any thing you may add, in the same tone."
"Then you are great friends," said Lord Effingham, seating himself on
the bench beside her, "you are angry that I should doubt the illness
of one of the fairest daughters of Erin, whose cheek was ever tinged by
the roses of health; but, seriously, you will not make mischief between
us? I would never forgive you; do you not see I am very fond of Lady
Desmond?"
He leant forward as he spoke these words, with much earnestness, to see
what effect they produced on Kate, and at the same time two officers
in undress cavalry uniform lounged past; both glanced quickly at Miss
Vernon and her companion, but withdrew their eyes immediately, as if
conscious of having intruded on an interesting _tete-à-tete_.
Kate's heart almost stood still with a spasm of memory, as she
recognised Colonel Dashwood; she could not refrain from exclaiming
his name aloud, he turned immediately, and bowing, with a profound
and grave respect, which showed Kate he had heard of the loss she had
sustained, took her hand and made some general enquiries, with an air
of kindly interest.
"I am staying with Lady Desmond," she said, her eyes filling with
tears, "and you----."
"Oh, some of us are quartered here, the rest scattered in small
detachments; I like the place, and am here as much as possible, if
you will allow me, I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on you
to-morrow."
"I shall be very happy to see you," she replied; and with another low
bow, Colonel Dashwood joined his companion and walked away.
"So," exclaimed Lord Effingham, "you cultivate dragoons, do you, Miss
Vernon? Well, has not the promise of that very "rear rank take open
order," looking individual to call upon you, softened your intention of
making mischief between me and _La Vedova ammalata_?"
"Lord Effingham," said Miss Vernon, quietly, rising from her seat,
"I do not know why you choose to adopt a sneering tone towards people
in general, but this I do know, that to me, such confidences, as are
implied by questions, about Lady Desmond, are peculiarly distasteful; I
have no wish to say anything in the least uncivil, but I should prefer
remaining on terms of the most distant acquaintance with you." She
bowed slightly, and walked away, but he followed her in an instant,
looking dark and haughty.
"I thank you for so clear an exposition of your sentiments; perhaps it
was scarcely required; but you have not yet answered my question; will
you repeat my observations to Lady Desmond?"
"I shall--may I beg you to leave me."
"Ha," said Lord Effingham, "you have not your canine ally to compel me
doing so."
At this moment, all Kate's pride and decision melted before the
memories thus called up; and, with a sudden gesture, indicative of her
incapability to endure his presence another moment, she pressed her
hands to her eyes, in the vain effort to stem the torrent of grief,
that swelled her heart.
Lord Effingham retired at this silent, but unmistakeable expression of
her feelings, with a look of half startled, half sullen, yet not wholly
uncompassionate; and Kate, stealing quickly through the open window of
the morning-room, reached her own unnoticed.
Lady Desmond was in remarkably good spirits at dinner, and Kate was
struck by the air of joyous exultation, that seemed as it were to
illuminate her grand style of beauty.
"I am right glad to be well again, cousin mine," she exclaimed. "Glad
to be in the world, though, alas! all the mental revolution I intended
to make is unaccomplished."
"I do not know what it was, dearest," returned Miss Vernon, "so I
cannot tell whether I ought to mourn over another block being added to
that pavement of which we have heard so often."
"Well, perhaps it was needless, but now we are free from the servants,
tell me all that news over again."
"Lord Effingham," began Kate.
"Nay, dear girl, your own friends first."
"Well then, Colonel Dashwood said he would call here to-morrow."
"I shall be very glad to know him. I had left Dungar long before he was
there; and I have a grudge against him, Kate, for I fancy it was the
remembrance connected with his appearance, that caused those tears, of
which I can still detect the traces on your face."
"No, Georgy, no, indeed" replied Miss Vernon, earnestly. "Now," she
continued, "let me return to Lord Effingham, he heard, it seemed, that
I was in the Palace-gardens, and came after me, to ask me what was the
real cause of your indisposition, and to laugh at my _story_ of "a
cold!""
"Indeed!" said Lady Desmond, with a slight start. "What other reason
could he imagine?"
"I do not know, but--" she paused.
"Pray go on," said Lady Desmond, impatiently, "I hate to have things
cut short."
"Really," returned Miss Vernon, "I only hesitate, because it seemed so
impertinent, what I am about to tell you."
"Never mind--go on--dispense with preface."
"Lord Effingham said, or rather by what he said, seemed to think, it
was to avoid him, you feigned illness!"
"He does," exclaimed Lady Desmond, with interest; then an instant
after, with haughty indifference, she continued--"He gives me credit
for more ingenuity, than I possess! yet--" and she leant back, resting
one cheek on her hand, the expression of disdain, she had called
up, fading into a look of pensive thought, almost sad. "How strange
he is--how impenetrable; but these things are so much altered by
repetition."
Lady Desmond thought long and gravely, at length her brow cleared--a
smile parted her lips--
"Perhaps I have disentangled this mystery," she said; "time will
tell, at all events, _bella mia_, I know the world--Lord Effingham's
world--better than you do. I shall not notice 'the impertinence,' as
you deem it."
"Indeed you do know best, Georgy dear, at least, in general, for you
have experience, which I have not; but as to Lord Effingham, I have an
instinct, worth whole a life-time of experience, that he is false and
selfish--he admires you, indeed he said he was fond of you; but, oh, do
not regard him with anything except the--"
"Ah, Lord Effingham appears to have been making quite a confidante
of you, Kate! a rare compliment let me tell you," interrupted Lady
Desmond, laughingly, "of course he begged of you not to repeat his
confidence?"
"Yes, and I told I would."
"Well, dearest, it is a strange intimacy that has sprung up between
you, and this very Giaour-like peer," returned Lady Desmond, in her
sweetest manner, and quite regardless of Kate's warning. "I know not
where it--"
"Lady Elizabeth Macdonnell," announced the footman; and the privy
council was ended.
Colonel Dashwood made his appearance, at the proper hour for visiting,
the next morning, and very much rejoiced was Kate to welcome him; he
reminded her of much that was sad, 'tis true, but of sadness untinged
by any bitter; and then, she had, since the day before, been haunted
by the image of Fred Egerton, as he lay, pale and helpless, on a blue
chintz sofa, in Mr. Winter's drawing-room, which was the latest, and
clearest memory connected with Colonel Dashwood.
The conversation was, at first, rather constrained, the mind of
both the visitor and visited being full of thoughts they feared to
broach--Kate dreaded, yet longed to speak of her grandfather--she
feared a rush of tears, that might embarrass her kind and pleasant
acquaintance, but her candid, real nature, soon helped her out of the
difficulty. Dashwood spoke in terms of cordial and judicious praise
of the kind old man; Kate listened with delight, and told him of her
happiness with her cousin, to whom she longed to present him, and felt
more intimate with the gay, high-bred dragoon, than she had ever felt
before.
"You remember Egerton, at A----, Miss Vernon?"
"Oh, yes, I wished to ask you about him."
"He has just been Gazetted Lieutenant Colonel of the --th Lancers, you
have heard, of course, he distinguished himself greatly, at ----."
"Yes, he wrote to dear grandpapa; we got the letter scarcely a week
before--" she turned aside to hide the tears that would roll down her
cheek, in spite of all her efforts to restrain them. "If you should
write to Captain--Colonel Egerton, I mean, pray tell him, stern was the
summons that prevented a reply to his kind letter, he will be sorry to
hear of my irreparable loss."
"Colonel Vernon had not a warmer admirer in the world, than Fred
Egerton," cried Dashwood. "Indeed Fred was just the sort of fellow to
appreciate him. Well, good morning, Miss Vernon, I am most happy to
have seen you, and hope you will allow me to call occasionally, while I
am here."
The Monday specified by Lady Desmond, as the day on which she would
receive Lord Effingham, was anticipated by Kate with some anxiety,
and no small degree of curiosity. She wished to see on what terms her
cousin and her admirer would meet, if any quarrel had been at the
bottom of Lady Desmond's indisposition; and if the Earl was really
apprehensive of one arising out of her report of his conversation in
the Palace-garden.
Lady Desmond had certainly, not resented her information, for never had
Kate seen her so gentle, so loving, and so considerate. They took long
drives together, in the balmy summer evenings, sometimes enjoying the
exquisite, dewy, perfumed air, and rich cultivated scenery in sympathic
silence, sometimes recalling past summer evenings, to each other, and
talking at intervals of the past.
At this time a letter reached her from Winter. He had been a much
better correspondent since the poor Colonel's death, and his letters
were a source of inexpressible comfort to Kate; they cheered, while
they sympathized in her deep sorrow--she wrote to him in the fullest
confidence, and detailed all matters of personal interest, with a
minuteness that showed how welcome was the task of correspondence to
her.
The present despatch, after some slight sketch of his plans, which
included an excursion of some months into Spain, and a few rapturous
exclamations at the scenery, continued thus--"You say, 'now I have
room enough in my heart to think of it, I begin to feel, in spite
of Georgy's excessive kindness and generosity, a strangely, painful
sensation, at times, that not even the clothes I wear, are, properly
speaking, my own--shelter, food, all are hers; and though she never,
I am certain, gives this a thought, I feel that it mars the equality,
which is the soul of friendship--I feel strongly, though indistinctly
that this must not, and cannot last; but I am, as yet, incapable of
forming any future plan.'
"All this is very natural, and exactly what I advised you and our
dear departed friend against, when your cousin invited you to join
her at Florence, last year. Dependency is a thing repugnant to human
nature; but for the present it is right for you to stay where you
are; so be patient, it will be time enough to talk of plans when we
return, which will be soon, certainly before Christmas. I want to have
you quietly to ourselves, away from finery and fashion, then we will
settle everything. Meantime, as I consider you my adopted daughter,
if you will allow me, you must just put the enclosed cheque in your
dressing-box, as a sort of reserve, in case of foul weather--this is a
mere sop to my fidgetty conscience, as I am too selfish to return home
at once, to take care of you, which I believe it is my duty to do, and
I shall have but small comfort if you refuse; pooh! my dear, it is only
to oblige your old _maestro_!
"I see our former acquaintance, Fred Egerton has been performing
prodigies of valour against those wretched Sikhs--what deplorable
insanity war is! I have no patience with such courage. Well, good
night, I wish you could have a peep at the moon-lit mountain range,
opposite my window. Ah! dear child, you have known much sorrow, but who
can look on the exquisite loveliness, which earth, though cursed for
our sins, still possesses, and doubt that boundless beneficence and
wisdom alike framed our dwelling place, and directs the current of our
lives, God bless you, Kate; my wife greets you, write soon.
"Your true friend,
"J. WINTER."
* * * * *
It may be derogatory to a heroine's character; but the truth must
be confessed, that the consciousness of having fifty pounds in her
dressing-box, was a great source of repose and security to ours;
her own slender means were nearly exhausted, and the alternative of
being literally penniless, though surrounded with every luxury, or
mentioning the exhausted state of her purse to her open handed cousin,
were most insupportable to her--then she could not bear that nurse
should feel a want of any kind, and she not able to supply it. It was
therefore with no small thankfulness, she penned a reply to her kind
friend. Mr. Winter was one of those calm, rational, unselfish people, a
compound seldom to be met with, from whom a favour may be safely taken.
"See what Mr. Winter has sent me; a sort of birthday present before
hand," said Kate, holding up the cheque to nurse.
"Ah, how much, alanah?"
"Fifty pounds, nurse."
"Och, good christhians! think iv that now, athen, is'nt Misther Winther
mighty like that little scrap iv paper himself, a thrifle to look
at--but worth a power!"
"Worth so much, that I for one, can never look upon the outward and
visible sign of so much goodness, without respect and affection."
"Thrue for ye, Miss Kate, an' so lock it up jewil, there's no sayin'
the minnit ye may want it, I've sometimes a ton weight here, so I have,
that's mighty quare, an' us in the haigth of grandeur, may be; but
where's the use iv makin' ye down-hearted, darlint, wid me dhreams be
day or night."
"No, dear nurse," sighed Kate, "I do not wish to hear them."
Monday morning dawned bright, but before noon, dark clouds rolled up
from the horizon, Lady Desmond was looking royally beautiful, as she
reclined in her bergère, her luxuriant, glossy black hair, braided
under a small cap of exquisite lace; she was paler than usual, but
there was a delicacy in her complexion, that contrasted favourably with
her large, dark eyes, which looked up, at intervals, through their
long, black lashes, with languid calmness, reminding Kate of the
unnatural lull that preceeds a thunder storm.
Kate was utterly dissimilar to the fair widow; her golden brown hair
had a light in its waves--her high, calm brow, beneath which her soft
eyes beamed with a glance, so earnest, and so pure--her girlish figure
so graceful, and pliant, in its drapery of black--the air of deep
repose, of unconscious harmony that pervaded every attitude and tone,
all framed a totally different picture from the queen-like woman, who,
sometimes arranging a few flowers she held in her hand, sometimes
dropping them in her lap, heard, without attending to it, her cousin's
voice, as she read aloud.
The day was sultry; heavy, brassy-looking clouds obscured the sun, and
the birds chirped in that low, sleepy tone, which always indicates a
lowering sky, or a coming storm; and now and then a sudden warm breeze
swept back the muslin curtains, and filled the atmosphere of the room
with the rich perfume of the garden.
"How oppressive! I can hardly breathe," said Kate, laying down the book
which she found could not engage her cousin's attention, and walking
towards the window.
"Yes," said Lady Desmond, languidly, "draw up the blinds, Kate, to the
top; let us have all the light and air we can."
"If Lord Effingham is not here very soon he will get a wetting; I am
sure we are on the edge of a thunder storm," observed Miss Vernon,
after a pause.
"Then you fancy he will come."
"I do not think about it; but I find I anticipate his arrival as
something quite certain; I confess I feel anxious to see how he will
meet you, for he knows I repeated his--"
"I will tell you," interrupted Lady Desmond, with a tinge of bitterness
in her tone, "as if it could not be the slightest consequence to him,
what my opinion, or that of any one upon earth may be."
"What a character! but this must be acting!"
"No, I believe his manner to be a true index of his mind; I have
now known Lord Effingham for nearly two years; and I pronounce him
incomprehensible, impenetrable; and yet," continued Lady Desmond,
passionately, "as mystery has always proved the strongest attraction
to man's mind, so I feel irresistibly impelled to gaze into an abyss,
I cannot fathom, where everything seems uncertain and obscure; I
am undecided whether he is the coldest of egotists, or a man of
the strongest, deepest, most passionate feeling. Do you believe in
mesmerism, Kate? I begin to do so; how otherwise can I account for
the influence that unaccountable man exercises over me; I do not know
whether I love or hate him. I must speak out to you, my own, dear one;
let me tell you all that I have suffered!"
"Dearest Georgy, though I hear you with pain, yes, a thousand times;
but not now; every moment may bring the earl here, and he must not see
you thus agitated; do not let him see any emotion; you must not let
him think he has so much power; I dread his influence over you. _He is
not good._ I always think of Milton's Satan, when I hear him speak."
"And what a grand creature Milton's Satan is," cried Lady Desmond;
"but, Kate, let me speak now."
"Hush, hush," said Miss Vernon, again, and more eagerly stopping her.
"I hear some one coming; and the door into the next room is open."
Lady Desmond looked towards it, her dark eyes flashing eagerly;
but her countenance rapidly assuming its usual expression of proud
reserve; it was thrown open to its fullest extent, and the footman
announced--"Colonel Dashwood;" and Kate, as she went forward to receive
him, could not restrain a smile at the unexpected finale to their
anticipations.
Lady Desmond received the gallant Colonel with more than her usual
suavity and grace; and he, notwithstanding his good nature, seemed
more at ease than when alone with Kate, whose pale cheeks and tearful
eyes forbade the gay badinage, which, truth to tell, formed Colonel
Dashwood's principal stock in conversational trade, when Melton Mowbray
and the moors, were not congenial topics.
Lady Desmond, after the first moment of disappointment, felt the
Colonel's visit to be a relief from her own stormy thoughts; and she
entered fully into his light and lively conversation; while Kate,
though silent, felt soothed and pleased, to have an old acquaintance
thus restored to her, a sort of link with by-gone days, ever present
to her. She sat near the window copying some manuscript music, for her
cousin, to which she had taken a fancy, but oftener resting her head on
her hand, half listening, half thinking.
They were laughing at Colonel Dashwood's description of some adventure
of his in Dublin; and he was looking very much at home, when Lord
Effingham entered, unannounced; and, at the same moment, a vivid flash
of lightning illuminated the apartment, which was gloomy as night.
"I found your doors most hospitably open, Lady Desmond," said the Earl,
advancing with his cool self-possession, "and meeting no one to oppose
my progress, entered, with a flash of lightning, like the devil in Der
Freyschutz."
"I am glad you escaped the shower which is sure to follow," returned
Lady Desmond, endeavouring to recover the double agitation, occasioned
by the lightning and Lord Effingham's _entré_.
"And now," he resumed, quite regardless of the thunder, which almost
drowned his voice, and holding her hand, perhaps a moment longer than
was strictly _selon les regles_, "now that you have, at last, permitted
me to enter your presence, I must say, I see but little sign of the
indisposition that banished your friends. Miss Vernon has been in
league with you against us--I told her as much the other day--and she
bristled up most indignantly; you must tell her I was right, and you
were only fanciful, or--"
"You hear Lord Effingham, Kate?" said Lady Desmond, gently.
He turned and bowed to her, as if he now observed her for the first
time, since his entrance; but his keen eye had noted each individual in
the room, from the moment he crossed its threshold.
Kate returned his salutation; and as she observed the transformation
of Lady Desmond, from an unembarrassed talker, to a silent listener,
absorbed in self-watchfulness and intense attention to every syllable
that dropped from Lord Effingham's lips, she longed for Sabrina's power
to free her from his unholy influence.
"Lord Effingham, Colonel Dashwood," said Lady Desmond.
The gentlemen bowed, and subsided into their respective seats.
"I feel completely exhausted by the heat," said Lord Effingham, sinking
back in his chair, "the heat and the cold of England are equally
unendurable. We have enjoyed a thunder-storm in the Appenines, Lady
Desmond; and you did not start then, as you did just now, when I
entered; it is this heavy atmosphere."
"Yes; yet the storm you mention was awfully grand--and at night, too."
"'Oh, night,
And storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye, in woman!'"
said Lord Effingham, as if to himself; but, with a glance at Lady
Desmond, while Colonel Dashwood was playing with Kate's pen-wiper, and
talking of the band of the --th.
Lady Desmond sighed, and looked away towards Kate, Lord Effingham
following the direction of her eyes with his, smiled.
"Miss Kate, agrah," said Mrs. O'Toole's voice, from the verandah,
at that moment, "don't be sitting wid the winda wide open, an' the
lightnin' strikin' right an' lift--sure it'll be powerin' cats and dogs
in a minit;" and nurse's good-humoured face, though not quite so bright
as in former days, beamed in on them. "The Lord save us! I beg yer
pardon, me lady; sure I thought Miss Kate was all alone be herself, an'
I niver thought to find--"
"No apology, nurse," said Lady Desmond, good-humouredly.
"Mrs. O'Toole," cried Colonel Dashwood, "I hope I am not quite
forgotten;" and he stepped forward to greet her.
"Faith, ye'r not, sir; sure, a dog that I remimbered at Dungar, would
be light to me eyes, let alone a grand lookin' gintleman like yer
honor!"
"It is raining heavily already, nurse," said Lady Desmond, with whom
Mrs. O'Toole was a great favourite; "come in, at once, and you can
speak to Colonel Dashwood."
"Och, Kurnel, what's the Captin doin'? an' where is he?"
"Which Captain?" he returned; "I know so many."
"Och, mee own Captin--him that I nursed through the faver!"
"Oh, Captain Egerton; he is in India, and is a Colonel now; he has been
doing wonders. I will tell him you were asking for him; he will be
delighted."
"Me blessin' on him, wherever he goes. Och, it's a weary sore world;"
and she glanced at Kate, and wiped a tear from her eyes with the corner
of her apron; then curtseying profoundly, retired, saying--"I'll niver
forget the Captin, an' him that's gone. How happy they wer togather!"
"Pray," said Lord Effingham, as she passed, "is your memory always
equally good for every one and everything?"
"I always had a wondherful memory, mee lord," said Mrs. O'Toole, with
another low curtsey; "for it can remimber an' disremimber, mee lord!
just what's convanient betimes!"
"Very convenient," replied his lordship, with a laugh; "good morning."
The storm of rain and thunder growing every moment fiercer and more
loud, Lady Desmond ordered the windows to be fastened; and the party
drew naturally closer together, while the vivid flashes of lightning,
at intervals, displayed their countenances to each other; and Kate, her
nerves not yet braced back to their former strength, almost blushed
for her own cowardice, as she, sometimes, covered her face with her
hands, and scarce could refrain from seizing the arm nearest her; but
that arm was Lord Effingham's. At last, one fearful crash, and blinding
blaze of light, the climax of the storm, startled her out of every
consideration, save the momentary terror; covering her eyes with one
hand, she stretched out the other blindly, catching Lord Effingham's
arm in the involuntary grasp of alarm and leaning towards him; it was
but for a moment, and she drew back.
"By Jove, a thunder-bolt must have fallen," cried Colonel Dashwood,
springing to the window, as if to look for it.
Lady Desmond followed him.
"It was of no use," said Lord Effingham, rapidly, in a low voice, to
Kate; "you see my position is not the least shaken! why interfere
between your cousin and myself?"
"Would it give you pain if I succeeded?" she asked, in the same tone.
"Yes."
"Do you answer me in all sincerity?"
"In all sincerity, I do."
"Then I am satisfied."
"Then we are friends--at least, not foes."
Kate bent her head, and said, frankly--
"I wish to _know_ you."
Lord Effingham could only reply by a look of surprise, when Colonel
Dashwood approached to take his leave. The Earl bowed formally to him.
"I suppose I must not ask you to stay for dinner," said Lady Desmond.
"It would not be _comme il faut_ for recluses such as Kate and myself
to have so gay a guest as Lord Effingham!"
"That is as you think," he returned; "I would, however, certainly stay,
even on that faint shadow of an invitation, were I not unfortunately
engaged to dine with a grand-aunt of mine, just arrived at the Palace.
By the way, would you like to know her? she has two daughters. Miss
Vernon might find them acceptable; young ladies are, you know,
gregarious."
"We shall be most happy to make your aunt's acquaintance," returned
Lady Desmond.
The Earl bowed, and departed.
"I am weary, Kate--my head aches--I cannot speak to you to-day--some
other time--I will go and lie down."
"As you like, dear Georgy."