CARRINGTON.
It was a cold, gloomy, blustering evening, in the beginning of
September, when the increase of houses, and appearance of hissing and
tranquil engines along the line of rail-road, announced to Kate that
she was approaching the termination of her journey; she wondered she
did not feel more of that sinking of heart, and thrilling of nerves,
with which she used to regard any important crisis or event. She felt
so terribly depressed, that anything like the hope, implied by fear or
anxiety, was quite out of the question; yet there occasionally glanced
across her mind the thought, "have I not come to the worst; perhaps the
next change may be for the better."
"Half-past six--nearly an hour behind time," said a fat, rosy old
gentleman, who sat opposite to Miss Vernon, "and another quarter
of an hour will be lost taking the tickets--very bad, very bad,"
and he looked at Kate for sympathy; but to her it was a matter of
indifference: the train was rather too fast for her wishes.
"They will be fancying all sorts of accidents and concussions at
home," resumed the old gentleman, with a smile of such security in the
affection and sympathy to which he was hastening, that the tears sprang
to Kate's eyes, even while she smiled upon him, and said--
"Then I do wish they would go faster--suspense is such a terrible
thing."
The old gentleman seemed struck by the sudden warmth evinced by his
hitherto taciturn companion.
"I suppose you have friends to meet you?" he said; "but if I can be of
any use in getting your luggage, &c., I shall be very happy."
"I suppose they will send some one to meet me," said Kate, carelessly;
"but," she added, a doubt on the point glancing across her mind for the
first time, "if not, I will gladly avail myself of your kind offer."
"What part of the town, may I ask, are you going to?"
"Carleton Terrace, New Park."
"Oh, indeed. I live near that myself."
A little more desultory talk brought them to the platform; and stepping
from the carriage, Miss Vernon looked round in hopes of discovering the
promised person to meet her; but none appeared; therefore, accepting
the old gentleman's proffered aid, she proceeded to disentangle her
luggage from the miscellaneous and momentarily encreasing pile, which
the porters were pitching, with their usual dexterity and disregard of
consequences, out of the van.
Kate had but few packages; some undefined feeling had induced her to
leave much of her belongings under Mrs. Storey's care--she could not
bear to think of Carrington as anything but a temporary abode.
"Another small black box--the same name--Miss Vernon," she said to
the porter who was collecting her luggage; her words attracted the
notice of an awkward boy of about fifteen, who had been examining
the second-class passengers, as if in search of some one; he was
heavy-looking, without being large, his movements slow and uncouth, and
his face of a leaden bilious complexion, wore an expression of stupid
surprise.
"Are you Miss Vernon?" he asked, in an abrupt, harsh voice, which was
at its harshest epoch.
"Yes," said Kate, looking at him doubtfully, uncertain what rank in
society to assign him; his face would not have been misplaced under a
basket of oranges, nor his clothes on the heir apparent of an earldom.
"All right," said the interesting youth. "gran'ma sent me to meet you.
I'm Pembridge Wilson; shall I call a cab? Busses don't go near the
Park."
"If you please, a cab," said Kate; and, turning to her friendly
_companion de voyage_, thanked him for his kind attention.
"Holloa, Pem., is that you?" he cried, as his eyes fell on Kate's new
acquaintance. "I did not know I was travelling with a friend of yours.
I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again," he said to Kate, "as
you are going to the Wilsons'."
"I shall be very happy," she returned, bowing, and walked towards the
cab.
"Stop," whispered Master Pembridge, "make a bargain with the man before
they put up the luggage; you, go--I'll stay here."
"No," said Kate, "I am afraid he would not mind me much. I dare say, he
will not charge more than he ought."
Master Pem's usual state of amazement seemed to receive a slight
addition at these words, and as he followed Miss Vernon into the
vehicle, a keen ear might have overheard a muttered "my eye!"
The noise of the streets was a good excuse for silence. Kate gazed
through the windows, recognising the various localities which she
faintly remembered from her short visit there, partly from Egerton's
anathematising descriptions, while Pem. gazed, with unremitting
assiduity and still surprised, at her.
"Well, here we are, and I expect I am ready for my tea. You were
so late, I'm regularly cold waiting for you," and he blew his nose
audibly--a perpetual cold in the head characterised this specimen of
young Carrington.
The door was opened by a melancholy-looking woman, who made no offer to
assist the cabman in removing the trunks, &c., from the vehicle.
"There--I told you," said Pem., in triumph, as Jehu demanded four and
sixpence, and sixpence for the luggage; but Miss Vernon hastily paid
him, and entered the house, anxious to see the kind, gentle old lady
who wanted a daughter's companionship.
"Come in, do, and shut that door," cried a hard, shrill voice from some
inner sanctum. "The wind is going right through my head."
"This way, mem," said the melancholy female, and Kate entered a small
and very hot front parlor. A tall, large, slightly-bent old woman, with
a face as hard as her voice, was standing, her hands crossed behind
her back, on the hearth-rug. The broad expanse of her countenance was
spanned by a pair of capacious spectacles, depressed towards the left
eye, as if to give her spying propensities all the advantages of double
and single vision.
"Miss Vernon. How do you do? how late you be," said she, giving Kate a
cold, stiff hand, guiltless of closing on the fair soft fingers which
took it.
"Yes; the train was very often delayed," replied Kate, letting go,
with a sensation of repugnance, the unrelaxed collection of bone and
sinews proffered to her, and gazing with surprise at the huge cap,
which looked large enough for the mother of Anak's sons, though not at
all disproportioned to the head it covered; the old lady was richly
and substantially dressed, and had the unmistakeable air of well-lined
pockets.
"Go, Pembridge, and look for your mama; you must be nigh starved, and
Miss Vernon too, I dare say; get the keys, will you, we are all ready
for tea. Will you come near the fire?"
With these mingled directions and remarks, Mrs. Jorrocks, sen.,
subsided into an arm chair of considerable dimensions, and stared at
Kate, who puzzled and confused by so terrible an awaking from her
dream of an interesting old lady, sat for a few minutes in unbroken
silence.
"How did you leave Mrs. Tom," was at length asked by Miss Vernon's new
acquaintance.
"Quite well. I saw her the day before yesterday; she desired many kind
messages to you."
"They have been very gay up in London; time she settled at home."
"Mrs. Jorrocks seems anxious to do so," replied Kate.
"So she tells you; she be sharp enough; you were coming to me. Had you
a quiet journey?"
"Very, thank you. I met a most polite old gentleman--a neighbour of
yours, at least, he knew your grandson."
"Who can that be? what was he like?"
Kate described him.
"That will be Mr. Davis. I wonder what took him to London? we--"
She was interrupted by the entrance of her daughter.
Mrs. Wilson was a much more prepossessing person; she was rather an
exaggerated edition of Mrs. Storey--fatter, louder, more gossipping,
and less kind-hearted. She was older too; but still, rather pretty and
very well dressed. She welcomed Kate cordially enough, and proposed
shewing her her room before tea. It was a tiny chamber, but all her
own, and Kate was glad of its solitude for a few moments before joining
the party below.
When she descended to the dining-room, she found an addition to the
circle in the person of the eldest son--a lad about a year older than
Pem., thin and fair; his countenance shewed a much higher degree of
intelligence than his brother's. He was reading when Kate came in, and
looked up to bow, (not to rise) for exactly the space of time necessary
for that operation. Pem. was also reading--a newspaper was his
study--he seemed to get on with difficulty, constantly snuffling, and
elevating his eye-brows, as if vainly attempting to open his small eyes
wider than nature intended.
"Now then, Miss Vernon, I am sure you are ready for tea," said Mrs.
Wilson. "I ordered you a couple of eggs; you will want something more
substantial than a bit of toast after your journey."
Kate silently agreed, longing for a glass of wine after her fatigue
of body and mind. However, she took a cup of tea very readily, albeit
washy enough.
"Who do you think Miss Vernon travelled down with?"
"Why how should I know, mother?"
"Mr. Davis!"
"Nev-er! I did not know he was up in town."
"It's very strange," said Mrs. Jorrocks with a significant nod of
the head, "That patent he have paid so much money on, is not going
straight I dare say."
"Mr. Davis, if he is the gentleman, did not get in till we reached
Wolverton," said Kate.
"Wolverton," repeated Mrs. Wilson, "Whatever was he doing at
Wolverton?" Mrs. Jorrocks incapable of solving this problem shook her
head with awful significance, as she munched her buttered toast. The
young gentlemen read sociably all through the meal. "Here James," said
Mrs. Wilson to her eldest son, "Put this sugar basin away do, I am so
hot and tired pouring out tea; I dare say" (pronounced "dessay,") "Miss
Vernon will make tea for us now."
The evening appeared very interminable to Kate; the boys were set to
their lessons immediately after tea, with an injunction from their
mother not to leave any for the morning, it made them so late at their
"breakfastses," and then mother and daughter in a species of duet
expatiated on the wonderful talents and acquirements of the eldest
son, until having exhausted their subject they commenced a severe cross
examination of herself, when a loud ring disturbed the enquiry, and
Mrs. Wilson started from her seat exclaiming "Law! how Wilson do ring."
Mr. Wilson was a short, thick man of even a more dingy, leaden-yellow
hue than his son; small piggish eyes, thick hearth-brush looking hair,
and a voice of unredeemed harshness, such as one might expect from a
slave driver, were his most striking characteristics. He was however
civil enough, made due enquiries after his brother-in-law, asked if
town was full, and the opera well attended, (oblivious in his anxiety
to put these fashionable queries, that it was September), and finally
betook himself to devour some chops, the bones of which he polished
with surprising dexterity, first however sending the boys to bed with
a sudden imperious sternness that absolutely startled Kate; she soon
pleaded fatigue and bid them good night. "We have prayers at half-past
eight, Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Wilson.
"Indeed, well I shall be ready."
The dreariness of those hours when Kate had extinguished her candle,
and in the darkness of night gave herself up to grief, we will not
attempt to describe--the exaggeration of distance between her and
all she had ever known--the agonised longing for some escape,--the
sense of utter estrangement from every familiar style of thought and
feeling--the inexpressible loathing of all around her; are not these
things written in the chronicles of many a memory? "Oh for a sound
of nurse's voice! she is so true, so loving, and Georgy, why are you
so far away. Will Mr. Winter never, never return! Is my life to pass
away thus with these terrible people. Oh grandpapa! I am so alone."
And ever with the thought of him Egerton's image rose before her; she
was too miserable to curb her thoughts as she was wont, and from the
silent depths of her heart, her spirit called to him agonisingly; with
unutterable longing, thirsting for a sound of his voice, as though it
were a spell to conjure away the gloom and the difficulties round her,
striving, panting in a death struggle fer happiness. Who dare limit the
power lent to the divine essence by the force of a mighty wish, when we
feel the intense longings of the imprisoned spirit darting in electric
streams towards the object so ardently desired. There are momentary
glimpses granted to the imagination, when purified by the agony of
suffering, of grandeur, power and liberty, so far beyond our mortal
state, that the first return to a commoner and calmer frame of mind, is
usually indicated by a shudder or a smile at our own "strange fancies."
Yet what may not the spirit anticipate in its future? and what power
may not be momentarily lent it? even here a foretaste of that future.
The very depth of her emotion soothed Kate; she felt a gradual calm
stealing over her--was it that her wild yearning had accomplished its
end?
About the same time, it might be the same night, far away, a deep blue,
star-lit eastern sky was shining in still beauty over the cantonments
of an English regiment, and Colonel Egerton was sleeping the restless
disturbed sleep of a low fever. He wakes suddenly--fully roused--with
a sense that he was wanted--that he was called. Yet he had not dreamt,
at least, distinctly; nor was it till after some moments' thought, he
connected that sudden impression with Miss Vernon--for Egerton was too
full of rational energy to have his mind perpetually filled with one
image. He had loved Kate, and still, at times, thought of her with
deep tenderness; but a life of activity pleased and occupied him.
Parting with her had swept away the light-hearted, buoyant gaiety of
his early days; but left enough of cheerfulness to make life still very
enjoyable. Time, absence, silence, above all, Burton's report, not long
received, were gradually doing their work--ere long, his heart would
have been free to cherish another, well and truly; yet never, oh,
never, with the same exquisitely tender, pure unselfish love which she
had breathed over the chaotic surface of his life; he still might taste
the sweetness of the grape; but the unspeakable loveliness of its first
fresh bloom was breathed upon--and vanished.
Colonel Egerton was worse the next morning; the regimental surgeon
shook his head, and, at length, obtained a hearing, when, for the
fourth time, he suggested native air.
* * * * *
Life at Carrington, with its innumerable small trials, is too
monotonous to be carefully recorded.
Kate had much to suffer; yet it was not all suffering. She soon
perceived the various _rôles_ enacted by the family. Mr. Wilson was a
thorough domestic tyrant, intense selfishness pervaded the whole party,
except, perhaps, Mrs. Wilson. The eldest son was a pedant, a dry, cold
calculating machine, who seemed chiefly to value his own unblemished
character, because it gave him a right to be implacable to the failings
of others. It is strange to write thus of the character of a boy not
seventeen; but none could connect him with the faintest outline of that
lovely, erring thing called "youth."
He was, however, an unceasing source of pride to his family; and even
Pem., if he had an idea beyond his dinner, looked upon his brother as
something quite extraordinary.
The day began with a severe trial, at least to Kate, in the shape of
morning prayers. She shrank from Mr. Wilson's harsh tones, doling forth
the gracious words of the gospel; and her rebellious thoughts refused
to follow the long discursive address they all knelt down to hear read
aloud, in accents of self-satisfied conscientiousness. Mr. Wilson
dwelt, with unction, on the petition for the health and safety of his
sovereign lady the Queen, and at the proper place even mentioned the
servants, who, with demure and downcast looks occupied three chairs at
the furthest possible distance permissible by the limits of the room.
Then followed breakfast, at which he generally took the worth of his
prayers out of them, in short, savage fault finding.
The morning meal over, Mrs. Jorrocks took her knitting, and Kate's duty
was to read aloud, to her, till dinner time--one o'clock. But the books
in which Mrs. Jorrock's soul delighted, were, unfortunately, of a class
by no means suited to Miss Vernon. They were chiefly remarkable for the
distinguished rank and general hard-heartedness of their characters,
excepting only the heroine and her lover, whose sufferings, mental and
physical, were rather supernatural; and usually drew tears from Kate's
listener, who would have turned unmoved from the most affecting case
of real distress; to be sure the novel only asked her tears, reality
might have had some pretensions to touch her pocket.
Kate, however, read on perseveringly, she had made some attempts to
recommend the style of book more suited to her own taste, and the
age of her new protectress; but they were not well received, and she
was compelled to return to the "dungeon and subterranean passage,"
revengeful, mysterious-stranger class of literature; still this was
nothing to the task of reading aloud the newspapers. The police reports
formed Mrs. Jorrocks' chief delight, and she expected Kate to read
aloud, unhesitatingly the awful and revolting disclosures which the
liberty of the press demands should disgrace its columns. This duty
Kate gently and firmly refused, and she received unexpected support
from Mrs. Wilson, who offered to read them herself. Nothing surprised
Miss Vernon more than the untiring assiduity with which Mrs. Jorrocks
devoted herself to the elucidation of her neighbours' affairs; none
were too humble, none too exalted for her universal curiosity. The
house-maid's lover, and the mayor's wife, the charwoman, and the
duchess--she had scandalous stories of them all! Kate sometimes
wondered if she thought well of her own children; she was never
actively cross, nor could you ever discern that she was pleased,
save on those rare occasions when a couple of aggravated failures
amongst her acquaintances--a murder, a suicide, and the elopement
of somebody's husband or wife, by their united excitement enabled
her to pass a cheerful and satisfactory morning. Kate was almost
surprised to perceive she was actually gaining favour in the eyes of
this uncongenial old woman. She did not know the effect which her own
grace and refinement produced upon the stiff, rugged, clayey nature
she was thus brought in contact with. Each member of the family felt
instinctively her superiority to themselves, while her unassuming
gentleness prevented any of that soreness of feeling with which
superiority is usually acknowledged; and although at first Kate was
often disagreeably surprised to find that her presence was unnoticed
when visitors came in, and no conversation was addressed to her who had
been ever accustomed to find herself an object in society; yet all this
wore off soon, and both Mrs. Jorrocks and her daughter learned to be
proud of their elegant-looking inmate.
The greatest relief Miss Vernon experienced during this _triste sejour_
was from the kind attentions of Mr. Davis's family, who were their near
neighbours, and presented Kate with what she considered a beau ideal of
an English merchant's family--hospitable, intellectual, well educated;
respecting their own middle-class position, without a trace of that
envious malignity towards rank which so often distinguishes _les
nouveaux riches_. They might, perhaps, lack that extreme outward grace
of manner and bearing, which nothing but an infancy and childhood
passed among the refining influences of aristocratic accessories can
bestow; but in every essential point they were ladies and gentlemen. A
few hours passed with them was an inexpressible refreshment to Kate's
spirit, and warmly was she received: they delighted in her music, and
she willingly sang, even her most sacred songs, for them. Another--the
only other comfort in Kate's life, was that Mrs. Jorrocks always
retired early, and then she used to lock her door, and, if she felt her
heart strong enough, indulge herself in a long study of the sketches
Egerton had given her of Dungar and of the Priory.
Meantime Lady Desmond's letters were pretty constant, she repeatedly
pressed Kate to return, sometimes with an earnestness that bespoke
truth--sometimes with a certain coldness; but Miss Vernon's invariable
reply was--that she would not join her, at all events, until after
Christmas.
Nurse's letters always filled Kate's heart with a curious mixture
of pleasure and pain--she forced herself to write to that faithful
friend, with unreal cheerfulness; and nurse, who was totally ignorant
of Carrington, and its inhabitants, was happy in believing "Miss Kate
was stoppin' in some grand place, away from thim shop-keeping Storeys."
She had persisted in her intention of leaving Lady Desmond; and the
following is the account she gave of herself, in a letter received by
Kate, about a fortnight after she had reached Carrington:--
"You'll be surprised to see where I write from, but afther mee goin'
hot foot to Killeesh, there was'nt the sign of wan belongin' to me in
the place, an' nothing but the hoigth of misery and starvation. The
Priest's housekeeper, a dacent woman, took me in the chapel-house; an'
the next day, I walked the whole eight miles over to Dungar. Oh, Miss
Kate, agra! It was the sore sight to me! Like the corpse of wan ye
loved, it was--there was the dear ould place, and the house that was
iver open, an' the wood, an' the stones, an' the say--but the life an'
the heart was gone out of it, an' glory be to God! the divils that
tuck it never had luck nor grace, but has been tearin' each other, at
law, iver since; an yez might have lived in pace for all they got out
of it. I said mee prayers on the hall door steps, where the masther
(the heaven's be his bed!) used to stan' an' hear all the poor people
had to say. I thought the life would lave me when I rus meesilf to
go back--I had no strength; but be the hoight of luck, who come upon
a low back car, but ould Paddy Byrne--'twas he was glad to see me,
an' quite moidhered to find me there without yerself--so he give me a
cast to Killeesh; but I was so sick of the sorra, I could do nothin'
for--that I come away afther mee sisther's daughther here--they'e
doing very well, an' have a nice little shop, with soap an' candles;
an' tay an' kid gloves; an' all to that in it. An' I'm tired of bein'
idle, so take in a thrifle iv work, an' clear-starchin'--I get plinty
from the officers' ladies, an' it amuses me till ye send for me, ah!
whin 'ill that be, avourneen?
Mee lady and me parted great frinds, an' she put five goulden guineas
in mee hand, an' tauld me to come back whin iver I like, so I've not
touched yer money agra! but I must stop, for I'm tired intirely with
the writin'."
This long letter was written from Fermoy, and passionately did Kate
weep over the picture it drew of her deserted home.
* * * * *
Time rolled on rapidly, for little occurred to mark it, and Kate had
almost ceased to battle with the dull despondency that was creeping
over her. The perpetual reading aloud of insipid romances, which
alone found favour in the eyes of Mrs. Jorrocks; the efforts to keep
awake in the close atmosphere of the stifling parlour, the occasional
outburst of tyrannic rage from Mr. Wilson, savage as they were in
all the rude reality of a rugged nature, excited into forgetfulness
of its efforts to be "genteel;" and, which though never addressed
to Kate, seemed to insult her by their unrestrained violence; these
various petty annoyances, daily, hourly, repeated, made up a terrible
sum--occasionally the wild wish to escape to nurse, even if it were to
join her in plain work, and clear-starching--would swell her heart to
bursting, and then would come the reaction! Where in truth could she
go? Her cousin's alternations of coldness and affection, she could not
brave--no; it was due to herself to keep aloof, until some more cordial
acknowledgment of her error and injustice was made by Lady Desmond.
Mrs. Storey wrote seldom, and did not make any renewal of her
invitation--of other friends or relatives, she had none, at least, in
the true meaning of these words. So the passionate yearning with which
her thoughts ever sprang to seek the means of escape, after treading
the same circle over and over, returned like a bird, weary of beating
the wires of its cage, to their last hope--a letter from Winter, on his
return.
But it is weary work to dwell upon the sameness of such suffering; none
can fully appreciate it, save those enlightened by experience--though
many might have found companionship to Mrs. Jorrocks a severer
probation. The world must become older, and purer, and more
christianised, before the exercise of power can be resisted, or the
charm of torturing those who are weak, foregone.
Sunday was a day of great eating at Carleton-terrace--in short, Mrs.
Wilson, on that day, indulged the household in a dinner, the usual
week-day meals not deserving the name. On these occasions Master Pem.
eat till he could eat no more, and paused in silent regret, that
nature had provided such insufficient stowage. The scholar, James, was
less eager, but more select, and ever sent up his plate, accompanied
with some especial direction, as to the particular dainties he desired.
Mr. Wilson's efforts did not fall far short of those of his offspring;
and if vexed by any errors in elegance, on the part of his wife,
regaled the party over a bottle of port, with some choice anecdotes of
various celebrities, fashionable and political, which smacked strongly
of the commercial-room--frequent repetition might have robbed them of
their first freshness, but his family were well trained, and always
laughed at the right place.
Sunday morning, at church, was perhaps the proudest moment of Mr.
Wilson's life, when he stood erect and spruce in his pew; and,
condescendingly, classed himself in audible tones with the other
"miserable sinners" of the congregation. No part of the service did
he neglect--he even joined in the singing, with a voice so utterly
discordant, that Kate absolutely started, and turned to look from
whence the horrid sounds proceeded, the first time she heard them.
Church was the grand theatre of display to Mesdames Jorrocks and Wilson
and the great proportion of their acquaintances; and a lively topic of
conversation on their return home.
"Did you see what a velvet mantle Mrs. B----, have on? asks the mother."
"Yes; it cost ten guineas, if it cost a penny," returns the daughter.
"And her husband be deep in the "great Midland;" maybe, next year
she'll have to wear Linsey-woolsey."
"You never see such lace as Miss F. had, trimming her bonnet--that
depth," cried Mrs. Wilson, with eager rapidity, and holding out a
finger, &c.
Then came a few words on the sermon, which was quickly despatched;
and thus was the interval between church and dinner whiled away;
and though it may place Miss Vernon very far back on the list of any
sanctified reader, it must be confessed she never looked forward with
much pleasure to the day of rest. Mr. Wilson's anecdotical powers were
rather too much to endure for an entire sabbath day.
The third month of Kate's purgatorial sojourn, was opening gloomily
enough, when one Sunday morning, as they were assembled at breakfast,
in more than usually gorgeous array--as a popular preacher was expected
to draw "a full house--" a loud ring announced the post.
"I'll engage it's for Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Jorrocks, "I never see
such a many letters as you do get."
But Kate did not heed her, her eyes were fastened on the letter handed
across the table by Master Pem. who detained it to read the direction,
observing--"It's a gentleman's hand," and eliciting a stern--"Hold
your tongue, sir," from his father. A mist swam before Kate's eyes,
and a spasm of hope and fear shook her heart as she recognised
Langley's hand, "it must be a letter from Mr. Winter," she murmured,
"will you allow me?" and with trembling fingers broke the seal--but no,
it was from Langley himself. Oh, Heavens! had any thing happened.
"MY DEAR MISS VERNON,
"I lose no time in informing you that I had a letter this morning from
Winter, dated the 20th, nearly three weeks ago; he writes in good
health and spirits, and talks of returning immediately; he is anxious
to know where you are; uncertainty on this point, from some passage in
your last letter, having kept him silent. I should not be surprised at
his arrival any day.
"Hoping this letter may find you well, and in haste to catch the post.
"Your's faithfully,
"WILLM. LANGLEY."
The first movement of her mind was disappointment, that Winter had not
written to herself.
"I thought I told him to direct as usual, to Mr. Langley; there must
have been some mistake; I forget what I wrote, but he may be back very
soon, perhaps next week--and then--"
What a bright indistinct feeling of hope and freedom expanded her
heart--yet she felt strangely nervous and trembling, as if the shadow
of some coming crisis had fallen upon her, and she hastily swallowed a
glass of cold water to refresh her parched mouth, before performing the
inevitable journey to church.
Mr. Wilson's pew was irreproachable in point of size and position, it
was not however faultless, for a large pillar, supporting the gallery,
reduced one corner to an invisible nook, where the most splendid
bonnet, and richest brocade might be for ever hidden from the eyes of
an admiring congregation. Here Kate had established her position,
and was permitted to retain it unmolested, and in most profound and
grateful thanksgiving she knelt that morning.
The church was crowded to excess--strangers stood in the aisle--under
the pulpit--in the door-ways--pew-openers waxed curt and imperious
in the exercise of unusual powers. Several well-dressed individuals
had been accommodated with seats in Mr. Wilson's pew, when Kate's eye
was involuntarily attracted by the distinguished air of a gentleman,
who had been shown into a seat, two or three rows in front of her,
during the second lesson; his back was towards her, of course, and she
felt vexed with herself for the pertinacity with which her eyes and
thoughts returned to him; his tall figure seemed familiar to her, as
she contrasted its easy grace with the forms around; so did the wavy
dark brown hair, the proud turn of the head, and as she gazed, her
heart throbbed, and the colour mounted to her cheeks. Surely it was a
waking dream, yet she could not be mistaken. No! it must be him--that
bow, as he returned a book, she had dropped, to the lady next him, none
but Egerton could have made it. Oh, that he would turn his face; but he
still stood or sat in the same position, and Kate, every pulse beating,
now pale, now flushing, striving vainly to think of the service--her
thoughts, now darting away into the past, now crying from the depths of
her soul to God for strength for the future, tried to still the wild
glowing anticipations which swept in sudden rapture over her spirit, as
the aurora borealis streams across the northern gloom. It was too bold,
too far-fetched a thought that he still remembered her, why should she
expect it.
At last, Doctor M---- mounted the pulpit, the hymn was finished, and
with a rustle of expectation the audience settled themselves in their
seats then--then the individual who engrossed Kate's every thought,
turned to face the preacher, and leaning his arm on the back of the
pew, revealed his well-known profile, and ended her uncertainty.
Doctor M---- preached well, and Egerton listened attentively, but the
sound of his voice scarce reached Kate's ears. In her quiet nook,
she gazed uninterruptedly on the face so often seen in her sleeping
and waking visions, at last, after so much of trial and suffering,
restored to her--the vague unacknowledged hope that had woven one
golden thread through her dreams of the future, where they, in sober
earnest, about to be accomplished? How she longed to hear his voice,
as if at its first sound the past would return to her, as it was
when they had parted. It was strange how he had twined himself round
her heart--he from whom she had parted without much of pain; but now
indissolubly linked with all that was brightest and best in her life,
all that she had loved and lost. Sorrow had revealed his heart to
hers, and the light of memory had shown her the true meaning of those
silent indications of bitter regret with which he had left her. And
now he looked older, darker, graver--calm thought had deepened the
expression of his eyes, and imparted a certain dignity to his brow,
and Kate felt he was no longer the gay, careless soldier she had
dared to lecture. There was a repose that bespoke strength even in
his attitude, and she longed to meet his eye, yet shrank from it with
fevered anticipation. Still he listened with grave, quiet, attention
to the eloquent reasoning of the preacher--and Kate grew restless,
and fearful that he would not see her; she calculated the chances of
their meeting, when the congregation was dispersing, and thought it
could not possibly fail to occur; but the very doubt filled her with
terror; if they did not meet now, months, years might pass over before
their dissimilar roads in life would again cross! and even if he should
remember, or enquire for her, who was there who could give him a clue
to her whereabouts; but the congregation was bending to receive the
benediction, and the decisive moment arrived. Colonel Egerton, with a
bow of acknowledgment to the owner of the seat, in which he had been
placed, rose, and gazing abstractedly over the crowd, above which his
tall figure rose proudly--moved down the aisle; the pressure compelled
him to stop a moment by the door of Mr. Wilson's pew, but the large
pillar interposed itself between Kate and the recognising glance,
for which she so yearned. Mrs. Jorrocks never was so slow in her
movements--she never leant so heavily before on Kate's slight arm, all
quivering with the wild beating of her heart; still they were but a few
steps behind him--if he would only turn his head! but no; he dreamt not
of the imprisoned spirit, so passionately yearning to catch one glance
from eyes, through which he gazed so listlessly! They were in the
door-way, and freed from the crowd, Colonel Egerton paused a moment,
as if to decide on his movements--put on his hat, and turning to the
right, walked away with a quick, firm, soldierly step--away--out of
sight--gone!
There was talk of Doctor M----'s wonderful sermon, as they wended
their way home--of how he had finally and utterly annihilated
the Pope; but Kate heard no sound, save a sad echo in her heart
repeating--"gone--gone."
Vain would it be to describe the anguish with which she threw herself
on her bed, when free and alone, and gave herself up to an agony of
hysteric sobs. Was it a dark fate hanging over her, ever to catch
glimpses of happiness, and there to lose them? Why need she hope or
struggle any more--all she longed for, was darkness and silence--never,
never again might she be as she was; when such a trifle had debarred
her from so bright a meeting, dare she hope the insuperable barrier of
distance would ever be removed? She could not rouse herself from this
paroxysm--the buoyancy of her spirit seemed, at last, worn out; and
head and heart alike aching, she lay in the stillness of exhaustion,
across her bed, when the servant came to summon her to dinner.
"I think Mrs. Tom have sent me a bad bargain after all," was Mrs.
Jorrocks's observation, on receiving an account of Miss Vernon's
indisposition. "I see I'll have to pay my forty pounds a year for the
nursetending of her--she looked like a ghost this week, and didn't mind
a word she was reading of--but it's always the way--new brooms."
"Well I'm sure, mother, it's only the heat at church--she will be
better to-morrow."
"She need'nt go to church, if she don't like to."
Kate only asked for quiet, and her own room, unmolested, for a few
days--this was permitted her; and there she lay, through the long,
weary, dark hours, brooding over the past, sometimes struggling with
nature's repugnance to depression; but for awhile careless and
indifferent to all without; then she strove to rally her scattered
forces, to remember that Winter was soon to return.
"And until that hope too is gone, I will not despair--God is so good,
and wise--He sees I have had so much sorrow--He will send me joy,
sooner or later--yes; I will hope still."