THE LAST.
The Saturday after the event last recorded, Kate was bending sadly
enough over her daily task, reading the _Court Circular_ to Mrs.
Jorrocks--her thoughts wandering to some letters from Lady Desmond, and
from nurse, which she had not had the heart to answer.
"The Countess of P----, is entertaining a large party at P----
Castle--the Prince di ----, and Count Alphonso di ----, are among the
distinguished visitors.
"The Earl of Effingham left Cowes, on Tuesday last, in his yacht,
the 'Meteor,' for St. Petersburgh, where we understand it is his
lordship's intention to winter."
"He be a shocking man," observed Mrs. Jorrocks, _en parenthése_, "such
stories as Mr. Wilson have heard of him up in London. Go on please--I
think you be half asleep this morning."
But Kate was now wide awake--so he was gone at last--Lady Desmond must
hear it--all would be clear to her--she could no longer doubt! Miss
Vernon took fresh courage, and began again:--
"A matrimonial alliance between the Marquis of ----, and the beautiful
----."
A loud ring.
"Whoever can ring so loud!--they'll bring down the bell! one would
think they wished to--stay till I ask Eliza," exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks.
In another moment, Eliza put in her head--
"Please, Miss Vernon, you're wanted."
Kate rose, and left the room, carelessly, thinking Mrs. Wilson
required her presence; but the instant she passed the door, her
eyes fell upon a stout, dumpy figure, which, hat in hand, stood on
the door-mat--an unmistakeable figure, for a sight of which she had
so pined. What she said, or did, she could not tell; some vague
remembrance of throwing her arms round his neck, and sobbing there--she
did preserve; but Winter has often said--that the way in which she
clung to him, as if she could never grasp so blessed a reality close
enough--her eager caresses--her broken exclamations of joy, affected
him deeply, and revealed her past sufferings, more eloquently, than the
most elaborate description.
"Well; but, _figlia mia_" said Winter, as she grew a little calmer,
and they sat together in the fireless dining-room; "you look pale and
thin," and he held her from him, and gazed at her till the moisture
stood in his keen, black eyes. "My dear child, I am much to blame--I
have neglected you; but I will atone for it--your last letter misled
me completely; yet I ought to have returned home before."
"Oh! no, no! you are always good. Thank God--thank God, you are come at
last."
"Yes! We arrived on Wednesday, and the next day I called on Langley;
he gave me a sketch of your proceedings that thoroughly perplexed
me. I had matters to arrange on Friday morning which could not be
postponed, but my wife gave me no peace till I started by the mail
train at nine o'clock last evening--so here I am!" Kate listened in
rapt attention--was she really sitting once more beside the kind good
artist? "My child, I fear you have suffered much, but we will try to
cheer you up; if you prefer doing the thing independently, Mrs. Winter
has grown a great lady, and requires a companion quite as much as Mrs.
Rollocks, or Jollocks, or whatever her name is--and her husband too,"
continued Winter, more thickly than ever. "In a few weeks I shall have
my house in A---- back on my hands--what say you, Kate, to making the
old couple happy till you go to a home of your own? We may not be gay;
but--"
"Oh! hush, hush! You do not know how overpoweringly delightful such a
vision seems to me."
"Vision!--_Corpo di Bacco_, it shall be reality; and Mrs. O'Toole! my
adopted daughter must have her own maid--_che gloria_--I have been
expecting to see her broad, honest face every minute. My Kate--it must
have gone hard with you to part with her."
But Kate could not speak--she could only clasp Winter's hand in both
of hers, and murmur a broken thanksgiving, her eyes rivetted on her
companion in speechless gratitude.
"But this is all waste of time," resumed Winter, "and you will
have enough to do to be ready to return with me by the two o'clock
train--Mrs. Winter expects us to tea this evening."
"This evening!--Oh! I can be ready in a moment," cried Kate
rapturously. "But,"--her countenance fell--"I must not, I fear--I could
not be rude to these people; they have been civil to me in their way."
"_Poter del mondo! cospetta!_" cried Winter thickly and stoutly; "I
will lose sight of you no more, and I have no time to stay in this
confounded cotton-spinning metropolis. Let me see these dragons of
yours. I am he that will bell the cat."
So they went into the front parlour, Kate still clinging to his arm.
"My friend, Mr. Winter, Mrs. Jorrocks," said Kate.
"Please to sit down, sir," returned that lady.
"I am come to take Miss Vernon away with me," began Winter, in abrupt
and decided tones.
"Oh! you be----But I think it is rather sudden. What am I to do--and
where will you be if I say no?"
"My dear madam, I shall still be in Carrington. It is quite natural you
should not like to part with Miss Vernon; in short, she expressed to me
her reluctance to leave you, abruptly, and all that sort of thing; but
I want her, and my wife wants her, and I am sure you will not stand in
her way."
Here Mrs. Wilson entered in a new cap, and Winter was duly presented.
"This gentleman is for taking Miss Vernon away to-day. I declare he has
quite took away my breath," said Mrs. Jorrocks.
"_Never_," returned her daughter. "Well, if that isn't the strangest
thing."
"Oh! as Miss Vernon is in such a hurry I'll not stop her, only since
she has broken her engagement she must take the consequences."
"That is not of the least importance," said Mr. Winter.
"It would distress me to seem rude where I have received courtesy,"
said Kate; "but surely you must sympathise in my anxiety to be once
more domesticated with such kind and valued friends. Mr. Winter must
return to town; I should much like to accompany him."
And thereupon Mesdames Jorrocks and Wilson burst forth into a
vociferous and vituperative duet--
"There was gratitude for you! She had been treated more like a daughter
than a dependent; and what was she but a companion after all. There
was no end to the favours she had received, but it was the way with
the Irish always. It would be a lesson to them how to treat the next
companion they got! And now, when this gentleman, whom they had never
heard of before, appears, as if from the clouds, Miss Vernon is ready
to walk off with him. It was very odd his wife (if he _had_ a wife)
could not wait a day or two--people who had to earn their bread should
be very careful--and what would Mr. Wilson say," &c., &c.
"Kate, my dear," said Winter, coolly, "go and put up your things--I see
this is no place for you--I will wait here."
She left the room, much annoyed to be obliged to part with Mrs.
Jorrocks on such terms, yet to stay behind Winter was an impossibility;
so, resolutely determining, she hastily packed up her worldly effects,
remembering, thankfully, the different mood in which she had last
stowed them away.
Winter meantime exerted himself to converse with the amiable mother and
daughter, and not without effect. He talked in his most eccentric and
abrupt manner, and finally impressed them with the notion that he was
a whimsical but wealthy millionaire, to whose fancies it was Kate's
interest to accommodate herself. Matters, consequently, wore a less
stormy aspect on Kate's return to the sitting-room; both ladies were
cool, and Winter very lively.
"So you are off, Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Wilson; "I did not think we
should part so sudden."
"I offer Miss Vernon the alternative to return with me, and be my
daughter and heiress, or to remain here and be neither," broke in
Winter conclusively.
"Well, I suppose you had better go--you acknowledge I owe you nothing,"
put in Mrs. Jorrocks.
"I do indeed! Will you give this note, with my kindest regards, to Mrs.
Davis?" returned Kate.
"And," observed Winter, "permit your servant to call a cab."
A few more awkward moments, and the cab drove up.
"Well, good bye, Mrs. Jorrocks--you forgive my abrupt departure?"
"I suppose I must--good bye;" and again the rigid hand was held out
stiff and cold.
"Good bye, Miss Vernon--I wish you 'appy," said Mrs. Wilson, and she
was free!
It was a gloomy, drizzling November day, yet she thought there was
something cheery in the sensation of safety from wet conveyed by the
substantial look of the carriages drawn up beside the platform, where
Winter's impatience hurried them nearly an hour too soon. He had tried
to persuade Kate to eat something during this interval, and though
excitement left her little appetite, she swallowed a sandwich and a
glass of wine to please him.
At last, the arrival of luggage and passengers became more frequent
and hurried--first and second bells were rung--places taken--doors
banged--a jerk forward--another back--and they were off--not at full
speed at once, but slowly through the tunnel--leaving Kate time to
look at the spot where she felt so desolate, the day she arrived; and,
contrasting her present feelings with that terrible period, she knew,
for the first time, perhaps, how much she had suffered. It was better
for her that the disappointment at Egerton's not recognising her had
come before, not after Winter's return--it was something to keep the
balance of her heart amid so much delight. The recollection of it had
never left her mind for a single instant since the Sunday before, till
Winter's presence had, for a moment, overpowered it with a flood of
light. Already, however, it was beginning to return, yet less gloomily,
less hopelessly, mingling with some more clearly acknowledged sense
of duty to herself--that it was too bold, too unmaidenly to think
so much of one who perhaps thought but little of her! Yes--she was
strong enough to be proud again. Oh! the enjoyment of that journey!
everything looked so pleasant--even the drenched country through
which they flew--and the stiff, old-maidish-looking woman opposite,
who read "vestiges of the Natural History of the Creation" the whole
way--munching biscuits till the carriage was strewn with the vestiges
of modern crumbs; and the two gentlemen, one from Hampshire, and the
other from North of the Tweed, who discussed Free Trade so warmly with
Mr. Winter--and dear Mr. Winter himself, his rosy, round, well-shaven
face, with its twinkling eyes, sparkling over a dark brown Spanish
cloak, of melo-dramatic dimensions, majestically folded round him,
while his head was cosily tied up in a templar cap, with flaps over the
ears! How radiant is each object viewed through the medium of a happy
heart!
Then as evening closed in, and after rushing by many a quiet little
station with its red flag, and signal-man's outstretched arms, how
joyous was Winter's look, as he drew out his watch.
"Half-past four! we shall be at Euston Square not long after eight."
A few minutes pause at Wolverton, while the porters trampling heavily
overhead put in the lighted lamps--and jerk, clash--they were off
again. The Hampshire gentleman drew up a window that had been slightly
open, and renewed his argument.
"And though the legislature leaves the farmer no protection, the
legislators will not lower their rents a fraction. Why, down in my
county, Lord Egerton, of Allerton, took off two and a half per cent
last year; and to read the address, and hear the speeches he made about
it, you would think he had made each tenant a present of his holding.
Thanking Heaven for putting so christian an act into his heart, &c.,
&c.; and now they say he will never recover; and his brother will be
putting the screw on again, I suppose."
"Is Lord Egerton ill then?" asked Winter, with some interest.
"He had a paralytic seizure about four or five months ago, and has been
in a very bad state ever since; his brother, Colonel Egerton, was sent
for to India; he was down at Allerton a short time since, not very well
himself, I believe."
Kate's soul was in her ears during this communication; and while she
chided herself for thinking of him, her thoughts dwelt on Egerton,
till, at last, wearied by the excitement, she had gone through, her
slight, graceful form lent more and more against the side of the
carriage, and she slept. Winter carefully drew her cloak round her, and
fastened it closer to her throat; and, as she opened her eyes, slightly
roused by his movement, she silently thanked God that she was no more
uncared for and alone.
"Tickets if you please," were the next sounds that met her ear--"Great
time! only just eight," from Winter, as she looked up bewildered after
the disturbed sleep in which she had indulged.
"Where are we?"
"Near home," said Winter, while his bead-like eyes twinkled with more
than usual vivacity.
"Sure you have left no indispensable carpet-bag behind? got your
parasol? all right--in with you--14, Orchard Street--drive fast."
And away through dull, dark streets, now whisk round a corner into a
blaze of light and flaring gas jets over butchers' stalls--now winding
through omnibusses--anon dashing past the brilliantly lit up _entré_ to
some concert room--again into darkness undiminished save by the street
lamps and hall lights--then a rumble over the side stones.
"Here we are," from Winter--as the door flew open before their
charioteer could knock.
Mrs. Winter, standing under the lamp, in a cap that looked as if it had
been made at A----, herself neat, as though she never had encountered a
Spanish flea.
"Dearest Kate! I thought you would never come!"
A sobbing, joyous embrace, and she was swept up-stairs, where even the
London lodging looked homelike under Mrs. Winter's benign influence.
Then came the plentiful tea--hot cakes, and broiled ham and eggs, with
mulled port for the lady, and brandy-and-water for the gentleman--and
the delicious confusion of cross questions, and most irrelevant
answers--and the mingling of tears and smiles!
"Now you must go to bed," said Winter; "see, it is long past one--and
that poor child has been in constant agitation all day--she has not a
vestige of color in her cheeks."
"Indeed, my dear, you look ill--yes--you must go to bed," observed his
wife, with her usual kindly precision, which nothing but the actual
excitement of the moment of meeting could break through, and which Kate
recognized joyfully as an old friend.
"The sober certainty of waking bliss," may well be weighed against the
agony of first waking after grief. And Kate lay for some time, the next
morning, comparing this Sunday with the last; then her thoughts flew
to nurse, and she sprang up to communicate to her the joyful news of
her emancipation.
"Ah! I have heart to write now."
Winter and his wife soon asked for a fuller and more connected account
than she had yet given them of her life since they had last met; and
though it cost her many tears, the recital did her good. How clearly
through it all could she trace the guiding of Almighty love, ever
hovering near to interpose its aid when the bowed spirit failed beneath
its burden. No, they were not bitter tears she shed that morning.
And, sometimes, her eyes would sparkle brightly through them, as she
recounted nurse's undeviating self-devotion and unfailing truth. She
thought little of herself during the narration, nor dreamt it was the
quiet, undaunted heroism her words involuntarily displayed--the heroism
of exhaustless love, careless of its own wealth, that drew such quick
sobs from Mrs. Winter, and made her good little husband wink his eyes,
and blow his nose, so furtively, and so often.
Both the artist and his wife perceived there was some mystery attached
to Kate's separation from Lady Desmond, into which they must not pry;
and so, with praiseworthy self-denial, accepted, unquestioned, the
account she chose to give of her wish to be independent, &c., &c., &c.
"I feel I neglected you, my dear Kate," said Winter, as she paused,
wearied by her long recital, "but the perfect content of your last
letter induced me, without any fixed plan, to ramble on and on,
like some butterfly attracted from flower to flower, lost in a rich
profusion of magnificent subjects. Madame bore it all wonderfully;
I owe her much for her patience; and I intended every day, for the
last six weeks, to write and tell you what time we had fixed on for
our return, though I fancied, from what you last said, that you and
Lady Desmond intended to leave England, and ramble God knows where;
therefore, I always thought it better to wait; as you were in good
hands, a few weeks, one way or the other, would make no difference--so
I loitered on, scarcely hoping to find you in England on my return;
at last we found ourselves at Gibralter, so late in the year, and so
tired of knocking about, that we took the Peninsular and Oriental
steamer, and, after a tedious passage, arrived here, as I told you,
last Wednesday. In three weeks, I trust, the house in the Abbey-gardens
will be free, and then, with God's blessing, we will keep Christmas
thankfully in the old place--would you like this?"
"If you had read my most inmost wish for the coming season, which I so
dreaded, it would be to spend it where I was so happy, and grandpapa so
respected."
"But, my dear," said Mrs. Winter to her husband, "don't you think
Kate ought to have advice? She changes color so, and her pulse is very
irregular."
"My kind friend, no," said Kate, leaning her head on Mrs. Winter's
shoulder, "_you_ have brought me all I want--the sense of home. I will
rest during the three weeks we are to be here--rest profoundly--and, at
the end of that time, you shall have, please God, a rosy, cheerful--"
she paused, and added, enquiringly, "daughter."
Winter took her hand, and pressed it gravely and affectionately, as if
accepting her; his wife kissed her cheek, and there was a silence of
deep feeling.
"Now I must write."
"Who to?" asked Winter.
"Georgy and nurse."
"Very well; tell the latter (may she not, Sue?) that the moment we are
settled at A----, We will summon her to wait on our daughter."
"Yes--I shall be proud to have her about you, she is excellent,"
returned his wife.
And Kate wrote. Oh, how vain all language to depict the gratitude
with which she wrote; yet she would fain have despatched an order
for nurse's immediate return to her; but she was pleased, right well
pleased, to have so near a prospect of re-union before her.
And peacefully did the days glide over, and pleasant too, though London
wore its November gloom--without might be fog and damp, cold winds and
muddy streets--within were bright fires and calm, full hearts. Kate,
in spite of herself, felt, at times, restless to know more of Egerton,
though she could not bring herself to speak of him; but then she had
so much to hear from Winter; so many exquisite sketches to examine;
so much to discuss, relative to a picture he intended exhibiting next
Spring; new books, reviews, and music, amongst which to revel, so that
her mind was well filled.
Langley and Mrs. Storey soon made their way to see her; the latter
was, undoubtedly, of great use to Mrs. Winter, and an unimpeachable
authority on all matters connected with shopping; they made endless
excursions together, while Kate remained quietly at home, for a slight
pain in the chest made Winter a little uneasy, and repose seemed now to
her the greatest pleasure.
She had enjoyed nearly a week of this welcome rest, when the following
letter from Lady Desmond was put into her hand--
"Perhaps the only intelligence which could have gladdened my heart,
was that conveyed by your letter, dearest Kate. At last, my eyes
are opened, fully opened, to the culpable folly and injustice of my
conduct. Now, when it is too late to spare you the suffering I have
inflicted. If you could see how I loathe myself, you would weep for
me. God gave me health, and riches, an unspotted name, and a fair
position; I paid back no tithe of gratitude or duty--and after a life
of self-indulgence--He gave me the gracious task to guard and cherish
my benefactor's child--see how I have performed the one incumbent but
pleasant duty placed so clearly before me--discarded it--rejected it,
for an unholy phantom. Oh, Kate, Kate! you are so patient, so good, so
forgiving; and I, as I write each excellence, seem to myself so base,
and implacable, and imperious, I am not worthy that you should come
under my roof. But, thank God, your true, kind friends are restored
to you--I see you are happy, and now I understand but too well why
you remained so long at Carrington. Good Heavens! to what have I not
driven you--persuading myself that your own guilty conscience would
not permit you to accept the invitations I compelled myself to make.
I do not ask you to forgive me--I know you do; but, oh, write to
me--reconcile me to myself--I cannot rest. I wear myself out among
these wretched people whom I half envy for their absorption in mere
physical suffering, and still I do not sleep. I want to see you, to
hear your voice. Oh, I am wretched.
"Write to me again--say you are happy--it is all that can console me.
"Yours, as in our old days,
"G. DESMOND."
Kate did not lose an hour in replying to this letter, she wrote with
all the simple wisdom of a true, pure, loving heart. True, deep,
unchanging sympathy, and judicious respect, breathed through every
line, and at the conclusion she declared her readiness to join her
cousin as soon as Christmas, (which she had faithfully promised to
spend with the Winters) was over.
"Or you might visit A----," she continued, "you would, I know, like
my kind friends so much--you would enjoy Mr. Winter's artistic
enthusiasm, and his wife's excellent quaintness. We shall have many
pleasant days together yet, dearest Georgy, and leaving our faulty past
in the hands of a merciful judge--help each other to live a better and
a higher life for future."
Miss Vernon was here interrupted by the servant of the house, who came
to say Mr. Winter was in the drawing-room, with a gentleman, and wanted
her.
"Very well, I will be down in a moment," replied Miss Vernon, "I
suppose it is Mr. Langley," she thought, as she hastily finished her
letter, sealed and directed it, before descending to the drawing-room;
the door was slightly open, and she heard a very clear quiet voice,
which seemed familiar to her, say--
"No, I should not have given it up," she stopped a moment, then,
without giving herself time for further cowardice, entered the room,
and met an earnest, enquiring glance from Egerton's dark brown eyes.
Kate had a good deal of self-command, but it had been much tried of
late; she felt her heart stand still for a second, and then throb
violently; instinctively covering her eyes with one hand, she held out
the other, silently, and it was quickly, warmly, yet gently, clasped in
both of Egerton's.
"I fear we have startled you," said he, calmly, with a certain tone
of deep feeling in his voice, which acted on Kate's nerves like a
restorative.
"Yes," she replied, tremulously; but recovering herself, and
withdrawing her hand--"I had no idea who the gentleman was, they told
me had come in with Mr. Winter--I am very glad to see you." And she sat
down feeling quite incapable of standing any longer. Egerton placed
himself beside her, and Winter stood opposite, in a state of fume,
against the stupidity of lodging-house servants.
"I told the thick-headed girl, as plainly as possible, Colonel Egerton,
on purpose to prepare you. I knew the memories--humph pooh," and
Winter stopped abruptly, for Egerton, whose eyes were fixed on Kate's
face, raised his hand significantly as he observed her changing colour.
And this was their first meeting--not very demonstrative, yet Kate was
satisfied. Winter rattled on, apparently well pleased, but Egerton and
Kate were very silent, the latter particularly so.
"I was hurrying down Pall Mall, in hopes of catching Mrs. Winter before
she started on any shopping expedition, when suddenly, an iron grasp
on my shoulder arrested my progress. I just looked round, previous to
calling the police, and saw Egerton's face considerably browner than
when last I beheld it--he was not very connected at first."
"No," interrupted Egerton, "I was breathless--I had just issued from my
club, when I caught a glimpse of your well-remembered figure--to give
chase was my first impulse--better get into a scrape than miss the man
I had been so long looking for, so here I am; and are you quite well,
Miss Vernon? You look--"
"You must not tell me I am looking ill," said Kate, with something of
her old archness, a soft smile playing round her lips, and dimpling her
cheek, as a sudden gleam of sunshine calls forth a thousand diamond
sparkles from the bosom of a sleeping lake.
"You do not look well," persisted Egerton, too earnest to be
complimentary; and then, strange to say, there was an awkward
pause--their hearts were too full to speak on any common-place topic,
and they dared not touch upon anything deeper.
Winter did good service, however, and at last Kate ventured to ask--
"Have you been long in England, Captain--I mean Colonel Egerton."
He smiled, his own bright smile--lip and eyes in unhesitating harmony.
"Yes--call me Captain Egerton, it reminds me of old times and pleasant
days. I arrived here nearly a month ago--I had been ordered home by
the doctor, at the same time Mary, (my sister, Mrs. Wentworth), wrote
requesting I would return, on account of Egerton's health; besides," he
added, with another smile, "I was home-sick, and restless to learn more
than letters could tell me. I was almost a fortnight at Allerton."
"So we heard on the rail-road," interrupted Winter; "I mean, that you
had been at Allerton. And so your brother is very ill?"
Colonel Egerton shook his head.
"Very painfully affected; and, I fear, will never be much better. They
want me to stay in England; but I can really be of no use to him; and
as soon as I have refreshed myself, I mean to return to India, unless
something very unforeseen occurs."
"Being his next heir," began Winter.
"Is no reason why I should waste my life, waiting to step into
my brother's shoes. As soon as I could get away from Allerton, I
started for A----, hoping to find you and Mrs. Winter there. I knew,"
turning to Kate, and insensibly softening his tones, "that the Priory
existed no more--at least, for me--but I knew Winter would always be
in communication with you. Imagine my dismay, to find a stranger in
possession of the hospitable house where I had been so well cared
for. Do you know I felt confoundedly cut up. I could learn nothing
satisfactory there, so I came on to Carrington, and put up for a night
with the ---- Hussars--old friends of mine. It was curious, Miss
Vernon, how vividly the place reminded me of that ball. I felt a sort
of certainty that you were near, and that I should meet you somehow. By
the way, I went to hear the famous Doctor M---- preach before starting
for town."
"I know," said Kate, quietly--"you sat three rows before me."
Egerton almost started from his seat in profound amazement.
"How! what! do you mean to say you were in the church, and I did not
see you?"
"How extraordinary you did not mention this to me," exclaimed Winter.
"I did not think--that is, I intended--and was always interrupted,"
faltered Kate.
"And why! why did you not speak to me?" cried Egerton, eagerly.
"I could not, indeed! though I wished it much," said Kate, with a
simple earnestness, at which Egerton's dark, embrowned cheek flushed
with sudden pleasure. He did not pursue the subject then; but said,
abruptly--
"I have felt bewildered at finding myself so suddenly talking to my old
friends, or I could not have been so long without enquiring for Mrs.
O'Toole. May I not see my good nurse? You know she is mine, as well as
yours, Miss Vernon."
"She is quite well; but alas! not with me; she joins us, however, when
we return to A----. Oh! how glad she would be to see you again! she was
so fond of you."
"Not with you!"
Colonel Egerton was beginning in tones of no small surprise, when the
door opened, and Mesdames Storey and Winter entered.
The greeting between Mrs. Winter and Egerton was considerably more
demonstrative than any that had yet occurred; the kind little woman
was evidently touched by the genuine delight evinced by her quondam
patient at seeing her; and Winter smiled to see Colonel Egerton's more
deep happiness take this method of expression; Mrs. Storey simpered and
curtsied and nodded to Kate, and was altogether, as she said, "quite
taken with Colonel Egerton;" and sat on till her friends wished her
far away. The conversation was, therefore, general; and Miss Vernon
unusually silent.
Egerton felt he could make no enquiries then, so rose to leave, having
paid an unconscionably long visit.
"I have a letter for nurse," said he to Kate, "which my ignorance of
her whereabouts has prevented my forwarding; if you will allow me,
I will bring it here to-morrow morning, and hear all about her, and
everything. I have so many questions to ask; but I promised to see Sir
J. M---- at the Horse Guards to-day, and must go. I presume you are
visible early?"
"Can't you join us at dinner, a lodging-house scramble? but, I suppose,
an old campaigner as you are, can rough it," said Winter, with eager
hospitality, that startled his precise wife.
"With the greatest pleasure," cried Egerton, in his old, gay, frank
manner. "I was just wishing you would ask me."
Winter and Kate smiled; and Mrs. Storey opened her eyes, astonished at
so cool an admission.
"_Au revoir_, then," continued Colonel Egerton, taking his hat, and
bowing. "I will bring you the letter, Miss Vernon."
"Is five o'clock too early?" shouted Winter, after him, as he ran down
stairs.
"No, not the least."
"Sharp, five then."
"Humph, ha," said Winter, rubbing his hands together, as he returned
to the room; "that's a fine fellow--no nonsense about him--though
he nearly knocked me over this morning. I am glad his brother never
married. Fred will make a first-rate member of the Upper House yet."
"But, my dear John, how you could be so thoughtless as to ask such a
fine gentleman--accustomed to the style he is--to a scrambling dinner
with us, in a couple of hours. I'm sure I do not know where to turn."
Mrs. Storey looked truly sympathising.
"Pooh, pooh, my dear, give him a chop and a jam tart; anything--he will
be satisfied, I'll engage; surely you must remember how easily pleased
he was at A----."
"Easily pleased, Mr. Winter! I am not so sure of that! a much more
fastidious man might be pleased with the table we kept at A----."
Winter pulled a long face, expressive of contrition for his fault; and
Kate interposed her soothing influence.
"Colonel Egerton was too glad to see you, and to come to you, to be
_difficile_."
"Well, Mr. Winter, I must go home before it is quite dark," said Mrs.
Storey.
"And I will escort you, my dear madam, to the omnibus--where can I
catch Langley?" asked Winter.
"Oh, at his house; he goes out very little."
So Mrs. Storey and her cavalier departed, while Mrs. Winter disappeared
to hold deep council with the landlady, and Kate was left alone to
revel in her own thoughts; gaily they careered away over the far
future, yet vaguely and indistinctly. Nurse and Georgy--the Winters
and herself, and Egerton, were to be always happy together in some
universal bond of fellowship; but she did not arrive at probabilities,
they half startled her; she almost shrunk from the whisper of her
heart--"He loves me, he always loved me." There was something too
positive, too bold in such thoughts! And so a thousand, bright,
kaleidoscope visions kept forming themselves round a delightful nucleus
presented by the simple sentence--
"Colonel Egerton is to dine here to-day!"
Long, very long it was, since she had dared to indulge thus in reverie;
and even while she raised her heart in unspoken gratitude to the Giver
of good for her great deliverance, the thought rose to her lips--
"If dear grandpapa had but lived, to see a return of so much happiness!
Ah, why was he taken in the midst of such heavy times?"
These reflections calmed the agitation which made each nerve
tremulous, and she anticipated Egerton's return less anxiously.
"I long to talk to him of grandpapa; but I am afraid of crying so very
much, it would distress him."
Here Mrs. Winter entered, quite restored to good humour, as Kate dimly
perceived by the fire-light.
"The woman of the house was so obliging; and it was so fortunate, the
gentleman in the front parlour had gone out of town for a few days, and
they could dine there; and an excellent pastry-cook at the corner of
the street would supply all deficiencies. And, my dear, it is almost
five o'clock, if you are going to smooth your hair, and wash your hands
before dinner."
If--of course she intended to do so.
It was many a long day since she looked in the glass and brushed her
glossy hair so carefully. She was not satisfied--no, she looked so
pale, so unlike her old bright self. She little thought how amply the
brightness was compensated by the pensive sweetness that deepened and
softened the gentle gravity of her face, and the species of languor
that lent such tender grace to her slight form. Never had Egerton
admired her so much--he had left a bright, saucy girl, and found a
lovely woman.
Winter returned with Langley, whom he had caught, for dinner; and
the little party had scarcely assembled, when Colonel Egerton was
announced; they were sitting by the light of a bright fire, and Miss
Vernon, leaning back quietly on the cushions of the sofa, was amused
by the contrast between Egerton's fine figure and air noble, Winter's
stumpy form, and Langley's awkward length; nor did Fred refrain from
stealing glances at the graceful outline of Kate's black dress, which
threw into strong relief the pure fairness of her throat and hands, a
delicate colour tinged her cheek, and a certain holy look of happiness
deepened the expression of her liquid eyes.
Egerton handed Mrs. Winter down to dinner, and Kate followed with
Winter. The repast was unimpeachable; but no one took any notice of
its arrangements. Much was said by the gentlemen; but the ladies
were rather silent. Egerton was all polished cordiality. A look of
frank joy, which he cared little to disguise, lighted up his bronzed
countenance and dark brown eyes; there was a degree of decision and
authority in his manner and opinions, that they perhaps wanted before,
as if he had read, and thought, and acted much since last he had
dined with them; and Kate observed that Winter insensibly treated
him with greater respect and less startling abruptness. Langley was
never much impressed with any man; and the trio discussed Spain and
India most agreeably, Colonel Egerton described simply and forcibly
his visit to the cave Temples of Elora; and this led to the Hindoo
Trinity, and the strange, rude, imperfect shadowing of the Christian
doctrines contained in it; and then they rambled on to the universal
ideas prevalent in all Pagan lands, and the German theories on this
subject, and on languages; of the traces of the moors in Spain, and the
Alhambra, &c. And on all these topics Egerton led instead of listening,
as in former times.
"If I could only persuade Mrs. Winter," said her husband, as she and
Kate rose to leave the room, "to write and publish her experiences
of Spain, the world would learn some startling facts. She used to
endeavour to teach the girls to work, while I was sketching for my
individual gratification. And as she picked up some colloquial Spanish,
she heard strange revelations, beating Borrow's Bible in Spain all to
nothing."
"My dear, how can you talk so! it was only the Muleteer's sister, poor
girl! and she knew a little English, near Gibraltar, you know."
"With all the roughing she bore so well abroad," resumed Winter, "the
moment she returned to England, heigh presto! the spell of nicety was
on her. Man may be free the moment his foot touches British ground;
but, Carambo! woman is trammelled forthwith by particularity and
regularity, and no end of arities; she was afraid she should not be
able to give you a sufficiently _recherché_ dinner, Colonel, on so
short--"
"My dear John, how can you--"
"Mrs. Winter knew I could not forget all the dainties with which she
used to tempt me, when I was such a troublesome invalid under her care,
and wished to surprise me with them here," said Egerton, with a smile
full of kindly recollection.
"Never mind, Sue," cried Winter, as she retired; "Spain is a country
too full of splendid colouring to be clean; nor is it necessary
there--_Dormire coi cani per levarsi colle pulci_."
"Well, my love, I think everything went on very smoothly," said Mrs.
Winter, as she settled herself for her nap before the gentlemen made
their appearance.
"Very well indeed," returned Kate, vaguely, her eyes gazing far away
into dreamland.
The gentlemen soon followed them; and once more Kate handed a cup of
tea to Egerton, their eyes met as he took it, and a tear started to
Kate's, as the familiar action brought the memory of her grandfather
vividly before her.
"I have so much to say to you--so much to enquire of you," said
Egerton, in a low tone, placing himself beside her; "but I must see
you alone; I dare not agitate you with reminiscences so sad before a
stranger, or indeed any third person."
"Yes, I have much to tell you," returned Miss Vernon, tremulously.
"It is a great mystery to me, the absence of nurse; I do not half like
it," resumed Egerton. "I have brought you the letter from her son."
"Thank you; I will forward it to-morrow. She will join me at A----. We
return there in about a fortnight."
"It was a most extraordinary occurrence," said Egerton, slowly stirring
his cup round and round, "that I should have been in the same church
with you at Carrington, and not know it. Why did you not speak to
me--call to me--shy a prayer-book at my head! anything, rather than let
me miss the good of which I was in search?"
Kate smiled, and shook her head.
"What a stupid numskull I was not to translate the instinctive feeling
of your presence correctly, instead of pooh-poohing it away, after
our friend Winter's fashion; however, all's well now. Give my kindest
remembrance to Mrs. O'Toole when you write."
"Certainly," said Kate, "I shall not fail."
"Your cousin, Lady Desmond, is in Ireland, so Burton told me; he is a
capital fellow; but Dashwood was away, God knows where; and he was the
only person it appears who had any trace of you. Do you know where he
is?"
"No, he told me he was going to fish in Ireland when I saw him last."
"So Lord Effingham is off to St. Petersburgh, Miss Vernon," said
Langley, at this juncture.
Kate felt that Fred's eye was on her, and coloured deeply, as she
merely bowed in assent.
"Curious place to winter in," he continued.
Then Winter made some observations about the freezing of the Neva, and
the Russian costume; and he and Langley talked on for a good while
standing on the hearth-rug, and sipping their tea; but Egerton was
silent, for some time; and Kate did not like to look at him; at last he
asked--
"Do you ever sing now?"
"Oh yes," answered Mrs. Winter for her. "Sing that pretty new song you
got yesterday, my love."
"No, no," cried Egerton, eagerly, "an old one for me--dare I ask for
'The Serenade,' if it would not distress you. I have so often longed to
hear it again."
"I will try," said Kate; "but--"
She went to the piano, and struck the well-remembered arpeggio chords
so long unheard; she strove to steady her voice, as it rose tremulous
with its rich sweetness and deep expression; Egerton leant on the
piano, wrapt in memory and contemplation. Kate proceeded very well to
the end of the first verse; but there, at the sustained note to which
her grandfather had so loved to listen, she faltered, paused, and
covering her face with both her hands, for an instant, hastily left the
room.
She was thoroughly overcome; and, exhausted by the excitement of the
day, returned no more that evening.
Colonel Egerton came the next day, and the next, and the next. Mr. and
Mrs. Winter, or Mrs. Storey, or some snuffy picture dealer was always
there, and he was reduced, _malgré lui_, to talk of generalities, this
constraint gave something of coolness and gravity to his manner; he was
often _distrait_; and Kate felt less calm.
Meanwhile Mrs. O'Toole's letters were filled with the rapturous
expectation of a reunion with her _Darlint_, and could scarce be
induced to wait until the time specified for her return by Winter.
Kate was re-reading one of her characteristic epistles one morning
after Mr. and Mrs. Winter had departed on some common errand. She had
a slight cold, and was ordered by her kind authoritative _maestro_ to
keep in doors; they had not been gone many minutes when Egerton came
in, carrying a large bouquet of hot-house flowers.
"I have just met Winter, and his _cara sposa_; they told me you were
on the sick list. How is that?"
"A cold--oh, nothing; but what beautiful flowers. I have suffered much
from a dearth of flowers."
"I wrote to my sister, who is at present at Allerton, to send me a
basket full, they have tolerable conservatories there."
"You are very kind; I will ring for a vase or bowl, or something to put
them in. Mrs. Winter will be delighted with them."
"Yes, but they are for you."
The little bustle of arranging the graceful gift proceeded pleasantly.
Egerton lounged on the sofa. Kate stood by the table, now consulting
him as to their arrangement, and touching them with a tender, admiring
care, that showed their appreciation of their rare beauty; gradually,
as the task was accomplished, they glided into talk of former
times; and Egerton spoke with such feeling of the sudden shock her
grandfather's death had been to him, that Kate, unspeakably gratified
by the reverent affection he expressed, was drawn on to give some
account of his last moments, and how the old hound died when relieved
from his watch. She spoke tremblingly, yet with wonderful composure;
Egerton listened in motionless attention.
"I shall never, never forget the night he died," she continued,
unconsciously playing with a leaf, and still standing by the table.
Egerton had risen, and was leaning against the mantel-piece. "He had
seemed better, that day, and happier, and I sat watching him by the
fire-light as he lay, asleep, as I thought, in his chair, long after
he was gone from me." She shuddered slightly. "I had been dreaming of
better times for him, perhaps a return to the Priory; but it was soon
broken, my dream! and then Georgy was away, and the Winters, and I was,
so alone! I had none, no, not one near me, that I loved, except poor
nurse."
She stopped to recover herself; Egerton, springing to her side, took
her hand in both his,
"Kate! long-loved, dearest, you have indeed been sad and weary; give me
the right to be beside you, come sorrow or joy; I cannot bear to think
of your being grieved and alone, while I, who so pined for a glimpse of
you, was far away. Let me hold you to my heart, and shelter you from
the roughness of life, or share its burdens with you. My beautiful one!
be my wife, and come what may, we will bear it with the strength of two
hearts."
He drew her to him, close, close, and she leaned her hand upon his
shoulder, murmuring,
"I always wished you to be there, _he_ loved you so much."
Where was sorrow, or fear, or doubt? "Where the evil that could touch
her now that she had reached the haven where she would be?" vanished
before the genial sunshine of Egerton's love.
One long, fond, gentle kiss, before she extricated herself from his
embrace, no longer her own, but pledged to be his while God granted
them life, though she had scarce breathed an articulate syllable.
The daylight was beginning to fade before Winter and his wife returned,
and still they talked of the past, and planned for the future, and
opened their inmost souls to each other; and Kate, the first strange,
bewildering, emotion of finding every shadow of reserve swept from
between herself and Egerton was gradually growing calmer; his voice
stilling her heart to the deep tranquillity of perfect contempt.
A glance on his entrance told Winter the state of affairs better,
indeed, than Egerton's incoherent explanation.
We have reached the climax of our story, not much remains to be
told, already its simple annals have spread themselves out too far;
patience, but little remains.
_To Mrs. O'Toole, Fermoy, Ireland._
"The day-dawn has indeed come at last, brightly and softly, dearest
nurse, true friend! Soon, soon we shall meet, and you will have two
nurselings. Oh, I am so strangely happy. The good God has sent us such
joy; for you and I always were joyful or sad together. Ah, I can no
longer speak of myself alone; I have another self, a better, nobler,
stronger self. A true heart to lean upon. The wish you have never
openly expressed will be accomplished, my own nurse. I have promised
to be his wife. Colonel Egerton's, of whom grandpapa was so fond;
he would be proud and glad if he knew it; and dare we say he does
not? I yearn to hear your voice, and that you too should bask in the
sunshine, after such a long sad winter; for he is so fond of you, and
always calls you his nurse. But in a very few days you will be with
me again. We go to A---- on the 30th; be there to meet us. Everything
is as yet very unsettled; but I write to you first, before any one. I
cannot tell you anything clearly now, only you are to be always with
me, and I do not think we shall leave England.
"Dear nurse, how wildly I have written, my hand is so unsteady, and my
heart beats; but, nurse, you must bend your knees before God, and pray
to Him to be with us now in this great trial of prosperity, even as He
stayed us in our time of adversity.
Ever your loving child,
KATE."
"Who are you writing to, Kate?" asked Egarton, jealously watching her
endeavouring to hide a tear that fell upon the paper as he entered the
room.
"To nurse, but you must not see it."
"_Cativa_--I have no such wild ambition, but keep it till to-morrow, I
want to add a postscript."
"Yes but no later, she will be so proud to hear from you."
Egerton's talk over pounds shillings and pence with Winter gave that
worthy great satisfaction. "I am not rich," said the young colonel,
"but I have a moderate competence with the prize money that has fallen
to my share, my military appointments and the certainty as to the
future, although it springs, unfortunately, from my poor brother's
state of health; besides, Kate is so differently situated now compared
to what she was when I tore myself away from England. I can never
forget your fatherly kindness to my bride elect."
"I trust you will not think of taking her to India."
"I should prefer staying at home now; I dread the climate for her; yes,
in all probability I shall remain at home; it would be a hard trial to
part from you and her cousin; by the way I cannot quite make out that
Lady Desmond," and the two friends proceeded to discuss and elucidate
very near the truth of Kate's well preserved secret.
"Now then my Kate" said Egerton, looking up from his writing the
next morning and holding out his hand. "Come here, I have a clearer
conscience than you, you may read my postscript; to be sure as it is to
a lady you have a right."
She took the paper from his hand, and standing by him read as follows,
while he leant his arm on the table and gazed in her face.
"My dear nurse, Miss Kate will not let me see what she has written, so
I must write for myself."
"I have felt deeply your truth and fidelity to one very dear to me,
and I can assure you, as long as I have a home to offer you, none
after my wife will be more welcome there than yourself, but as ladies
are changeable, (at least they tell me so), and you might possibly at
some future day choose a house of your own, the enclosed is a rough
draft of a deed now in preparation, securing to you an annuity, which
will I trust, render you tolerably independent for the remainder of
your days. I consider that in doing this I merely act as the executor
of your late lamented master, think that you owe it to him and look
upon me as still your debtor for unlimited care and kindness when I
require it.
Yours with sincere regard,
FRED. B. EGERTON.
We dare not tell how Kate expressed her entire approbation of this
letter; severe ladies may be shocked, and we have a great respect for
them. She was no prude, and Egerton had strong nerves, so no one need
trouble themselves further on the subject.
All arrangements and projects were however broken up, shortly before
the Winters and their now blooming adopted daughter, left town for
A----. A telegraphic despatch from Allerton announced the sudden return
of Lord Egerton's paralytic seizure, and summoned his brother to
what soon proved to be a death-bed scene. The peer showed symptoms of
satisfaction when his discarded brother took his place by his bed side,
but he was speechless, and after a week's suffering breathed his last.
Meantime Kate and her kind friends reached their old home, the sense
of happiness tempered the solemn tidings of Lord Egerton's death which
reached them as they left London.
Kate could not repress a shudder as the shout of "Carrington,
Carrington, change here for Batten Wiggem, Manchester," met her
ear; she looked at Winter and silently raised her eyes to Heaven.
Mrs. O'Toole had been some days installed at Abbey Gardens previous to
their return, and as Kate caught the first glimpse of her, the white
apron, and the snowy cap, the black gown and the eager, straining look,
the attitude all the same, exactly the same, as the sad day she had bid
her good bye, her heart bounded within her at the contrast. How she
clung to her and kissed her, and smothered her wrinkled cheeks with her
fair soft hands, and would not let her out of her sight for a moment,
and pleased herself by waiting on her.
"Sure, I could'nt answer yer letther, the way I'd like, core iv my
heart," said Mrs. O'Toole to Kate, when they were alone; "nor the
Captin's, (me Lord's I mane) will ye write wan fur me asthore; he'll
think I have'nt a screed iv gratitude in me afther him settlin a fortin
on me."
"I will, dear nurse, but he will be here soon, and then you can speak
to him yourself; he must be at Allerton now on account of his poor
brother's death, it was so sudden at last."
"Well, the Lord, rest his soul! sure it's better for him to be in
happiness in heaven than down here, standin' in the captin's way,"
returned nurse, cheerfully.
"For shame, nurse, you must not speak so."
"Och, thin, core iv my heart, but ye look well; there's the light iv
joy in your eyes, an' on yer lips again. See what a power if happiness
the Blessed Saviour was storin' up for us, all the time we wor in
sorra. An' many's the time I grumbled becaise things didn't go my way.
Sure, if I'd the pick iv the world, I'd choose the captin (I mane me
Lord) fur a husband fur ye; it's he that has the warm heart, an' the
open hand!--an' what'll ye be, asthore?--a duchess or a countess!
"Only a viscountess, and even then that seems very strange."
"A vi-countess; that's something betune thim, anyways." Kate laughed.
"An' whin will me Lord be here?"
"Not till after his brother's funeral, of course."
"They'll have a grand berrin," concluded Mrs. O'Toole, meditatively.
The new peer, as may be anticipated, joined them as soon as it was
possible, and a joyful sight it was to see his greeting with Mrs.
O'Toole, who was the same with the viscount as she had been with
the captain. He stopped to shake hands with her most cordially and
energetically at the foot of the stairs, even though Kate was waiting
for him at the top.
"Och! many's the time me ould eyes wur wearyin' to see you when we wur
in throuble; many's the time me sweet child wanted ye; but, glory be
to God, you'll be beside her for ever from this out, captin, agra! Me
lord, I mane."
"I'll never forgive you if you change the title, nurse. I was not
perfectly content till I saw your honest face; but now, indeed, I feel
I am amongst my old friends again."
"An' sure aint I a brute not to thank you fur the fortin; it's
bewildhered I am entirely; yer a prence, so ye are."
"Well nurse, never mind; I can't stop now, for you see there's Miss
Kate waiting for me; we'll have a long talk to-morrow," cried Egerton,
springing up the stairs.
The news of Kate's approaching happiness did more to comfort Lady
Desmond, and soothe her vexed spirit, than whole libraries of sound
reasoning and good advice could have done; nor was it difficult to
prevail on her to join them; and so the interval demanded by business
and etiquette sped away, and long before winter had yielded to the
coming spring, a quiet, happy wedding party assembled at the old
church. Mr. Winter was there, for the first time in his life, perhaps,
in white gloves; Lady Desmond; and the Wentworths, gay, polished,
kind-hearted triflers, all charmed with their new sister; and Burton,
gravely observant, looked on contentedly; and Mrs. Winter rather
nervous at the thoughts of entertaining so goodly a company.
And Mrs. O'Toole, though the wedding was peculiarly quiet, was
satisfied, perfectly, as she removed the long, graceful veil from her
child's head, and replaced it with a travelling bonnet, ejaculating,
"If mee blessed masther could look down from heaven, it's he that would
be proud an' happy. Sure he sees us this blessed minnit!"
Our tale is ended, and Kate Vernon merged in "The Viscountess Egerton."
We may not promise that her future will be all unclouded, but, at
least, she has a true, strong heart--a bold, clear spirit to aid her
through the rugged paths of life; to stand beside her in the storm, and
finally, to glide with her into the calm, still evening of time.
Lady Desmond is still a widow; she passes much of her time amongst her
hitherto uncared-for tenantry, and her happiest hours are spent in the
pleasant circle collected at Allerton.
Colonel Dashwood is married to a fair, bright girl, younger by a good
many years than himself, who looks up to him as a perfect Chevalier
Bayard.
Bruton remains a determined old bachelor.
The Winters are well, happy, and prosperous, as they deserve to be.
It was in the height of the high season of 1851, as we endeavoured to
"move round," in obedience to the imperious mandate of the policeman on
duty, at the case containing the celebrated Kooh-i-noor, in the Crystal
Palace, that our attention was attracted by the consequential air of an
elderly female, decidedly _embonpoint_, and well to do in the world,
as evidenced by her substantial black silk dress and bonnet, and rich
scarlet shawl.
"An', so that's the Kooh-i-noor, is it?" remarked the old lady in
audible accents, whether addressed to an individual companion or to the
crowd generally, we do not pretend to decide.
"Athen, it's mighty like a lump iv glass hangin' to a lusthre; faith
the ould masther had a dimint he used to wear an his breast at Dungar,
in the good ould times, that this wan, for all it's so big, couldn't
hould a candle to; but it's not every one ud know the differ. It's
kilt entirely I am with the haite; an' mee lady"--and we gradually lost
the words, though we struggled after the retreating figure, till we
saw her respectfully handed, by a tall footman in a handsome livery,
into a coronetted chariot, from whence beamed a lovely, happy face we
remembered well.
The thread is spun, the web is woven--a parting quotation, and we have
done:--
_Saunders's News-Letter_ (we omit the precise date) lately contained
the following paragraph:--
"We understand the Dungar property, in the county of ----, so long
the subject of litigation, has been purchased by Viscount Egerton, of
Allerton, under the Incumbered Estates' Court. Lady Egerton is, we
believe, the grand-daughter and heiress-at-law of the late owner, the
well-known and universally respected Colonel D'Arcy Vernon."
"Ay," said a thick little artist, who had withdrawn his thumb from
his palette to open a newspaper directed to him in a delicate female
hand, as he read this paragraph--"So the wheel goes round, but it is
not every day it brings up, sparkling over the dull surface of life, so
bright and pure a gem as Kate Vernon."
THE END.
T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other
inconsistencies.
End of Project Gutenberg's Kate Vernon, Vol. 3 (of 3), by Mrs. Alexander