IN WHICH ERNEST CALLS UPON MRS. LORAINE.
"I BEGAN to fear that you did not intend to return, young gentlemen,"
said Mrs. Loraine, as the Splash came up on the leeward side of the
pier. "I am afraid this young lady has given you a great deal of
trouble."
"No trouble at all," I replied.
"She is a wayward and disobedient girl. I have trouble enough with her,
but I do not wish to have her trouble other people," continued Mrs.
Loraine; and I could see that the glances she bestowed upon her
step-daughter were full of malice.
"She seems to have some trouble herself, or she wouldn't have jumped
into the lake."
"She would not have done that if she hadn't seen your boat close by,"
added the lady.
"I fear she will take cold," said I, wishing to draw the woman out as
much as possible.
"There is no danger. She would be in the water half the time if I would
let her. She is a troublesome girl."
Mrs. Loraine certainly took the matter quite coolly, and did not seem to
realize or to believe that the troublesome miss had actually jumped into
the lake to escape from her cruelty. She told Kate to get out of the
boat, and go into the house. The terrified girl obeyed in silence, and
with trembling frame.
"Go to your room, and put on dry clothes," she added, as Kate walked up
the pier. "She is a very naughty girl; but I am much obliged to you,
young gentlemen, for the trouble you have taken on her account."
"We were very glad to serve her," I replied, fastening the painter of my
boat to a ring in the pier, as the lady walked towards the house.
Bob and I stepped on shore and followed her--a movement which seemed to
annoy her very much; but we were too decidedly in earnest to care what
she thought or felt. Without any consultation with my companion, I had
by this time made up my mind that Miss Kate had the rights of the case;
that Mrs. Loraine was a female tyrant. I did not consider that her
family affairs did not concern me, and I had already concluded to adopt
the policy of intervention, without regard to consequences.
Mrs. Loraine was a lady, so far as her manners were concerned. There was
nothing coarse or brutal about her. Like our old enemy, Mr. Parasyte,
she appeared to be a refined tyrant, whose oppression was all the more
intolerable because it was smooth and polished. The lady walked at a
dignified pace towards the house, and we followed her at a respectful
distance. Occasionally she glanced half round, so that she could see us,
but she did not challenge us in regard to our intentions.
"What are you going to do, Ernest?" asked Bob Hale, in a low tone.
"I hardly know yet. We will follow the matter up, and when we get a
little farther into it we shall know better what to do," I replied. "I
think we will stop here a while, and let things take their course."
We halted, and busied ourselves in examining a parterre of flowers,
while the lady continued on her way, and entered the house at a side
door.
"I don't know about this business," said Bob, when Mrs. Loraine was no
longer within hearing.
"I do," I answered decidedly. "I'm as clear as a quill in regard to it."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get the young lady out of the scrape, by hook or by crook.
Since I have seen this woman, I am satisfied that Miss Kate did not tell
us more than half of the truth."
"What can you do?"
"Just as soon as Kate has had time to put on dry clothes, we will call
upon her to inquire for her health. We can't do any thing less than
that, after we have pulled her out of the lake."
"We can certainly do that, but it seems to me that is about all we can
do."
"I don't know; we will see," I replied, not quite willing yet to tell my
prudent friend what I intended; not that he would be behind me in
carrying out any good work, but because he was rather fond of arguing
against bold measures.
We waited about half an hour, but we were not unobserved; for through
the Venetian blinds I saw Mrs. Loraine several times in the act of
watching our movements. It was plain enough to me that we were not
welcome visitors, and that the lady was not a little disturbed by our
presence. We went up to the side door, where she had entered, and rang
the bell. The summons was answered by the servant girl, who, when we
asked to see Mrs. Loraine, invited us to the sitting-room. I judged that
we had unwittingly chosen an opportune moment for our entrance, for
Kate's persecutor was not in the room, and probably had not noticed our
approach. If she had, it is very likely she would not have permitted us
to come in.
Through the open door we saw her come down the stairs. She looked vexed
and annoyed when she discovered who her visitors were, and sailed into
the room with an exhibition of _hauteur_ which might have produced a
strong impression on a couple of smaller boys than Bob and myself.
"We called to inquire for Miss Kate," I began, after I had risen from my
chair, and made the politest bow I was capable of making.
"She is quite well," replied Mrs. Loraine, coolly.
"I hope she has not suffered from the cold bath she took in the lake," I
continued.
"Not at all."
"She was very much agitated and distressed."
"She will get over that."
"We would like to see her, if you please," I added, coming to the point
without any more parleying.
"It would not be convenient for her to see you this evening," answered
Mrs. Loraine, with more emphasis than an ordinary case seemed to
require.
"I am sorry, for we desire very much to see her; indeed, we promised to
see her after she had changed her clothes."
"Well, young gentlemen, I will assure her you have kept your promise,
which will be sufficient to relieve you from any charge of want of
fidelity," said she.
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Loraine, but if it isn't too much trouble, we
would like very much to see Miss Kate."
"It would be no trouble at all, but it would be entirely inconsistent
with my purposes to have her leave her room to-night," answered she,
haughtily.
"At what hour to-morrow could we see her," I asked.
"It would not be proper at any hour to-morrow for you to see her. Kate
is a wilful and disobedient girl, and I find it necessary to permit her
to see no one, in her present frame of mind."
"Perhaps I ought to tell you, Mrs. Loraine, that Kate very strongly
objected to returning to her home, and begged us to land her any
where--in the woods--rather than bring her back to you," I added.
"Did she, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Loraine, her face becoming very red.
"Then she is even more wilful than I supposed."
"It was only by the promise to see her, that we induced her to land
here."
"You behaved very properly in returning her to me, and I am greatly
obliged to you for your consideration. It is not necessary for me to
detail to you, who are strangers to me, the troubles I experience in my
domestic affairs; and you are too gentlemanly to wish to pry into them."
"Excuse me, but when a young lady becomes so desperate as to jump
overboard, it seems to me she must be in a very bad condition."
"That was all a sham. Perhaps I have indulged her too much, and not
begun early enough to subdue her violent temper. She is very wilful, and
needs stern discipline."
"Do you think it was fair to keep her in a room a week for taking too
long stitches, or for treading on a flower?"
She looked at me, and turned red again.
"I see that Kate has been indelicate enough to tell you about our family
affairs. Of course you have sufficient discretion to disbelieve such
ridiculous stories."
"After pulling her out of the lake, we were much interested in her. We
don't wish to interfere, but I suppose there can be no harm in telling
us what you did shut her up a week or ten days for."
"I am greatly obliged to you, young gentlemen, for what you have done;
but I cannot submit to be called to an account for my conduct in my own
family. I must ask you to excuse me now, for I have an engagement at
this hour."
It was evident to me that we could find out nothing about Kate from her;
but the look of malignity she wore on her face when she spoke of her
step-daughter was the best kind of testimony to me. I rose from my
chair, and moved towards the door, followed by Bob Hale. We bade the
lady good evening, and she closed the door behind us.
Just as we were going down the steps, a buggy, drawn by two handsome
horses, came up to the door, which assured us that the lady's engagement
was not a pretence used to get rid of us. The horses were driven by a
gayly-dressed gentleman. When he alighted, and I obtained a fair view of
his face and form, I was considerably interested in him, for I had seen
him before.
It was the gentleman I had seen at the cottage, with whom my uncle Amos
had had some hard words. He was in some way connected with my silent
guardian, and I was very anxious to know who and what he was, for such
information might be the key to the mystery which shrouded my existence.
For the moment I forgot all about Kate.
"Come along, Ernest," said Bob, when I paused to observe the gentleman.
"Go down to the boat, Bob, and I will be with you in a few minutes."
I stepped into a path where the foliage concealed me; but I saw the
gentleman looking down the drive-way as if to obtain a second view of
me, for I had observed before that he appeared to recognize me.
"I will be ready in a moment, Tom," said Mrs. Loraine, opening the front
door.
Tom! He was a constant visitor, or she would not be thus familiar with
him. Who was Tom? I wished she had called him by his surname. As I gazed
at his face, while he sat in the buggy, I fancied that it bore some
resemblance to that of my uncle.
This man had a quarrel with my misanthropic guardian. I had lived at the
cottage with uncle Amos from early childhood. I could faintly remember a
weary waste of waters before I came to Parkville,--in which the cottage
was located,--but nothing more. During the preceding year I had drawn it
out of my uncle that my father was dead, and my mother an inmate of an
insane asylum, and that no property was left for me by my parents. Who
they were, where my father died, or where my mother was imprisoned, he
refused to tell me.
This gentleman who sat in the buggy had been to the cottage several
times. High words had generally attended his visits. I had once asked my
uncle who he was, and the fact that an answer was refused, was enough to
assure me that a better knowledge of him would assist me in finding a
clew to my own history.
Mrs. Loraine appeared at the door, and "Tom" nimbly leaped from his
seat, and assisted her into the buggy.
"Who was that young fellow that came out of the house as I drove up?"
asked he, as he took his place at her side.
"Ernest Thornton," replied the lady.
"Whew!" exclaimed he, as he drove off.