KATE KIRBY.
The little brooklet, which danced so merrily by the homestead
burial-place, and then flowed on in many graceful turns and
evolutions, finally lost itself in a glossy mill-pond, whose waters,
when the forest trees were stripped of their foliage, gleamed and
twinkled in the smoky autumn light, or lay cold and still beneath the
breath of winter. During this season of the year, from the upper
windows of the homestead the mill-pond was discernible, together with
a small red building which stood upon its banks.
For many years this house had been occupied by Mr. Kirby, who had been
a schoolboy with Ernest Hamilton, and who, though naturally
intelligent, had never aspired to any higher employment than that of
being miller on the farm of his old friend. Three years before our
story opens Mr. Kirby had died, and a stranger had been employed to
take his place. Mrs. Kirby, however, was so much attached to her
woodland home and its forest scenery that she still continued to
occupy the low red house together with her daughter Kate, who sighed
for no better or more elegant home, although rumor whispered that
there was in store for her a far more costly dwelling, than the
"Homestead on the Hillside."
Currently was it reported that during Walter Hamilton's vacations the
winding footpath, which followed the course of the streamlet down to
the mill-pond, was trodden more frequently than usual. The
postmaster's wife, too, had hinted strongly of certain ominous letters
from New Haven, which regularly came, directed to Kate, when Walter
was not at home; so, putting together these two facts, and adding to
them the high estimation in which Mrs. Kirby and her daughter were
known to be held by the Hamiltons, it was generally conceded that
there could be no shadow of doubt concerning the state of affairs
between the heir apparent of the old homestead and the daughter of the
poor miller.
Kate was a universal favorite, and by nearly all was it thought that
in everything save money she was fully the equal of Walter Hamilton.
To a face and form of the most perfect beauty she added a degree of
intelligence and sparkling wit, which, in all the rides, parties, and
_fêtes_ given by the young people of Glenwood, caused her society to
be chosen in preference to those whose fathers counted their money by
thousands.
A few there were who said that Kate's long intimacy with Margaret
Hamilton had made her proud; but in the rude dwellings and crazy
tenements which skirted the borders of Glenwood village was many a
blind old woman, and many a hoary-headed man, who in their daily
prayers remembered the beautiful Kate, the "fair forest flower," who
came so oft among them with her sweet young face and gentle words. For
Kate both Margaret and Carrie Hamilton already felt a sisterly
affection, while their father smiled graciously upon her, secretly
hoping, however, that his son would make a more brilliant match, but
resolving not to interfere if at last his choice should fall upon her.
One afternoon, early in April, as Margaret sat in her chamber, busy
upon a piece of needlework, the door softly opened, and a mass of
bright chestnut curls became visible; next appeared the laughing blue
eyes; and finally the whole of Kate Kirby bounded into the room
saying, "Good afternoon, Maggie; are you very busy, and wish I hadn't
come?"
"I am never too busy to see you," answered Margaret, at the same time
pushing toward Kate the little ottoman on which she always sat when in
that room.
Kate took the proffered seat, and throwing aside her bonnet, began
with, "Maggie, I want to tell you something, though I don't know as it
is quite right to do so; still you may as well hear it from me as any
one."
"Do pray tell," answered Mag, "I am dying with curiosity."
So Kate smoothed down her black silk apron, twisted one of her curls
into a horridly ugly shape, and commenced with, "What kind of a woman
is that Mrs. Carter, down in the village?"
Instantly Margaret's suspicions were aroused, and starting as if a
serpent had stung her, she exclaimed, "Mrs. Carter! is it of her you
will tell me? She is a most dangerous woman--a woman whom your mother
would call a 'snake in the grass.'"
"Precisely so," answered Kate. "That is just what mother says of her,
and yet nearly all the village are ready to fall down and worship
her."
"Let them, then," said Mag; "I have no objections, provided they keep
their molten calf to themselves. No one wants her here. But what is it
about her?--tell me."
Briefly then Kate told her how Mr. Hamilton was, and for a long time
had been, in the habit of spending one evening every week with Mrs.
Carter; and that people, not without good cause, were already pointing
her out as the future mistress of the homestead.
"Never, never!" cried Mag vehemently. "Never shall she come here. She
our mother indeed! It shall not be, if I can prevent it."
After a little further conversation, Kate departed, leaving Mag to
meditate upon the best means by which to avert the threatened evil.
What Kate had told her was true. Mr. Hamilton had so many questions to
ask concerning his old classmates, and Mrs. Carter had so much to
tell, that, though they had worked industriously all winter, they were
not through yet; neither would they be until Mrs. Carter found herself
again within the old homestead.
The night following Kate's visit Mag determined to speak with her
father; but immediately after tea he went out, saying he should not
return until nine o'clock. With a great effort Mag forced down the
angry words which she felt rising within her, and then seating herself
at her work she resolved to await his return. Not a word on the
subject did she say to Carrie, who retired to her room at half-past
eight, as was her usual custom. Alone now Margaret waited. Nine, ten,
eleven had been struck, and then into the sitting-room came Mr.
Hamilton, greatly astonished at finding his daughter there.
"Why, Margaret," said he, "why are you sitting up so late?"
"If it is late for me, it is late for you," answered Margaret, who,
now that the trial had come, felt the awkwardness of the task she had
undertaken.
"But I had business," answered Mr. Hamilton; and Margaret, looking him
steadily in the face, asked:
"Is not your business of a nature which equally concerns us all?"
A momentary flush passed over his features as he replied, "What do you
mean? I do not comprehend."
Hurriedly, and in broken sentences, Margaret told him what she meant,
and then tremblingly she waited for his answer. Frowning angrily, he
spoke to his daughter the first harsh words which had ever passed his
lips toward either of his children.
"Go to your room, and don't presume to interfere with me again. I
trust I am competent to attend to my own matters!"
Almost convulsively Margaret's arms closed round her father's neck,
as she said, "Don't speak so to me, father. You never did
before--never would now, but for _her_. Oh, father, promise me, by the
memory of my angel mother, never to see her again. She is a base,
designing woman."
Mr. Hamilton unwound his daughter's arms from his neck, and speaking
more gently, said, "What proof have you of that assertion? Give me
proof, and I promise to do your bidding."
But Mag had no such proof at hand, and she could only reiterate her
suspicions, her belief, which, of course, failed to convince the
biased man, who, rising, said: "Your mother confided and trusted in
her, so why should not you?"
The next moment Margaret was alone. For a long time she wept, and it
was not until the eastern horizon began to grow gray in the morning
twilight that she laid her head upon her pillow, and forgot in sleep
how unhappy she had been. Her words, however, were not without their
effect, for when the night came round on which her father was
accustomed to pay his weekly visit, he stayed at home, spending the
whole evening with his daughters, and appearing really gratified at
Margaret's efforts to entertain him. But, alas! the chain of the widow
was too firmly thrown around him for a daughter's hand alone to sever
the fast-bound links.
When the next Thursday evening came Mag was confined to her room by a
sick headache, from which she had been suffering all day. As night
approached she frequently asked if her father were below. At last the
front door opened, and she heard his step upon the piazza. Starting
up, she hurried to the window, while at the same moment Mr. Hamilton
paused, and raising his eyes saw the white face of his daughter
pressed against the window-pane as she looked imploringly after him;
but there was not enough of power in a single look to deter him, and,
wafting her a kiss, he turned away. Sadly Margaret watched him until
he disappeared down the long hill; then, returning to her couch, she
wept bitterly.
Meantime Mrs. Carter, who had been greatly chagrined at the
non-appearance of Mr. Hamilton the week before, was now confidently
expecting him. He had not yet asked her to be his wife, and the delay
somewhat annoyed both herself and Lenora.
"I declare, mother," said Lenora, "I should suppose you might contrive
up something to bring matters to a focus. I think it's perfectly
ridiculous to see two old crones, who ought to be trotting their
grandchildren, cooing and simpering away at each other, and all for
nothing, too."
"Can't you be easy awhile longer?" asked Mrs. Carter "hasn't he said
everything he can say except 'will you marry me?'"
"A very important question, too," returned Lenora; "and I don't know
what business you have to expect anything from him until it is asked."
"Mr. Hamilton is proud," answered Mrs. Carter--"is afraid of doing
anything which might possibly lower him. Now, if by any means I could
make him believe that I had received an offer from some one fully if
not more than his equal, I think it would settle the matter, and I've
decided upon the following plan. I'll write a proposal myself, sign
old Judge B----'s name to it, and next time Mr. Hamilton comes let him
surprise me in reading it. Then, as he is such a _dear_, long-tried
friend, it will be quite proper for me to confide in him, and ask his
advice."
Lenora's eyes opened wider, as she exclaimed, "_My gracious_! who but
_you_ would ever have thought of that."
Accordingly the letter was written, sealed, directed, broken open,
laughed over, and laid away in the stand drawer.
"Mr. Hamilton, mother," said Lenora, as half an hour afterward she
ushered that gentleman into the room. But so wholly absorbed was the
black bombazine and linen collar in the contents of an open letter,
which she held in her hand, that the words were twice repeated--"Mr.
Hamilton, mother"--ere she raised her eyes! Then coming forward with
well-feigned confusion, she apologized for not having observed him
before, saying she was sure he would excuse her if he knew the
contents of her letter. Of course he wanted to know, and of course she
didn't want to tell. He was too polite to urge her, and the
conversation soon took another channel.
After a time Lenora left the room, and Mrs. Carter, again speaking of
the letter, begged to make a confidant of Mr. Hamilton, and ask his
advice. He heard the letter read through, and after a moment's silence
asked, "Do you like him, Mrs. Carter?"
"Why--no--I don't think I do," said she, "but then the widow's lot is
so lonely."
"I know it is," sighed he, while through the keyhole of the opposite
door came something which sounded very much like a stifled laugh! It
was the hour of Ernest Hamilton's temptation, and but for the
remembrance of the sad, white face which had gazed so sorrowfully at
him from the window he had fallen. But Maggie's presence seemed with
him--her voice whispered in his ear, "Don't do it, father, don't"--and
he calmly answered that it would be a good match. But he could not, no
he could not advise her to marry him; so he qualified what he had said
by asking her not to be in a hurry--to wait awhile. The laugh through
the keyhole was changed to a hiss, which Mrs. Carter said must be the
wind, although there was not enough stirring to move the rose bushes
which grew by the doorstep!
So much was Mr. Hamilton held in thrall by the widow that on his way
home he hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that he had not
proposed. If Judge B---- would marry her she surely was good enough
for him. Anon, too, he recalled her hesitation about confessing that
the judge was indifferent to her. Jealousy crept in and completed
what flattery and intrigue had commenced. One week from that night
Ernest Hamilton and Luella Carter were engaged, but for appearance's
sake their marriage was not to take place until the ensuing autumn.