The news that Lord Erradeen, and it was supposed several others--some
went so far as to say a party of visitors, others his mother, newly
arrived as all the world was aware, and to whom he was showing the old
castle, with a young lady who was her companion--had perished in the
fire, streamed down the loch nobody knew how, and was known and believed
to the end of the country before the evening was over. It came to the
party at Birkenbraes as they were sitting down to dinner, some time
after everybody had come in from gazing at the extraordinary spectacle
of the fire, got up, Mr. Williamson assured his guests, entirely for
their amusement. The good man, however, had been much sobered out of
that jocose mood by his encounter with the strange visitor whom he had
first seen at Kinloch Houran, but had begun to draw a little advantage
from that too, and was telling the lady next to him with some pride of
Lord Erradeen's relation, a very distinguished person indeed. "I'm
thinking in the diplomatic service, or one of the high offices that keep
a man abroad all his life. (I would rather for my part live in a
cottage at home, but that is neither here nor there.) So as he was
leaving and naturally could not trouble the family about carriages just
at such a moment, I offered him the boat: and you could see them getting
up steam. I find it very useful to have a steam-boat always ready, just
waiting at the service of my friends." The lady had replied as in duty
bound, and as was expected of her, that it was a magnificent way of
serving your friends, which the millionnaire on his side received with a
laugh and a wave of his hand, declaring that it was nothing, just
nothing, a bagatelle in the way of cost, but a convenience, he would not
deny it was a convenience; when that discreet butler who had ushered
Lord Erradeen into Katie's private sitting-room, leaned over his
master's shoulder with a solemn face, and a "Beg your pardon, sir. They
say, sir, that Lord Erradeen has perished in the fire."
"Lord bless us!" said Mr. Williamson, "what is that you say?"
"It is only a rumour, sir, but I hear Kinloch Houran is all in a
commotion, and it is believed everywhere. The young lord was seen with
some ladies going there in a boat this afternoon, and they say that he
has perished in the flames."
Sanderson was fond of fine language, and his countenance was composed to
the occasion.
"Lord bless us!" cried Mr. Williamson again. "Send off a man and horse
without a moment's delay to find out the truth. Quick, man, and put down
the sherry, I'll help myself! Poor lad, poor lad, young Erradeen! He
was about this house like one of our own, and no later than
yesterday--Katie, do you hear?" he cried, half rising and leaning over
the forest of flowers and ferns that covered the table, "Katie! do you
hear this terrible news? but it cannot be true!"
Katie had been told at the same moment, and the shock was so great that
everything swam in her eyes, as she looked up blanched and
terror-stricken in mechanical obedience to her father's cry. "That man
will have killed him," she said to herself: and then there came over her
mind a horror which was flattering too, which filled her with dismay and
pain, yet with a strange sensation of importance. Was it she who was to
blame for this catastrophe, was she the cause----
"It seems to be certain," said some one at the table, "that Erradeen was
there. He was seen on the battlements with a lady, just before the
explosion."
"His mother!" said Katie, scarcely knowing why it was that she put forth
this explanation.
"A young lady. There is some extraordinary story among the people that
she--had something to do with the fire."
"That will be nonsense," said Mr. Williamson. "What would a lady have to
do with the fire? Old stone walls like yon are not like rotten wood. I
cannot understand for my part----"
"And there could be no young lady," said Katie. "Mrs. Methven was
alone."
"Well, well!" said her father. "I am sorry--sorry for Lord Erradeen; he
was just as fine a young fellow----But we will do him no good, poor lad,
by letting our dinner get cold. And perhaps the man will bring us better
news--there is always exaggeration in the first report. I am afraid you
will find that soup not eatable, Lady Mary. Just send it away; there is
some fine trout coming."
He was sincerely sorry; but, after all, to lose the dinner would have
spared nothing to poor young Erradeen.
Katie said little during the long meal. Her end of the table, usually so
gay, was dull. Now and then she would break in with a little spasmodic
excitement, and set her companions talking: then relapse with a strange
mingling of grief and horror, and that melancholy elation which fills
the brain of one who suddenly feels himself involved in great affairs
and lifted to heroic heights. If it was for her--if it was she who was
the cause of this calamity----She had dreamed often of finding herself
with a high heroic part to fulfil in the world, though it seemed little
likely that she would ever realise her dream; but now, Katie said to
herself, if this was so, never more should another take the place which
she had refused to him. If he had died for her, she would live--for him.
She would find out every plan he had ever formed for good and fulfil it.
She would be the providence of the poor tenants whom he had meant to
befriend. She imagined herself in this poetical position always under a
veil of sadness, yet not enough to make her unhappy--known in the county
as the benefactor of everybody, described with whispers aside as "the
lady that was to have married poor young Lord Erradeen." Katie was
profoundly sorry for poor Walter--for the first few minutes her grief
was keen; but very soon this crowd of imaginations rushed in,
transporting her into a new world. If this were so! Already everybody at
table had begun to remark her changed looks, and to whisper that they
had been sure there was "something between" Katie and the poor young
lord. When the ladies went to the drawing-room they surrounded her with
tender cares.
"If you would like to go to your room, my dear, never mind us."
"Oh, never mind us," cried the gentle guests, "we can all
understand----"
But Katie was prudent even at this crisis of fate. She reflected that
the report might not be true, and that it was premature at least to
accept the position. She smiled upon the ladies who surrounded her, and
put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Of course," she said, "I can't help feeling it--every one will feel it
on the loch--and we had seen so much of him! But perhaps, as papa says,
when the messenger comes back, we may have better news."
The messenger did not come back till late, when the party were about to
separate. He had found the greatest difficulty in getting information,
for all that was known at Auchnasheen was that the young lord and his
mother had gone in the boat from the isle with the ladies, to see the
old castle. With the ladies! Katie could not restrain a little cry. She
knew what was coming. And he had been seen, the man went on, with Miss
Oona on the walls--and that was all that was known. This stroke went to
Katie's heart. "Oona!" she cried, with something of sharpness and
bitterness in the cry; though in the wail that rose from all around who
knew the isle, this tone that broke the harmony of grief was lost. But
her little fabric of imaginary heroism fell into the dust: and for the
moment the shock of a genuine, if alloyed, sentiment thrown back upon
herself, and the secret mortification with which she became conscious of
the absurdity of her own self-complacence, kept Katie from feeling the
natural pity called forth by such a catastrophe, and the deeper pang
which by-and-by awakened her heart to the thought of Oona--Oona no
rival, but the friend of her youth, Oona the only companion of her
mother, the young and hopeful creature whom everybody loved. To think
that she should have indulged a little miserable rivalry--on account of
a man for whom she did not care the hundredth part so much as she cared
for Oona, before realising this real grief and calamity! Katie's honest
little soul was bowed down with shame. She, too, watched that night with
many a prayer and tear, gazing from her many-windowed chamber towards
the feathery crest of the isle which lay between her and Kinloch
Houran. Oh, the desolation that would be there and Oona gone! Oh, the
blank upon the loch, and in all the meetings of the cheerful neighbours!
Another man on horseback was sent off by break of day for news, and not
only from Birkenbraes, but from every house for miles round the
messengers hurried. There had been no such excitement in the district
for generations.
The news reached the Lodge--Sir Thomas Herbert's shooting-box--early in
the morning when the family met at breakfast. The previous night had
been occupied with an excitement of their own. Major Antrobus, Sir
Thomas's friend, brother in sport and arms, had been from the moment of
his arrival a disappointment to Sir Thomas. The first evening Julia had
caught him in her toils. She had sung and laughed and talked his heart,
so much as remained to him, away. He was the man of all others who, his
friends were convinced, was not a marrying man. He had a good estate, a
house full of every bachelor comfort, and was useful to those in whom he
was interested as only a bachelor can be. Nor was it only to men that he
was invaluable as a friend. He had a box at Ascot; he had ways of making
the Derby delightful to a party of ladies; he was of infinite use at
Goodwood; he knew everybody whom it was well to know. Lady Herbert was
almost as inconsolable as her husband at the idea of losing him. And
that such a man should be brought by Sir Thomas himself into harm's
way, and delivered over to the enemy by the very hands of his friends,
was more than flesh and blood could bear. The Herberts saw their mistake
before he had been at the Lodge two days. But what could they do? They
could not send him away--nor could they send Julia away. Had they done
so, that young lady had already made herself friends enough to have
secured two or three invitations in a foolishly hospitable country,
where everybody's first idea was to ask you to stay with them! Sir
Thomas acted with the noble generosity characteristic of middle-aged men
of the world in such circumstances. He told his friend, as they smoked
their cigars in the evening, a great many stories about Julia, and all
she had been "up to" in her chequered career. He described how Lady
Herbert had brought her down here, because of some supposed possibility
about Lord Erradeen. "But young fellows like that are not to be so
easily taken in," Sir Thomas said, and vaunted his own insight in
perceiving from the first that there was nothing in it. The major
listened, and sucked his cigar, and said nothing; but next day on the
way home, when the fire at Kinloch Houran was reddening the skies, took
his host aside, and said--
"I say, all that may be true, you know. I don't know anything about
that. Girls, you know, poor things! they've devilish hard lines, when
they've got no tin. If she's tried it on, you know, once or twice
before, that's nothing to me. That's all their mother's fault, don't
you know. She's the jolliest girl I ever met, and no end of fun. With
her in the house, you know, a fellow would never be dull, and I can tell
you it's precious dull at Antrobus on off days, when all you fellows are
away. I say! I've asked her--to be mine, you know, and all that; and
she's--going to have me, Tom!"
"Going to have you! Oh, I'll be bound she is! and everything you've got
belonging to you!" in the keenness of his annoyance, cried Sir Thomas.
The major, who was somewhat red in the face, and whose figure was not
elegant (but what trifles were these, Julia truly said, in comparison
with a true heart!), hemmed a little, and coughed, and set his chin into
his shirt collar. He stood like a man to his choice, and would have no
more said.
"Of course she is--if she's going to have me, you know. Fixtures go with
the property," said Major Antrobus, with a hasty laugh. "And, I say,
by-gones are by-gones, you know--but no more of them in the future if
we're going to be friends."
The men had a quarrel, however, before Sir Thomas gave in--which was
stopped fortunately before it went too far by his wife, who met them all
smiles with both hands extended.
"What are you talking loud about, you two?" she said. "Major, I'm
delighted. Of course I've seen it all along. She'll make you an
excellent wife, and I wish you all the happiness in the world."
"Thank you: he don't think so," the major said with a growl.
But after this Sir Thomas perceived that to quarrel with a man for
marrying your cousin whom he has met in your house is one of the
foolishest of proceedings. He relieved his feelings afterwards by
falling upon the partner of his life.
"What humbugs you women are! What lies you tell! You said she would make
him an excellent wife."
"And so she will," said Lady Herbert, "a capital wife! He will be twice
as happy, but alas! no good at all henceforward," she ended with a sigh.
The excitement of this incident was not over, when to the
breakfast-table next morning, where Julia appeared triumphant, having
overcome all opposition, the news arrived, not softened by any doubt as
if the result was still uncertain, but with that pleasure in enhancing
the importance of dolorous intelligence which is common to all who have
the first telling of a catastrophe. There was a momentary hush of horror
when the tale was told, and then Julia, her expression changed in a
moment, her eyes swimming in tears, rose up in great excitement from her
lover's side.
"Oh, Walter!" she cried, greatly moved. "Oh that I should be so happy,
and he----" And then she paused, and her tears burst forth. "And his
mother--his mother!"
She sat down again and wept, while the rest of the party looked on, her
major somewhat gloomy, her cousin (after a momentary tribute of silence
to death) with a dawning of triumph in his eye.
"You always thought a great deal of young Erradeen, Ju--at least since
he has been Lord Erradeen."
"I always was fond of him," she cried. "Poor Walter! poor Walter! Oh,
you can weigh my words if you like at such a time, but I won't weigh
them. If Henry likes to be offended I can't help it. He has no reason.
Oh, Walter, Walter! I was always fond of him. I have known him since I
was _that_ high--and his mother, I have always hated her. I have known
her since I was _that_ high. If you think such things go for nothing it
is because you have no hearts. Harry, if you love me as you say, get
your dog-cart ready this moment and take me to that poor woman--that
poor, poor woman! His mother--and she has only him in all the world.
Harry, take me or not but I will go----"
"You said you hated her, Julia," cried Lady Herbert.
"And so I did: and what does that matter? Shall I keep away from her for
that--when I am the only one that has known him all his life--that knew
him from a child? Harry----"
"I have ordered the dog-cart, my dear; and you are a good woman, Julia.
I thought so, but with all your dear friends and people hang me if I
knew."
Julia gave him her hand: she was crying without any disguise.
"Perhaps I haven't been very good," she said, "but I never was
hard-hearted, and when I think upon that poor woman among strangers----"
"By Jove, but this is something new," cried Sir Thomas; "the girl that
liked young men best without their mothers, Antrobus, hey?"
"Oh hush, Tom," cried his wife; "and dear Julia, be consistent a
little--that you're sorry for your old--friend (don't laugh, Tom; say
her old flame if you like, but remember that he's dead, poor fellow),
that we can understand. Major Antrobus knows all that story. But this
fuss about the mother whom you never could bear. Oh that is a little too
much! You can't expect us to take in that!"
Julia turned upon her relations with what at bottom was a generous
indignation. "If you don't know," she said, "how it feels to hear of
another person's misfortune, when you yourself are happier than you
deserve--and if you don't understand that I would go on my knees to poor
Mrs. Methven to take one scrap of her burden off her! oh all the more
because I never liked her----But what is the use of talking, for if you
don't understand, nothing I could say would make you understand. And it
does not matter to me now," cried Julia, less noble feelings breaking
in, "now I have got one who is going to stand by me, who knows what I
mean, and will put no bad motive--"
The real agitation and regret in her face gave force to the triumph with
which she turned to her major, and taking his arm swept out of the room.
He, too, had all the sense of dignity which comes from fine feeling
misunderstood, and felt himself elevated in the scale of humanity by his
superior powers of understanding. Lady Herbert, who remained behind, was
saved by the humour of the situation from exploding, as Sir Thomas did.
To think that the delicacy of the major's perceptions should be the
special foundation of his bride's satisfaction was, as she declared with
tears of angry laughter, "too good!"
But the second and better news arrived before Julia could set out on her
charitable mission. Perhaps it was better that it should end so: for
though the first outburst of feeling had been perfectly genuine and
sincere, the impulse might have been alloyed by less perfect wishes
before she had reached Kinloch Houran. And it is doubtful in any case
whether her ministrations, however kind, would have been acceptable to
Walter's mother. As it was, when she led her major back, Julia was too
clever not to find a medium of reconciliation with her cousins, who by
that time had come to perceive how ludicrous any quarrel open to the
world would be. And so peace was established, and Julia Herbert's
difficulties came in the happiest way to an end.