"Crying!" said Kate. "I could cry my eyes out to think what I have done;
but it is not my fault: they egged me on. I knew you would fling those
two miserable things in my face if I did, and I said so; but they would
be wiser than me, and insist on my putting you to the proof."
"They? Who is they?"
"No matter. Whoever it was, they will gain nothing by it, and you will
lose nothing. Ah, Griffith, I am so ashamed of myself,--and so proud of
you."
"They?" repeated Griffith, suspiciously. "Who is this they?"
"What does that matter, so long as it was not Me? Are you going to be
jealous again? Let us talk of you and me, and never mind who _them_ is.
You have rejected my proposal with just scorn: so now let me hear yours;
for we must agree on something this very night. Tell me, now, what can I
say or do to make you happy?"
Griffith was sore puzzled. "Alas! sweet Kate," said he, "I don't know
what you can do for me now, except stay single for my sake."
"I should like nothing better," replied Kate warmly; "but unfortunately
they won't let me do that. Father Francis will be at me to-morrow, and
insist on my marrying Mr. Neville."
"But you will refuse."
"I would, if I could but find a good excuse."
"Excuse? why, say you don't love him."
"O, they won't allow that for a reason."
"Then I am undone," sighed Griffith.
"No, no, you are not; if I could be brought to pretend I love somebody
else. And really, if I don't quite love you, I like you too well to let
you be unhappy. Besides, I cannot bear to rob you of these unlucky
farms: I think there is nothing I would not do rather than that. I
think--I would rather--do--something very silly indeed. But I suppose
you don't want me to do that now? Why don't you answer me? Why don't you
say something? Are you drunk, sir, as they pretend? or are you asleep?
O, I can't speak any plainer: this is intolerable. Mr. Gaunt, I'm going
to shut the window."
Griffith got alarmed, and it sharpened his wits. "Kate, Kate!" he cried,
"what do you mean? am I in a dream? would you marry poor me after all?"
"How on earth can I tell, till I am asked?" inquired Kate, with an air
of childlike innocence, and inspecting the stars attentively.
"Kate, will you marry me?" said Griffith, all in a flutter.
"Of course I will--if you will let me," replied Kate, coolly, but rather
tenderly, too.
Griffith burst into raptures. Kate listened to them with a complacent
smile, then delivered herself after this fashion: "You have very little
to thank me for, dear Griffith. I don't exactly downright love you, but
I could not rob you of those unlucky farms, and you refuse to take them
back any way but this; so what can I do? And then, for all I don't love
you, I find I am always unhappy if you are unhappy, and happy when you
are happy; so it comes pretty much to the same thing. I declare I am
sick of giving you pain, and a little sick of crying in consequence.
There, I have cried more in the last fortnight than in all my life
before, and you know nothing spoils one's beauty like crying. And then
you are so good, and kind, and true, and brave; and everybody is so
unjust and so unkind to you, papa and all. You were quite in the right
about the duel, dear. He _is_ an impudent puppy; and I threw dust in
your eyes, and made you own you were in the wrong, and it was a great
shame of me, but it was because I liked you best. I could take liberties
with _you_, dear. And you are wounded for me, and now I have
disinherited you. O, I can't bear it, and I won't. My heart yearns for
you,--bleeds for you. I would rather die than you should be unhappy; I
would rather follow you in rags round the world than marry a prince and
make you wretched. Yes, dear, I am yours. Make me your wife; and then
some day I dare say I shall love you as I ought."
She had never showed her heart to him like this before; and now it
overpowered him. So, being also a little under vinous influence, he
stammered out something, and then fairly blubbered for joy. Then what
does Kate do, but cry for company?
Presently, to her surprise, he was half-way up the turret, coming to
her.
"O, take care! take care!" she cried. "You'll break your neck."
"Nay," cried he; "I must come at you, if I die for it."
The turret was ornamented from top to bottom with short ledges
consisting of half-bricks. This ledge, shallow as it was, gave a slight
foothold, insufficient in itself; but he grasped the strong branches of
the ivy with a powerful hand, and so between the two contrived to get up
and hang himself out close to her.
"Sweet mistress," said he, "put out your hand to me; for I can't take it
against your will this time. I have got but one arm."
But this she declined. "No, no," said she; "you do nothing but torment
and terrify me,--there." And so gave it him; and he mumbled it.
This last feat won her quite. She thought no other man could have got to
her there with two arms; and Griffith had done it with one. She said to
herself, "How he loves me!--more than his own neck." And then she
thought, "I shall be wife to a strong man; that is one comfort."
In this softened mood she asked him demurely, would he take a friend's
advice.
"If that friend is you, ay."
"Then," said she, "I'll do a downright brazen thing, now my hand is in.
I declare I'll tell you how to secure me. You make me plight my troth
with you this minute, and exchange rings with you, _whether I like or
not_; engage my honor in this foolish business, and if you do that, I
really do think you will have me in spite of them all. But
there,--la!--am I worth all this trouble?"
Griffith did not share this chilling doubt. He poured forth his
gratitude, and then told her he had got his mother's ring in his pocket;
"I meant to ask you to wear it," said he.
"And why didn't you?"
"Because you became an heiress all of a sudden."
"Well, what signifies which of us has the dross, so that there is enough
for both?"
"That is true," said Griffith, approving his own sentiment, but not
recognizing his own words. "Here's my mother's ring, on my little
finger, sweet mistress. But I must ask you to draw it off, for I have
but one hand."
Kate made a wry face, "Well, that is my fault," said she, "or I would
not take it from you so."
She drew off his ring, and put it on her finger. Then she gave him her
largest ring, and had to put it on his little finger for him.
"You are making a very forward girl of me," said she, pouting
exquisitely.
He kissed her hand while she was doing it.
"Don't you be so silly," said she; "and, you horrid creature, how you
smell of wine! The bullet, please."
"The bullet!" exclaimed Griffith. "What bullet?"
"_The_ bullet. The one you were wounded with for my sake. I am told you
put it in your pocket; and I see something bulge in your waistcoat. That
bullet belongs to me now."
"I think you are a witch," said he. "I do carry it about next my heart.
Take it out of my waistcoat, if you will be so good."
She blushed and declined, and, with the refusal on her very lips, fished
it out with her taper fingers. She eyed it with a sort of tender horror.
The sight of it made her feel faint a moment. She told him so, and that
she would keep it to her dying day. Presently her delicate finger found
something was written on it. She did not ask him what it was, but
withdrew, and examined it by her candle. Griffith had engraved it with
these words:--
"I LOVE KATE."
He looked through the window, and saw her examine it by the candle. As
she read the inscription, her face, glorified by the light, assumed a
celestial tenderness he had never seen it wear before.
She came back and leaned eloquently out as if she would fly to him. "O
Griffith, Griffith!" she murmured, and somehow or other their lips met,
in spite of all the difficulties, and grew together in a long and tender
embrace.
It was the first time she had ever given him more than her hand to kiss,
and the rapture repaid him for all.
But as soon as she had made this great advance, virginal instinct
suggested a proportionate retreat.
"You must go to bed," she said, austerely; "you will catch your death of
cold out here."
He remonstrated: she insisted. He held out: she smiled sweetly in his
face, and shut the window in it pretty sharply, and disappeared. He went
disconsolately down his ivy ladder. As soon as he was at the bottom, she
opened the window again, and asked him, demurely, if he would do
something to oblige her.
He replied like a lover; he was ready to be cut in pieces, drawn asunder
with wild horses, and so on.
"O, I know you would do anything stupid for me," said she; "but will you
do something clever for a poor girl that is in a fright at what she is
going to do for you?"
"Give your orders, mistress," said Griffith, "and don't talk of me
obliging you. I feel quite ashamed to hear you talk so,--to-night
especially."
"Well, then," said Kate, "first and foremost, I want you to throw
yourself on Father Francis's neck."
"I'll throw myself on Father Francis's neck," said Griffith, stoutly.
"Is that all?"
"No, nor half. Once upon his neck you must say something. Then I had
better settle the very words, or perhaps you will make a mess of it. Say
after me now: O Father Francis, 'tis to you I owe her."
"O Father Francis, 'tis to you I owe her."
"You and I are friends for life."
"You and I are friends for life."
"And, mind, there is always a bed in our home for you, and a plate at
our table, and a right welcome, come when you will."
Griffith repeated this line correctly, but, when requested to say the
whole, broke down. Kate had to repeat the oration a dozen times; and he
said it after her, like a Sunday-school scholar, till he had it pat.
The task achieved, he inquired of her what Father Francis was to say in
reply.
At this simple question Kate showed considerable alarm. "Gracious
heavens!" she cried, "you must not stop talking to him; he will turn you
inside out, and I shall be undone. Nay, you must gabble these words out,
and then run away as hard as you can gallop."
"But is it true?" asked Griffith. "Is he so much my friend?"
"Hum!" said Kate, "it is quite true, and he is not at all your friend.
There, don't you puzzle yourself, and pester me; but do as you are bid,
or we are both undone."
Quelled by a menace so mysterious, Griffith promised blind obedience;
and Kate thanked him, and bade him good night, and ordered him
peremptorily to bed.
He went.
She beckoned him back.
He came.
She leaned out, and inquired, in a soft, delicious whisper, as follows:
"Are you happy, dearest?"
"Ay, Kate, the happiest of the happy."
"Then so am I," she murmured.
And now she slowly closed the window, and gradually retired from the
eyes of her enraptured lover.