REPULSION.
Rachel started from her seat and stood facing the door. Her cheek
flushed crimson, then grew deadly white, her lips parted as if she
breathed with difficulty.
De Burgh, the moment his eyes fell on her, stopped as if suddenly
arrested by an invisible hand; his eyes expressed horror and surprise,
his dark face grew darker. Rachel quickly recovered. "I will call
again," she murmured, and passing him swiftly, noiselessly, left the
room, closing the door behind her.
Like a flash of lightning, the meaning of this scene darted through
Katherine's brain. Clasping her hands with interlaced fingers, she
pressed them against her breast.
"Ah!" she exclaimed (there was infinite pain in that "ah!") "then _you_
are the man?"
"What do you mean?" asked De Burgh, in a sullen tone, his thick brows
almost meeting in a frown.
"The man she loved and lived with," returned Katherine, the words were
low and clear.
"I am!" he replied, defiantly. Then a dreadful silence fell upon them.
Katherine dropped into a chair, and, resting her elbows on the table,
covered her face with her hands.
"My God!" exclaimed De Burgh, advancing a step nearer. "How does she
come here?"
Katherine could not speak for a moment; at last, and still covering her
eyes and with a low quick utterance as if overwhelmed, she said,
"I have known her for some time. I found her dying of despair! I was
able to befriend her, to win her back to life, to something like hope.
She told me everything, except the name. We have ceased to speak of the
past! I little knew, I could not have dreamed--I never suspected;" her
voice broke, and she burst into tears, irresistible tears which she
struggled vainly to repress.
"Why should you _not_ suspect me!" exclaimed De Burgh, harshly. "Did you
suppose me above or below other men?"
"Ah! poor Rachel! what a flood of unspeakable bitterness must have
overwhelmed her, to find _you_ here!"
De Burgh paced to and fro, bewildered, furious, not knowing how to
defend himself or what to say.
"I am the most unfortunate devil that ever breathed!" he exclaimed at
last, pausing beside the table and resting one hand on it. "Look here,
Katherine, how can a girl like you--for, in spite of your mature airs,
you are a mere girl--how can you judge the--the temptations and ways of
a world of which you know nothing?"
"Temptations!" she murmured; "did Rachel ask _you_ to take her to live
with you?"
"No, of course not," angrily, "she is rather a superior creature, I
admit; but I deny that I ever deceived or deserted her! She was
perfectly aware I never Intended to marry her, and I was awfully put out
when she disappeared. I did my best to find her. But the fact is, when
she did _not_ reappear, I not unnaturally supposed she had gone off with
some other man."
Katherine looked upon him suddenly with such tragic, horrified eyes that
De Burgh was startled; then she slightly raised her hands with an
expressive gesture, again covering her face.
"Yes, yes," De Burgh went on, impatiently, "I see you think me a brute
for suspecting her capable of such a thing, but how was I to know she
was different from others? It is too infernally provoking that such an
affair should came to your notice! You are quite unable to judge
fairly;" and he resumed his agitated walk. "I swear I am no worse than
my neighbors. Ask any woman of the world, ask Mrs. Needham--they will
tell you I am not an unpardonable sinner! I will do anything on earth
for Rachel that you think right. Just remember her position and mine, it
was not as if--It is impossible to explain to you, but there was no
reason, had she been a little sensible, why such an episode should have
spoiled her life! Lots of women--" he stopped, and with a muttered curse
paused opposite her.
"And _could_ you have been her companion so long, without perceiving the
strength and pride and tenderness of the woman who gave up all hoping to
keep the love you no doubt ardently expressed? Ah! if you could have
seen her as she was when I found her!"
"How was I to know she was staking her gold against my counters?"
returned De Burgh, obstinately, though a dark flush passed over his face
at Katherine's words.
"Lord de Burgh! I did not think you could be so cruel," cried Katherine,
rising. "I will not speak to you any longer."
"Cruel!" he exclaimed, placing himself between her and the door. "How
can I be just or generous, when this most unfortunate encounter has put
me in such a hopeless position? Katherine, will you let this miserable
mistake of the past rob me of my best hopes, my most ardently cherished
desires----"
"It is but two or three years since you spoke in the same tone, possibly
the same words, to Rachel! At least, knowing her as I do, I feel sure
she would have yielded to no common amount of persuasion. She was mad,
weak to a degree to listen to you; but she was alone, and love is so
sweet."
"It is," cried De Burgh, passionately. "Why will you turn from love as
true, as intense as ever was offered to woman, merely because I let
myself fall into an error but too common--"
"Is it not a mere accident of our respective positions that you happen
to seek me as your _wife_?" said Katherine, a slight curl on her lip;
"and how can I feel sure that in time you will not weary of me as you
did of her?"
"The cases are utterly unlike. So long as the world lasts, men and women
too will act as Rachel Trant and I did; Nature is too strong for social
laws and religious maxims."
"And you said you had never done anything to be ashamed of?" she
exclaimed, bitterly.
"Nor have I!" said De Burgh, stoutly, "if I were tried by the standard
of our world. How can you know--how can you judge?"
"I do not judge, I have no right to judge," said Katherine, brokenly. "I
only know that, when I saw your eyes meet Rachel's I felt a great gulf
had suddenly opened between us, a gulf that cannot be bridged. I do not
understand and cannot judge, as you say, and I am sorry for you too; but
if life is to be this miserable shuffling of chances, this jumble of
injustice, I would rather die than live. No, Lord de Burgh, I _will_
go."
"Good Heavens! Katherine, you are trembling; you can hardly stand. I am
a brute to keep you; but I cannot help clutching my only chance of
happiness. You are an angel! Dispose of me as you will; but in mercy
give me some hope. I'll wait; I'll do anything."
"Oh, no, no. It is impossible. I am so fond of _her_; and you will find
many to whom your past will be nothing; for me it is irrevocable. The
world seems intolerable; let me go;" and she burst into such bitter sobs
that her whole frame shook.
"I must not keep you now; but I shall _not_ give you up. I will write.
Oh, Katherine, you would not destroy me!" He seized and passionately
kissed her hand, which she tore from him, and fled from the room.
When Rachel Trant escaped from the presence of her dearest friend and
her ex-lover, she could scarcely see or stand. Thankful not to meet
anyone, she hastily left the house, and, somewhat revived by the air,
she made her way to a secluded part of the Kensington Gardens. Here she
found a seat, and, still palpitating with the shock she had sustained,
strove to reduce the chaotic whirl of her thoughts to something like
order.
She divined by instinct why De Burgh was at Mrs. Needham's. She knew,
how she could not tell, that he was seeking Katherine as eagerly as he
had sought herself; but with what a different object! The sight of De
Burgh was as the thrust of a poisoned dagger through the delicate veins
and articulations of her moral system. To see the dark face and sombre
eyes she had loved so passionately--had!--still loved!--was almost
physical agony. It was as if some beloved form had been brought back
from another world, but animated by a spirit that knew her not, regarded
her not at all. Oh, the bitterness of such an estrangement, of this
expulsion from the paradise of warmth and tenderness where she had been
cherished for a while--a heavenly place which should know her no more.
"I brought it all upon myself," was the sentence of her strong stern
sense. "Losing self-respect, what hold can any woman have upon a
lover?--yet how many men are faithful even to death without the legal
tie! I do not love him now, but how fondly, how intensely I loved the
man I thought he was! Oh, fool, fool, fool, to believe that I could ever
tighten my hold upon a man who had gained all he wished unconditionally!
I have deserved all--all."
Yet she had no hatred against the real De Burgh, neither had she any
angelic desire to forgive him, or to do him good or convert him; what he
was now, he would ever be. He might even make a fairly good husband. The
episode of his connection with herself would in no way interfere with
_his_ moral harmony. But he was not worthy of Katherine; no unbreakable
tie would make him more constant; and, though his faithlessness could
not touch her social position, he might crush her heart all the same.
Rachel was far too human, too passionate, not to shrink with unutterable
pain from the idea of this man's entrancing love being lavished on
another, yet her true, devoted affection for her benefactress remained
untouched. Katherine stood before everything. Rachel did not wish to
injure De Burgh--her heart had simply grown strong, and she would not
hesitate for a moment to save Katherine from trouble at any cost to him.
What then should she do?--continue to withhold the name of the man of
whom she had so often spoken, or let Katherine know the whole truth and
judge for herself? If she decided on the latter, it would break up her
friendship with Katherine, and De Burgh would attribute her action to
revenge. Should that deter her? No; so long as she was sure of herself,
what were opinions to her? The one thing in life to which she clung now
was Katherine's affection and esteem; for her she would sacrifice much,
but she would not flatter her into a fool's paradise of trust and wedded
love with De Burgh by concealing anything, neither would she counsel her
against the desperate experiment, should she be inclined to risk it. He
might be a very different man to a wife.
A certain amount of composure came to her with decision, though a second
death seemed to have laid its icy hand upon her heart; she rose and made
her way towards her own abode, determining to await a visit or some
communication from Katherine before she touched the poisoned tract which
lay between them.
Rachel had scarcely reached the Broad Walk when she was accosted by a
little girl, who ran towards her, calling loudly,
"Miss Trant, Miss Trant, don't you know me?"
She was a slight, willowy creature with black eyes, profuse dark hair,
and sallow complexion. Her dress was costly, though simple, and she was
followed at a more sober pace by a lady-like but foreign-looking girl,
apparently her governess.
"Well, Miss Liddell, are you taking a morning walk?" asked Rachel, as
the child took her hand.
"I am going to see papa. I am to have dinner with him. He has a bad
cold, and he sent for me."
"Then you must cheer him up, and tell him what you have been learning."
"I haven't learnt much yet; it is so tiresome."
"Come, Mademoiselle Marie, you must not tease Miss Trant," said the
foreign-looking lady, whom Rachel recognized as one of the governesses
who sometimes escorted George Liddell's daughter "to be tried on."
"She does not tease me," returned Rachel, who had rather taken a fancy
to the child.
"Won't you come and see papa with me?" continued the little heiress. "I
wish you would, and he will tell you to make me another pretty frock--I
love pretty frocks."
"Not to-day; I must go home and make frocks for other people."
"Then I will bring him to see you--I will, I will; he does whatever I
like. Good-bye," springing up to kiss her. "I may come and see you
soon?"
"Whenever you like, my dear," said Rachel, feeling strangely comforted
by the child's warm kisses; and they parted, going in different
directions, to meet again soon.
Mrs. Needham had been sorely tried on that fatal day when De Burgh had
suddenly departed, after a comparatively short interval, and Katherine
had disappeared into the depths of her own room.
She had anticipated entertaining the bridegroom-elect at luncheon, and
had ordered lobster-cream and an _epigramme d'agneau a la Russe_ as
suitable delicacies; she expected confidential consultation and
delightful plans; she had even speculated on so managing that the double
event:--Angela Bradley's marriage with Errington and Katherine's with
Lord de Burgh,--might come off on the same day, even in the same church:
that would be a culmination of excitement! Now some mysterious blight
had fallen on all her schemes. What had happened? What could they have
quarrelled about? Then when Katherine emerged from her refuge she was
hopelessly mysterious; there was no penetrating the reserve in which she
wrapped herself.
"There is no one in whom I should more readily confide than in you, dear
Mrs. Needham, but a serious difference _has arisen_ between Lord de
Burgh and myself, respecting which I cannot speak to _anyone_. I regret
being obliged to keep it to myself, but I must."
"My dear, if you adopt that tone I have nothing more to say, but it is
horribly provoking and disappointing. I am quite sure people began to
expect it--that you would marry Lord de Burgh, I mean, and what a
position you have thrown away. You can't expect a man like him to be a
saint. There is no use trying men by our standard; in short, it's not
much matter what standard we have, we must always come down a step or
two if we mean to make both ends meet; but you see, when a man has money
and right principles, he can atone for a lot."
Katherine gazed at her astonished. How was it that she had found the
scent which led so near the real track?
"No money," she said, gravely, "could in any way affect the matters in
dispute between Lord de Burgh and myself, so I will not speak any more
on the subject. It has all been very painful, and the worst part is that
I cannot tell you."
"Well, it must be bad," observed Mrs. Needham, in a complaining tone,
"but I suppose I must just hold my tongue."
So Katherine was left in comparative peace. But it was a hard passage to
her; she could not shake off the sickening sense of wrong and sorrow,
the painful consciousness of being humiliated which the revelation
inflicted on her, the feeling that she was, in some inexplicable way,
touched by the evil-doing of those who were so near her.
A slight cold, caught she knew not how, aggravated the fever induced by
distress of mind, and next day Mrs. Needham thought her so unwell that
she insisted on sending for the doctor, who condemned Katherine to her
bed, a composing draught, and solitude.
The doctor, however, could not forbid letters, and Katherine's seclusion
was much disturbed by a long, rambling, impassioned epistle from De
Burgh, in which, though he promised not to intrude upon her at present,
he refused to give up all hope, as he could not believe that she would
always maintain her present exaggerated and unreasonable frame of
mind--a letter that did him no good in Katherine's estimation. Then she
tried to resume her work. But Mrs. Needham, returning from one of her
"rapid acts" of inspection and negotiation in and out divers and sundry
warehouses, dismissed her peremptorily to lie down on the sofa in the
drawing-room, in reality to get her out of the way, as she was expecting
a visit from Miss Payne, with whom she wanted a little private
conversation.
"Can you throw any light on this mysterious quarrel between Katherine
and Lord de Burgh?" she asked, abruptly, as soon as Miss Payne was
seated in the study.
"Quarrel? have they quarrelled? I know nothing about it. When did they
quarrel?"
"About three days ago. He came here to propose for her, I know he did,
they were talking together for--oh!--barely a quarter-of-an-hour in the
drawing-room, when I heard her fly up stairs, and he rushed away,
slamming the door as if he would take the front of the house out.
Katherine has never been herself since. It is my firm belief she is
strongly attached to him,--what do you think?"
"I don't know what to think; they were very good friends, but I do not
think Katherine was in love with him. She is a curious girl. I often am
tempted to fancy she has something on her mind."
"Nonsense, my dear Miss Payne. I never met a finer, truer nature than
Katherine Liddell's," cried Mrs. Needham, an affectionate smile lighting
up her handsome, kindly face. "The worst of it is, I do not know whom to
blame, and Katherine has put me on honor not to ask her."
"I cannot help you," said Miss Payne; and she fell into a thoughtful
silence, while Mrs. Needham watched her eagerly.
"I am going away for a few weeks," resumed Miss Payne. "I have let my
house, and I shall go to Sandbourne; the weather seems settled, and it
will be pleasant there. If you can spare her, I will ask Katherine to
come with me, she liked the place, and perhaps in the intimacy of
every-day life she may tell me what happened; but, remember, _I'll_ not
tell you unless she gives me leave."
"No, no, of course not; but I am sure she would trust _me_ as soon as
anyone.'
"Very likely. It will just depend upon who is near her when she is in a
confidential mood."
"Perhaps. I am sure it would do her good; and Sandbourne is not far. If
De Burgh wants to make it up, he can easily run down there."
"Yes, he knows his way. I am not sure that he is the right man, though,"
said Miss Payne, reflectively; "he is too ready to ride rough-shod over
everyone and everything."
"Do you think so? I must say I thought him a delightful person, so
natural and good-natured."
"Well, let me go and see Katherine. I am anxious to take her away with
me."
Katherine was most willing to accept Miss Payne's proposition. She was
soothed and gratified by the thoughtful kindness shown her by both her
friends, and anxious to refresh her mind and recruit her strength before
taking up her life again.
"You are so good to think of taking me with you," she cried, when Miss
Payne ceased speaking. "I should like greatly to go, if Mrs. Needham can
spare me."
"Of course I can. You will come back a better secretary than ever,"
exclaimed that lady, cheerfully. "I will try to run down and see you
some Saturday. It is rather a new place, this Sandbourne, isn't it?"
"Yes; it is not crowded yet."
"When do you go down there?"
"On Saturday afternoon," returned Miss Payne. "I have taken rooms at
Marine Cottage; you know, it is at the end of the parade, near an old
house."
"Yes, quite well; it is a nice little place."
"I will write to secure another bedroom; and let us meet at the station
on Saturday. I go by the 2.50 train." A few more preliminaries and the
affair was settled.
Previous to leaving town, however, Katherine felt she must see Rachel
Trant, though she half dreaded meeting her. It must have been an awful
blow to meet De Burgh as she did. Would she divine what brought him
there? Katherine felt she had been cold and remiss in having kept
silence towards her friend so long, and, when Miss Payne left, she
walked with her across the park to Rachel's abode, in spite of Mrs.
Needham's assurances that it would be too much for her, and retard the
recovery of her nervous forces, etc., etc.
Katherine was not kept long waiting in the neat little back parlor,
which was Miss Trant's private room. Rachel came to her looking very
white, while she breathed quickly. She paused just within the door, in a
hesitating, uncertain way, which seemed to Katherine very pathetic.
"Oh! Rachel," she cried, her soft brown eyes suffused with tears as she
tenderly kissed her brow, "I know everything, and--I will never see him
again."
"He is not all bad," said Rachel, in a low tone, as she clasped
Katherine's hand in both her own.
"No, I am sure he is not; but he has passed out of our lives; let us
speak of him no more."
"I should be glad not to do so; but he has written me a letter I should
like you to see. He seems grieved for the past and makes munificent
offers."
"I should rather not see it, Rachel. I want to forget. Did you reply?"
"I did, very gravely, very shortly. I told him I wanted nothing, that
the best friend I ever had had put me in the way perhaps to make my
fortune, and--and, dearest Miss Liddell, if you care for----"
"But I do not, I did not," interrupted Katherine. "Oh! thank God I do
not. How could I have borne what has come to my knowledge if I did? Now,
let the past bury its dead."
"Is it not amazing that we should be so strangely linked together?"
murmured Rachel.
Katherine made no reply. After a short silence, as if they stood by a
still open grave, Katherine began to speak of her intended visit to Miss
Payne, and before they parted, though both were hushed and grave, they
had glided into their usual confidential, affectionate tone. Business,
however, was not mentioned.
"I wish you could see your cousin's little daughter," said Rachel,
rather abruptly, as Katherine rose to bid her good-bye. "She's an
interesting, naughty little creature, small of her age, but in some ways
precocious. I am fond of her, partly, I suppose, because she likes me.
There is something familiar to me in her face, yet I cannot say that she
actually resembles anyone."
"I should like to see her," returned Katherine; and soon after she left
her friend, relieved and calmed by the feeling that the explanation was
over.
"Well, my dear," cried Mrs. Needham, when they met at dinner. "I have a
great piece of news for you: Mr. Errington is to be the new editor of
_The Cycle_. A capital thing for him! and that accounts for the
announcement of the marriage being held back, just to let people get
accustomed to the first start. It shows what Bradley thinks of him. It
is really a grand triumph to get such an appointment after so short an
apprenticeship."
"I am glad of it, very glad," returned Katherine, thoughtfully. "I
suppose he is considered very clever."
"A first-rate man, quite first-rate, for all serious tough subjects. I
think, dear, if I could run down on Saturday week till Monday it would
be an immense refreshment;" and Mrs. Needham wandered off into the
discussion of a variety of schemes.
On the Saturday following, Katherine and her faithful chaperon set out
for their holiday with mutual satisfaction and a hope that they left
their troubles behind them.