Katrine meantime had accomplished her duties, and given herself up to
the enjoyment of reading, and replying, to her Indian letter. The
temptation of beginning the reply could seldom be postponed, for
Dorothea's words brought with them a personal demand, to which it was
imperative to respond.
Dorothea was the one person in the whole world who could always be
relied upon to understand, and follow Katrine's mental flights. At
school she had been the staunchest of chums; through the first black
years of Martin's widowerhood her enthusiasm had kept her friend's
resolution at white heat, and when two years later she had met her fate
in the guise of a young officer, and had been spirited away to India,
her departure had been the sorest grief which Katrine had yet been
called upon to bear.
The weekly letters which crossed each other with unfailing regularity
were in each case a diary of daily happenings, enlivened by such
moralisings, grave and gay, as were natural between the friends, who
were deeply in each other's confidence. Dorothea's latest letter was no
exception to the rule, except as regards one startling item of news,
given, woman-like, in the postscript.
"By the way, Jim Blair discovered a charming old box in the bazaar this
week, and is sending it home to you as the latest addition to your
collection. Be sure to answer his letter nicely, and be properly
pleased! He is a dear, and I have read (edited) extracts from your
letters to him weekly, for years past, so that he knows you quite well
by repute. He is lonely, poor man. You wouldn't grudge him that small
distraction!"
Katrine's cheeks flushed to an unusual pink as she digested that
postscript. Jim Blair! Jim Blair was a bachelor, and the _ami intime_
of the Middleton _menage_. Katrine searched her memory for further
details, and had an impression of a tall, thin man, who had had a rough
time in life, and had come through his trials with flying colours.
Whence had the impression arisen? She could not tell, but determined to
re-read old letters to find out exactly what had been said. Meantime
the present announcement caused a distinct stirring of the quiet waters
of life...
A strange man had written to her, had sent her a gift, in the shape of a
brass box, to add to the collection of antiques which lay before her,
their polished surfaces gleaming brightly against a background of old
oak. Katrine had a passion for antique brasses, and through Dorothea's
agency had acquired an interesting collection during the last few years.
An addition to her collection was always a triumph, but in this special
case her expectations were engaged more with the message itself, than
with the treasure which it introduced. The letter had not arrived by
the ordinary post, although Dorothea had spoken of it as already
despatched. Probably then it was enclosed in the box, and would arrive
by the later parcel delivery!
A letter! How extraordinary that a man should take upon himself to send
a letter to an unknown girl at the other end of the world! As for the
brass itself, he had probably seen other specimens which Dorothea had
forwarded from time to time, both as commissions and gifts; had been
consulted as to their value, possibly even taken to the bazaar to assist
in bargaining; then, coming by chance across a good specimen, it might
have occurred to a generously-minded man to secure it in its turn.
Katrine would have found the whole transaction natural enough if the
gift had been offered through Dorothea's mediumship--But to write
direct!
A letter! What would that letter contain? A few brief lines of formal
explanation; a colourless, characteristic thing, as lifeless as the
sheet on which it was written? Assuredly so. How in the name of
fortune could it be anything else? Katrine stifled a stab of
disappointment, and set herself resolutely to foretell the words which
she was presently to read.
"Dear Miss Beverley--Dear Madame--Knowing your liking for old brass--
um--um--I am taking the liberty of forwarding--" No! that's too sudden
and businessy.--He _must_ offer some sort of explanation... "Coming
across this old box the other day in the bazaar, and knowing your liking
for old brass, I consulted with Mrs Middleton as to whether I might
venture--" "Really, it's horribly difficult! Why didn't he just put in
a card, and leave it to Doll to explain? I must accept, of course; it
would be churlish to refuse, but as to answering _nicely_, that's
another matter! A few lines in the third person would be the best way
out of the difficulty--"
"A parcel for you, miss."
The waitress brought in a small box, oblong in shape, sealed and tied
with a security which bespoke a long journey. Katrine's hasty hands
scattered the wrappings on the floor, and even as they fell, the musty,
pungent smell of the East filled the air, and her eyes looked with
surprise upon a cedar-wood box, carved, and inlaid with delicate skill.
Cedar wood! but Dorothea had said _brass_. It seemed inexplicable that
the offering should consist of a thing in which she took no special
interest. Katrine's hands weighed it carefully, and discovered an
unexpected weight; she prized off the lid, and beheld yet a second
parcel, wrapped in soft, rough silk. Ah! here came the brass. She drew
her breath with a quick gasp of delight as the treasure came into
sight,--a long, flat-shaped box, deeply carved with letterings, mingled
with the most grotesque of figures. Katrine's growing experience made
her aware of its antiquity. No other item in her possession was worthy
to be named in comparison. It was a treasure trove, such as would
delight the heart of the most fastidious collector.
For a moment surprise and admiration engrossed her mind, then quickly
following came another thought. The letter!--where was the letter? Was
there no letter enclosed? Katrine dashed at the scattered wrappings,
shook them apart, and failing to find any trace of what she sought,
fumbled with the lid of the box itself. It was tightly jammed, but a
little coaxing set it free, and in the cavity lay a sheet of foreign
paper, closely covered with a man's strong, well-formed writing.
Katrine seated herself on the chair by the window, with a strange, dazed
feeling of expectancy. A narrow strip of garden separated the side of
the house from the lane without. With half-conscious eyes she saw a
blue-robed figure strolling slowly by, followed by a fat, waddling pug.
Mary Biggs, the lawyer's sister, taking Peter Biggs for his morning's
stroll. Approaching from the opposite direction came a trim figure in
grey, sandwiched between two small girls, with skirts cut short to
display shapely brown legs. Mrs Slades's governess taking the children
for their morning stroll... The little hamlet was pursuing its quiet,
machine-like way; no tremor of excitement had disturbed its calm, but in
Katrine's room was the scent of the East, and out of the silence six
thousand miles away, a man laid bare to her his heart.