"Monk's How, December 4.""DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,""Before I left home, nearly a month ago,I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for anact which I shall never cease to regret. The thoughtof it has haunted me continually, and I havesat down, again and again, in order to expressmy penitence in writing, yet have feared to do so.""I have no excuse to offer. It is not enoughto say that I meant only to pay a sportsman'scompliment, and to give you a momentary pleasure.I ought to have known better. Nay, I cannot pleadignorance, I did know better, yet acted as thoughyou were made of the same stuff as most of thegirls I have met. In offering what I did, I musthave caused you acute suffering and wrung yourtender heart, which I would have saved from sorrowat the cost of my life. I can now only own my faultand express my deep regret. I dare not ask you toforgive my barbarity.""Believe me, dear Miss Mountford,""Your devoted servant,""JOHN TORRANCE."
"Monk's How, December 4.""DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,""Before I left home, nearly a month ago,I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for anact which I shall never cease to regret. The thoughtof it has haunted me continually, and I havesat down, again and again, in order to expressmy penitence in writing, yet have feared to do so.""I have no excuse to offer. It is not enoughto say that I meant only to pay a sportsman'scompliment, and to give you a momentary pleasure.I ought to have known better. Nay, I cannot pleadignorance, I did know better, yet acted as thoughyou were made of the same stuff as most of thegirls I have met. In offering what I did, I musthave caused you acute suffering and wrung yourtender heart, which I would have saved from sorrowat the cost of my life. I can now only own my faultand express my deep regret. I dare not ask you toforgive my barbarity.""Believe me, dear Miss Mountford,""Your devoted servant,""JOHN TORRANCE."
"Monk's How, December 4.""DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,""Before I left home, nearly a month ago,I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for anact which I shall never cease to regret. The thoughtof it has haunted me continually, and I havesat down, again and again, in order to expressmy penitence in writing, yet have feared to do so.""I have no excuse to offer. It is not enoughto say that I meant only to pay a sportsman'scompliment, and to give you a momentary pleasure.I ought to have known better. Nay, I cannot pleadignorance, I did know better, yet acted as thoughyou were made of the same stuff as most of thegirls I have met. In offering what I did, I musthave caused you acute suffering and wrung yourtender heart, which I would have saved from sorrowat the cost of my life. I can now only own my faultand express my deep regret. I dare not ask you toforgive my barbarity.""Believe me, dear Miss Mountford,""Your devoted servant,""JOHN TORRANCE."
"Monk's How, December 4."
"DEAR MISS MOUNTFORD,"
"Before I left home, nearly a month ago,
I was most anxious to ask your forgiveness for an
act which I shall never cease to regret. The thought
of it has haunted me continually, and I have
sat down, again and again, in order to express
my penitence in writing, yet have feared to do so."
"I have no excuse to offer. It is not enough
to say that I meant only to pay a sportsman's
compliment, and to give you a momentary pleasure.
I ought to have known better. Nay, I cannot plead
ignorance, I did know better, yet acted as though
you were made of the same stuff as most of the
girls I have met. In offering what I did, I must
have caused you acute suffering and wrung your
tender heart, which I would have saved from sorrow
at the cost of my life. I can now only own my fault
and express my deep regret. I dare not ask you to
forgive my barbarity."
"Believe me, dear Miss Mountford,"
"Your devoted servant,"
"JOHN TORRANCE."
Kathleen's eyes were moist as she finished reading Captain Jack's effusion. Coming as a sequel to her previous train of thought, it was calculated to produce a great impression on the mind of a romantic girl, already predisposed in the writer's favour.
To Kathleen the letter opened a view of Captain Torrance's inner self which agreed with her own fanciful conception of his character. Of course he had acted on the spur of the moment in sending what he did, but second thoughts had shown him that he had made a mistake; no doubt he knew her poor mother's story, though it was not likely that an event which had happened so many years before, and when he was out of England, would at first come into his mind. Her refusal of his offering and reply to his letter would bring back the half-forgotten tale, and then how sorry he had been! To think that for a month he had grieved about his mistake—Kathleen could use no harsher word in mentally referring to it, and would have acknowledged it, but could not find courage to write. And now he had written, his regret and self-reproach were touching in the extreme.
Kathleen deposited the precious letter in the depths of her pocket, and went on her way with shining eyes and elastic step. All the world seemed the brighter for the message which had come to her. She was no longer indifferent to the sunlight which made the snow-crystals sparkle like diamonds. The darkest days of the year had yet to come, but Kathleen almost fancied that there was a promise of spring in the cloudless sky, and in the sense of happiness which pervaded her whole being.
The next half-mile was quickly traversed, and approached a turnstile she hesitated whether to continue her walk by the field-path, or to take a short cut more public road to the Hall. A moment later, and before she had settled the question, she found herself face to face with Captain Torrance.
THE rencontre between Captain Torrance and Miss Mountford had been well planned, thanks to the information given by the groom.
It took Kathleen by surprise, startled her, indeed, and her sensitive face flushed and paled in turns, as Captain Jack bared his handsome head with one hand, then used the other in adjusting the stile for her to pass through. He did not speak, but would have allowed the girl to pass with only a low bow, had not Kathleen addressed him. He was looking so sad and respectful, that his face said more than words could have done.
"Captain Torrance, I have read your letter," said Kathleen. "I know you meant only kindness in what you did a month ago, and I was grateful for it; please forget everything else in connection with it."
"Is it possible that you forgive me, Miss Mountford? I shall not easily forgive myself," replied the captain, with a radiant face.
"To need forgiveness one must have done an intentional wrong, and I am sure that was as far from your thoughts as it was from mine to pain you by refusing what you sent."
As Kathleen said this she raised a smiling face, and extended her hand.
Captain Jack took it and held it gently for an instant, then released it. He would have liked to lift it to his lips, but he dared not, though his heart was beating rapidly with a sense of coming triumph. The tell-tale expression on the face of that innocent girl appealed to the little of good that was left in his nature. He was now certain that he was not indifferent to Kathleen, and what there was of conscience in the man appealed to him on her behalf. It seemed to say, "What right have you to mar another fair life, by seeking to link it with your sin-soiled, dishonourable career? Look at your past. Think of the young wife whose friends thanked God for the early death that saved her from prolonged sorrow. What can your very love be but injurious to such as Kathleen Mountford? Spare her a future of misery, a fearful awakening from a dream of hope and happiness; for the sake of the one who was the mother of your boy, and whom, after your selfish fashion, you loved."
But the voice of conscience was silenced by louder pleadings going on at the same time within the man's mind. His circumstances were desperate. He had really been in London to stave off law proceedings which would have revealed his hopeless position. He had only succeeded by entering into an agreement whereby the Monk's How estate, his home, and its contents would pass out of his possession fifteen months hence, and he would be penniless and homeless, unless he could in the meanwhile retrieve his fortunes by marriage.
Captain Torrance had made more than one attempt to do this already, but parents and guardians had proved too watchful as regarded those who combined youth with wealth, and his efforts had proved futile. In Kathleen, everything that he could desire was united. Her unencumbered property would be an ample provision for life, Hollingsby Hall, a good house for a ruined man to hang up his hat in. Kathleen's carefully accumulated thousands, which popular rumour numbered at fifty, would redeem Monk's How, if he chose to spend them on it. Besides, what possibilities of future pleasures, which need not be particularized, opened before him, the one condition for securing these being marriage with a girl, young, beautiful, and lovable!
As to Monk's How! Captain Jack had always been sorry to think that it would not go down to Ralph as it had come from his father to himself, but it might yet be saved. Miss Mountford would be her own mistress in a year, or perhaps rather less now, and he had secured an extra three months' breathing-time, in case of difficulties.
"Matheson will take care that Hollingsby is settled on Kathleen, and he would be an idiot indeed if he did not. However, I will not be too hard-hearted. It will be just as much to my advantage as to hers, for I cannot trust myself to take care of money. If I get the ready cash under my control, I may well be contented, and the value of everything will be trebled by the pleasure of cutting out that puritanical fellow. Anybody can guess that he would like to shut out all suitors from Hollingsby Hall."
Thought is rapid, and these arguments, pro and con, none of them new to the mind of Captain Jack, rushed through it during that brief pause with Kathleen at the turnstile. Needless to say which side conquered.
But for the meeting with Captain Torrance, Kathleen would have taken the field-path. She would not now choose this more private road, in case he should turn and walk by her side. People might misjudge her, and imagine that the meeting was not an accidental one, if they were by chance seen together on the less frequented way. So she turned towards the high-road and, as she half feared, half hoped, Captain Torrance took the same.
"I was going this way back," he said, "and now that through your goodness I am forgiven, I trust you will add to it by allowing me to walk with you to the Hall."
Kathleen gave a smiling assent, and the two walked on, talking chiefly about Ralph, and his father's anxiety on his account during his stay in London. The captain waxed pathetic as he bewailed the boy's motherless condition and his own comparative helplessness. He sighed as he added—
"If only one, as good, tender, and fair as my poor Adela, would take her place and be a mother to Ralph, I should care little for myself; but I ought not to speak in this way. Even the thought of Ralph must not make me forget—"
Kathleen's look of sympathy was carrying Captain Jack beyond himself. He was beginning to venture on ground which he had hardly dared to believe he should be able to approach for months to come, for he was far too politic to risk a refusal by haste or rashness.
How far he might have gone, tempted by Kathleen's readiness to talk of Ralph, and her evident sympathy with the father's anxiety, cannot be told. At this most opportune moment Aylmer Matheson came in sight, as he turned a corner only a short distance in front of the pair. He had been at the Hall, and was going homeward, having declined Mrs. Ellicott's invitation to luncheon.
Captain Torrance was inwardly delighted at the meeting, and not in the least sorry that his conversation with Kathleen was interrupted at this point. He was becoming afraid that he had gone too far already, and that his impetuosity might have the effect of injuring his cause. Now he should stop, leaving Kathleen plenty to think about, and perhaps wishing the sentence had been completed before Aylmer appeared in sight. She could not doubt his earnestness, for he meant every word he had said.
Captain Jack changed the subject abruptly, and said—
"Some day I shall hope to talk about my boy again, with one who can sympathize with a motherless child, and with a father who longs to care for him in the best way. But here comes your lawful guardian, Miss Mountford; perhaps I had better retreat and resign you to his care."
There was just a suspicion of mockery in Captain Jack's tone, and his smile was less pleasant to look upon than it had been before Aylmer came in sight.
Tone and look had the effect of rousing Kathleen to show her independence, and she answered—
"Indeed no, Captain Torrance. You were good enough to say you would walk with me to the Hall, and your escort will be more than sufficient, for I expected that my walk would be solitary. Mr. Matheson is my guardian and my good, true friend, not my jailer."
The captain laughed heartily at this speech, and said some complimentary words at the moment of Aylmer's approach, with the result that Kathleen's face was full of amusement, and her heightened colour could not fail to be noticed by her guardian.
Aylmer was intensely surprised at seeing Captain Torrance in Kathleen's company, and at the apparently good understanding subsisting between them.
Mr. Matheson did not stop. He merely bowed to Kathleen, just acknowledged the captain's salute, and then went on his way, greatly disturbed by what he had seen. Painfully self-conscious in everything that concerned his ward, Aylmer tormented himself with conjectures as to the means by which her meeting with Captain Torrance had been brought about. Until the pair came in sight, he had no idea that the latter had returned to Monk's How.
He had heard, without repeating them, rumours of his neighbour's ever-growing money difficulties, and perhaps at the bottom of his heart hoped that these might eventually remove him from the neighbourhood. Now, Aylmer walked homeward, unable to see, hear, or think of anything but the half-mocking, half-triumphant look on Captain Torrance's face, the mirthful one on Kathleen's, the sound of the ringing laugh, and the impression that these were caused by some jest of which he was himself the subject. He had been so happy for a month past, even hopeful for Kathleen and for himself. Now he was miserable, full of fears, terribly conscious of his own responsibility, and at the same time of the strength, resources, and unscrupulous character of the man with whom he would have to deal, in protecting his ward against herself.
Arrived at home, he sent away his luncheon almost untasted, and his thoughts became prayers for help and guidance to do the right, and to forget self in doing it for Kathleen's sake.
Captain Jack left Miss Mountford at the entrance-gates, and she walked through the grounds alone. He would have accompanied her to the Hall door; but, in spite of that touch of the old spirit which had induced her to insist on his continued escort thus far, Kathleen shrank from braving the look of dismay which would become visible on Mrs. Ellicott's face, if she saw her niece thus accompanied. So she paused at the gates, and, holding out her hand, said—
"Good-bye, Captain Torrance. I shall hope to hear only good news of Ralph."
"Many thanks for your kindness. I shall be only too glad to be the bearer of such news."
Thus they parted, the captain in the highest spirits, Kathleen in a flutter of excitement, not altogether of a pleasurable character. The moment she found herself alone she felt a certain amount of compunction for what she had done, and she realized that the having one's own way is not always the only thing to be desired.
Aylmer had met her. Well! If he had not, he would soon have heard that she had been seen walking with Captain Torrance, for there were plenty of lookers-on from doors and windows, and in the passers-by in the village street.
Probably, Aylmer had heard her companion's laugh, and seen that she shared in the amusement caused by some remark of his. She would be honestly sorry if he imagined that she was laughing at him. He could not know that she had spoken of him as her "good, true friend" the moment before.
"And Aylmer is good," said Kathleen to herself. "He has a right to advise me, indeed, to control me, whilst I am under age, though I am sure he has a thankless office with such a wilful ward. How grave his face was as he passed us!"
"Aunty will be sadly put out, too, for Captain Torrance is her bête noir. She shall not hear of my escapade from any one else, for after lunch is over I will tell her just how the thing came about, and show her the letter. It will touch her tender heart, I know, as it touched mine."
Full of good resolutions, Kathleen entered the house, and ran lightly upstairs to take off her walking trim. Halfway up she met with her cousin.
"Oh, Ger," she said, "I am glad to see you up. I was afraid you would feel it necessary to stay in bed all day. Are you better?"
"Yes, thanks, Kitty. Have you enjoyed your walk?"
"Very much, and I am as hungry, as a bear I was going to say; but I suppose even bears are not always in a ravenous condition."
"Probably not. Did you see Aylmer whilst you were out?"
Geraldine was looking at her cousin, and could not help wondering at the vivid colour which mounted to her very forehead at this question.
"Yes," replied Kathleen. "I saw him, but not to speak to. He passed me when some one else was talking to me."
"Then it was not he who came back with you to the gate a few minutes ago?"
Kathleen turned sharply round, and asked in an angry tone, "Pray, were you watching me? Is it needful that some one should play the spy on my movements, if I leave the house alone, and am absent for an hour or two?"
"Kitty, Kitty, what do you mean? What have I done to call forth such a speech?" said Geraldine, and dropping down on a seat, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
Kathleen's irritation gave place to regret in an instant. Nothing could be more unlike Geraldine than the act of which she had been accused, and she could not have imagined it possible that her cousin would associate what savoured of meanness with her character. She was not given to frequent tears, but she was feeling far from well, and Kathleen's angry questioning caused her acute distress.
"What a wretch I am, Ger! do forgive me! I am horribly ashamed of myself. To think I could say such dreadful things to you, and make you cry by my unkindness. Of course you were not watching me on purpose, even if you saw me. Oh dear, dear, when shall I learn to govern my temper and my tongue?"
"I will tell you how it happened," replied Geraldine, raising her head and wiping the tears from her pale cheeks.
"No, no. Tell me nothing," cried Kathleen. "I should wrong you by listening. Do I not know that you would not do a mean thing to save your life? Only forgive me."
"Please listen, Kitty. I must tell you."
"Then, listening shall be my penance," said Kathleen, "for every word of your defence will be an added reproach."
"I will cut my words very short, dear, out of consideration for your present penitence, and," added Geraldine, with a smile, "your hunger."
"Ah, I was forgetting that in the business of hating myself; but it will come back with double force directly, as all merely animal wants persist in doing."
"I was getting ready to come downstairs for luncheon, and I stopped to rest for a moment, as my head felt giddy at first. As I looked across the grounds and park, I was struck with the wondrous loveliness of the winter landscape, and I felt a little envious of you, Kitty dear, as I pictured you going merrily over the crisp path, and revelling in your surroundings."
"Without any idea of even seeing you, I glanced in the direction of the entrance. You were just parting with some one whom I took to be Aylmer. That is all. Let us say no more about it."
Geraldine bent to kiss Kathleen, who had dropped down on the rug beside her, and then rising from her seat said—
"Make haste, Kitty. There goes the luncheon bell."
Kathleen clung round her cousin's neck, and kissed her repeatedly.
"I will tell you and aunty all about my walk afterwards," she replied, and then hurried to her own room to make herself presentable.
When the ladies gathered at the table, Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine were, probably, the only persons under the roof of Hollingsby Hall who did not know that its mistress had been seen walking out with Captain Torrance, "just for all the world as if they were keeping company," said one of the under-gardeners to Patty Mountain, in the simple words which would have been used of one of her own degree seen under similar circumstances.
"Ha! Keeping company with my young mistress!" replied Patty, angry at the very mention of such a possibility. "As if Miss Mountford would demean herself by looking the side he's on—in that way. You had better hold your tongue altogether than talk nonsense like that."
"Nonsense or no, Patty, our young mistress did go a long walk with the captain this very morning, and whether you believe my tongue, or think I'm telling you what isn't true, won't alter what is. I've got my eyesight, and I saw that groom of the captain's give our young lady a letter, as I was coming back from the smithy, where I'd been getting a tool mended. A little while since, after dinner-hour, I saw the captain and her walking this way together, as smart as you please, laughing and talking, and he brought her as far as the gate."
Such evidence was overpowering; but Patty, staunch to her mistress's cause, was not going to allow that any importance was to be attached to it.
"You might know," she said, "that Captain Jack, as folks call him, just because he belongs to the county, as one may say, though by all accounts he's no real captain now, seeing he had to leave the army years ago, has impudence enough for anything. He would push himself into our mistress's company without saying, 'By your leave, miss,' and he would stick by her side like a leech, just to show off. What could she do?"
"They meet in company sometimes, though very seldom, and a good thing too; and of course she couldn't say straight out, 'Go away, I don't want to be seen speaking to you.' And now, William Burns, if we are to be friends, you'll not say another word to any living soul about having seen that man walking with our young mistress."
"I wish nobody knew but me, Patty, and then no one else should know. But plenty of people saw them walking together, your own father for one, as they came up to the gates. And everybody would tell you, same as I have done, that Miss Mountford looked as merry and pleased as could be. As to not turning the side the captain was on! Why, you know he's a rare handsome man, and good looks sometimes go farther than good lives in gaining favour."
William Burns cast a sly glance at Patty as he gave utterance to this opinion, which was intended to express a well-known truth, and to be a quiet reproof to the listening damsel. William was Patty's open admirer, but thus far had not received the measure of encouragement his devotion merited. He attributed his ill-success to the fact that he had a rival whose personal appearance was allowed to be far superior to his own, and who, having seen service in the neighbourhood of London, knew far more of the great world and its ways than honest William, who had never been far from his native village.
"Don't tell me about looks!" retorted Patty. "Many an apple looks tempting enough outside, but sets your teeth on edge when you taste it. I prefer good ways to good looks."
Patty smiled on her faithful admirer more kindly than was her wont. She was, like many another girl, proud to show her absolute power over him. But, despite the various snubs she had thought fit to administer during the conversation, William went away happy and hopeful after this last conciliatory speech.
"AUNTY," said Kathleen, after luncheon was over, "I want you to read a letter which I received this morning; not by post, or I should have told you about it at breakfast. It was given to me on the road by a messenger who would have brought it here, only he met me, and asked if he were to come on to the house, or if I would take it then. As it needed no answer, it was as well to spare the man a longer walk, was it not?"
"Certainly, dear. Somebody wanting you to patronize those village concerts that are being got up, I suppose. I had a note about them this morning, and so had Geraldine."
"The letter was not about the concerts, aunty. I promised to patronize them more than a week ago, and before the formal appeal was sent out. My letter was from Captain Torrance. Read it, please, or Geraldine can read it to you, if you like, and then tell me what you think of it."
Kathleen put the letter into Miss Ellicott's hand, and then went to the window, where she stood during its perusal She had resolved not to notice the dismay with which her aunt heard of this further communication from the captain, and trusted to the letter itself to produce a favourable impression. She waited some little time, standing at the window with her back to the room and its occupants, but as neither spoke she walked to the fireside, and asked—"What do you think of the letter, aunty?"
"My dear, I cannot find fault with it."
"I should think not indeed," replied the girl, drawing herself up in the stately way she put on at times.
"And yet, Kitty dear, I cannot help wishing that the writer had been content to leave the matter as it was."
"With his feelings he could hardly do that. You see, he thought he had pained me, and wished me to know that he never meant to do so."
"He might have imagined that the wound, if any, would be healed, so far as he was concerned, before this time, my dear."
"But you see what he says. He simply could not summon courage to write. Only, as he was back at Monk's How, he had a dread of meeting me with his fault unacknowledged—I mean apologized for."
"Happily, Captain Torrance is not often seen in our little circle of friends, Kitty, so there was not much fear of his being quite overwhelmed by your displeasure. As I have said, the letter is not to be found fault with, and as it requires no answer, were I you, I would put it into the fire, and forget both it and the writer as far as possible."
"Thank you, aunty," said Kathleen, taking the letter, but with no intention of following Mrs. Ellicott's advice in the disposal of it; "I have answered it."
"What! you have already written to Captain Torrance? I wish you had not done that without naming the matter to me or Aylmer."
"I have not written; but if I had, surely I do not require the consent of my guardians, before I can reply to a simple note of apology."
The girl's hasty temper was roused in an instant, and she went on defiantly—
"I gave my answer to Captain Torrance himself. I met him at Crosspaths Corner, when I was turning homeward. He was kind enough to walk with me to the gates. Had I felt as if I dared to take such a liberty in my own house, I should have asked him to luncheon."
"My dear child, my dear Kathleen, how you misunderstand me!" said Mrs. Ellicott, in great distress. "Never during my guardianship have I interfered with your correspondence. Never has a guest been invited by you who could afterwards complain of a scanty welcome from me. I have never for an instant forgotten that I am only the temporary head of this household, and that in a little more than a year you will be its absolute mistress. But in the meanwhile I am here by your father's dying wish, and I can only lay down my post and its responsibilities at the time appointed by him."
"You well know, Kathleen, that only Captain Torrance's character has stood in the way of his being welcomed in this house and other homes in the neighbourhood."
"I know that if either man or woman has done anything wrong once, the people who think themselves good never forgive, even though they have not suffered by the wrong-doing. It seems to me there is a horrid lot of hypocrisy in the world—the good people's world, I mean, or else instead of turning their backs on those who had committed a fault, and were sorry for it, they would encourage them to do better for the time to come. As to Captain Torrance, he is very much to be pitied. He may have done wrong, though I cannot tell in what way, for people just shrug their shoulders, and appear to know a great deal about him, which I feel certain they would not tell to his face, the cowards! I believe," continued Kathleen, vehemently, "that he just longs to lead a good life, and to set his boy the best of examples, but he has nobody to help him—nobody. I did think you, who are so kind to most people, aunty, would have felt sorry for him, as I did, when I read that letter. But you are just as cold as all the rest, and as hard when Captain Torrance's name is mentioned. Yet you say nothing. Tell me, if you know, what he has really done to make people scorn him and speak ill of him behind his back."
Mrs. Ellicott was shocked at this manifest reaction in favour of Captain Torrance on Kathleen's part. Never before had she posed as his champion, or shown such temper in his defence. So, in spite of the girl's defiant manner, she strove by her very gentleness to disarm her niece, and quietly answered—
"My dear Kitty, it is not for me to tell the whole story of Captain Torrance's past life, and I could not if I would. Much of it is common property, and what is known is surely enough to prevent a pure-minded, innocent girl from desiring his society, or posing as his defender. I can only repeat that your other guardian and I desire nothing but your happiness, and if out of all our neighbours we say, 'There is one whose companionship can be only hurtful to you,' dear Kitty, can you not trust us to judge and decide for you in a matter where a girl's very kindness of heart warps her own judgment? Ah, my darling! It is one of the trials of age, that experience has taught it so many lessons of which, happily, the young are ignorant. We old folk have perforce to avail ourselves of that experience on behalf of the young whom we love, and whom it is our privilege and duty to guard. They often rebel against our decisions, but later in life they learn the same lessons as time and observation have taught us, and can then thank God that in their young days they were not left to themselves."
Kathleen made no reply to her aunt's kindly words. She stood leaning against the chimney-piece, and tapping the floor with her foot in a restless fashion. There was the old wilful look on her face, and the very pose of her head told that she was resolved not to yield a hair's breadth. Not that she was altogether unmoved by Mrs. Ellicott's words. She could never doubt either her aunt's kindness or the judiciousness of her decisions. But her feelings had been worked upon by Captain Torrance's letter and words, and then the old spirit of rebellion had revived, and she was in a state of towering indignation at being treated like a child.
After a somewhat prolonged pause Kathleen spoke.
"I can see that it is useless for me to venture on thinking for myself on any subject. I must reconcile myself to remain in leading-strings for another year, or rather more. No fear of my forgetting the day that sets me free, and then—"
The girl's eyes fairly flashed with triumph as she spoke, but she did not finish the sentence. She left the rest to the imagination of her listeners.
Geraldine had said nothing hitherto, but she was grieved on her mother's account, on Aylmer's, and on Kathleen's most of all. She was far from well herself, and this miser able scene was not likely to make her feel better. It was in a tremulous voice that she said, when Kathleen paused—
"Spare my dear mother, Kitty."
"Why do you speak in that way, Ger? What have I done to pain my aunt? I came to her as I would have gone to my father, had he been living. I showed her that letter, I looked for her sympathy for the writer. I have been frank and straightforward in everything, and I am disappointed—bitterly disappointed. As usual, I have had a lecture on the wickedness of presuming to think for myself, or even to feel towards any human being otherwise than my lawful guardians do. Their opinions seem to be based on the judgment of the little world of gossips, who are full of malice and all uncharitableness. Happily, thought is free, and for the future, instead of opening my mind, I will think for myself, and bide my time of emancipation as patiently as I can. It goes without saying, that I shall beat against the bars sometimes."
"How you grieve me, Kathleen! You know that I have always been so glad of, and thankful for, the perfect confidence which has subsisted between us. It is not in your nature to be otherwise than frank; Aylmer says the same. Perhaps, if anything, we are over-anxious, but I know he will feel with me about Captain Torrance. If he had seen him walking with you—"
"He did see us. We met him on the road," replied Kathleen, with a triumphant look. "To do Aylmer justice, he showed no inclination to seize and carry me away from such bad companionship by main force. He was grave, as 'tis his nature to be, but he passed us with the usual courtesies, and went on his way. To do Captain Torrance justice, he proposed handing me over then and there to the custody of my lawful guardian, though Aylmer was going in the opposite direction to ourselves. I, however, insisted on his escorting me to the gates of my own domain, and I told him that Mr. Matheson was my good, true friend and guardian, but not my jailer. Now, aunty, I shall go to my own room. I have made a full confession of my doings when I was out of your sight this morning, and I have a clear conscience on the score of any evil intentions when I went for a solitary walk, because I had no one to go with me. That it turned out other than solitary was not my fault, or," she added, "my misfortune. It was very pleasant, and I am not going to say that I am sorry I saw Captain Torrance and had a talk with him, which I am not likely to forget."
"Kitty, do not go away, I beg of you. You cannot have understood me. Aylmer will be here for an hour this evening, and then—"
"I shall have a second lecture, I suppose. Thank you, aunty. I mean to try and have a little peace in my own room. I will leave this with you;" and the girl threw Captain Torrance's letter lightly on to the table. "Let Aylmer see it, please, and tell him all I have told you. I am tired—tired of everything!" she cried; and, quitting the room, she ran to her room, locked herself in, and throwing herself on a couch, burst into a passion of tears.
"I am always wrong," she exclaimed, "no matter how much I try to do right! I thought aunty would be pleased at my showing her the letter, and telling her everything. I might as well be deceitful, for any good my frankness does me. There was not one word said this morning that all the world might not have heard, except that poor Captain Jack would not have opened his heart to every one as he did to me. And I don't care what anybody says. If I can be a friend to him in his loneliness, and help him to be better and happier, I will. It must be right to do that."
Arrived at this conclusion, Kathleen dried her eyes, and began to dream of bright possibilities once more. She could do a great deal of harm, and cause a vast amount of pain to others in a very short time when she gave way to temper; but the fit passed away much sooner than did the effects of it.
Kathleen was tired. The large fire burned brightly, and the couch in her room looked most inviting. A large fur-lined wrap was lying across the end of it. A few minutes later Kathleen was sleeping like a child, snugly ensconced beneath the fur, and with the firelight dancing across her face and making the lingering moisture on her dark eyelashes sparkle like diamonds, which, however, quickly disappeared, together with every trace of the tumult through which she had lately passed.
The fire had burned low, the early wintry twilight had followed daylight, when Kathleen awoke. At first she hardly understood where she was, but soon she roused herself, and called to mind how she had left her aunt and cousin.
Sleep had effected a wondrous change in her feelings, and instead of being angry at Mrs. Ellicott, she began to reproach herself for her hastiness and hard words.
"If I could but learn to be patient; but after a month of delightful peace and comfort, I have made aunty miserable, and Ger, poor Ger, is, I dare say, ever so much worse through my conduct. She was wan and white when she came down; not really fit to be out of bed, but always thinking about other people. I don't think I was a bit wrong in standing up for Captain Torrance, but I get angry so soon, and I ought to think of aunty's goodness and how she must feel. I often forget the things I have said when my temper is over; but she cannot, and it is not likely. I said I would not go down to dinner, but I think I will. It is of no use to put off. I shall have to go. Tea will be over. I wonder Cameron never came to see if I wished for a cup."
At this moment a light tap came at the door, and Kathleen called, "Come in," forgetting that she had locked it, and the one leading to her dressing-room also. She had to unlock it and welcome Cameron and the tea she brought.
"I have been in a sound sleep, Cameron," she said.
"You would be tired with your walk in the frosty air, miss," said the maid. "After the cold, a warm room always makes one sleepy."
Cameron lighted the gas, drew the curtains, replenished the fire, and restored the look of brightness to the room.
"Has any one called this afternoon?" asked Kathleen. "Yes, miss. Mr. Matheson first, then Miss Stapleton. She left a message for you. She was very sorry not to see you, and hoped you would soon go to her brother's, where she is staying for some time. Mr. Matheson went out with Miss Stapleton. I think he was going to walk to Oakwood with her, as it was getting dusk."
"Indeed! I am sorry I missed Miss Stapleton. I shall not dress yet, Cameron. There is plenty of time. I did tell my aunt that I should not go down to dinner, but I am so thoroughly rested I have changed my mind. I will ring when I want you."
Cameron retreated, and, with the inconsistency not quite uncommon amongst girls, her young mistress gave way to just a shade of annoyance, because Aylmer had walked home with her friend Hetty.
"Not that I care a straw about Aylmer in that way," she decided, "but I should not like him to take a special liking to Hetty. She is a good girl—twenty times better than I am, but when I am of age, and have perhaps chosen for myself, I should be glad for Aylmer to marry Ger."
Kathleen felt quite generous in deciding the fates of her cousin and Mr. Matheson; but had any one else read her thoughts, it would have appeared a little selfish on her part to consent to such a match, only when she had made a choice on her own account.
Before Cameron received her summons Kathleen went to Mrs. Ellicott's room, feeling sure of finding her there and alone. Her question, "May I come in, aunty?" was answered in the affirmative.
"I have come with the same old story," said Kathleen. "I know I do not deserve that you should speak to me, but I never meant to get angry to-day. You know, too, how I have fought and struggled, but it all seems useless. What shall I do?"
"Begin again, my dear child. The battle against temptation is a life-long contest, but we need not fight alone or unarmed."
"I know you will help me, aunty. I wonder you can bear to look at me, and yet your very face beams forgiveness before I have asked it."
"My darling, I want you to feel that a stronger than I is ready to help and make you strong. But, Kitty, have you thought that He knows all your inward struggles, your longings to conquer what you feel to be your besetting sin, your sorrow when, in place of coming off victorious, the old failing overcomes you and your good resolutions? You come to me penitent and grieved at having grieved me. Have you been to Him to seek His forgiveness, or shall you be contented with mine?"
"I am afraid I have thought only of having troubled you, and made poor Ger ill by my temper. I wish I could feel the peace and comfort that you get by going to God with everything."
"Take the one thing that presses upon you most heavily. Remember that whilst we are encouraged to go with everything, we cannot tell the story of all our needs at once. We have to leave so many to His love and providential care, just as little children lay down their heads at night, and sleep without a care as to how the wants of the morrow are to be met. 'That is father and mother's business,' they say, if they think at all. So we, Kathleen, have to leave so much to our Heavenly Father's foreseeing love, and the many every-day wants of His children are mercifully and lovingly supplied. But our spiritual needs must be taken to God and by ourselves. I can plead for you, Kitty, aye and with you, but unless you acknowledge your fault and ask forgiveness, your weakness and ask for strength, your ignorance and long for guidance, your helplessness and pray that God will enable you to take the armour of His providing, you must be beaten in the fight. Don't get disheartened, dear. All you need is to be had for the asking, and the great army of Christ's soldiers and servants, fighting against temptation and sin, for their own souls and the souls of others, is made up of all ranks and all ages. The hoary head fights, it may be, beside the stripling, the mere child beside the parent. Young men and maidens, old men and children, look alike to Jesus, the Captain of their salvation, the only Conqueror who never knew what it was to yield when the tempter strove to vanquish Him. He will lead you on that path which He trod when in the flesh. Seek Him. Trust Him; make a new beginning in His strength."
"I will try," whispered Kathleen; and before Cameron received her summons, the girl knelt to ask the help of which she felt her need to be so pressing and so constant.
HETTY STAPLETON had so often stayed with her brother and his wife at Oakwood, that she was regarded by Hollingsby folk almost as belonging to the family circle there. She and an unmarried brother, considerably older than herself, had a home together in town, but went their several ways in an independent fashion, and if their opinions of persons and things did not always accord, they agreed to differ.
Though only twenty-five, Hetty was the friend and chosen adviser of quite a crowd of girls, who went to her with their troubles and difficulties, for comfort and guidance. If the troubles were real, who so sympathetic as Hetty? If imaginary or self-made, no one could be more sternly straightforward in administering the needed reproof, or more forcible in pointing out unthankfulness for undeserved blessings, and the wisdom of self-examination and confession of wrong-doing.
Naturally, Hetty was not always successful in her endeavours to benefit other girls. Like her elders, she found, often enough, that her advice was only valued and followed when it fell in with the wishes of those who asked it, and that many who bemoaned their lot and made more troubles for themselves, instead of bravely meeting and conquering adverse circumstances, only wanted to be pitied and excused, when really they merited blame. But, despite such failures, there were numbers of girls who had cause to thank God that they had found a friend in Hetty Stapleton.
Aylmer Matheson was one who gauged Hetty's character correctly, and honoured her, despite certain little eccentricities of which he could not help being conscious. He and Hetty were thoroughly agreed in their estimate of Captain Torrance. She had told him certain particulars, which had come to her knowledge through her brother Gerard's intimacy with some officers who had known Captain Jack during his brief military career. She had kept back much that a pure-minded girl would not like to repeat, and which Hetty herself would have preferred not to know. Of one incident she had never spoken to any human being, and probably only Aylmer Matheson suspected the whole truth.
Eighteen months before, Captain Torrance had taken some pains to throw himself in Hetty's way. He knew that her fortune was inferior to Miss Mountford's, but it was considerable and in her own hands, whilst Kathleen was not nearly of age. He never dreamed that a girl with no pretensions to beauty would refuse him, though Hetty's manner was sufficiently distant to discourage a wooer less satisfied with himself than was handsome Captain Jack. In his own mind he decided that Miss Stapleton drew back, in order that her vanity might be satisfied by a more conspicuous wooing. When, however, he tried his fortune by sending a written proposal, he realized the mistake he had made.
Hetty's reply was courteous, but decisive, and from the moment of receiving it, Captain Torrance understood that there was one girl who had formed a true estimate of his character, and valued his professions of admiration and affection at just what they were worth.
A few plain words in that note of Hetty's roused feelings of varying kinds in Captain Jack's breast. He could not help respecting the writer for her straightforwardness, but anger, fear, and dislike were in equal proportions.
It was dreadfully mortifying to have been refused by any girl, but doubly so when the individual was such as Hetty Stapleton, and mortification produced anger and dislike also when he thought of her. Her quiet good sense and plain speaking inspired fear, lest Hetty should, in the future, interfere to prevent his success in another quarter. With such feelings, it may well be imagined that Hetty Stapleton was about the last person Captain Jack wished to see at Hollingsby for any length of time.
It was quite in accordance with Miss Stapleton's downright way of doing things, that she should speak to Aylmer Matheson about what had set all the village tongues going a few hours before.
"I am so sorry," she said, "that any mischance should have given people the power to couple the names of John Torrance and Kathleen. One feels sure that, so far as she was concerned, the meeting was unexpected and the companionship on the road a thing that a girl like Kitty would not know how to prevent. You see, she is not like me. She is so lovely and lovable, so fearful of hurting anybody's feelings, that she would be helpless to send a man like that to the rightabout, though his presence might be distasteful."
"I quite agree with you that to Kathleen the meeting was unexpected, for she, in common with the rest of us, believed that Captain Torrance was absent from the neighbourhood. I wish I could as easily believe that his company was distasteful, but had you met the two as I did, you, like me, would have doubted this. Torrance's face was full of triumph, and the mocking laugh I heard just before I reached them, together with Kathleen's amused face, told a different tale."
"And of course you were as self-conscious as most of us would be under similar circumstances. You took it for granted that you were the subject of John Torrance's jest, and that Kathleen enjoyed it, and joined in the laughter. Excuse my calling the man by his Christian name to you."
"He is not entitled to be called captain, though everybody uses the appellation. But I hate shams, and I will not insult the army by pretending that he belongs to it, after having left it perforce."
"Now, about the man's laugh. I am quite certain that he wished to annoy you by it and his whole manner. But that Kathleen would ever join in aught, whether word, deed, or gesture, that savoured of mockery towards yourself, I will not for a moment believe. She is one of the most impulsive, and, as a consequence, one of the most self-tormenting creatures on this earth, but she is true. Have I not heard her again and again speak of you in terms of the warmest esteem, and express her thankfulness that her father had chosen such a guardian for her? She could not be so false to her own generous nature as to join a man like John Torrance in holding you up to ridicule, with a view of wilfully causing you pain. Kitty is incapable of acting a lie."
Even in the dim light of the early winter's evening Hetty could see how Aylmer's face brightened under the influence of her cheery words. He believed them, and blamed himself for his over-sensitiveness in all wherein Kathleen was concerned.
"You have done me good, Hetty, by your common-sense words, and I have wronged Kathleen by my hasty judgment. God knows how I long to shield her from harm! and here am I judging her without a hearing, blaming her so that you need to be her champion, and all because she laughed at the idle words of a man who had forced his society upon her."
"Of course you have tormented yourself needlessly, but happily you have relieved your mind to me, made confession, and, if you have not promised, you have determined not to do so any more. I only wish," added Hetty, in a low tone, but one that expressed deep feeling, "that you were going to be Kathleen's life guardian by her own election."
If ever a man was longing for a friend and confidante, in whose ear he could pour out his tale of love, of fear, and of the doubts and scruples that harassed him, Aylmer Matheson was one. He had no one in his home to whom he could speak of anything which involved others than himself, though the faithful servants who were about him had grown grey at Westhill, having served his parents before him.
To Mrs. Ellicott he had never spoken, though he believed that she would be in his favour, and some instinctive feeling, which he could hardly have explained, had put Geraldine out of the question.
Now Hetty had boldly touched upon that dearest subject of all. The very wish she had uttered was an invitation to confidence. He knew she was his friend, and to be trusted, and he resolved not to lose the chance thus given him.
"Thank you, Hetty, for the wish, and thank you still more for having put it into words," he replied.
"Why thank me more for speaking than for the feeling which I expressed in the wish?"
"Because the words enable me to speak, and claim your continued sympathy. The wish unuttered would have been unknown to me, and I should have lost the comfort and sense of sympathy it has already given. You have been a good friend to many a girl, Hetty. It is doubly kind of you to extend your friendship to me, for I am, in a sense, a very lonely man."
"You may trust me, Aylmer, as the girls have done," replied Hetty simply; and it was really a pity that the sun had gone down, and the expression on her honest face was not more fully visible. But Aylmer had seen it many a time, and needed no assurance. It was a great comfort to him to open his heart, and to show Hetty all that was in it as regarded Kathleen, and he did it.
"And now," he added, "you can speak from a girl's point of view. You know what scruples have kept me from telling Kathleen my secret, and how fear of what the world might say, if I seemed to take advantage of my position to secure the hand of a rich ward, has kept me silent."
Hetty paused for a few moments, then asked—
"Has this fear been the only thing which has kept you silent? If it has, I should say the answer as to what you ought to do need not come from me. You are in earnest. You have given Kathleen your best affections, and without reserve. What is the value of such a gift? Is it to be measured by a market-standard?"
"Certainly not," replied Aylmer, unable to resist a smile.
"Then, if a girl gave you her heart in like manner, you would not begin to ask yourself whether your money, all told, was enough to offer in exchange?"
"Surely not. Love for love, heart for heart, can be the only fair exchange," said Aylmer.
"Put the money right out of the question, then, since it is not to be a matter of merely valuing your separate worldly goods, and considering whether the one will equally balance the other. Never mind the world's tongue. The voice of an approving conscience is better worth listening to than all the babel of tongues which goes by the name of the world's opinion of things. Remember my question, though. It must not be overlooked, and I want my answer to it."
"What was that?"
"I asked you if fear of the world's opinion were the only thing that had kept you from speaking your mind to Kathleen? If so, we have settled the question, and you will speak without further hesitation."
"I dare not say yes," replied Aylmer. "The greater fear is with regard to Kathleen herself."
"I thought so. You cannot divine how she would receive the confession you long to make."
"No man wishes to risk a refusal by over-haste, or to lose the prize for want of decision. I own that Kathleen has never given me cause to hope."
"Or to fear?" asked Hetty.
"I think I am all fears now, though had we been talking together last evening, I should not have said this, for of late our intercourse has been very pleasant."
"During John Torrance's absence, I suppose?"
"Yes; and I was beginning to think that I would not trouble myself about the opinion of outsiders, but would tell my story to Kathleen. Then I hesitated on her account."
"You were afraid lest she should be moved to accept you by any feeling short of that which inspired you, such as gratitude, esteem, the memory of her father's trust in and affection for you."
"Partly; but there was more still to hold me back."
"Probably the thought that should Kathleen not accept you, the charm of the present sweet intimacy would be broken, its growth checked, and that even your relations as guardian and ward would be unpleasantly strained. You must continue your oversight of Kathleen and her affairs, and it would have been pretty trying for you to meet constantly under the circumstances. You would have been thinking that everybody knew of your rejection, and Kathleen would have been miserable every time she saw you, because she cares far too much for you to feel other than sorry for having caused you pain."
"What a witch you are, Hetty! You have read my thoughts like an open book," said Aylmer.
"No witchcraft in that. Do I not know Kathleen's character and yours? Given this acquaintance with characters and circumstances, it is easy to picture how people would think and act towards each other. I can imagine what a shock it would be for you to meet Kathleen and John Torrance together this morning, when you were indulging in a sweet day-dream on your own account. Fancying that your most dangerous rival was far-away, and Kathleen and yourself growing nearer every day."
"It was a shock. You agree with me that John Torrance is trying to win Kathleen?"
"No doubt about it, and I fear for her and for you. He is a strong opponent, in spite of his blemished past, he ruined fortunes, and the fact that he is only tolerated amongst county society because he bears a name which was once an honoured one hereabouts."
"The fact and the memory that he loved and was beloved by so sweet a wife, and that he lost her."
"Yes, these two things have enabled John Torrance to keep his place, such as it is, and they are two of his most dangerous possessions—the old name and the fair memory."
"Then he is the handsomest man, I know, and looks count for a great deal," said Aylmer.
Hetty thought, though she did not say so, that on the score of looks Aylmer had little cause to be discouraged. "In his style, he is John Torrance's equal; and as to expression, there is no comparison. Mr. Torrance's face may well be dark, and Aylmer's what it is—the reflex of a pure mind and faithful heart," was what Hetty said to herself.
Her remark to Aylmer was very different.
"As to looks, they count for less than most people think, and that is fortunate for me, since I have none to speak of, in a complimentary way, I mean. Never trouble about looks. If you are anxious on account of John Torrance's, just call to mind the beautiful girls of your acquaintance who have married what are called plain men, and vice versa. Girls and men who have been poor as well as plain, have wedded with riches and good looks. And often enough their partners have had cause to thank God for having gained in exchange what was more precious than wealth or beauty, in the humble Christ-like nature and the unselfish life."
"That is true, Hetty; but all the same, when a girl is so impulsive and easily impressed as Kathleen, the personal appearance of an admirer will not fail to have its effect."
Hetty nodded. "I admit so much; but if you regard John Torrance's looks as all-important in Kathleen's sight, you will make a great mistake."
"Tell me, Hetty, where you think the chief danger lies," said Aylmer, not a little puzzled by the girl's manner, but impressed by her words.
"In little Ralph," she replied. "He will woo Kathleen most effectively by means of the boy. She is very fond of the fine little fellow. I have heard her speak regretfully of his motherless condition, and compare it with her own."
"Kathleen is very differently placed from Captain Torrance's unfortunate child. She is hedged round from evil influences as far as possible. He is constantly exposed to them by the one person, of all others, who ought to protect him—his own father," replied Aylmer.
"True, and here is where John Torrance will work upon Kathleen's tender heart. You know how she cherishes the memory of her parents. She pictures her own beautiful mother during her last years of helplessness, and if she had been likely to forget, Mr. Mountford's efforts would have kept the memory of his wife alive in the child's mind, so long as he lived. She knows what care and love have done to surround her young life with good things, and to keep her 'unspotted from the world.' Kathleen will contrast all she has with what Ralph needs, and has not; John Torrance will never lose an opportunity of talking about the dead wife, and the boy she left him. He will not pose as a good father, but he will as a loving one. He will lament his unworthiness to have the charge of Ralph, though he is his natural guardian. He will say how helpless he is in his loneliness, and that yet he cannot part with his boy, the only comfort left him. He will point out how possible it would be for one, equally beautiful and good, to prove the saviour of the boy, and turn Monk's How into an earthly paradise."
"Probably he will say more against himself, and own that he could never hope to win such a mother for Ralph, because, with the child, she who would act as the 'angel in the house,' must be the father's good angel also. Then such a nature as Kathleen's would be wrought upon, and she would be filled with sweet longings and noble aspirations. She would pity both Captain Jack and his child, and could not be contented without doing something to remedy the evil. She would see lofty possibilities, alike for the boy and his father, and would deem it a glorious privilege if, by dedicating her fortune, her time, her very life, she could turn possibilities into realities."
Hetty paused. She had spoken under a profound conviction of the truth of her impressions, and with an earnestness which convinced her only listener.
"You frighten me, Hetty," said Aylmer. "You have opened my eyes to dangers I never fully realized till now, though a dim notion of them may have flitted across my mind. After all, there is much that strikes me also in the picture you have drawn. The enterprise would be a glorious one, worthy of a pure soul and a noble nature. One could not be surprised that it should have attractions for a girl like Kathleen."
"Only we have to think for her, and to pray that we may be enabled to prevent her from undertaking it. For Kathleen would fail, and make shipwreck of her happiness and her life. I know John Torrance too well to suppose that more than a very temporary impression would be produced on him. If any human influence could have saved him, his wife's would have done it, for he loved her as much as his nature could love one so unlike itself. No, Aylmer. It would sacrifice another life, and leave him where he is, or it may be lower still, were Kathleen to become his wife, for, you see, he would have another fortune to squander."
"That, in any case, could be secured to Kathleen."
"She would not let you secure it. She is just the girl, if she gives aught, to give all. You will be powerless. Now I must go in, for my anxiety about Kathleen has kept me walking round these grounds with you too long already."
"You have been very good, and kind, and wise. I cannot tell you how much I value your advice and your friendship for Kathleen and me, for I know I may count on it."
"You may indeed. Now mind you don't scold Kathleen. Speak of her meeting with John Torrance as if any other neighbour had seen her and strolled with her to the gate. I hope and I pray for the best."
Hetty vanished round the corner of the house, and Aylmer Matheson walked homeward, with abundant material to occupy his anxious thoughts, but feeling more hopeful than he had ever done before.
BEFORE Aylmer Matheson's talk with Miss Stapleton, he had intended to remain at home and alone during the evening. Afterwards he decided to go, for the third time that day, to the Hall. He was deeply impressed by the grasp Hetty had taken of Kathleen's position and his own, and thankful too, for the friendship of one whose feminine instincts enabled her so to divine the working of another girl's feelings.
"It is true," thought Aylmer, "that either man or woman working alone works at a disadvantage. Each wants the mind and the varying nature of the other to ensure success, especially in all that relates to the most sacred ties and duties, ay, and affections of humanity. Hetty has opened my eyes to many things that I should never have noticed until they were manifest to all. And whilst warning me, she has cheered and strengthened me wonderfully."
It was no small satisfaction to the housekeeper at Westhill that Aylmer did justice to his evening meal, and left the house half an hour afterwards, humming a favourite air.
When Aylmer entered the drawing-room at the Hall, he made a half apology for his appearance.
"I have been here twice before, Kathleen," he said. "Once you were out, the second time you were resting, so, as Mrs. Ellicott and I pretty well exhausted all topics of conversation whilst Miss Stapleton was here, I must be considered your special visitor to-night. Ought I to apologize for haunting this home at all hours? If so, I shall plead my loneliness and weariness of my own society."
It was a relief to Kathleen to hear Aylmer speak in this tone. She had dreaded his coming, lest their meeting should result in a lecture.
"We have met before, to-day," she replied, "but I am very glad to see you now. Aunty and I are so constantly together, that she must find it a relief to hear another voice than mine, when even poor Ger is unable to turn our duet into a trio."
Aylmer made no direct reply to Kathleen's allusion to their earlier meeting, but asked after Geraldine, talked of Hetty Stapleton, and lastly, challenged his ward to a game at chess.
Kathleen readily agreed. She was on her best behaviour, and full of good resolutions, after what had passed. She felt the comfort of having acted on her aunt's advice, and her softened manner again cheered both Mrs. Ellicott and Aylmer.
The two were soon deep in the game. They were keen players and pretty equally matched, Kathleen having been her father's pupil, and an apt one, from her childish days. On this occasion the girl proved victorious. Just as the "mate" passed from her lips and a little smile of triumph lighted her face, Mrs. Ellicott was called from the room.
"I am fairly beaten, Kathleen," said Aylmer, "but ready to meet you again, in spite of that triumphant look of yours."
"Surely a girl may be allowed to rejoice in her victory over such a champion," replied Kathleen, as they replaced the pieces ready for the next game.
"I do not grudge you your success. Your excellent play deserved it, and I could not be beaten by a fairer adversary."
Kathleen lifted her eyes to Aylmer's with a merry glance, but she dropped them instantly before his. The man's heart was stirred to its utmost depths, and overflowing with tenderest affection for his wilful ward. And Kathleen read the story of it in the look he gave her. A moment after she spoke hurriedly and with some appearance of confusion, as if, too, she dreaded that Aylmer's tongue might become as eloquent as his eyes.
"I am glad aunty is away for a few minutes," she said; "I wanted to speak to you about—about—this morning. You met me with Captain Torrance."
"Yes. I was surprised to find that he had returned, as I have no doubt you were, when you saw him."
"Not exactly, though when I started on my walk I had no idea he was at Monk's How. In fact, he only came home last night. On my way I met his groom, who gave me a letter which he was bringing here for me."
It was unfortunate that Aylmer did not wait until Kathleen had finished what she had to tell.
"Surely Captain Torrance had not the impertinence to ask you to meet him?" he exclaimed, in a tone which almost startled the girl.
With quiet dignity she answered, "I should have thought you knew me better than to suppose I should regard such an invitation in any light but that of an insult. Yet, seeing me afterwards in company with Captain Torrance, you must have concluded that I not only received the invitation, but accepted it."
What would not Aylmer have given to recall his words? He began to speak, but Kathleen did not seem to heed him. She walked across to the letter-rack, in which Mrs. Ellicott had placed the note in question, and returning, handed it to Aylmer.
"Read Captain Torrance's note, if you please," she said.
"I do not wish to read it, Kathleen. When I saw you with him, I never for an instant supposed that the meeting was other than an accidental one. And just now I never meant to insinuate blame as regards yourself."
"Perhaps not," replied Kathleen, in a tone which conveyed the idea that she was weary of the whole affair. "But I must beg you to read this letter, which justifies the writer. For myself, I think I shall soon be equally indifferent to praise or blame."
There was no anger in the girl's manner, but it stung Aylmer to the quick.
"I have pained Kathleen needlessly, and injured my own cause by my impatience," he thought. "And yet how sternly have I played the part of judge towards others for impetuosity of temper!"
He read the letter, then returned it to Kathleen.
"I have wronged Torrance as well as you," he said. "I beg your pardon, though, believe me, I did not attach blame to you when we met this morning. I hope I shall have an opportunity of apologising to Torrance."
"No, no, Aylmer, please let the matter rest. I am quite satisfied, and you must see that it would not be pleasant for me, if you treated this simple affair so seriously. I should not like my name to be even mentioned again. I told aunty all about it, and how he met me at Crosspaths Corner, and walked back with me. That was all."
"You are right, Kathleen. Your name ought not to be brought up again. As to the letter. It is creditable to John Torrance, and the reading of it stirred my sympathy, as I am sure it would yours. He may have been and is much to blame in many respects, but he is also much to be pitied."
Kathleen's eyes filled at these words.
"It is like you, Aylmer, to be both just and generous," she said. "When you turned round so sharply just now, I could hardly believe it was my wise and patient guardian. Well, you have blamed and judged yourself, so there is no need for me to say another word on that side. Now I am going to confess."
Then Kathleen told Aylmer exactly what had passed between Captain Torrance and herself as they met him in the morning, and what had given rise to the laugh which had so pained him at the time.
"I was a little wilful, as usual, but I told Captain Torrance, what I would say to all the world about you, Aylmer, that you are my guardian and my good, true friend, not my jailer."
"You make me very happy by saying this."
"How could I speak otherwise of you? Besides, I never can bear to hear people run down behind their backs, much less those I—I—care a great deal about. I felt like this, though not in the same way, of course, when aunty, after reading that letter, would not say a single kind word for the man who had written it. Not like you, Aylmer. You can be just to people who are not at all perfect."
"Thank you again, Kathleen. Your opinion of my justice is very comprehensive. It takes in all the world, for who is perfect?"
"That is just what I so often ask myself, by way of gaining comfort from the thought. It seems almost treason to say this, Aylmer, but don't you sometimes find that very good people, like aunty, for instance, are just a little hard on those who are exposed to far greater temptations than themselves? It ought to be easier to do right when every one is anxious to help you. Stay, though, I should not say that," added Kathleen, before Aylmer had time to speak. "Every one wants to help me, yet I try, and fail again and again. I failed this morning. I was horribly angry and rude, because I thought aunty was very unjust to poor Captain Torrance. She will not believe there is a bit of good in him. So I got into a temper, said disagreeable things, then ran upstairs and shut myself in my room, and cried till I fell asleep, like a cross child tired with its own passion. I punished myself, for Hetty came, and I had been longing to see her, and I missed seeing you, though as you came this evening, that has made up for it."
"And shall I add what you have not told me? You were honestly sorry for having grieved your aunt, and did your best to make amends. I knew by both your faces that there had been a little storm, but peace-making and sunshine had followed. And you made good resolutions, I doubt not. I pray, with all my heart, that you may have God's blessing upon them, and His strength to enable you to keep them, Kathleen."
When he was taking leave at a later hour than usual, Kathleen said—
"It was good of you to come to-night, Aylmer, and how quickly the time has flown! But for your kindness in walking here for the third time to-day, I should have spent much of the evening alone. Geraldine wanted only quiet, so I could be of no use to her. Aunt has had calls, as usual, for somebody is always coming with a tale of trouble which she only can relieve. Fancy what my feelings would have been, for I do not care for too much of my own society."