At present, John Torrance was whiling away the time as best he could, accepting invitations when they offered, moving about from place to place, and solacing himself for temporary discomfort by looking forward to extra indulgences in the future.
Aylmer Matheson was conscious of approaching danger to Kathleen, but what could he do? He could not banish Ralph, and Captain Torrance had chosen to banish himself. He shrewdly suspected that his ward was kept acquainted with the movements of the latter through the boy's confidences; but he was sure that, had Kathleen received any direct communication, she would have been prompt to tell him, for she was incapable of deceit. She spoke openly enough of Ralph's confidences without betraying them, and said, "I let the boy talk to me as he chooses. Poor child! He said he must have somebody, and his father had told him that servants gossiped so. I thought it was kinder to listen and be silent, than to let the boy chatter to any and every one."
So Ralph's confidences continued, and his frequent presence at the Hall produced an excellent effect on his conduct. He was easily influenced by his surroundings, and not only Kathleen, but Geraldine and Aylmer, strove to wean the boy from the use of expressions which he had learned from grooms and some of the still less reputable associates of Captain Torrance.
The three were, however, influenced by different motives: Kathleen by affection for the boy, and a wish to please the father by caring for him; Geraldine and Aylmer, as professed disciples of Christ, could not help doing their utmost to benefit one of the lambs for whom the Shepherd died.
MR. MOUNTFORD had expressed a wish that Kathleen should lead a quiet, and for the most part a country life, until she was of age.
"I do not want my girl to be the prey of some fortune-hunter, or to be drawn into an engagement at an age when she cannot know what will make her true happiness," he had said to his sister and the Mathesons. Hence Kathleen, as yet, had small acquaintance with so-called "Society." In summer there had been tours abroad, visits to attractive seaside resorts, and the two last seasons had been partly spent in town, where the Ellicotts and Aylmer had many friends. These, as may well be imagined, were of a class to whom a girl like Kathleen might be introduced with benefit and pleasure to herself. After each stay she had, however, seemed only the more charmed with her home surroundings, and delighted that town friends should, as guests, share them with her at Hollingsby. This year Mrs. Ellicott had been ailing, and needed a change of a different kind, but could not leave Hollingsby until the season was more advanced. She wanted to arrange for Kathleen and Ger to spend some weeks in town with her sister-in-law, but neither would consent to leave her.
"Let us go to St. Leonards in June," said Kathleen. "We can spend a month there pleasantly enough."
Ralph was present when this proposal was made, and Aylmer noticed that his face turned pitifully white and tears gathered in his eyes.
Before any one else spoke he replied, "That will be delightful. I will go too, if I may, and I will take Ralph, if we can get leave for him to go with us."
"Oh, Mr. Matheson, you are good!" cried Ralph. "I was thinking how dreadful it would be to stay here without Miss Mountford and everybody," he added, looking from one to the other.
"I shall like to take Polly," said Kathleen, "but I am sure she would be quite lost without the Kelpie."
"Then I must invite the Kelpie too," said Aylmer, solemnly. "Polly must on no account be distressed by a parting that can be avoided. I will go to St. Leonards and arrange everything for the party, four-footed visitors included."
Ralph's delight was indescribable, and Kathleen warmly appreciated Aylmer's unselfishness.
Since that night when she had refused him, she had been very gentle to him, and watchful over herself. She had pained him sorely, and she felt what it must be to him to meet her constantly, care for her in all things, and so hide the pain that only she knew of its existence.
Often Kathleen would wish that she could have given him a different answer, but seeing this to be impossible, she said to herself, "At least I will give him no needless trouble by my wilfulness. He shall have from me all that a sister can give." To Aylmer her very sweetness and manifest self-conquest made an added trial, whilst from his heart he thanked God for both.
"Every day makes it harder for me to bear the loss of Kathleen," he thought, "for every day shows her in a more endearing light."
When after the St. Leonards plan had been adopted, Kathleen said to him, "You are the dearest, kindest of friends, Aylmer, and to me the best of brothers," the man trembled at the sound of her voice, and for the moment could not answer.
"You have anticipated my wish about little Ralph, and made all so easy for aunty too."
"I hope it will not disappoint you to give up town this season, Kathleen," he replied.
"Indeed no. I would a thousand times rather have the time at the seaside and with those who are dear to me for companions, than share in all the gaiety a really gay season in town could give. Not that I have known such a one," she added. "We shall be very happy amid simpler and more health-giving enjoyments. How well you have fulfilled the promise you made me about Ralph! You have influenced him for good in a thousand ways. We will try to give the child a happy month at St. Leonards."
"We will indeed," said Aylmer. "There is little doubt that his father will consent to his going with you, Kathleen."
"With us, if you please, Aylmer. Remember you were the first to invite the boy, but I know you thought of me as well as of him!"
"If you had been out of the question, I think the memory of Ralph's pitiful face would have haunted me, had we left him behind."
"But I was not out of the question. You meant to please me too by your prompt invitation. I want you to realise how much I feel your thoughtful goodness, and to thank you for it."
Carried away for the moment, the girl caught Aylmer's hand, raised it to her lips, then left him abruptly, as if ashamed of her impulsive action.
Some men might have derived hope from this and the words which preceded it. Aylmer sighed, and said to himself, "If Kathleen were moved by any warmer affection than the sisterly one to which she confesses, she would not manifest it in such a way."
There is no need to tell anything about the arrangements, the journey, or even the stay at St. Leonards. To Mrs. Ellicott it proved health-giving, to her younger companions a season of unalloyed enjoyment.
Aylmer planned excursions, hunted up information about places of interest, and made himself essential to the happiness of each and all. They rode, drove, boated, or sometimes spent lazy days, contented to enjoy the beauty of sea and sky, to drink in the health-giving air, and to feel that life alone was bliss amidst such fair surroundings.
The months passed all too quickly, and the party returned much better for the change, and bringing home pleasant memories. Ralph had endless tales to tell Sarah, and she delighted to listen, and still more to repeat them with variations—mostly as to names of places, in which she was apt to get sadly mixed. She was intensely grateful for the kindness shown to Ralph, and commented on his improved behaviour.
"I do say that Master Ralph is no trouble to speak of now, to what he used to be. No bad words, or playing tricks, or tearing his things for mischief, so as I might have to mend 'em, if I'd vexed him about anything. I used to be frightened of him breaking out at the Hall, and making the ladies so as they wouldn't have him any more; and it's just wonderful he never did. They've made a little gentleman of him amongst them, and Mr. Matheson has had more than a finger in that."
"The master always stood out that his boy was a real little gentleman before, but that was when he had his company manners on. He wears them regular now, and it's to be hoped he'll forget most of what he learned from that set that used to come here, and the servants they brought with them. I'm fond of the master, and I'm sorry for him in a way, now he's fixed as he is. But I'm not sure but what it's worth while for him to be short of money now and again, if it keeps the old set out of Hollingsby or Monk's How, any way."
Sarah guessed how matters stood to a certain extent, but did not know all.
If John Torrance had not been grateful to Aylmer Matheson, as well as to Miss Mountford, he would have been heartless indeed. He could not help knowing, through Ralph's letters, of the part he had taken in caring for the boy; but he always came to the conclusion—"For Ralph's sake I must win Kathleen. She would be a model mother to the lad, for she loves him, and he almost worships her. And afterwards I hope that Matheson and Miss Ellicott will make a match of it; and we shall be the best of neighbours, and form a sort of happy family."
Little has been told about Geraldine Ellicott. Hers was no sensational life or character, but one of quiet good-doing. At home and abroad alike she was ever on the look-out for an opportunity of making some one the happier even for a temporary sojourn near them.
At St. Leonards Geraldine had conferred a permanent benefit on a poor but gifted girl, whom she first saw on a concert platform, and whose dress, in the worst possible taste, had drawn forth most unflattering comments from the audience.
We all know how shimmering satins, costly lace, and the glitter of diamonds, together with a self-confident manner, bespeak the favour of an audience, especially when accompanied by good looks, even though the latter would ill bear a close inspection, because owing more to art than nature.
The young singer had none of these. Her dress was of some cheap yellow material, ill-fitting, and manifestly home-made. The wearer was miserably conscious of the contrast between her own appearance and that of another singer, though, doubtless, she had been proud enough of the work of her hands before it was tested by comparison with the town-made dress.
The girl's colourless cheeks, Innocent of artificial application, looked the more pallid because her dark hair was drawn too far off her face, though its rich profusion tastefully arranged would have given it a certain beauty. But the expression of that face might have appealed to any tender heart, it was so wistful, and told of fear and anxiety as to the result of this first essay to win the favour of an audience.
"Where have they picked up this guy of a girl?" drawled a young dandy, as he surveyed her through his glass.
"From the gipsy camp, probably. There is one in the neighbourhood," replied a companion. "Anything for a new sensation, and we shall have one of a sort."
As Geraldine looked at the girl she was filled with a great womanly pity, but this changed in part to admiration when she sang, for the voice was wonderful.
Ill-trained she was, if the teaching she had had could be called training, but capable of much, and the singer was herself carried away by the music. She forgot herself, her dowdy garment, the rich silk and lace of that other singer, who had drawn her skirts aside as she passed, as if these would be contaminated by touching the paltry yellow stuff. Yet the wearer of the rich robe had sung out of tune and with a worn voice, and had been applauded for the glitter that surrounded her, although, even in her palmy days, she had never owned a voice like that which rang through the lips of that dowdy débutante in yellow.
The girl forgot all her self-consciousness, and even her audience. Her pale cheeks flushed, her dark eyes shone, and she compelled the applause of her hearers by the intuitive musical inspiration which accompanied her effort, and which was manifest despite its faults.
"Poor little beggar!" exclaimed the dandy who had called her a guy of a girl. "She's got a voice, and no mistake, but she wants everything else. I should think she'll hardly come on a second time. If she appears, I shall disappear."
Geraldine guessed the girl's story, and verified her convictions by after-inquiry. She found that she had been carefully brought up by a good mother, who had seen better days, but was widowed and poor. The girl herself was modest and retiring, but her speech and manners were refined, and her love of music and taste for it were undoubted. No fear that if a chance were given her she would fail to take advantage of it.
Having, however, passed the charmed circle, and found a certain amount of favour awaiting her, the girl was a little unwilling to withdraw from it.
Geraldine counted the cost, and decided to help this girl to become a mistress of the art she herself loved. It would entail somewhat severe self-denial, but it should be done. And it was.
The young singer was withdrawn from the platform, and arrangements made for the complete and careful training of her voice, and Geraldine carried home with her the happy knowledge that her protégé's lovely gift would be turned to the best advantage after due probation.
It is not as a part of the story that this little interlude is given. It is only an illustration of the beautiful and unselfish character of one whose great desire at all times was to show her love to God by making the life of her neighbour brighter and more useful. In after years her protégé's success and gratitude more than repaid Geraldine for the self-denial by which the former had been purchased.
It is not wonderful that Aylmer Matheson should have been moved by a similar desire to benefit the young singer, seeing that his life was ruled by the same law as that which actuated Geraldine. Being a man, and anxious that his motives should not be misunderstood, he went about his inquiries more slowly than Geraldine had done. When at length he was brought into communication with the young singer's mother, he found that he had been anticipated. Some benefactress, whose identity was not to be revealed, had undertaken all cost and responsibility, and the grateful thanks of those whom he would have benefited could only be given for good intentions.
"Could the benefactress be Kathleen?" he asked himself. "It would be like her impulsive generosity;" but he decided that she would hardly undertake such an expenditure until she was of age, without previous consultation with himself. He remembered, too, that she had been more inclined to ridicule the pretensions of the young vocalist, and to criticize her appearance than to sympathize.
"Could it be Geraldine who had anticipated him?"
It was likely enough; but if so, it would be useless for him to try to penetrate the secret, much as he would have liked to be her partner in such a work.
Aylmer was deeply sensible of the beauty of Geraldine's character, and perhaps at times his thoughts ran in a similar direction to Kathleen's. She wished that she could give Aylmer more than a sister's affection, or that he could feel more than a brother's regard for Geraldine.
"It is just the contrariness of human nature," he said to himself. "Geraldine and I have so much in common. If I could love her as I do Kathleen, I should have a wife who would enter into every plan and hope of mine, always supposing that she cared for me in like manner. We must be too much alike, for Kathleen's very wilfulness charms me more than all Geraldine's excellences put together."
IN spite of Miss Mountford's affection for Ralph Torrance, the friendship which had grown up between these two who differed so much in age began to have an inconvenient side. Aylmer had always feared this, and that the boy would become, if not exacting, troublesome to deal with. Made free of the Hall, and by Kathleen's wish accustomed to go and come as he chose, it was natural that Ralph should count himself one of the family there.
Taking the boy to the seaside opened the door for another difficulty to arise when an autumn tour was in contemplation, and it would be equally unwise and impracticable to include Ralph in the party.
Ralph was in the grounds with Kathleen and Geraldine one afternoon in July. The boy was telling them that his holidays were about to begin.
"I can be all the time nearly with you, if you want me. Mr. Sinley is going to have a month of Sundays, that will be nearly five weeks, but lessons will not begin even when he comes back."
Kathleen hesitated, for she knew what was coming would distress her favourite. All the same it must be said.
"I would have you a great deal with me if I could, but we are all going away for a few weeks. We shall be travelling about a good deal, so we shall not even take Polly with us. Horses would only be a trouble, and no use."
"And boys would be a trouble too, wouldn't they?" replied Ralph, making a great effort to treat the question from an outsider's point of view.
"We have never had boys with us, dear. We had one boy friend at St. Leonards, and we did not find him a trouble. But there are times when even one boy would not be quite in the right place with a party of grown-up people. Fathers and mothers go without their boys and girls very often. You know that?"
Ralph pondered the matter, and could not deny this. The Stapleton children had been often left behind when their parents went away. And he—well, he owed the most delightful time he had ever enjoyed to those who were just friends—not even relatives. Ralph decided that he must be brave. So he managed to say that he hoped they would all be very happy whilst they were away.
"You must try to be happy too, Ralph," said both the girls. "When we come home we shall have so much to tell you. Besides, your father will be sure to make some plan for your holidays," added Kathleen.
"My birthday will be the day after to-morrow, and I shall be ten years old," said the boy, without attempting to answer Kathleen.
"And this is Wednesday. I am glad it will be before we leave. We will ask some young friends, and have plenty of strawberries and cream out-of-doors. What do you think of that, Ralph?"
Ralph soberly answered, "Thank you very much, Miss Mountford."
"Don't you want to have an outdoor party?" asked Kathleen.
"If I might, I would rather have just you and father," replied the boy, with a beseeching look. "He is coming home to-day."
"Then I think, Ralph, as I have had so much of you for a long time past, you ought to spend the day at home with your father, as he will have a great deal to say to you. You may just run round here in the morning for something I have to show you. I want to wish you 'Happy returns,' but I will not take you from your father."
There was such quiet decision in Kathleen's manner that the boy felt he had in some way made a mistake, and he said—
"I will do just what you tell me, Miss Mountford. I dare say father will want me."
Drawing Kathleen aside, he asked, "May I whisper something?"
"Certainly, Ralph."
"I hope you didn't think I was hinting for father to be asked here. He would be awfully angry if he knew I had said that about having just you and him."
"I am sure you were not hinting," said Kathleen, heartily. "And you shall have that party when we come back, so you will lose nothing by putting it off. Now what is it?"—seeing the old wistful look on the boy's face.
"Will father ever come here with me?"
"Indeed I cannot tell, Ralph," replied Kathleen. "Perhaps when I have a birthday party."
Kathleen had for a moment imagined that Ralph's wish to have only herself and his father had been suggested by the latter. The boy's whispered question convinced her to the contrary. But when she came to think of what she had said about a future birthday of her own, and the possibility of John Torrance's presence, she felt anything but happy. The remark, if repeated by Ralph to his father, might create an impression widely different from what was meant by her. Everybody knew that in a few months she would be of age, and Captain Torrance might imagine that the first use she meant to make of her full womanhood would be to open the doors of the Hall to a guest whom her guardians declined to receive there in the meanwhile.
Yet Kathleen had only thought of pleasing Ralph by speaking of both their birthdays.
Naturally the boy told his father what had passed, and Captain Torrance was more than contented to bide his time.
Though the party was put off, Ralph was made wildly happy by the gift of a beautiful watch, a gold hunter, strong and suitable for a boy's use, but goodly to look upon. There was his monogram on the back, and inside a little inscription to say that it was to "Ralph Torrance, from his friend, K. D. M."
On the whole he was happy, for his father had promised to remain some little time at Monk's How, and then, probably, to take him away.
At the fortnight's end, however, Ralph was left behind, but such neighbours as were at home were kind to the boy.
Kathleen and the others were expected home on the fifteenth of September. She had told Ralph when to look for her, and he in return wrote that she was to look up at a certain favourite tree which bordered the road, as she passed it. He would meet her at the Hall very soon after her arrival there.
Kathleen did not forget the request, and, on looking upwards, noticed a flag dangling from one of the highest boughs; but, instead of waving in the wind, the stick to which it was fastened was uppermost.
"Poor Ralph's signal is reversed," she said with a smile at its limp condition. "What a height he must have climbed to attach it to that bough!"
"A most dangerous height," said Mr. Matheson. "Ralph could not have reached it unassisted. I hope he is unconscious of the ungraceful condition of his signal."
"He will not care for that half an hour hence," said Geraldine. "The sight of Kitty will make the boy forget everything else."
There was no Ralph to greet them on their arrival, and soon Kathleen began to look anxiously for his coming. Mrs. Ellicott suggested that the boy had gone home to don his best suit after fixing the flag.
Aylmer did not answer, but asked the ladies to excuse his leaving them. Something in his face struck Kathleen with dread, and, throwing a soft shawl round her head, she followed him. Aylmer was going towards the tree from which the flag depended, and as he neared it he quickened his pace to a run. When beneath it he knelt, and bent over something which lay motionless on the ground.
A great fear took possession of Kathleen, but hurrying on, she saw that Aylmer was bending over what appeared to be the lifeless body of Ralph Torrance. A broken bough lay beside him, and the boy's arm was partly entangled in it.
"Oh, Ralph, my dear little friend, you have lost your life in trying to show your love for me!" cried Kathleen, almost beside herself with grief, as she saw the deathlike face of her favourite. "I might have known that nothing would keep you from me, if you had the power to come to me."
These words were followed by a paroxysm of grief, and the girl, without heeding what Aylmer said, threw herself on the grass and kissed the pale face again and again, whilst her tears fell like rain on it.
"He is not dead, Kathleen, believe me," said Aylmer. "His heart beats, though feebly."
"Are you sure, Aylmer?"
"Quite sure. Be calm, if you want to be of use."
Kathleen had always trusted Aylmer implicitly, and his quiet firmness had the effect of allaying her excitement, but she said with decision, "He must be carried to the Hall. No one must care for him but myself. For my sake he risked his life, dear, loving-hearted child!"
"Yes, no doubt he wanted to honour his friend's arrival. Sit beside him, Kathleen, but do not move him, or you may do harm."
Not another moment was lost. Aylmer obtained help and sent for the doctor, but he knew well how to convey the unconscious child to the house in the easiest way, and this was done.
Kathleen waited eagerly for the doctor's report, and asked him, "Is there any hope?"
"Certainly there is hope," he replied, "though it will be many a day before our young friend climbs a tree again."
To himself Dr. Burgon added, "if ever," for the boy's injuries were severe. His right shoulder was dislocated, through being entangled in the bough, one rib was broken, but, worst of all, there was concussion of the brain.
"He must have fallen on his head," said Aylmer.
"Not with full force," replied the doctor. "If he had, he must have been killed on the spot. The bough which did so much mischief in one direction just prevented that, by slightly breaking the directness of the fall."
As soon as all had been done that could be done for the present, Kathleen begged to be allowed to sit beside the boy, and announced her intention of watching him through the night.
This Dr. Burgon would not permit.
"If I were anxious to have a second patient on my hands, I would install you as nurse, but the long journey and excitement since have unfitted you for such service. The boy will be well looked after. Nurse Goddard has the experience you lack. She is equally capable handed and tender-hearted, which last quality is not always found in combination with the needful deftness and firmness. You, Miss Mountford, must exercise self-control, try to get a good night's rest, and to-morrow, if you have obeyed me, I will try to make use of you. I shall also look to Miss Ellicott and Matheson here to join the staff of honorary nurses."
The doctor spoke as cheerily as possible to hide his own great anxiety, for Ralph's condition was indeed a grave one.
"Will he get better?" asked Kathleen, eagerly. "I will do anything you bid me."
"That is right, though as to your question, it is impossible to speak with certainty yet. Has Captain Torrance been communicated with?"
The inquiry was addressed to Aylmer, who replied, "We are a little uncertain as to his address, but telegrams have been sent to every likely place."
"You will do all that can be done, and well," said the doctor, then left with the promise to return later at night. There could be no question now as to receiving Captain Torrance at the Hall.
It was Aylmer who met him at the station, and broke the sad news. Geraldine was watching beside Ralph when his father came, for Kathleen's more demonstrative sorrow rendered her unfit for the task for any length of time. She, however, met Captain Torrance as he entered, and extended her hand.
"I am so glad you are come," she said. "Aylmer will have told you everything. As for me, I feel as though I were the cause, though an innocent one, of this great trouble."
Tears streamed down her face. It had been difficult for her to say so much, and she could not utter another word.
Captain Torrance pressed her hand between both his own, as he answered, "To hear you blame yourself adds to my sorrow, for you have been so good to him."
Turning to Aylmer, Captain Torrance began to speak of personal kindnesses received from him, but Mr. Matheson succeeded in interrupting these acknowledgments.
Kathleen had long suspected that John Torrance was deeply indebted to her guardian, and this, together with the silence of the latter and his goodness to Ralph, had increased her admiration for his character. A less noble nature would have done nothing, or tried to make capital out of his services.
Perhaps, had poverty driven away the captain, and Ralph with him, Kathleen's future might have been different, and Aylmer have won the prize dear to him above all others. Now with both under his ward's roof, he lost hope; but still the noble unselfishness remained, and he prayed for Kathleen's true happiness in preference to his own. "If she should give her heart to John Torrance, may God make him worthy of her!" was the honest desire of his heart.
Days and nights of anxious watching and alternate hope and fear prevailed, but at length Ralph was pronounced out of danger.
Once on the way to recovery, he was never happy without Miss Mountford. Then he begged for his father's presence, and, though some one was always in the adjoining room, and the door open between the two, the intimacy increased rapidly.
Naturally John Torrance showed his best side, and, to do him justice, he was battling against self, stirred to this by a sense of the goodness of Miss Mountford and Aylmer. Never had he cared so much for her, and yet all there was left in him of his better nature told him that he ought not to strive for the hand of Kathleen.
Ralph had much to say about his friend.
"If you are sorry I have no mother, why don't you ask Miss Mountford to be my mother?" he asked, when his father and he were alone. "Nobody is so nice as she is."
The captain's face flushed as he answered. "You do not know what you are talking about, Ralph. Miss Mountford is far too good to be your mother."
"I thought mothers never could be too good," he replied, in an injured tone.
"It is not that, Ralph. I could never think even Miss Mountford too good to be your mother, but she would be too good for me."
"As if she would want to be your mother!" persisted Ralph. "Why, you are ever so much older than she is. But I know what you mean. She would be a lot too good to come and live at Monk's How, for it isn't a very nice place now. It's awfully dull."
"Monk's How is very different from what it once was. I am sorry for you, more than for myself."
"Well, in a way, it is better than it was a while ago, for we never have any of those horrid men that used to come, and we needn't have them again, I suppose. People can't come unless you ask them. Jem Capes is gone, and I'm glad of it, for he used to say bad words. I used to think it was fine to talk like him and those gentlemen, too, who used to stay with us. But I know better now."
It caused John Torrance a pang to hear his boy's innocent words. Except faithful Sarah, Ralph had been surrounded by evil influences. For good ones he must thank his friends at the Hall. Ralph watched his father intently, then asked, "Are you sorry that Jem Capes is gone, and those men stay away? We might have nice people now instead."
"You cannot understand everything, Ralph; but I am glad to be rid of those men, and Capes too, though I miss some things."
"The horses. I know. I cried when your hunter went. He was a beauty. Maybe Miss Mountford will buy him. She said she would buy my Kelpie back if—"
"Hush, Ralph!" said his father, in a tone which startled the boy, and warned him off forbidden ground.
Just then Sarah entered with Ralph's tea, and Captain Torrance left him in her charge.
The ladies were out, so there were no adieus, and the man had enough to think of as he strolled homeward.
"Will Ralph repeat his views to Kathleen?" he asked himself. "I wish he would. He might spare me the pain of a refusal, if—but I believe she would not refuse me. I will be honest. She shall know all of my past that one could tell to a girl. If there is a creature noble enough to devote life and fortune for the salvation of the man she loves, Kathleen is that girl, supposing she is not over-influenced. If I win her, I will be a good man for the future, and she shall not regret her choice."
John Torrance resolved, and built castles, and repeated, "I will be good and grateful for Kathleen's sake." But of gratitude to God, or the possibility of failure without His help, he neither thought nor cared.
IN three more days Ralph was dressed and lying on a couch in Kathleen's boudoir. She and Geraldine had adorned it with flowers and autumn foliage, and were sitting by him.
"You will be running about directly," said Geraldine. "Shall you not be glad?"
"Yes, but it will be horrid to go to Monk's How. So lonely!"
Ralph pulled Ger's face down and kissed it, then called Kathleen, that he might kiss her also.
"Let us be happy to-day," said Ger. "We have so much to be glad about." A sound of wheels drew her to the window, and she added, "I must go. Mother is out, and here comes a carriage full of callers."
"You must do duty for me too, Ger," said Kathleen. "Sarah has gone over to Monk's How, nurse is lying down, and I must guard this youngster, lest he should take another climbing fit."
Ralph laughed, and seized Kathleen, exclaiming, "It is lovely to have you to myself. I want to talk to you about something."
Out came the story of his longings to have her for a mother. The boy would not be silenced. He clung to her excitedly as he pleaded.
"I do so love you, Miss Mountford, and I want you to be my mother. You are good to me, and I am so happy, and I want to be really good when I am with you. It's dreadful to think of leaving you. I shall get ill again and die, I know I shall, if you send me away. Say you won't, darling, say you won't!"
Ralph hid his face on Kathleen's arm, and sobbed. She was terrified, and would have summoned help, but his clinging grasp detained her, and she had to try to soothe him as best she might.
"Dear boy, you will injure yourself, and you are grieving me. I will do all I can for you. I will ask your father to let you stay here with me, and be my boy. You must not cry so. What shall I do?"
Her distressed tones had a calming effect on Ralph.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to be quiet. But I don't seem to care whether I am ill again or not. I could not be your boy and leave father by himself, and he said that he is not good enough for you. I think he is good—"
A light rap at the door interrupted the sentence. Kathleen called, "Come in!" thankful for the prospect of relief, and John Torrance entered, having been guided to the room by a servant.
The sight of Ralph dressed and in the sitting-room was to have been a pleasant surprise for the father, but this was marred by the boy's excitement. Kathleen wished to explain, but blushed, hesitated, and remained silent. "I'll tell you, father," said Ralph, in a more subdued tone, but still clinging firmly to Kathleen, who, unable to extricate herself; was compelled to listen whilst the boy repeated all that he had just said.
A more painful position for a girl to be placed in could hardly be imagined, and it was intensified when Ralph added—
"Father is here now. He will tell you how glad he will be if you will be my mother. Say you will, darling."
The thin hands clung more tightly, tears again flowed down the boy's pale cheeks, whilst the upturned face had a pleading look upon it that matched the words Ralph had spoken.
On Kathleen's face an expression of combined indignation and distress appeared. At this moment all the gossip about Captain Torrance rushed to her mind, and she thought, "Ralph is his tool. How horrible, when we have been trying to make the child's life happier and better!"
Kathleen's eyes flashed with anger. She could not think of the boy, but with a sudden jerk released herself, feeling sorry that she had not done this before.
"It is impossible for me to remain here," she said. "I leave Ralph with you. I can never forgive a person who could put such words into a child's mouth."
"Surely, Miss Mountford, you do not believe in the existence of such a person. The scene has distressed me beyond measure. It is, however, the outcome of Ralph's intense love for you which your goodness has inspired," replied Captain Torrance. "Your home has been a haven of peace. Your indulgent love and the kindness of your relatives and guardian have made his lonely home and motherless condition more terrible. Is it wonderful that he loathes the thought of Monk's How? I pray you forgive him for loving you—not too much, but too selfishly. I cannot ask your pardon, for I am innocent, and would, if I could, blot this scene out of your memory and mine."
Never had John Torrance looked so dignified as at that moment. Kathleen felt ashamed of her indirect accusation. The angry look faded from her face, and she simply said—
"I believe you."
"That's right!" cried Ralph. "It wasn't father. Now he's angry with me."
"He will forgive you, and I must also, and try to be stern enough to put you a little out of love with me for the future."
"You will never do that. I must go on loving you if you cannot be—Oh dear! I nearly said something. I must go to sleep and forget."
Ralph looked weary, and closed his eyes, saying, "I will hold your hand; it helps me to sleep."
Soon his quiet breathing told of unconsciousness, and the watchers rejoiced that the excitement was past, though it had left him exhausted.
"Ralph was right," said the captain, in a low tone. "Having given the whole heart, one must go on loving, if return be hopeless."
"That is not Ralph's case. We all love the boy," said Kathleen.
"I know, and am grateful. The case is mine. I have given my whole heart to one who deserves that of the best and noblest of mankind. So I have no hope. I will not be wicked enough to ask for a return;" and he looked eloquently at the girl.
Kathleen understood. This man loved her, but was too honest to ask her to link her fate with his.
"Captain Torrance—" she began.
He interrupted. "I have no right to be called so. I forfeited the honour when, years ago, I was allowed to resign my commission instead of being deprived of it. Old acquaintances use it out of mistaken courtesy. From your lips it comes as a reproach; not that you would deem it such, but conscience reminds me that the time is long past when I could honestly claim the title as a servant of my Queen and country."
"I want you to listen for a few moments," he added; and before Kathleen could assent or otherwise, he was pouring into her ear the story of his past life—"so far as he could tell it to a girl."
Kathleen listened as if fascinated, alas! with more of sympathy than repulsion, and at length the speaker closed with these words—
"I have told you all. I have lost my ample fortune; lost the good name my father left me, deeming it my best heritage. I am a ruined man, and worse, for I have robbed my boy of all that ought to have descended to him. Monk's How is only mine on sufferance, and a very few months hence I must turn my back upon it for ever, and seek a refuge for Ralph and myself in some far-away land, where no one will be able to remind him of his father's follies and sins. Yet once my life and home were blessed by an angel's presence. I had the whole-hearted love of one of the sweetest women that ever lived, and she died believing in me."
"I am so sorry—so very sorry!" said Kathleen, as John Torrance's voice died into silence and he rose to leave her. "Is there nothing that can be done?"
"Ask yourself, Miss Mountford."
Kathleen could not reply, and he continued: "There is only one way of salvation for me. Were my Adela living, and as she was, when, with every advantage of family, fortune, and beauty, she became my wife, I, with my present experience, could look forward with confidence to a new and better life. But how could any other girl risk her future with that of a ruined spendthrift? If there were one so noble, so unselfish, as to stoop in order to raise John Torrance from the mire into which he has fallen, others would step in to save her from her too rash generosity. I would die a beggar by the roadside sooner than I would be guilty of the crime of asking her for such a sacrifice; even though I could say, as indeed I can, that I love her with all the strength of my being. My love for Adela was selfish, though sincere. I will not be selfish a second time."
The man's voice trembled as he ended. He bent over his sleeping boy and touched his forehead with his lips, then rose to leave the room.
Kathleen's beautiful eyes were moist, but her face was lighted by such a look as John Torrance had never before seen there. She placed her hand in his, he thought by way of farewell, but when he held it she made no effort to withdraw it from his clasp. He felt it tremble, and interpreting the expression on her face aright, he exclaimed—
"Miss Mountford—Kathleen, dearest, can it be possible that you care for one so unworthy as I, penniless, homeless, and ruined to boot? I did not think that even you, noble, high-souled, generous as you are, could make so great a sacrifice."
He drew her towards him, and she, hiding her face on his shoulder, whispered, "I am so weak myself in everything that is best; but we will help one another."
"My darling, your goodness is too great. I feel that I ought not to accept such a sacrifice, though it would be heaven on earth for Ralph and me to have you joined to us by the dearest ties."
"I will make Ralph happy soon," said Kathleen, as she again hid her glowing face. "I will tell him that, after all, I have promised to be his mother."
"Such a promise will be enough to restore him to health. Oh, Kathleen, you give me your sweet self, and you will give me back my boy! Was ever so generous a maiden? I trust my life-long devotion will prove alike my love and gratitude."
He held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, feeling for the moment almost overwhelmed by what, mentally, he would have called "his astonishing luck."
"What will your guardians say?" he asked, after a short silence. "I shall be sorry for Matheson. He has done so much for me, unknown to all but ourselves."
"He is my true friend, and as such he will desire nothing so much as my happiness," replied Kathleen.
"I believe it. He is capable of any self-sacrifice. It will be hard for me to tell him, dearest, all the same."
"He will return to-morrow," said Kathleen. "In the meanwhile—"
She looked up as if for guidance.
"In the meanwhile we will keep our happy secret to ourselves. What say you?"
Kathleen assented, and with a lover's farewell John Torrance left her to muse over what had passed, and the change wrought in her life prospects.
She had time, for Ralph slept long. She pictured a life with one saved and elevated to more than his former best estate. She never doubted her power or John Torrance's gratitude. The opportunity would realize dreams, and make noble, unselfish plans into realities also. Two lives, those of Ralph and his father, would be blessed by the dedication of her own. This would be reward enough.
As to John Torrance, he walked homeward feeling little like the man lately so humble, and saying to himself, "Poor Ralph has done a splendid stroke of business for us both. It is really too absurd, but my beautiful Kathleen gave herself to me without being directly asked. I told a story, and she jumped straight to a conclusion."
Kathleen's musings were interrupted by her cousin. The visitors were gone at last, and Ger regretted Kathleen's long, lonely watch beside Ralph.
"Captain Torrance came, and Ralph got excited, and frightened us both before he fell asleep. I will call Sarah now, for I am tired," said Kathleen. "I was glad to escape the Westons, though. They are such arrant gossips."
"I was glad of your absence; too. They have little to do, and their one resource is the discussion of their neighbours."
"What was to-day's subject?"
"Ralph's accident. Regret for his presence here as an excuse for his father's visits, a long tirade against the latter, and a devout wish that no harm may happen to any of us through him. These were the main topics."
"Perhaps I may find them a more interesting one soon," said Kathleen; then, as Geraldine looked inquiringly, she added, "I shall be of age in three months."
"True, and they will speculate about the festivities."
"Anything else of interest?"
"Hetty Stapleton is come to make a long stay at Oakwood."
Geraldine expected that Kathleen would express her pleasure at this, but she was silently wondering how Hetty would receive the news of her engagement, when it became public.
"I suppose she will hate me for winning what she most desired," was her own first thought.
She was wrong, but not to blame for a false impression which John Torrance had managed to convey to her mind respecting his acquaintance with Hetty.
The latter was longing to see Kathleen, and full of fears on her account, and because of the captain's frequent visits.
"As to Aylmer," thought Hetty, "he is too unselfish. Had I been in his place, Captain Jack should never have crossed the threshold of Hollingsby Hall. Moreover, he should have found Monk's How too hot to hold him long ago. Aye, and I would have been Kathleen's affianced husband too, for had that man been out of the way he would have stood first. She trusts and esteems Aylmer, and love would have followed but for a bit of high-flown, romantic folly that has got into the girl's head. She thinks she can save John Torrance and Ralph. I am convinced she is full of plans to effect this. Cost what it may, I will try to open her eyes to her danger."
Full of this resolution, Hetty went early to the Hall on the following morning, and asked for Miss Mountford.
Kathleen received her pleasantly enough, but the old girlish heartiness was absent, and Hetty could not help feeling that they met again on different terms from those which existed when they last parted.
They talked of many things. Hetty's journeyings and new experiences, of Kathleen's own, of Ralph's illness and present condition, and of the family at Oakwood. Then, in a quiet fashion, Hetty stepped on forbidden ground, and began to speak of John Torrance. She hardly knew how she found courage, but she did begin a story with which few beside herself were acquainted, and which need not be, repeated here.
Kathleen at first listened quietly, but at length she exclaimed, "How dare you repeat such falsehoods? Shame on you to attack a fallen man behind his back! But I have learned that hopeless love will sometimes turn to hate, and that a girl will leave no stone unturned to revenge a slight! But I thought better things of you, Hetty Stapleton."
"What do you mean, Kathleen? Never did I entertain anything like affection for John Torrance, or even respect; but till now I should have thought him incapable of inventing an untruth to prejudice you. I have spoken in your interests, vainly, I can see. Some day you will know the falsehood lies not with me; and for myself, I would die sooner than share the lot of such a man as John Torrance, and with such a past!"
"He did not say you had—" Kathleen paused.
"Been in love with him," said Hetty. "Perhaps not in so many words, but there are ways of conveying impressions apart from speech. You are angry, and I am sharing the fate of those who, with a right motive, give unwelcome information. I have often dared to do it, and earned gratitude thereby. To-day I have lost my friend in the effort to save her from the effects of her too generous, trustful nature. Farewell, Kitty. May God preserve you from yourself! I cannot."
Hetty left the room and the house, without waiting for a reply, feeling unhappy, but no more so than did Kathleen. A shrug of the shoulders, an indirect sentence, a meaning look which, as used by John Torrance, might have applied to anybody. On this foundation Kathleen had insulted Hetty, accused her of a vile motive in speaking, and as good as told her that she had, in unmaidenly fashion, flung herself at John Torrance's feet, to be repulsed and scorned!
When the passion was over, Kathleen thought of what she really knew about Hetty. She saw in her a girl, true to her friends, helpful to the weak, wise to advise, cheer, comfort and strengthen others, and always incapable of falsehood or meanness.
What had John Torrance been by his own confession?
She shrank from the picture, but said to herself, "How different will the future be from the past, which I will help him to forget!"
Then about Hetty. "She is too generous to keep up a grudge. Some day I shall ask her to forgive my hasty words, and when she sees me happy, despite the past, she will forgive and rejoice with me."
It was a terrible surprise to Aylmer Matheson when, as soon as possible after his return, John Torrance sought an interview with him, and asked his consent to his engagement with Kathleen, and his influence with Mrs. Ellicott.
"I am not worthy of her, I know," he said, "but girls seldom choose the best man, even when choice is theirs, or I should not have been the husband of such a woman as was my boy's mother. But Kathleen loves me, and has promised to be my wife, and she is fully informed as to my hopeless pecuniary position. I will agree to anything in reason as to the settlement of the property, the estate absolutely, and part of the money. As to the past, it is irrevocable. I can only begin again."
"Yes," said Aylmer, "the present is yours, and there is help to be had." He felt that opposition would be hopeless.
"Shall I not make a fresh start with an angel of goodness by my side to help me? And you will be my friend, Matheson. I do not forget what I owe to you, and you shall not find me ungrateful," was the reply.
"I will do all I can for Kathleen's sake, and yours," he added. "But I cannot forget that you, as you acknowledge, had an angel of goodness by your side once before, when you made a new beginning. Believe me, Torrance, there is only One whose help will make you strong to withstand temptation. If I knew you sought such guidance, I should be more hopeful."
"You think I failed with Adela beside me. Do you think I shall rush into the old follies after past experience? If so, you must deem me weak indeed."
"I have seen enough to know that experience does not give strength," said Aylmer.
Carried away by his own faith, and his anxiety, too, for Kathleen, he pleaded with John Torrance as he had never thought to speak to a man of his stamp.
"You are the best fellow I ever met," said the other as he finished. "If you had gone into the Church, you would have carried all before you. I will think of your words, though I make no promise to follow your advice. I doubt whether my sweet Kathleen would like a saint as well as she does good-for-nothing Jack Torrance, whom she is going to take in hand and reform. So far, her preferences have been in favour of the sinner rather than the saint."
The speaker laughed, and Aylmer's cheek flushed, for he detected a sneer beneath the jesting words, and was pained by it.
Captain Torrance saw the look, and continued. "Do not misunderstand my jesting words. Feeling as you do, you cannot regard me as a desirable husband for Kathleen; but until you have spoken to her I will not ask your consent. Be sure, however, we should both be happier for having it, and Mrs. Ellicott's also."
Kathleen prevented the possibility of any difficulty when the subject was named to her.
"Glad as I should be to have your consent and aunty's, I will not seek it; and, though I have no fears respecting my future, you shall have no responsibility, whatever may happen. I will not marry until I am my own mistress."
Mrs. Ellicott was distressed, but helpless; for Kathleen deferred to her guardians in everything until the end of their trust. As for Aylmer, he would have forfeited his whole fortune, if by so doing he could have prevented the ill-omened marriage, though his prospect of winning Kathleen himself would have remained hopeless. He sometimes thought that Torrance would prefer wealth alone, rather than with a wife, however charming.
On the other hand, Aylmer noticed that Kathleen was exacting in requiring her lover's attendance, and that Torrance showed a scarcely veiled impatience to escape. "No wonder," thought Aylmer. "He has so long been unused to home-life that it soon palls upon him. What will the future bring, when such a life is expected to be lasting?"
He hinted these doubts to John Torrance in a half-jesting way, and the answer startled him.
"You think I shall not settle down easily after my recent vagabond life, but we shall not need to be quite humdrum in our habits. Kathleen must see something of life, and I shall delight in introducing her to it, in order to give her new interests, before we drop into the domestic rut. After a season in town we shall enjoy Hollingsby and rural felicity," replied the other, with a laugh.
Perhaps John Torrance read the fears that filled Aylmer's mind as he listened, and he continued: "You have no faith in me, but mind, I am not wholly selfish and mercenary, though you know how needy I am—none better. But let me tell you, that if you could and would hand over to me every yard of land and every penny she possesses, with your fortune to boot, on condition of giving up Kathleen, I would refuse all. She has honoured me by her choice. A world's wealth would not to give her up."
"Who could relinquish one like Kathleen?" asked Aylmer, with a sigh. "Be good and true to her, Torrance. Make her happy, and those who love her will be happy in knowing it, and bless you as the cause."
THE news of Kathleen's engagement spread quickly, and calls and congratulatory letters were many. How could it be otherwise? The customs of society demanded this much. Well for the parties concerned that they did not hear all that was said on the subject. Kathleen's friends pitied both her and her guardians; the girl, because of the future before her, the latter for having allowed John Torrance to outwit them. Ralph was wild with joy. His heart had been sore after that afternoon when he displeased Kathleen so much, but now he was forgiven, and his happiness complete.
The head gardener at Hollingsby had grown grey in his present service; but he promptly remarked, "When Captain Torrance is master here, he'll want a fresh gardener." Mountain was on the point of saying the same thing as to his position, but, with his usual contradiction, he turned fiercely on his fellow-servant.
"I shall stick to my horses and my young mistress," said he. "It's a poor sort of a servant that would leave her because she means to please herself. I reckon Miss Mountford didn't engage you to pick her a husband, or me either."
"I was here before she was born," was the answer.
"Then more shame for you to talk of leaving at the first contrary wind. You've had smooth times and good pay."
"I've earned my wages," said Griffiths, in high dudgeon.
"Who said you hadn't? You've no call to take offence."
But Griffiths departed, whilst Mountain growled out that some folks' tempers were short, like themselves, the gardener being little of stature. Moreover, he would like to know what Griffiths made by "perkisites," for precious little out of what he grew could be used at the Hall.
"We shall lose Mrs. Ellicott and Miss Geraldine," moaned Mrs. Mountain. "They'll not stay when Captain Jack comes."
"How do you know? Hold your tongue, and let your betters manage their own business. Look after your own girl, if you want something to do."
Patty Mountain, probably infected by Miss Mountford's example, had consented to become the wife of William Burns as soon as her mistress's wedding had taken place. Their cottage was being made ready, and Mrs. Ellicott, Geraldine, Kathleen, and Aylmer were all helping by well-timed gifts to make it comfortable and pretty for the young couple.
Mountain liked his son-in-law-elect, but growled us usual, and declared that all girls were idiots who left a good service to marry, as they would never again be as well off. Mrs. Mountain was a much enduring woman, but she retorted for once.
"You've told the truth, George," she said. "I know a girl who left a good service thirty years ago, to marry a man who has grumbled at her more in a week than her mistresses did in all the years she served them."
Mountain was too much astonished to reply, so went off to the stables, leaving his wife triumphant.
Kathleen's twenty-first birthday soon came, and tenants were regaled and school-children feasted most liberally. She wished to have no gatherings at her own home, but at length agreed to a dinner-party for older friends, and an evening one for younger neighbours.
Hetty Stapleton was at neither. Her brother and his wife were guests, knowing nothing of what had passed between Kathleen and Hetty.
Kathleen had repented of her hasty words, and had learned to doubt the correctness of her conclusions regarding the acquaintance between Hetty and John Torrance. She told him nothing of the scene, but wrote to Hetty, and owned her fault in giving way to temper and using insulting words on the slenderest foundation. She begged her "to forget and forgive, and to be still the friend of her ever affectionate Kathleen Mountford."
Hetty wrote kindly in reply, and assured Kathleen of her forgiveness.
"As to forgetting," she added, "I cannot promise what I know to be impossible, and you must feel this also. I was very angry at first, and felt inclined to state the exact truth in your presence and that of John Torrance. For your sake I have been silent, and shall continue so. I cannot, however, accept your invitation, dear, for though I would gladly come at the call of Kathleen Mountford, I could never be a guest under the roof which owns John Torrance as its master, or consent to sit at the same table with him. Nevertheless, if you ever want any service that I can render, send for me, and you shall find a true friend in Hetty Stapleton."
To Aylmer alone had Hetty told the story of that stormy interview with Kathleen, and there was no fear of its becoming public property. Remembering, however, how Hetty had foretold the result of Ralph's influence on his father's behalf, Aylmer was still more inclined to join in her fears for Kathleen's future as the wife of John Torrance. After this confidence he was most anxious that his ward's property should be settled upon her. In those days there was no protection for a wife, if a husband squandered every penny of her property, and, without a settlement, Kathleen's large personal property would be wholly in the hands of John Torrance.
"Hollingsby Hall, the land, in fact, all real property and half the personalty, may be settled on Kitty, with my full consent," said the ex-captain. "It will be safer for both of us. The money is more than I expected. It was reported she would have fifty thousand, and I find it is over sixty. I do not wish to redeem Monk's How. My memories of the life there are not of the pleasantest—I mean since Adela died—and somehow I would rather live my second married life elsewhere. I should seem to see my first wife all over the place, and very likely call Kitty by the wrong name."
Aylmer agreed to the wisdom of Torrance's decision, and was moved in his favour by this really generous proposition. He had hardly expected so great a concession.
When the terms were repeated to Kathleen, she rejected them point-blank. Impetuous, ready to go to extremes in self-devotion, she flung prudence and common-sense to the winds. She would take no advice, listen to no warning.
"Not only do I refuse to have the freehold estate settled on myself," she said, "but I intend to give it to John by executing a direct conveyance. No one can prevent my doing this now, and no one shall interfere with my undoubted rights!"
Mrs. Ellicott's pleading and the remonstrances of Aylmer and the solicitor were equally useless. All three urged that, by carrying out her resolution, she would be untrue to the trust reposed in her by her father, but they spoke in vain.
"There is one thing Miss Mountford would not be likely to think of," said the solicitor, who was much distressed by his client's persistency. "Without the direct conveyance to Mr. Torrance, he would only have a life interest in the real estate, which would descend to a son by the second marriage at his death, should there be such issue. If Miss Mountford persists in her determination, the property will belong absolutely to Mr. Torrance and his son; Ralph would—if living, and in the absence of a contrary will, inherit the Hollingsby property."
"You, madam," he added, addressing Mrs. Ellicott, "would be the fittest person to speak to your niece on this subject."
"I will do so, and at once," replied Mrs. Ellicott. "You give me reason to hope that Kathleen will now yield to our persuasion, for surely she would never risk the alienation of Hollingsby from a child of her own."
To her aunt's bitter disappointment, Kathleen adhered to her resolution.
"As though John would do wrong to a second son, if he should have one!" she said indignantly. "Would a child of mine be less dear to him than Ralph is? John loves me truly and disinterestedly. Has he not proved it by wishing to have the settlement? We shall begin a new life together, and my perfect trust in him will be his greatest help and safeguard."
Even John Torrance's subsequent avowal that the proposed settlement would be right and proper, failed to move her.
"There shall be no half confidences," she said. "When I promised to be John's wife and Ralph's mother, I trusted John with the best I had to give. Do you think that I value money or lands as I do my own hope of happiness? If John is fit to take care of me and make me happy, he is fit for the lesser charge of managing and turning to good account, for our mutual benefit, whatever property I have the power to place in his hands."
Kathleen's face fairly shone with enthusiasm, and never had she looked more beautiful than when insisting upon what she regarded as an act of unselfish trustfulness, though others deemed it rashness and folly.
"Is there nothing that she is unable to alienate?" asked Mrs. Ellicott, in deep distress.
"Just one little property, which came to her from an aunt of her father. It is worth about three hundred and fifty a year, and is tied up to her as fast as the law can secure it," replied the disgusted solicitor. "I must congratulate you, madam, and Mr. Matheson too," he added, "that you no longer hold the place of guardians to such a wilful ward. You cannot protect her now against her own self-will. We can only hope she will have no cause to regret the having set at naught the counsel of all her friends, including that of her intended husband. What would her father have said? He who was so proud of the Mountfords' care of the old lands, so long held by them."
"My luck is beyond belief," thought John Torrance. "Poor Kathleen! I wish I were a better man for her sake, and, 'pon my word, I wish the property could be settled. It is an awful temptation; and, when one has seen the last shilling of two fortunes vanish, one would like to keep hold of the third. Very few men get so many chances as I have had."
On a sunny April day Kathleen was married at the village church, where she had worshipped all her life. There had been talk of a wedding at a fashionable church in London, but this she would not hear of.
"Miss Pritchard shall make my wedding-gown. If Mellingham mercers have not as large a stock, they can get patterns and pieces, lace and lingerie without limit. I shall have all my outfit as pretty as I can desire, and at half the cost of London and Paris productions. I have no wish to waste money because there is plenty," was Kathleen's wise decision.
She had settled, too, that Mrs. Ellicott should give her away. She could not stab the faithful heart that had been all her own, by asking Aylmer to do this.
"You will follow the example of our own royal lady, in bestowing me upon a husband," she said. "So, aunty, you must act the father, mother, and guardian all in one."
Mrs. Ellicott demurred at first, but Kathleen gaily declared that the choice lay between her and Mountain.
"I shall ask my faithful servitor if you refuse, aunty," she said, so Mrs. Ellicott was fain to consent.
Amid outward sunshine Kathleen was married to John Torrance, and departed on a wedding-tour which was to last over a couple of months. But there were clouds gathering overhead, and, whilst loving wishes and prayers for their happiness went with the newly-married pair, forebodings could not be wholly banished.
Much had to be done during the weeks that followed. John Torrance had given up Monk's How, and taken his last leave of the place as a home. It had not passed into strange hands, for Aylmer Matheson had purchased the house, grounds, and a portion of the land.
The house was undergoing much-needed repairs and decoration, and the grounds, which were of very moderate extent, were being restored to order and beauty, ready for Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine to occupy.
In the fulness of her heart, Kathleen had talked of keeping her aunt and Ger with her at the Hall, but neither they nor any one else concerned would have entertained the proposal for a moment.
Monk's How would suit Mrs. Ellicott's requirements. It was a pretty place, and would make a charming home for such tenants, and Kathleen was delighted to have them near her. John Torrance was gratified from a selfish point of view. "At first," thought he, "I must devote myself to Kitty. Later on she cannot expect me to be tied to her apron strings, and when I run away now and then, their being close by will prevent her being able to plead loneliness. I hope she will be as reasonable as Adela was. Kitty can blaze up into a passion, but her fits of self-will have all been to my advantage. Remembering this, I will give her a long tether, but in a question of mastery she will find me very unlike Matheson. He is almost too good for this world, and quite too yielding; but, thanks to Kathleen's wilfulness, he can never meddle again. I am glad he has bought Monk's How. He is fond of Ralph, too. Perhaps he will leave it to the boy. He is so steadfast, that I doubt if, having lost Kathleen, he will ever marry, though Miss Ellicott would be a model wife for him."
It was well Kathleen could not read what was passing in her bridegroom's mind as the train carried them away. But he whispered sweet words in her ears, wondered how she could have loved him so well, and then began telling of fair scenes they would visit, and picturing a happy homecoming when they began to long for rest. Kathleen, listening to such words, forgot everything save that she loved and was beloved by John Torrance. All she had given seemed as nothing to her generous nature. She wished she had more to give.
Ralph had caused some trouble. Indulgence had made him exacting, and fancying that he would not be parted from Kathleen again, he gave way to alternate fits of weeping and passion. It needed his father's firmness and Kathleen's persuasions to subdue the boy, and after their departure he refused to be comforted.
Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine were to take up their abode at Monk's How, just before the return of the newly-married pair. Ralph was to remain at the Hall with them, but Aylmer found it necessary to relieve them of their charge, and in his hands the boy was more manageable.
Kathleen and her husband returned to the Hall before the appointed date, but not to remain there.
Mr. Torrance—"the captain" had been sunk by request—suggested that the rest of the season should be spent in town. He wished his beautiful wife to have some enjoyment before settling down at Hollingsby.
"It is your due, Kitty," he said. "I owe you everything, and it would be a shame to bury you in the country, now you have a husband to act as guide and protector. We can take a furnished house, of which I heard to-day, for five weeks or so, and after that have a rest in the country. We have neither of us had much in the way of decent society for a long time past."