Kathleen would have preferred going home, but she was overruled, not by any assumption of mastery on her husband's part, but by flattering words and tender suggestions which, loving him devotedly as she did, she was unable to withstand.
So the house was taken, and Ralph was again left behind, but with the promise that he should spend part of the time in London with his parents.
Kathleen found that her wardrobe must be enlarged. She had not cared for a costly trousseau, preferring to purchase extra dresses as occasion required, and she was not anxious to spend a large sum on such as would be comparatively useless to her in the country.
"Besides, John, I hate extravagance, though I think you have always seen me fairly well dressed," she said.
"You are always charmingly dressed, Kitty, for the country, but one may be pardoned for wishing that one's wife should be seen to the best advantage during a few weeks in town, at the close of the honeymoon. If you were less beautiful, my darling, it would be different. We will only be extravagant for this once;" and he closed her lips with a kiss.
It was hardly likely that Kathleen could fail to get some enjoyment out of her visit to town, especially as she found herself an object of interest on account of the circumstances attending her marriage. Rumour had been busy with her name, and had surrounded her with a halo of romance. Her attachment to a penniless man, her determination to endow him absolutely with the whole of her fortune, in spite of her guardians' remonstrances—much that was true, and much that was partly or wholly untrue—had gone to give society plenty to talk about.
John Torrance's past history was freely discussed, but in whispers not likely to reach the ears of those most concerned, though it proved of interest to many of his old associates. Amongst such the question was, how they could benefit by Jack Torrance's wonderful luck.
The amount of Kathleen's fortune was greatly exaggerated.
Whilst in town, Kathleen won both regard and admiration by her beauty, charm of manner and dignity, combined with frankness. Her husband was proud of her success, and began to talk of their next season, saying, "We must have a longer time next year."
"I thought this was to be our one extravagance before we settled at home," said Kathleen. "We could not afford to spend so much in a general way."
"The wedding and after journeyings will not come again. As a bride, your surroundings only suited your position."
"I should have been contented with less, but you are pleased, and I can only be glad too."
Kathleen smiled at her husband, then said, "When is Ralph to come? We promised he should join us."
"Do you really want him? He will not enjoy himself with Sarah for a companion. You are so much engaged."
"But we promised to have the child, John."
"Have your own way, Kitty. But you need not be so particular. Children must be pacified by promises sometimes. Ralph may not be quite pleased in the long run, but in the meanwhile he is quieted by the expectation of good things to come. Anticipation is often better than reality, Kitty, as I have proved to my sorrow many a time."
Kathleen withdrew the caressing hand, and looked grave and troubled.
"Come now, sweetheart, you must not take such sober views of things. You cannot honestly say that it will be best for Ralph to come here," said her husband.
"That is not the question. With me it is whether it can possibly be best to break my word. Oh, John, I do want to be a good mother to the boy! He loves me, and I love him. What would he think of such a beginning, were his first experience of my motherhood to be a broken promise? Besides, as a child and a girl, I was accustomed to trust the word of my parents implicitly. I believe my father would have considered it a crime to break his word to one who had no power to enforce its fulfilment. My guardians were equally scrupulous. Let us be true in all things to Ralph."
"My darling, your appeal makes me feel quite criminal. I am afraid the memory of the absolutely perfect people you have had about you will make you rue the having exchanged such guardians for good-for-nothing John Torrance. However, do as you like. Send for Ralph. If he is lonely and miserable here, the fault will not be mine."
"It shall not be mine," replied Kathleen, resolutely. "If I have to give up some of my remaining engagements, the boy shall have a happy time."
Mr. Torrance did not reply, but after an irrelevant remark or two, left Kathleen with a "Good-bye till luncheon, Kitty." But he did not turn his head towards her with the usual farewell look, generally supplemented by a kiss, and she felt sore at heart in consequence.
Barely three months of married life were over, and Kathleen could not help feeling that she had cause for grave anxiety on her husband's account. During their stay abroad, he had persisted in taking her into the casino at Monte Carlo.
"It is one of the sights of the world, Kitty," he had said. "It can do you no harm, and I suppose you are hardly afraid of my being corrupted by it. You ought not to leave without seeing what the place is like."
Kathleen had been brought up to hate everything that savoured of gambling, but her husband insisted, and she accompanied him in fear and trembling. The feeling was increased as she noticed a sort of eager expression on his face, and heard him say, "Try your luck, Kitty, with one gold piece," offering her one as he spoke.
She shrank back as if she had been stung, and said, "Not for the world, John! Take me away."
He laughed at her fears, and placing the coin, together with four others on the table, held her fast by his side until the result was declared.
It was in his favour, and, sweeping up a handful of gold, he said, "I will present my winnings to you, dear. We will go now. I only wanted you to see for once how easily money is lost or won."
Kathleen did not speak, but her face was white to the lips, and as her husband tendered the gold she gave him an indignant look and passed out of the place. She felt ready to faint, yet when he again laughingly tendered the gold, she pushed his hand aside, and gasped out, "I would not touch it for the world!" then broke down and wept.
Mr. Torrance expressed his regret, and said he only meant to give her a novel experience, not to cause pain.
Kathleen was at length coaxed into outward composure, but the painful impression remained. She could not forget the fierce pleasure on her husband's face as he swept up the gold, and had since been haunted by a dread, which other circumstances had intensified during their stay in town.
"What if the old Mountford estates should be squandered through my unlimited trust in John!" she thought. "The 'slip of a girl,' as my father called me, was entrusted with all of which he was so proud. And I meant to hold them safely, yet have placed them in John's power, though he owned he could not trust himself. Alas! he spoke the truth."
Ralph came to London, expecting to be all in all with his new mother, and did not find sight-seeing, under the convoy of Sarah and a man-servant, altogether satisfactory. Kathleen did her best, and cheered him by saying—
"It will be different at Hollingsby."
She was glad the town-house must be vacated at the time first agreed on, as it was again let to new tenants.
Mr. Torrance was not sorry to turn his back on town. Old associates had found him out, and, though they never entered the home that held Kathleen, they managed to lighten his purse of some of the gold poured into it by her too generous hands.
Such was the beginning of a married life, entered on despite the wise warnings of earthly friends, and without seeking the guidance of the best Friend of all.
AT Hollingsby Kathleen recovered her spirits, and to the dear friends, the sight of whose faces was indescribably welcome to her, she seemed her old bright self.
"Here," she thought, "John will be out of the way of temptation, and we shall be really happy. I must forget the little things which frightened me. I had been brought up so quietly, I could hardly judge for a man thirteen years my senior, and who knows so much of the gay world. It is not likely we should see eye to eye on such matters. After all, the world's opinions differ from those instilled into me. It calls many things 'mere trifles,' yet my conscience condemns them. I have had enough of it already."
Kathleen longed to resume her old mode of life, only with its usefulness enlarged, and its responsibilities deepened by a sense of the new obligations on which she had entered. Her husband, however, resumed his old habits also. Kathleen might rusticate to her heart's content, whilst he often "ran up to town" alone. If she complained, his absences became more frequent, and her deep affection proved a weapon for her punishment, because she desired his presence, and had hoped so much from association in their aims and pursuits at home.
She was ready to concede much, but she could not forget that she had given him everything, as well as her love, asking only for affection in return. Without this, she would be poor indeed.
When the time came, she had to consent to a second season in town, though she dreaded the cost, owing to Mr. Torrance's extravagant estimate as to what must be expended.
Ralph was at school. He had proved exacting and unmanageable during his father's absences.
"I knew long ago that he was a self-willed young rascal," said Mr. Torrance, with a laugh. "You tamed him for a time, but, though he loves you better than any one, he wants a stronger hand than yours, and adviser head than mine to keep him in his place. I have asked Matheson to find a school for him. He knows more of such places than I do."
This Aylmer did, and bestowed much kindly oversight on Ralph, for which, in his careless fashion, the father was grateful. Indeed, John Torrance recognized the nobility and unselfishness of Aylmer's character, and the latter found himself in the position of adviser to both husband and wife.
Torrance listened, but rarely acted on his counsel. Kathleen learned, with a feeling of humiliation, how much better it was to appeal to her old guardian than to her husband, whose only reply to a question would be, "Ask Matheson. We are in luck, Kitty, to have such a mentor. He was a victim to your charms, I know, but I cannot be jealous of him. He acts the good brother now, and will be an ideal rich uncle."
A careless laugh and look of self-satisfaction accompanied the words, for John Torrance, whilst paying this compliment, felt a contempt for what he called "Matheson's weak side as Kitty's guardian."
Kathleen had been three years married when her first baby-boy was born. He was called Kenneth Mountford, after her father, and was a beautiful child, much like herself.
"He has your eyes, Kitty," said Mr. Torrance, kissing her. "I am glad. One son like me is quite enough."
"Ralph will be pleased with the little darling," said Kathleen.
"Do not count on that. He is horribly jealous, and may show his unpleasant side. Remember how exacting he used to be."
"That was different. He must love his little brother," and Kathleen pressed her treasure to her breast with a new sense of riches, and the thought, "What a new, sweet bond our baby will be between John and me! Home will have more attraction for him now."
The result was not quite equal to her hopes.
"I can't get wildly enthusiastic about a youngster in the early stages of his existence," said John. "When he can trot about and back a pony, he will be more in my line. He is a dear little thing, of course; how could your son be anything else, Kitty? But he is your first baby, not my first son, and my memories of the troubles incidental to teething, and the ailments to which infant flesh is heir, are none of the sweetest. I was almost jealous of Ralph for absorbing his mother's attention."
The careless words pained the young wife, and tears fell on her baby's cheeks as she said, "He is our first boy, John."
"Of course, darling, and quite the most charming infant ever seen," he replied gaily.
Then he kissed her again, and said she would be better without him for awhile, and that she must not excite herself the least bit, but get strong soon, for he could not do without her society.
Kathleen thought sadly that he managed to do without it very often, and appeared well contented to go his own way. But she resolved that even her new sweet cares should be made as subservient as possible to the claims of her husband. She would watch over her baby, but John should have no cause to complain of neglect.
Mr. Torrance's predictions about Ralph proved only too true. The boy regarded his baby brother as an intruder, and towards Kathleen he was by turns loving as of old, and angry when, as unavoidably happened, she was unable to give him all the attention he wished. It was a relief when the holidays were over and Ralph back at school.
To Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine the little one was a source of immense interest. All that the most loving mother and sister could have done they did, and their near neighbourhood was the greatest possible comfort to Kathleen.
"We shall be granny and maiden aunt to your boy, Kitty," said Geraldine. "What a pleasure it is that when real kindred are few and far-away, we can be adopted into new relationships!"
"I have always counted on having aunty as 'granny' to my boy, but I don't want you to be the maiden aunt, dear Ger," said Kathleen. "I always hope—"
"Hush, Kitty! There is room neither for hope nor fear. I have chosen my role, I shall never change it."
Kathleen durst say no more. Yet she had hoped and longed that her cousin might make up to Aylmer for the disappointment she had caused him. Each, however, seemed to find happiness in a life of unostentatious good-doing, and, in Geraldine's case, in filial duty also.
Kathleen knew no more than others did, that Aylmer had lately asked Geraldine to be his wife.
He had always been profoundly impressed by the beauty of her character, and since his great love for Kathleen had been all in vain, he had begun to ask himself, if esteem might not be a sufficiently firm foundation on which to build his hope of wedded happiness.
To Geraldine Aylmer's offer was at once a temptation and a trial. Her heart was his, and yet when he asked her to share his lot she refused his offer.
"I am too romantic, too much of a woman to marry on your terms, Aylmer," she replied to his honest confession, for he had told her all the truth.
"Still, dear Geraldine, with such a foundation, and the certainty that our hopes, aims, and labours would be in perfect accord, might we not reasonably expect more than the average amount of happiness?"
"Perhaps so, but not the highest and best of all. Not the kind that God's laws have ordained as the condition of a perfect union. I could not be satisfied for you to have anything less than the best that is possible, and you would not have this ideal union, as the husband of one whom you regard only as a dear friend. I know you feel respect and a kind of affection for me, but the inner sanctuary of your heart is barred against me and all the world beside."
"But if I can make you happy, and you can give me—" Aylmer began.
A crimson flush overspread Geraldine's face as she pleaded, "Please do not go on. Surely, in such a case, a man should not ask more than he can give, and a woman ought to refuse anything less than an equivalent for what she bestows."
Then, as if realizing the implied confession she had made, Geraldine covered her face with her hands to hide tears of mingled pain and humiliation.
"Forgive me that I have offered you less than the best, dear Ger," said Aylmer. "Be my friend still. In friendship we shall owe each other nothing."
"Friends now and always, Aylmer," replied Ger, looking bravely up and extending her hand.
He took it almost reverently, lifted it to his lips, and then left her. He felt that her decision was the only one possible to such a nature, and was never so near loving Geraldine as at the moment after she had refused to be his wife.
After the birth of Kathleen's boy, Aylmer could not help recalling to mind the fact that owing to the deed by which she had persisted in conveying the freehold to her husband, Ralph would inherit the Mountford estate as well as an equal share of personalty with the younger child, in case John Torrance died intestate.
"I will speak to Kathleen first, then to Torrance if necessary," said Aylmer. "If he has not made a will, he ought to be reminded of the need for so doing."
Aylmer again spoke of the position to Kathleen, and asked if Mr. Torrance had named the subject.
"John seldom speaks of business matters. Surely you do not mean that my little darling, my own boy, would not inherit this place—my home—and the lands that were my father's?" asked Kathleen. "I remember aunt spoke to me about this, but I never realized it until now. I ought to have been guided by wiser heads than my own."
"That depends on your husband, Kathleen. He ought to insure the inheritance to your child, whilst making some provision for Ralph. You would not object to this?"
"It is what I should wish," said Kathleen, "though Ralph would be safe in my hands. Aylmer, I ought to have listened to your advice. I was proud to trust John with everything. I never looked beyond myself, but thought I alone could suffer if he went wrong, and I should die of grief. Now I do not love John less, but there is my own baby-boy to think of. Besides, my father trusted me. I have indeed done wrong."
"You must make the best amends possible. Put everything before your husband. He must see what he ought to do."
Kathleen hesitated to ask Aylmer to undertake this task. She was staying, with her child, at Monk's How, Mr. Torrance having gone to town, "just to see a few fresh faces."
"Will you remind John of my boy's rights, and explain the position?" she said to Aylmer. "Having been my guardian, it would seem natural for you to do it. It would be dreadful for me to appear as if I were calculating on what would happen if he died. Ralph is so jealous of baby that he is not to be trusted now. This is a great trial."
"It is; but I believe Ralph will yet reward you," replied Aylmer. "For the rest, I will speak to Torrance."
Kathleen's mind was greatly relieved by this promise, and never doubted that good would come of Aylmer's intervention.
John Torrance returned two days later, not in the best of humours, though he said nothing to account for his gloomy manner.
"Have you not enjoyed the change, John?" asked Kathleen.
"Town is as dull as Hollingsby," was the ungracious reply.
Aylmer drew his own conclusions from Mr. Torrance's answer. He had cause to fear that old associates and habits had regained their influence over Kathleen's husband. With ruin confronting him, it had been easy to make good resolutions, and old associates could gain nothing by seeking him. Now that John Torrance's pockets had been refilled, he was again surrounded by them. Not that he would have insulted Kathleen by bringing these men to Hollingsby, or even naming them to her; so he met them in town, as the lesser evil.
Aylmer could estimate the importance of this choice, and talked, sadly enough, with Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine of the evil influence that would be exercised on the fortunes and happiness of Kathleen and her boy.
He felt the task of speaking to John Torrance a difficult one, and at the first mention of his making a will to secure the rights of his wife and her baby, the husband showed signs of temper that augured ill for his success.
"So," said Mr. Torrance, "Kitty is counting her chances as a well-dowered widow. I hardly expected such a message from her, with you as messenger."
The tone was aggressive, and a sneering expression was on the speaker's face; but Aylmer would bear much for Kathleen's sake.
"You wrong your wife, Torrance," he said. "She has proved her disinterestedness. I, as her late guardian, think it right to place her position and the child's before you. Remember, you wished to settle the estates and part of the personalty upon her, but she persisted in executing the conveyance, and thus leaving herself wholly in your hands."
"Ah, yes, poor Kitty! She was deeply in love, and as trustful, generous, and blind, perhaps you would say, as love makes people."
"I say nothing of the kind. Only, as you wished to make a settlement before marriage, how could I imagine you unwilling to do so now? There are double claims; those of the wife, so nobly trustful, and the child, who ought to succeed to the heritage which was his mother's."
"You were a good friend too, Matheson. I do not forget. What would you have me do?"
"To make a will, leave Kenneth the estates, and, in accordance with Kathleen's express wish, make a provision for Ralph out of the personalty," replied Aylmer.
"A will may be destroyed by the testator."
"But honour would forbid that, if he pledged himself to certain conditions. Besides, Ralph would be cared for."
"Better than he deserves, for he has behaved ill to Kitty. He is safe, in any case."
"Therein lies the injustice. Without a will, you being now absolute owner of the estate, Ralph would take all but part of the personalty and that which the law would give to Kathleen," replied Aylmer, with some warmth.
"I must think the matter over. No need to hurry. The personalty is not what it was. Naturally, after being kept down so long, I wanted a little fling after I was married. I was rather extravagant."
"You are a few thousands poorer than—well—than you ought to be, I suppose," said Aylmer.
Mr. Torrance nodded. "Besides," he added, "I have been unlucky in some ventures lately."
Aylmer judged that the ventures were of the kind by which, says a wise writer, "men try to make money without effort, at the cost of other men." Only in such would John Torrance engage.
A promise "to think about it" was all Aylmer could obtain, and he returned home feeling far from happy.
Mr. Torrance thought, and became very angry. He was vexed at his "ill luck," that is, at the loss of what ought not to have been risked—not at himself for risking it. Then he grew angry at Kathleen, on account of Aylmer's intervention. He entered the room where she was sitting, and she instantly rose, holding up her boy to be kissed.
"See, John. I am sure he knows you. He is holding out his arms," she said.
Torrance did not speak, but pushed the child back, gently enough, but still in a manner that pained Kathleen deeply.
As she began, "Oh, John, do not push the darling from you in that way. What have I done? for it cannot be his fault if something has displeased you."
"Don't be absurd, Kathleen," he replied in an impatient tone. "When a man is worried about important things, he cannot be in the mood for admiring an infant prodigy, even though it happens to be his own."
He threw himself into a chair, and as Kathleen gazed at him in wonder, she was shocked at the expression on his face. She turned away, and rang for the nurse to take the child, then sat down, silent and indignant, as well she might be. Ever since her marriage she had fought hard against her naturally impetuous temperament, and had not been easily provoked. But the old quick nature¹ was still there, and at this moment ready to break into a flame again.
¹Unchanged by Divine grace
At first Kathleen resolved not to speak until John addressed her. Love for her husband was, however, stronger than temper, and at length she said—
"You tell me you are worried, John. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"You can let me alone," was the cold reply.
"But, John, surely I should know what troubles you. Are we not one?"
It had cost Kathleen an effort to speak gently, and she was ill-prepared for her husband's response.
"I thought so once, but, after what I have heard, I can hardly congratulate myself on the fact. It seems that you have already begun to calculate the chance of your being my widow, and free from the worthless encumbrance you now call husband."
"What do you mean?" said Kathleen, with flashing eyes.
"Ask yourself what errand you entrusted to Matheson."
"Do you mean about securing my property to your son and mine?"
"No. It was the request that I would make a will, and secure my property to our son. You forget, Kathleen, that by your deliberate act and deed you gave all you had absolutely to me. In that, you only followed the example of Ralph's mother. She gave me her all, yet she never reproached me, or reminded me of the fact."
"Neither have I," said Kathleen, angrily. "Until now."
"No. Matheson is a convenient cat's-paw, and he can plead most eloquently on behalf of his late ward. Adela would have died before she would have speculated on the chances of my death."
"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" said Kathleen. "So long as I stood alone, I neither suggested your making a will nor asked a friend to do so. Even now it was Aylmer who, in his kind thought for my baby-boy, hinted at the wisdom of doing it. I care nothing for myself, but I do say that if you do not secure what was mine to our child, you will be guilty of cruel injustice to us both."
"Adela would not have—"
"Don't talk to me of Adela. Did not she trust you with everything, and how did you merit the trust? Did you care for the child she bore you, or did you waste his mother's fortune and the inheritance which came to you from your forefathers, until all was gone and—"
"Spare me a second hearing. The story is too familiar, and not pleasant. I made full confession to you."
"You did, and you promised—"
"Not to make a will, but I wanted a marriage settlement made, which you refused."
"Yes. I never thought that, as Adela left Ralph, I might have to answer for neglecting a child's interests. I ought to have read her story, and profited by it."
"Then on your shoulders be the blame, not mine. Come down from your stilts, and be reasonable. You will not drive me, though when angry you look so handsome that I bear the penalty for the sake of the picture, Kitty dear."
The jesting words stung Kathleen, but for her child's sake she forbore to retort.
"You did tell me all when you asked me to be your wife. You so spoke that I believed you hated the past, and that we should begin a pure, happy life together."
If John Torrance had not been in a perverse mood, harassed by losses and angry at himself, he would probably have been touched by Kathleen's pathetic tone and words. She was right, he knew; but he who is displeased with himself must vent his anger on some one else.
John Torrance did this by saying in a bantering the way, "By the way, Kitty, you spoke just now of my asking you to be my wife. You have forgotten the real facts attending our engagement, and I must correct your mistake, dear. I never did ask you to be my wife."
WHEN Mr. Torrance's taunting words, "I never did ask you to be my wife," fell on Kathleen's ears, she was too much astonished to reply at once. Then in an angry tone, she said, "How dare you say so, John? I have not forgotten what passed the day Ralph first left his bedroom. Surely I need not remind you."
"It is you who need to be reminded, so listen."
With cruel deliberation, Mr. Torrance repeated his boy's passionate appeal to Kathleen to be his mother, and her annoyance at the trick, as she deemed it.
"Remember, Kitty, I refused to second Ralph's request for you to accept what you have, I fear, found to be a thankless position. Whilst the boy lay asleep, worn out with excitement, I made a confession of my unworthiness, and said I would not ask you to share my lot. Shall I go on?"
Kathleen's face was set and hard, but she said nothing.
"To my surprise and delight, you bestowed your sweet self upon me unasked save by Ralph, when I had expected a long and perhaps useless wooing. Never mind, dear, I was grateful for trouble saved, and, if I have not quite realized your ideal, we have been fairly happy. Now we will forget this little episode. Let us kiss and be friends."
He seized her hand, but Kathleen, beside herself with anger, threw her head back, exclaiming, "Do not come near me! I cannot bear this! What shall I do?"
"To get rid of me? You will hardly do that. You must be good, and ask to be forgiven," he said, laughing at her anger, and holding her as easily as a child.
A little girl once said of her father's guest, "I do not like him, because he laughs when he is angry."
When John Torrance gave way to ill-temper, one of its manifestations was mocking laughter, accompanied by taunting words softly spoken.
"So you will not be friends? Never mind. Man and wife quarrel only to make up their differences ere long. By the way, let me ask you if you have an idea that I found favour in Hetty Stapleton's eyes?"
"You gave me that impression."
"Fie, Kitty! You have maligned Hetty. I only told you she and I were friends once, and you replied that her friendship was worth keeping. Then I said something had happened which I could not speak of."
"I will now tell you the exact truth about Hetty Stapleton and myself, then you will perhaps, in future, be less inclined to regard your impressions as infallible, and be more careful in judging the intentions of other people. It is not always safe to judge them by their acts and words. To read a person's intentions requires more than human prescience, Kitty."
"I paid Miss Stapleton attentions which lookers-on attributed to a desire to make her my wife. They were not mistaken as to my intentions. I was not in love with Hetty, and had you been of age or nearly so at the time, I should never have looked in her direction. She is not at all handsome, but she is a person of great decision of character, and would, I am sure, have made me an excellent wife from a business point of view. I was in difficulties, and as Hetty's fortune was considerable and in her own hands, I thought to find a good way out of them by marrying her."
"I threw myself in her way as much as possible, and dangled after her for some time, during which, I am bound to confess, she gave me no encouragement. Then, in a desperate mood, I formally proposed to her, and was refused. I was also made to listen to certain home-truths from the lips of Miss Stapleton, which I have neither forgotten nor forgiven. Understand, Kitty, I should never have looked at Hetty, had you been old enough to be available. You were and are very beautiful, and you have other qualities which are far superior to hers and more attractive in my eyes."
"More money," said Kathleen, in a cold, hard voice.
"That was one thing, of course. It goes without saying that, in my position, the money was very important. But you had many attractions independently of that, and you were so charmingly kind and confiding, you know."
If he had thought to touch Kathleen by this last sneer, he failed in his object. For any sign of emotion she showed, she might have been turned into stone.
"Thank you," she said. "I am glad you have told me the truth at last. It will enable me to right a wrong that I did whilst labouring under a false impression."
"Better not stir up old grievances, Kitty. Let the dead past bury its dead. Now will you not kiss and be friends?"
He drew her towards him and kissed her, but as he touched her lips with his she shivered and shrank visibly.
"You promised to release me when I had heard the tale about Hetty Stapleton. May I ask you to keep your word?" said Kathleen.
"Certainly, dear."
Mr. Torrance released the hand he held, walked to the door and opened it for her to pass out.
She did so without bestowing a glance upon him, and went up to her own room. Five minutes later she left the house, and went straight to Oakwood, where she knew Miss Stapleton was staying.
Hetty was in, and when she saw Kathleen she met her kindly, but with a gravity very unlike the old cordial welcome.
"Hetty," said Kathleen, "I am here to tell you that I know all the truth as to your old acquaintance with Mr. Torrance. I hate myself as I look back on that day when I insulted you cruelly and grossly! I had formed a certain impression, and I now know that it was wrong in every respect. I have only myself to blame, for I had not been told, in so many words, what I asserted. I wish I could make amends to you."
"No harm followed, except that I was grieved at being misjudged by you. I am sure you came to me as soon as you knew the truth," said Hetty.
"You forgive me? I see you do," cried Kathleen.
"I never greatly blamed you, for I could understand how the impression was produced, and was sure you would repeat the story to none but me. Now you must forgive yourself."
"That is hardest of all," replied Kathleen. "Besides, I am punished in knowing that I misjudged a true friend."
"Then let us forget all about it."
The two parted with words of affection and feelings of renewed friendship, and as Kathleen walked homeward, she felt that one portion of her trouble had been removed. Still, the brightness seemed to have gone from her life. In her indignation and distress at Mr. Torrance's taunting words she would have gone to her aunt and Geraldine at Monk's How, had there been no child at Hollingsby. But the little hands drew her homeward, and the first relief came to her burdened heart as she clasped her boy in her arms, and her tears fell on his unconscious head, as he slept peacefully on her breast.
As Kathleen sat rocking her baby to and fro, she was asking herself, "How shall I live the life that is before me? I dread the thought of looking my child's father in the face. My trust in him is gone. Yet I am as much to blame as he, in one sense, for I would not listen to those who were better able to judge of his character than I was."
How the past became present as she sat there! Her peaceful girlhood, with its luxurious surroundings and freedom from care. Her father's love for and trust in her, the tender, watchful care of her guardians, Aylmer's affection, and the self-devotion which placed her happiness before his own.
"I was wilful and selfish a little while ago; now it is my lot to have benefits repaid with ingratitude. I tried to make Ralph happy, and he causes me deep sorrow. I loved my husband, and gave him all I had, thinking that our marriage would be his salvation, and now! How foolish I was! How could one so weak, faulty, and headstrong bring to bear an influence which would change a strong nature like John's? Yet I was proud at the thought of giving my life for the elevation of his."
Kathleen laid her sleeping babe on his soft bed, after showering kisses on the innocent face; then, falling on her knees, she prayed long and earnestly for pardon and guidance; but even this resource did not bring calm at once.
The contrast between former expectations and present reality was too much for Kathleen. By turns she was distressed, despairing, and indignant. It was so horrible to recall those sneering words which reminded her that she had given her love and herself without being asked for either.
"And yet," she thought, "if ever a man seemed to plead for both with his whole being, John laid himself at my feet, as one who dared not ask for what he was unworthy to possess. Only three and a half years a wife, and it has come to this! Not yet twenty-five years old, and, it may be, I have a long life before me."
Kathleen remained beside her boy in the October twilight. She knew not whether her husband was in the house or not. She dreaded the thought of meeting him at dinner, and equally dreaded to absent herself, lest, in his present humour, he might say or do something to call the attention of the servants to their disagreement.
She was debating whether she should dress and go down to the meal, or make illness an excuse for absenting herself. She was feeling sufficiently indisposed to render such an excuse a true one, and her eyes were red with weeping.
Whilst she was debating with herself, the nurse entered softly.
"I am afraid you must have rung without my hearing you, ma'am," she said.
"I had not rung. Baby fell asleep, and I laid him down, and sat quietly by him. I am tired, and not feeling very well. Is Mr. Torrance in?"
The girl looked surprised. Then answered, "No, ma'am. A telegram came for him when you were out, and he had his bag packed, and went off by train. He left a message for you with Lucy, and he met me with baby on the stairs. He kissed him, and said I was to say he had left the kiss with the little man for you."
Lucy, the parlour-maid, could only tell her mistress that the master had been called away in a hurry, and would be absent a night, or maybe more. That was all. No intimation as to his destination, the message he had received, or the person or business that had summoned him away.
Kathleen's pride prevented her from asking more questions, or showing what she felt under this new slight. "He knew how terrible the suspense would be. He has put me on the rack on purpose," she said to herself. "It is only part of to-day's whole."
The cruelty of the thing added both to her anger and distress. There was no question of her going down and taking her place at a solitary dinner-table, so she put on a simple tea-gown, and gave orders that some light food should be brought to her dressing-room.
"There is a good fire in your boudoir, ma'am."
This was the little upstairs sitting-room which had been the scene of what Kathleen now regarded as her humiliating self-surrender. She shuddered at the thought of crossing its threshold.
"I prefer staying here," she replied. "It is equally comfortable, and, as I am not feeling very well, I shall probably lie down for awhile."
The food was brought, and Kathleen took a little, though without appetite.
"I must keep health and life if I can, for my baby's sake," she thought.
The parlour-maid who waited on Kathleen said, "I am sorry I forgot to tell you, ma'am, that Miss Ellicott called directly after you went out. As you were not in, she came again on her way home. That was just when master was starting for the station. He told Miss Ellicott that he was going off for the night, and said maybe she would spend an hour with you this evening, as you would be by yourself. She said she would come across after dinner."
Kathleen scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry at the prospect of seeing Ger. It would be difficult to look cheerful, or to hide the tell-tale traces of tears. She did not wish to repeat the story of her trouble, even in such sympathetic ears. How, indeed, could she repeat those cruel, taunting words, the very memory of which made her face glow with the flush of shame? Besides, it were better that none should come between her and John.
Husband and wife would best settle their differences without calling in a mediator, and Kathleen felt that hers was no case for mediation. It was one of cruel, scathing words, of taunt and sneer, and mock politeness on the one side; of bitter suffering and resentment on the other, which could never be changed, yet must be endured in silence, and with such courage and patience as she could command.
There was an interval during which Kathleen's thoughts went back to her mother's story, her fault, punishment, penalty and final peace.
"She paid by the wreck of her physical strength, but she was forgiven, and her days of suffering cheered by my father's tenderest love. I have wrecked my life in a worse manner, and I shall never have a like consolation."
Truly John Torrance had, for the first time, shown his worst side to Kathleen during the recent quarrel. He had not meant to go so far, but he was angry with himself, disturbed by serious losses, and further irritated by Aylmer's appeal on the subject of a will. Hence the resolution to give Kitty a lesson, and put her in her right place for once.
Still, he could not forget all he owed her, and as soon as she was out of sight he began to feel ashamed of himself.
"Poor Kitty! I have been a little rough on her, but she is so fiery, and needs a curb sometimes," he thought. "I have always been master, and I intend to be. Can she have told Hetty Stapleton that, if I would have given her the chance she would have gladly accepted me? It is likely enough."
At that moment Mr. Torrance saw his wife leave the house in walking attire, and exclaimed, "I have guessed rightly, and Kitty is off to put things straight with Hetty."
He laughed loudly, and, though admiring Kathleen's courage and rectitude, he decided that the walk would do her good.
"It will take the temper out of her, and she will come back in a reasonable frame of mind," he said to himself.
Immediately afterwards the telegram came. It was unimportant, but he decided to use it as an excuse for leaving home.
"Kathleen will be troubled and anxious, and, in wondering what has happened to call me away, she will forget our little tiff, and be only thankful to welcome me back again," he thought.
When he met the nurse he left the kiss and message, partly to atone to the child for his former unkindness, partly to mollify Kathleen when she heard of it.
The impetuosity of Kathleen's temper made a reaction inevitable, and her unselfish love could not be wholly destroyed by the shattering of its idol. So, as she thought of her husband, it was with sorrow as well as anger. After receiving his message, she bent over her child and touched with her lips the place he had kissed. It was something to know that he tried to make amends to her darling baby. John had asked Geraldine to come and cheer her, so he had given an anxious thought to her comfort. He had been very cruel, but his temper was hasty—so like her own.
In this somewhat softened mood, Geraldine found her. She read a tale of trouble on Kathleen's face, but was not the one to force confidences; so she talked about the baby's progress, of Ralph's good work at school, of some protégés in whom they were both interested.
Kathleen's manner was, however, absent and constrained.
"I was sorry Mr. Torrance had been called away," continued Ger, "but he said he should only be a night or two absent, and he seemed very anxious you should not be lonely."
Kathleen's tears began to fall, and she replied, "I may as well own that John and I had our first real quarrel to-day. I was angry, and I went out. On my return, he was gone. It is miserable to think of it all, and I feel quite broken down. The worst of it is, I can tell no one else."
"Except One," replied Geraldine. "Trust Him, and He will guide you and comfort you. I shall pray that this trouble may be overruled for good. A failure that shows us our weakness, often proves a blessing in the end. It makes us afraid of venturing on ground which we have found dangerous, and renders us more watchful over ourselves."
"I would not have a repetition of to-day's experience for the world," said Kathleen. "But oh, Ger, I do need both strength and comfort very badly!"
"I will not ask you to tell me anything, dear Kitty, and I need not remind you that, whatever your present want, God's love can and will supply it. I am only the maiden aunt, and have no experience in matrimonial differences, but I do know how important it is to prevent such from becoming habitual. At any cost of self-denial and self-restraint, for the sake of your child, your hope of happiness with your husband, above all, for Christ's sake, fight against every temptation to indulge in anything that could build up a wall of separation between you and John."
Geraldine spoke earnestly, for, with the memory of Kathleen's girlish temperament and fits of self-will, she thought it not unlikely that she had given way to passion, and thus the quarrel had been brought about.
Mr. Torrance had always treated his wife with such marked respect, and shown her so much consideration in the presence of others, that it was probable some hasty speech of Kathleen had caused the trouble.
Her cousin seemed to read Geraldine's thoughts.
"If you imagine that I did something to provoke John, you are mistaken, Ger," she said. "Knowing me as you do, you are not to blame for supposing that I deserve a full share of responsibility for what has happened. I would rather be misunderstood than clear myself by telling all that passed."
Kathleen shuddered involuntarily as she spoke, and Ger, seeing how deeply she was distressed, could only say tender, loving words, and express a hope that this first serious misunderstanding might be also the last.
"Shall I stay with you to-night?" she asked. "If you wish it, I will send a line to mother, and remain here."
Kathleen thanked her, but would not agree to this, feeling that even so kind a presence would be a restraint.
"I shall go early to bed," she said, "and I am going to have my boy beside me for company. I have told nurse to bring his cot into my room."
So Geraldine left her, having first promised Kathleen that she would repeat nothing that had passed, either to her mother or Mr. Matheson.
"Better so," thought Ger. "One may reasonably hope, that as some years have passed before a first quarrel, there will be no speedy repetition of it. Interference would do harm, and the meddler would share the usual fate of those who come between husband and wife."
There is nothing harder or more embarrassing than the first meeting after a quarrel and an angry parting between friends, lovers, or a married pair. With a longing for reconciliation, comes unwillingness to make the first advance, or doubt as to its being accepted. Cruel words and deeds may be regretted, but pride may prevent the fault being acknowledged. Each may determine that the other shall yield, so the breach widens until it becomes impassable.
Kathleen had been cruelly taunted, and her husband's words would never be forgotten. On the other hand, she remembered her own fits of passion; but she could say, "I have tried to conquer them, for my child's sake especially. And John is so much older. Besides, he is quite cool, and his taunts, softly uttered and with a smile, maddened me." Then love pleaded. "He is my husband, my baby's father. I have to live with him. He was sorry before he left home." Kathleen wept, thought, prayed, and at last forgot her trouble in sleep.
The following day passed without Mr. Torrance. Then came a telegram. He would be home the next afternoon, and a carriage was to meet him at the station.
Kathleen usually met her husband, but hesitated about doing so now. Yet, if the concession would bring about a better understanding, it might be well to make it, she thought.
After all, Mr. Torrance came by an earlier train. Hearing a footstep as she was sitting in the grounds, she turned and saw her husband, but could not utter a word.
His face wore its pleasantest expression. His trip had proved fortunate. A debt had been paid to him, and he had gained more money by another's loss, so he was in high good humour.
"I startled you, Kitty," he said; "you might have seen a ghost. Did you get my kiss, and did Geraldine come to you?"
Kathleen's white lips moved, but no sound came, and her husband was shocked at her looks.
"You are quite unnerved, Kitty; surely not by my jesting words? I never meant to grieve you by my nonsense. I was worried by a number of things at the time. Forget and forgive, like the dear girl you are."
He drew her close to him, and kissed her repeatedly, but Kathleen only gasped out from quivering lips, "I wish I could forget."
"My darling, you are too sensitive, or you would think nothing of such trifles. You said some pretty sharp things too, but I just put them out of mind, as the wisest way."
"You forget more easily than I can, John, but I will try."
"There's a sweet Kitty," he replied cheerfully. "Now let us have the boy down. What a splendid fellow he is growing!"
The child was brought, praised and caressed, and Mr. Torrance was so devotedly kind to Kathleen, that she began to feel as if the events of the last two days were only an idle dream, from which she had happily awakened. But she was soon to know that such dreams often recur.
THE four years which followed Kathleen's first quarrel with her husband were far from happy ones. When a mask has fallen off, the wearer seldom cares to replace it. In like manner, when a certain character has been assumed to gain a selfish end, if the counterfeit is discovered, the pretender ceases to act an unnatural part.
John Torrance became in time less anxious to hide from Kathleen that he differed widely, both from her ideal and what he had determined to become after marriage. He was more than ever from home, and she knew less and less of the places and persons amongst which and whom he spent his time apart from her.
Some young wives might have yielded, and gone to places which in girlish days they had been taught to shun.
"Come with me, Kitty," John would say. "I want some one to keep me out of mischief."
She knew this, but was well aware that she would be helpless. Such influence as she possessed in their early married days had long vanished. She strove to make home attractive, she studied her husband's wishes and obeyed him in all that was right. She possessed her soul in patience amidst many provocations. She knew nothing of money matters, but hitherto Mr. Torrance had kept her purse well supplied, and often complimented her on her modest expenditure, saying, "You are really economical, Kitty, but you are always well dressed."
She would smile with pleasure, rewarded by the words for the trouble she had given to externals. She often said to herself, "John shall not find me indifferent in little things."
Aylmer Matheson was only too well informed as to Mr. Torrance's position, and often asked himself, "How many years will pass before he is as much embarrassed as he was when poor Kathleen's splendid, but mistaken generosity saved him from ruin and made him rich?"
Aylmer had again tried to induce Mr. Torrance to make a will, but in vain, and he desisted from any further effort, at Kathleen's request.
She had been resolute in one respect. The income of the little property which could not be alienated had been invested year by year, to accumulate in trust for her child.
"Nothing shall induce me to touch a penny of this," said Kathleen. "This shall be secured to my boy. It may be his only heritage."
In seven years and a half, the annual three hundred and fifty pounds, with interest added, made no unimportant sum, and Kathleen rejoiced that it had not been disturbed.
One evening Mr. Torrance alluded to this "separate fortune," as he called it, and said—
"If I want to borrow a few hundreds, Kitty, you will let me have them."
"Surely you have no need to borrow, least of all from me," she said.
"Why, is it not natural that married people should mutually accommodate each other?"
Kathleen was silent, but thought was busy. If her husband was in want of money, what had become of the great sum placed in his hands together with the income from the estate? She had kept household expenses within proper bounds, and since their first two years of married life there had been nothing to account for any present scarcity of money.
"Do you mean that you will not lend me a few hundreds?" said Mr. Torrance.
"You cannot be in earnest in asking," replied Kathleen.
"You will soon find out that I am if you refuse!" was the angry response.
Mr. Torrance looked furious and menacing, and Kathleen was determined not to yield.
"The sum you allude to is equally out of my power and yours. When, after I had given you all else, you refused to secure to my boy his rightful heritage, I resolved the trifle left should never be alienated. I put it out of my own power, and placed it in trust for Kenneth."
"Do you dare to tell me this?" shouted Mr. Torrance.
"I do. I rejoice to think that this money cannot be touched even by you or me. Kenneth will not be penniless, though it is dreadful to think that what came from my dear father has been squandered in a few years by a—"
"You had better finish your sentence, madam."
The pause gave Kathleen time to overcome her first anger, and to substitute other words for those which might, without it, have been spoken.
"By a man whom experience has failed to teach or improve. A man who having twice trod the road to ruin, finds it more attractive than any other, whose promises were uttered only to be forgotten, on whose honour I relied, to find it but a broken reed."
Kathleen rose from the breakfast-table and left the room, feeling nearly broken-hearted. She had borne much, but the attempt to get possession of the last fragment of her fortune tried her beyond endurance.
As the door closed behind Kathleen, an evil smile came on her husband's face. He did not follow her, but he said aloud—
"Before you are many hours older you will be glad to change your tone, my fair Kathleen."
An hour later, Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine were startled by Kathleen's appearance at Monk's How. Her coming suggested some new trouble, and into their sympathetic ears she poured the story, not only of this last trial, but of many preceding ones hitherto unsuspected.
"I blame myself," said Kathleen, humbly, "because I sinned against conscience and knowledge by marrying one in whose life the fear and the love of God had no part. I indulged my self-will at the cost of pain to my best friends. I trusted fortune, my hope of happiness, the future of my child—all that marriage might bring—to one whose past life proved him unworthy of trust. Even John said it would be better for him if he were not so trusted, and oh! how truly he knew this! You know, dear aunty, how I used to chafe at little contradictions and crave after forbidden things, just because they were forbidden. Yet that night when you told me my mother's story, my longing after one prohibited amusement was quenched for ever. Things that I thought I should enjoy when I became my own mistress, lost their relish as soon as I tasted them, and I would have given the world to live with John the old peaceful life such as ours was, when we were together at the Hall before my marriage."
"It is an awful thing to pass the years with one to whom you are joined by the closest and most sacred ties, and yet to be as far as possible asunder in all that concerns the soul and eternity. I doubt if John and I ever joined in real prayer in our lives, for even when we went to church together, he always said it is 'only for the look of the thing and to please you, Kitty, that I go.' Even that poor concession soon ceased, as you know."
Tears stopped Kathleen's utterance for a while. She had begged her aunt and cousin just to let her tell her tale uninterrupted.
"For," she said, "if you begin to pity me and speak lovingly, it will never be told. I shall break down, and cannot begin again."
"You have had one great blessing out of the trouble, one light that has pierced the darkness, Kathleen," said Mrs. Ellicott. "You have been brought nearer to God, and realized, as you never did before, the love that never faileth."
"Oh yes. This is now my one great joy. Silent to others, even to you, how could I have lived without the comfort and strength He gave me, though I felt so unworthy even to ask for it? I was—I am so lonely, though I am a wife and a mother. Yet my very loneliness has drawn and driven me to God. I have needed much discipline, and it has taken a long time for me to learn the truth about myself. I started on my married life with the idea that I—weak, sinful, and to a great extent ignorant of my own need—should prove a source of strength to my husband, and be his helper and safeguard on the path we were to tread together until life ended for one of us. It is true that I soon began to regret the sorrow I had caused to dear earthly friends by my wilfulness; but I placed them first. Now, by the enlightening power of the Holy Spirit, I see my sinfulness and ingratitude towards my Heavenly Father. In all my wilful words and acts I rebelled against Him, and in paining the dear earthly friends whom He had graciously given to watch over me I showed the basest ingratitude for His goodness to me."
"When I first realized all this, and felt that nothing I could do would make amends for the past, all seemed dark and hopeless around me. But God had another message for me and it was one of love which I had often heard, though it never reached my heart before, and of forgiveness for the sake of Jesus, 'who loved us and gave Himself for us' when He died on Calvary. I can now say, 'He gave Himself for me,' for I believe it with all my heart, and I 'rejoice with joy unspeakable.'"
Despite her recent sorrow and present anxiety, there was a light in Kathleen's face which betokened the peace which passeth all understanding, a light which her aunt and cousin had never seen there before. Needless to say, she had their rejoicing sympathy.
There was a brief silence; then Kathleen said—
"If only John could feel as I do in these things, what a happy life might yet be before us! but I dare not hope for it, though I keep on praying always. I am now sorely in need of guidance, and after earnest prayer I have come to the conclusion that I should be wrong not to seek the help of my three best earthly friends. It would be neglecting the means placed within my reach. I must care for my boy. I will be firm in defending the little that is left for him, and I beg that you will tell Aylmer all I have told you, and ask him to join you in standing by me and strengthening my hands."
"I have other troubles which I must tell you before I go. One is about Ralph. He is greatly improved, for John has, in most things, allowed others to influence him for good—Aylmer especially—and not in vain. Of late he has taken an opposite course, to punish me for having wished him to make a will and secure the rights of my boy, without leaving Ralph's future unprovided for. You remember Ralph's foolish jealousy of his little brother, which really arose out of his great affection for me. John has been taking pains to revive this un-brotherly feeling, when Ralph has been at home for the holidays. I could not tell you how I suffered the last time."
"Poor Kitty, you have been wounded in your tenderest feelings!" said Ger.
"It is not on that account only I grieve. It is for Ralph himself I do so want him to grow up a good man. I have tried to make him look on the little brother as one to whom he should act as a defender and guardian. Often Ralph and I have been very happy. He is a fine youth, with many noble aims and longings. I have tried to strengthen these, and I have really opened my heart to him more than to older friends. I do not mean in a complaining way, but about the best things of all. We have read and prayed together many a time, and I am sure we have both been happier for this."
"I do not know how it came about, but some one told Ralph of his father's early career, and of the disgraceful ending to his military life. It was an awful trouble to the boy, and he came to tell me, and ask if it could be true."
"How sad for you and for the boy, dear Kitty!" said Ger.
"It was indeed, for what could I say? I had to own the truth; but I said that people were often sorry for the faults of their early days, and that it was possible for them to repent and, in God's strength, to live noble after-lives."
"'You knew before you married father, didn't you?' he asked; and I said, 'Yes, I did.'"
"Ralph was very thoughtful for a little while, and then with a burning flush on his face he said, 'I don't think father has led a noble life since, do you, mother?'"
"Perhaps I did the worst possible thing when I answered, 'Your father has always told me he was sorry for the past. He never brought any of the old visitors to the Hall, whom you used to dislike at Monk's How.' I wanted to make the best of my husband in the eyes of his son."
"Ralph asked another question. 'Did father promise that he really would keep away from those men?'"
"Fancy how hard it was to say 'Yes,' and then to hear Ralph reply, indignantly, 'My father has not kept his word to you. He has acted dishonourably, I know.'"
"I tried to speak hopefully, but Ralph was not to be easily cheered. He is close upon eighteen now, thoughtful and manly. I am very anxious about his future. He used to say he would be a soldier, as his father had been, but after that miserable tale came to his ears he gave up the idea. He thought that, no matter what his life might be, some one would identify him as the son of that Captain Torrance who had perforce to leave the service for dishonourable conduct. What to do for Ralph I know not. I have spoken earnestly to John more than once, and the last time—he was not quite himself, though that is a pitiful excuse to make for him—he laughed in my face, and said, 'You forget that Ralph will be master of the Hall.'"
The reminiscence was too much for Kathleen, and her tears could not be restrained. Her aunt and Geraldine were most indignant at this insult. They had not thought John Torrance could be so cowardly a tyrant. All that love could suggest they said to comfort Kathleen, yet felt that the task was an impossible one.
"I have one other trouble—a great one, I mean—the state of John's health," said Kathleen. "He is far from well, though he looks strong, and ridicules my anxiety. Some, perhaps, who bore such a burden as I do, might be indifferent, or think it would be no misfortune were he to die."
Kathleen shrank from uttering the last word, and it was followed by a burst of passionate weeping, during which she sobbed out—
"I have loved him truly—my husband, the father of my little child. I cannot bear to think of it, after all that I have had to endure at his hands. Besides and above all comes the thought, John is living without God and without hope in this world, and what is there beyond?"
Thus Kathleen ended her pitiful story, and left it with her aunt and cousin to repeat to Aylmer. "Remember," she added, "whatever John says, 'I will not give in with regard to the little sum saved for Kenneth. I must go back now; my child will want his mother.'"
Kathleen left immediately, and before the day was over Aylmer knew all that had passed, and shared the indignation inspired in Mrs. Ellicott and Ger by Kathleen's story. He owned that he was aware of Mr. Torrance's unsatisfactory state of health, and that it did not surprise him, and he replied gravely, "Kathleen has not yet seen his worst side, and I trust she never will, though he puts less and less restraint on himself. At first, I had some faint hope that the poor girl's unselfish trust and generosity would influence him permanently. Time has proved that I was wrong."
"Can Mr. Torrance have spent all Kitty's fortune?" asked Mrs. Ellicott.
"I fear so, since he is trying to wrest this little reserve sum from her. He is in debt, I know. He may have mortgaged the property, for he had full power. The income from the estate would about meet their present home expenditure, but if there is interest to be paid, and Torrance's outside extravagances to be met, he may easily be in difficulties."
"He cannot seize Kitty's little fund," said Ger.
"Not the property which yields the income. As to her savings, I dare say nothing. Torrance has stirred in her a spirit of resistance. He may next appeal to her pity with success. It waits to be seen whether love for her boy or his father will conquer in the end. If the worst come, it will neither find Kathleen homeless nor friendless whilst we three live," said Aylmer. On this thought alone could they all fall back for comfort.
When Kathleen reached home she asked for her boy.
"Master has taken him for a drive in the pony-trap, ma'am," was the nurse's answer.
The child had often gone with both parents, but his father had never before driven with the boy alone. Further inquiry showed that Mr. Torrance had got out at the station, and sent the trap back by a tenant's son. It seemed absurd to suppose that harm could happen to the child when in his father's care; but when Kathleen heard that the young man had seen the London train move off with Mr. Torrance and his boy in it, she turned sick with terror. "What could be John's motive for carrying off Kenneth unknown to his mother?" she asked herself.
Perplexed and troubled, she sent for Aylmer and Geraldine, who came immediately, and heard what had happened.
"You need not fear on your boy's account, Kathleen," said Aylmer, "though you may have to endure some suspense. No doubt John intends to extort your last available shilling. He has carried off the child that he may force you to ransom him at the cost of the sum you have saved as a provision for Kenneth. Do not yield. Trust to me, and be sure I will not rest until I find your boy."
"God will reward you for your unfailing goodness, my best of friends, my brother!" said Kathleen. "What should I do without you, my aunt, and dear, kind Ger?"
Kathleen's words were few, but her heart was full of thankfulness to the friends whom all her past wilfulness had failed to alienate.
Little has been said of late about Mountain, the faithful, self-opinionated, crusty coachman, who, despite his old dislike to Mr. Torrance, was still at the Hall. Kathleen had begged that she might retain him, and John Torrance, knowing the value of honesty and unimpeachable trustworthiness, had consented. The old man, however, always insisted that he served "Miss Kathleen as was," not Mr. Torrance. To him Aylmer would telegraph if needful, not to Kathleen, during his search for Kenneth.
Aylmer found that Mr. Torrance had booked for St. Pancras, and he was about to do the same, when a sudden inspiration stopped him.
Hollingsby was only two hours from London. Two trains left within a few minutes of each other, one express, the other slow. Mr. Torrance hated slow travelling, yet Aylmer easily ascertained that he had allowed the express to pass, though he might have had it stopped, and gone by slow train.
Aylmer at once decided that the London ticket was a mere blind, and that father and child would be set down at Earlsford Junction, ten miles away.
"I will make further inquiries," he thought. "Besides, there is no need to fear for Kenneth, and I must not risk a meeting with his father yet."