Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 2 (of 3), Mrs. Alexander [best sci fi novels of all time txt] 📗

matther," she continued,[248] hastily checking herself, "it's not the likes iv ye, an oudacious chap, that daured to spake to yer betthers, widout, 'by yer lave or wid yer lave,' she'd so much as look at. Faith, if I see a sign iv ye about the place, to frighten me darlint, I'll just give ye up to the polis; I'll go bail it's the spoons ye'r more used to be lookin' afther than the ladies, though ye have a good coat on yer back, an' look as if it wasn't a stranger to ye."

"My good woman," said the object of this tirade, with a half-surprised, half-amused air, as Mrs O'Toole paused for breath, "You are the most impracticable person I ever met; I do not understand you."

"Well then, I'll spake plain enough for ye. If ye were a gintleman, ye'd niver have gone to spake to me darlin' young lady, in the way ye did, the other day—ye'd have known yer own sort, an' the differ betune a bit iv a dressmaker, and a raale lady; an' ye may look as fine, an' as proud as ye like, but I'll see ye[249] yet, gettin' up stairs to the tune of Turn the Mill—so good-by te ye, an' ye may put yer note in the fire; but if I see ye about here, be this book," kissing her hand, "I'll give ye up to the polis, for a suspicious characther, that has his eye on the plate!" And off walked Mrs. O'Toole, glowing with triumph and honest indignation.

The stranger muttered something very like a curse; then, laughing slightly, he said, half aloud, as if in the habit of speaking his thoughts—

"The most extraordinary specimen of indignant virtue I ever encountered—why, she is as incorruptible as the hound, and just as fierce. So adieu, ma belle," tearing the note. "A Houri would not be worth the trouble such guardianship entails; besides the ridicule of appearing to the charges her eloquent duenna threatens." He thought a moment, turned, and walked slowly back to the main road, where a plainly appointed cab, with a horse of[250] great beauty and value, and an irreproachable tiger awaited him.

Kate thought nurse's movements unusually rapid, as they returned from Mrs. Storey's, but that considerate personage said not a syllable of her interview with the unknown, until that most confidential moment, when the stiffness of drawing-room manner and costume is exchanged for a robe de chambre, and Kate's long rich, brown tresses were submitted to Mrs. O'Toole, and the brush.

"Sure, that dark browed divil was spyin' about whin I kem back fum Storey's."

"What that dreadful man? who spoke?"

"Yes, agra, an', Miss Kate, fur all I tould him, I thought him a pick-pocket—faith, I believe he's a gran' gintleman; I know be the look iv him; see now, if he is'nt a lord, I never seen one, an' they were as thick as parsley at Dungar. I was frightened to have the likes iv him ramblin' about here, so I jist spoke up bould, an' pretended to think he was[251] a pick-pocket or the like, an' threatened him wid the polis, an' I think I settled him any how."

"I have no doubt you acted quite right, dearest nurse, and I should like to have heard you giving him 'his tag,' as you would term it; but surely he will never take the trouble to come here again. I thought it was only a passing impertinence—perhaps he was really sorry, and wished to apologise—let us give him 'the benefit of a doubt;'" and so they dismissed the subject, which slumbered for many months before—but we must not anticipate.

Not many days after this break in the routine of their lives, as Kate and the Colonel were one evening talking by the fire-light, of A——, and the Winters—the sound of approaching wheels, broke the stillness, which generally settled over Victoria-gardens, at the close of day. The sound drew nearer, and suddenly ceased at their house.

[252]

"Some mistake," said Miss Vernon, as both she and her grandfather paused in their conversation, to listen to that vague watchfulness, so often felt by those whose hearts are full of the future, because the present is sad; then the garden-gate creaked on its hinges, and heavy steps approached rapidly, the bell was rung loudly, and though she could not tell why, Kate's heart beat more quickly, as she listened for the next sounds, for each movement, is clearly audible through the slight walls of a modern built house in the outlets of London. The door was opened, and a husky whispering ensued, to which the servant's voice replied—"Yes, Mr. Vernon's at home;" and in another moment Mrs. O'Toole's hearty tones were heard in joyous welcome.

"Athen, is it yerself that's in it? Masha, but it's the masther, an' Miss Kate, will be proud to see ye. Walk in, ma'am—I'll settle the cabman." Then the parlour-door was thrown wide open, and in walked Mrs. Winter,[253] in a large, plaid cloak—followed by a mass of coats and comforters, over which twinkled joyously, the artist's little bead-like eyes.

Then came the joyous confusion of question and answer, and wonder and welcome; and Kate felt a sudden accession of life and strength.

"But to what do we owe this happy surprise?" she reiterated, as she knelt at Mrs. Winter's feet, to change her boots, for a pair of warm slippers.

"Indeed, my dear, it is one of Winter's fits; he would not let me write, nor write himself—he said we might disappoint you, and ourselves."

"Yes," broke in Winter, disencumbering himself of his numerous wrappings, "I knew you—you would have been killing the fatted calf, and roasting turkeys, and all sorts of things; and we should have been late, and teased you with expectation, so I said, leave[254] your pen alone, Sue, and here we are; stopped at the first house with "furnished apartments," on it, engaged them—then all right, ready for a dish of tea, and chat; and then turn in—close here—Albert-place. Why, Colonel, you do not look as if London agreed with you, but you bella mi�, you look quite yourself."

"But what has induced you to visit the great Babylon?" said the Colonel, when the first hubbub of welcome was over, and they were assembled round the tea-table.

"We are going on the continent," said Mrs. Winter, with some importance.

"Is it possible?" cried Kate.

"You do not speak seriously?" said the Colonel.

"Why not? I've got a cold, and I've no idea of remaining to be cut off, like poor Gilpin, by the east winds," returned Winter.

"Is that your only reason?" asked Kate.

[255]

"Why not exactly; but A—— has become such a desert, now that you and Gilpin are gone; life is not worth having there."

"I do not like the idea of having the sea between us," said the Colonel.

"Nor I," added his grand-daughter,

"Nor I; but we will not be long away, and I intend to paint, while abroad, such a picture, as will make the Royal Academicians die of envy," said Winter.

"And," added Mrs. Winter, "we have let our house very advantageously to a cousin of Canon Jones's, who commands the new regiment."

"But you will not run away too soon?" asked Kate.

"No, we shall remain three or four weeks in London."

"I am rejoiced to hear it," said the Colonel.

"Oh, delightful," cried Kate.

"We will talk over our plans to-morrow,"[256] said Winter, to-night, let us hear of your own proceedings. How do you like my friend Langley?"

"Oh, I like him very much," returned Kate, "I am sure there is much good in him, though he won't show it, and seems so cold and cautious even with himself, that I dare not take it upon myself to say he will be glad to see even you."

"Well, I can tell you he writes enthusiastically of you," replied Winter.

"Non e possibile!"

And so the conversation flowed on in a thousand interrogative channels, all indicative of the same warm and friendly interest, which, still unabated, linked the quartette. Oh, how much more closely than the ties of blood.

Winter, in obedience to a warning glance from Kate, reserved his questionings, as to her success in teaching, for a t�te-�-t�te, and his good little wife followed his example on this, as on all other subjects. The poor organist's[257] deathbed was re-described, and the "grand following," as Mrs. O'Toole would term it, that graced his funeral, discussed, and, in spite of the, to them, unaccustomed fatigue of a journey, the interchange of intelligence was prolonged to a late hour for travellers, and when they parted for the night, Kate felt her own hopeful joyous self again; to think that such true and tried friends were near, that she should meet them in the morning, and once more be able to pour out the fears and anxieties which no want of confidence in her grandfather, but a tenderness of affection too considerate to grieve him, kept pent up within her own bosom, till their weight oppressed her. Once more she would take counsel of that clear, strong, warm-heart, which no self-interest, no conventional falsity clouded or obscured. "And though their stay is but short," was her concluding thought, as sleep closed her snowy lids, with its downy weight, "thank God they are come, I will enjoy their presence, and[258] not think of the sorrow of parting, until it comes."

But a young spirit must be somewhat initiated in grief, before it can attain this philosophy, if it ever can be attained, for however the heart may purpose to enjoy the present, and disregard the future, there is still something of omnipresence in its nature, that gives an actuality to anticipated joy or sorrow, it cannot wile away.

The period of the Winters' stay in London was one of great enjoyment to Kate, for though what is termed the dead season, there were quite enough of pictures to be seen and concerts to be heard to employ the mornings, and sometimes the evenings, most agreeably, and until their arrival, Kate had seen nothing of the Great Metropolis.

It seemed as if the advent of the warm-hearted, practical little artist had broken the sad depressing spell which had been gathering closer and closer round her spirit since she had[259] left A——. Winter was a stout and active pedestrian, and leaning on his arm, Kate bade defiance to the most persevering and mysterious stranger that ever crossed heroine's path. The Colonel too was wonderfully revived by the presence of his kind and valued friends, and, strange to say, even Cormac, who when left at A—— was too savage to be approached by his temporary keeper, was most sociable and condescending with him in London.

One morning, Mr. Langley called, and after sitting in a sort of preoccupied silence for some time, with some hesitation and much awkwardness, suggested that he wished to invite his friend Winter and his wife to dinner, and as the Colonel and Miss Vernon were so fond of their society, perhaps they would consent to encounter the discomfort of a bachelor's m�nage and meet them.

The Colonel and Kate assented most graciously, and the party, reinforced by Galliard and[260] Mr. and Mrs. Story, met the next day at what Winter termed "grub hour."

Contrary to her expectations Kate spent a most agreeable day; Langley, like many shy persons, shone in his own house, Winter was most amusingly argumentative, Galliard witty, and the Colonel cheerful and urbane as usual; while Mrs. Storey's repeated apologies for the irregularities of a bachelor's m�nage, and Mr. Winter's reiterated assurances that every thing was in admirable order, kept up an under current of polite common-place, that amused Kate exceedingly, by its contrast to the prevailing tone of the conversation.

"You have visited the British Museum?" enquired Galliard.

"Only, once," said Kate, "and that hurriedly, I long to go again."

"There is a great lot of trash there," observed Winter.

"What treason," returned Galliard, "it has all cost money, and John Bull is content."

[261]

"Of course," said Langley, "you will have your sneer at John Bull."

"Why not? I am, you know, half English."

"Come, Mr. Langley," said Kate, "the English you will admit, are not very sparing of their neighbours."

"They do not make much allowance for any peculiarities, except their own, certainly," remarked Colonel Vernon.

"You are in such a decided minority, you Celts, you had better hold your tongues," cried Winter.

"But what is it you call trash, at the British Museum?" asked Kate.

"Oh, the mummies, and the wigs, and all that; such an embarras of mummies can hardly be conceived!" said Winter.

"I wish we could bring the Gheber mode of disposing of the dead into fashion again; I shall certainly leave a clause in my will that my body shall be burned," observed Galliard.

[262]

"Law, Mr. Galliard, what an idea," said Mrs. Storey.

"Why not? my dear madam."

"I always liked Zoroaster and the fire worshippers," said Kate, "their system appears to me the least degrading of all ancient religions."

"Humph! Miss Vernon used to insist that the round towers of Ireland were built by the Western Ghebers," remarked Winter.

"It is quite possible!" responded Galliard.

"Any thing so far beyond our historical period may be possible," observed Langley.

"Ah," said Galliard, "you consider them anterior to the Celtic invasions, Miss Vernon?"

"The