The Martins Of Cro' Martin Volume II Part 43

"No, no; it is better not to risk offending him," said Kate, calmly. "I remember, now, that this was one of his antipathies. Give me anything else, for I have not eaten to-day."

While her stepmother went in search of something to offer her, Kate sat down beside the fire, deep in thought. She had removed her bonnet, and her long silky hair fell in rich ma.s.ses over her neck and shoulders, giving a more fixed expression to her features, which were of deathlike paleness. And so she sat, gazing intently on the fire, as though she were reading her very destiny in the red embers before her. Her preoccupation of mind was such that she never noticed the opening of the door, nor remarked that her father had entered. The noise of a chair being moved suddenly startled her. She looked up, and there he stood, his hat on his head and his arms closely folded on his breast, at the opposite side of the fire.

"Well, la.s.sie," said he, after a long and steady stare at her, "ye hae left your place, or been turned oot o' it,--whilk is the case?"

"I came away of my own accord," said she, calmly.

"And against my Leddy's wish?"

"No, with her full consent."

"And how did ye do it? for in her last letter to my sel', she says, 'I desire ye, therefore, to bear in mind that any step she takes on this head'--meaning about going away--'shall have been adopted in direct opposition to my wishes.' What has ye done since that?"

"I have succeeded in convincing her Ladys.h.i.+p that I was right in leaving her!" said Kate.

"Was it the force of your poleetical convictions that impelled ye to this course?" said he, with a bitter grin, "for they tell me ye are a rare champion o' the rights o' the people, and scruple not to denounce the upper cla.s.ses, while ye eat their bread."

"I denounce no one; nor, so far as I know myself, is ingrat.i.tude amongst my faults."

"Maybe, if one were to tak' your ain narrative for it, ye hae nae faults worse than mere failings! But this is na telling me why ye left my Leddy."

Kate made no answer, but sat steadily watching the fire.

"Ye wad rayther, mayhap, that I asked hersel' aboot it! Well, be it so.

And noo comes anither point. Do ye think that if your conduct has in any way given displeasure to your mistress, or offended those in whose service ye were,--do ye think, I say, that ye hae the right to involve _me_ in your shame and disgrace?"

"Do you mean," said she, calmly, "that I had no right to come here?"

"It 's just exactly what I mean; that if ye canna mak' friends for yoursel', ye ought not to turn away those whilk befriend your family."

"But what was I to have done, then?" said she, gently. "There were circ.u.mstances that required--imperatively required me--to leave Lady Dorothea--"

"Let me hear them," said he, breaking in, "It would lead me to speak of others than myself,--of events which are purely family matters,--were I to enter upon this theme. Besides," said she, rising, "I am not, so far as I know, on my trial. There is not anything laid to my charge. I have no apologies to render."

At this moment her stepmother appeared with a tray at the door, and seeing Henderson, endeavored to retire un.o.bserved, but his quick eye had already detected her, and he cried out, "Come here,--ye canna do too much honor to a young leddy who has such a vara profound esteem for hersel'! Cake and wine! my faith! No but ye 'll deem it vara vulgar fare, after the dainties ye hae been used to! And yet, la.s.sie, these are nae the habits here!"

"She has eaten nothing to-day!" meekly observed her stepmother.

"My fayther wad hae askit her hoo much has she earned the day?" said Henderson, severely.

"You are quite right, sir," broke in Kate,--"I have earned nothing. Not just yet," added she, as her stepmother pressed a gla.s.s of wine on her acceptance; "a little later, perhaps. I have no appet.i.te now."

"Are ye sae stupid, ma'am, that ye canna see ye are dealin' wi' a fine leddy, wha is no obleeged to hae the same mind twa minutes thegither?

Ye 'll hae to train wee Janet to be a' ready for whate'er caprice is uppermost. But mine me, la.s.sie,"--here he turned a look of stern meaning towards her,--"ye hae tried for mony a lang day to subdue _me_ to your whims and fancies, as they tell me ye hae done wi' sae mony others, and ye are just as far fra it noo as the first time ye tried it. Ye canna cheat nor cajole _me! I_ know ye!" And with these words, uttered in a tone of intense pa.s.sion, he slowly walked out of the room.

"Had he been angry with you?--had anything occurred before I came in?"

asked her stepmother.

"Very little," sighed Kate, wearily. "He was asking me why I came here, I believe. I could scarcely tell him; perhaps I don't very well know, myself."

"He can't get it out of his head," said the other, in a low, stealthy whisper, "that, if you should leave Lady Dorothea, he will be turned away out of the stewards.h.i.+p. He is always saying it,--he repeats it even in his dreams. But for that, he 'd not have met you so--so--unkindly."

Kate pressed her hand affectionately, and smiled a thankful acknowledgment of this speech. "And the cottage," said she, rallying suddenly, "is about three miles off?"

"Not more. But you could scarcely walk there and back again. Besides, it is already growing late, and you have no chance of seeing Miss Mary if you 're not there by breakfast-time, since, when she comes home of an evening, she admits no one. She reads or studies, I believe, all the evening."

"I think she'd see me," said Kate; "I should have so much to tell her about her friends. I 'm sure she 'd see _me_,--at least, I'll try."

"But you'll eat something,--you 'll at least drink a gla.s.s of wine before you set out?"

"I do not like to refuse you," said Kate, smiling good-naturedly, "but I could n't swallow now. I have a choking feeling here in my throat, like a heavy cold, that seems as though it would suffocate me. Good-bye, for a while. I shall be quite well, once I 'm in the open air. Good-bye!"

And, so saying, she wrapped her shawl around her, and motioning a farewell with her hand, set out on her errand.

CHAPTER XXIX. THE COTTAGE.

It was one of those fresh and breezy days where brilliant flashes of sunlight alternate with deep shadow, making of every landscape a succession of pictures, that Kate Henderson set out on her way to the cottage. Her path led through the demesne, but it was as wild as any forest scene in Germany, now wending through dark woods, now issuing forth over swelling lawns, from which the view extended many a mile away,--at one moment displaying the great rugged mountains of Connemara, and at another, the broad blue sea, heaving heavily, and thundering in sullen roar against the rocks.

The fast-flitting clouds, the breezy gra.s.s, the wind-shaken foliage, and the white-crested waves, all were emblems of life; there was motion and sound and conflict! and yet to her heart, as she walked along, these influences imparted no sense of pleasure or relief. For a few seconds, perhaps, would she suddenly awake to the consciousness of the fair scene before her, and murmur to herself, perchance, the lines of some favorite poet; but in another moment her gloomy thoughtfulness was back again, and with bent-down head was she again moving onward. At times she walked rapidly forward, and then, relaxing her pace, she would stroll listlessly along, as though no object engaged her. And so was it in reality,--her main desire being to be free, in the open air; to be from beneath that roof whose shadow seemed to darken her very heart! Could that haughty spirit have humbled itself in sorrow, she might have found relief; but her proud nature had no such resource, and in her full heart injury and wrong had alone their place.

"And this," burst she forth at length,--"and this is Home! this the dreamland of those far away over the seas,--the cherished spot of all affections,--the quiet nook wherein we breathe an atmosphere of love, blending our lives with all dearest to us. Is it, then, that all is hollow, false, and untrue; or is it that I alone have no part in the happiness that is diffused around me? I know not which would be the sadder!"

Thus, reasoning sadly, she went along, when suddenly, on the slope of a gentle hill in front of her, gracefully encircled with a young wood of larch and copper-beech, she caught sight of the cottage. It was a tasteful imitation of those seen in the Oberland, and with its wild background of lofty mountain, an appropriate ornament to the landscape.

A small stream running over a rocky, broken bed formed the boundary of the little grounds, and over this a bridge of a single plank conducted the way to the cottage. The whole was simple and unpretending; there was none of that smart trimness which gives to such scenes the air of an imitation. The lawn, it is true, was neatly shaven, and the flower-plots, which broke its uniformity, clean from weeds; but the flowers were of the simplest kind,--the crocus and the daffodil had to stand no dangerous rivalry, and the hyacinth had nothing to vie with.

Kate loitered for some time here, now gazing at the wild, stern landscape, now listening to the brawling rivulet, whose sounds were the only ones in the stillness. As she drew nigh the cottage, she found the windows of a little drawing-room open. She looked in: all was comfortable and neat-looking, but of the strictest simplicity. She next turned to the little porch, and pulled the bell; in a few seconds the sounds of feet were heard approaching, and a very old woman, whose appearance and dress were the perfection of neatness, appeared.

"Don't you know me, Mrs. Broon?" said Kate, gently.

"I do not, then, my Lady," said she, respectfully, "for my eyes is gettin' dimmer every day."

"I 'm Kate Henderson, Mrs. Broon. Do you forget me?"

"Indeed I do not," said Catty, gravely. "You were here with the master and my Lady?"

"Yes. I went away with them to Germany; but I have come home for a while, and wish to pay my respects to Miss Mary."

"She isn't at home to-day," was the dry response.

"But she will return soon, I conclude. She'll be back some time in the evening, won't she?"

"If she plazes it, she will. There's n.o.body to control or make her do but what she likes herself," said Catty.

"I ask," said Kate, "because I'm a little tired. I've come off a long journey, and if you'd allow me to rest myself, and wait awhile in the hope of seeing Miss Martin, I'd be very thankful."

"Come in, then," said Catty; but the faint sigh with which the words were uttered, gave but a scant significance of welcome.