“I know it—I know it,” interrupted this old woman; and after a short pause, she added, “Yes—I will ensure your confidence, Miss; and then you will understand my sincerity. That man who was with me this morning discovered your place of abode at my desire. He demanded to be present at our interview; but I refused—for reasons of my own. I assured him I would speak to you alone, or not at all. I was therefore compelled, this morning, in his presence, to insist on having none by to overhear the business that made me seek you; and the same reason forced me to stipulate that you should meet me this evening unaccompanied by any of your friends. For if I had permitted one to be present at our interview, then there was no reason to exclude another; and that man might have insisted on being a witness as well as any companion of yours.”
“If that be the only reason for this mystery,” observed Katherine, considerably relieved by the old woman’s explanation, “you cannot object to Miss Monroe accompanying me on the next occasion of our meeting.”
“No,” answered the old woman; “that may not be, for the man who is to be satisfied with money will watch me at a distance when we meet again. But, afterwards—at any future interview that may be necessary—Miss Monroe may accompany you.”
“I understand you,” said Kate. “To-morrow evening I will meet you again—here—and at the same hour. I shall then doubtless be prepared to give you the amount necessary to satisfy that man’s avarice; and his interference will be disposed of. It will afterwards remain for you to satisfy me—and for me to reward you.”
“Agreed, young lady—agreed!” answered the old woman. “We have now no more to say—except,” she added, as a sudden thought struck her,—“except that, should the man insist on speaking to you to-morrow evening, you need not tell him that you have any intention of bestowing a separate recompense on me.”
“I hope that he will not dare to approach me,” said Katherine, indignantly; “and, were he to force his disagreeable presence upon me, I should scarcely permit myself to be catechised by him.”
“ ’Tis well, Miss,” returned the hag, apparently well pleased with the resolute manner of the young orphan.
They then separated.
The old woman went one way; and Katherine proceeded direct to the clump of trees where Ellen and the farmer were concealed;—for it was now so dark that there was no fear of the direction she took being observed.
It may be naturally supposed that Ellen and Mr. Bennet were deeply anxious to be made acquainted with the particulars of an interview concerning which they had some few misgivings.
On the return of the trio to the farm-house, they found Mrs. Bennet very uneasy on Kate’s account. The appearance of the young maiden re-assured the good-hearted woman; and Katherine then gave a detailed account of all that had passed between herself and the hag.
The impression produced was, that there was really a legitimate foundation for the old woman’s proceedings, and that she was actually possessed of secrets touching Kate’s parentage. The agreement that the recompense was only to be awarded to her after she had made the promised communications, was considered a proof of good faith; and Kate’s promise to supply the sum demanded in the first instance to satisfy the avarice of the Resurrection Man, met with the approval of her friends.
“To-morrow, then,” said Kate, “I must repair to London, and procure the necessary funds from Mr. Wharton. You will accompany me, Ellen?”
“That journey is not requisite,” observed the farmer. “Mr. Wharton would demand an explanation of the business for which the money is intended; and he would only view it with the calm and severe eye of a lawyer. He might even go so far as to insist upon having those persons arrested as extortioners. He might not fully appreciate your filial anxiety, Kate, to risk every chance to know more of the authors of your being. I can well comprehend your feelings; and, after all, the venture is but a hundred pounds—for the old woman is to make her revelations before she receives a recompense. No—you shall say nothing to Mr. Wharton on the subject. I am going to London to-morrow; and on my return I will supply you with the sum required.”
It is needless to say that Katherine expressed her gratitude to Mr. Bennet for his goodness; and Ellen readily promised to stay at the farm for a day or two longer, until the pending mysteries should be cleared up. Mr. Bennet moreover undertook to call at Markham Place, with a note from Ellen to relieve Mr. Monroe of any anxiety which he might feel on her account, as her absence from home would be protracted beyond the time originally contemplated.
CHAPTER CC.
A MAIDEN’S LOVE.
The two young ladies had now retired to the bed-chamber which Kate occupied at the farm, and which Ellen shared with her during her visit.
The respective characters of those two charming creatures were then incidentally contrasted and powerfully set forth, each in its peculiar phase, by means of occurrences apparently trivial to a degree, but which were nevertheless significant in the eyes of those who closely observed the nature of the human mind.
While Ellen was disrobing herself, she stood, in all the pride of her glorious beauty, before the mirror; in the reflection of which she also arranged her long, luxuriant hair previously to retiring to rest.
But Katherine, in the semi-obscurity of the remotest corner, laid aside her vestment; nor did she once think of approaching the glass.
Whence arose this discrepancy,—this pride on the one hand, and this bashfulness on the other?
It was that Ellen had been placed in those circumstances which had taught her the value and led her to appreciate the extent of her almost matchless charms:—her lovely countenance had served as a copy, and her exquisitely modelled form as a pattern, for artists and sculptors;—during her brief dramatic career, she had been the object of unceasing adulation;—and when she forced Greenwood to espouse her, the splendour of her beauty had disarmed him of the resentment which he would otherwise have experienced in being compelled to sacrifice for her all his hopes of a brilliant matrimonial alliance. Hers was the pride of a loveliness which had produced her bread in the hour of her bitter need,—which was perpetuated in great works of art,—which had elicited the heartfelt admiration of many suitors of rank and name,—and which was still in all the freshness of health and youth. Still that pride was never obtrusive—not even conspicuous; for it was attempered by a natural generosity, an innate loftiness of soul which rendered her as adorable for her disposition as she was desirable for her beauty.
Katherine had long languished in a condition which compelled her to retire from observation. While she dwelt with the late executioner, she was glad to be able to shroud herself from public view. She was always neat and cleanly from principle, but not from pride. The germinations of self-complacency had been checked in their nascent state, though not completely obliterated; and now, if they were slightly expanding in the genial atmosphere of the improved circumstances which surrounded her, it was with a legitimate growth, such as no female mind should remain unacquainted with. For a certain degree of proper pride is necessary to woman,—to preserve her self-esteem, and to maintain her soul so happily poised that it may not fall into overweening confidence on the one side, nor into an awkward and repulsive reserve on the other.
That chamber-scene would have made a fine and deeply interesting subject for the pencil of the artist, who would have delighted to shadow forth the variety of the female character,—here the glorious loveliness of the wife who dared not avow that sacred name,—there the retiring beauty of the young virgin.
But Katherine had not altogether escaped the influence of that blind deity who exercises so important a control over the destinies of us mortals.
How this happened we must leave her to describe in her own artless manner.
“I have been thinking, dear Kate,” said Ellen, as she stood combing her long and silky hair, on which a lamp’s reflection i
n the mirror shed a bright glory,—“I have been thinking that this is a dull and lonely place for you. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are very kind and amiable people; but it will not be suitable for one whose worldly prospects are so good as yours, to remain in this solitude. You are literally buried here! I am almost inclined to take you with me to Markham Place for a short time, when the business with that old woman is decided. I am sure Richard would be pleased with such an arrangement.”
“I should like to be with you, Ellen,” was the reply: “but—for the present—I must remain here,” added Katherine, with some little hesitation.
“Oh! no—you must come with me to Markham Place,” exclaimed Ellen; “and the change of scene will please you. Besides—I have a secret to tell you, Kate.”
“A secret!” repeated the maiden.
“Yes—a secret that will surprise you,” continued Ellen. “I shall reveal it to you now; but you must not mention it to any one here—for particular reasons which I cannot explain to you at present. What should you think if I were to tell you that I am married?”
“You!—married!” exclaimed Katherine. “Then why are you still called Miss Monroe?”
“There are certain circumstances which compel me to keep my marriage a secret. When you come to Markham Place—as you must—you will see my father; but never in his presence, nor in that of Richard when he returns home, may you speak of me as a wife. And now do you know why I have told you this? Because, as I am determined that you shall come and pass at least a few days with me, you will see my child——”
“Oh! Ellen, are you indeed a mother?” cried Katherine. “Are you not devotedly attached to your child? do you not fondle—play with it?”
“I am never wearied of its little company,” answered Ellen. “It is a boy, and named after our mutual benefactor Richard. And now you know my secret. But tell me, Kate, wherefore you wish to remain pent up in this secluded dwelling? Has some happy youth in the neighbourhood touched your heart? You do not answer me. I cannot see you where you are; but I’ll wager that you are blushing. Oh! if there be any truth in my suspicion, let it be revelation for revelation. We are friends—and you may confide in me.”
“I know not how to answer you, Ellen;—and yet——”
“And yet you have a secret,” returned the young wife, laughing; “oh! yes—you have a secret—and you must make me your confidant.”
“I am willing to tell you all that relates to this foolish affair,” said Katherine; “but that all is very little.”
And she hesitated,—suffused with blushes even in the nook whither Ellen’s eyes were not directed!
“Nay, continue,” exclaimed Ellen. “I perceive that you are about to interest me with the commencement of a charming little love-tale. Seriously speaking, Kate—you will lose nothing by entrusting your secret to one who may be enabled to give you some useful counsel in a matter which is of far greater moment than young persons of our sex are induced to believe?”
“I will conceal nothing from you, Ellen,” returned Katherine, in a low and timid tone. “It was only at the commencement of last week that I was rambling in the neighbourhood—on as fine a day as this one has been—when I met a young gentleman, who was crossing the same field as myself, but in an opposite direction. The path was very narrow; and he stood on one side to allow me to pass. I bowed in acknowledgment of his politeness, and he raised his hat. The glance that I threw upon him was of course only momentary; and I passed on. I thought no more of the incident——”
“He is doubtless very handsome,” said Ellen, laughing. “All heroes of such romantic adventures are.”
“Nay—hear me to the end,” continued Katherine; “for since I have begun this silly tale, I may as well terminate it. The following day was fine; and I walked out again—as indeed I always do, when the weather will permit. I was proceeding through the same field——”
“The same field,” observed Ellen slily.
“Oh! I can assure you, my dear friend, that you do me an injustice by the suspicion which your words imply,” exclaimed Katherine. “I had totally forgotten the trifling incident of the preceding day; but I chose that path,—it was the same which we took this morning,—because it was dry and hard. To my surprise I again met that gentleman; and when he made way as before, to let me pass, he looked at me with an attention not rude, but still earnest. Our eyes met—and I passed hastily on. I felt myself blushing—I knew not why—to the very verge of my forehead. And yet I had done no wrong. I had glanced towards him as I acknowledged his politeness in stepping aside to allow me to pass; and it was by accident—at least on my part—that our eyes thus met. When I became more composed, I was angry at having been annoyed with myself. I then found myself involuntarily reflecting upon the handsome countenance,—for he is handsome, Ellen,—of which I had only so hasty a glimpse. I must admit that I thought of him more than once during the remainder of that day.”
“Love at second sight, we must denominate it,” observed Ellen, with a smile. “I will hazard a guess that the next day was fine,—for the weather is usually favourable in such circumstances,—and that you unwittingly found yourself rambling in the same path.”
“Ah! Ellen, I am afraid that I was wrong—but all happened as you have described,” said Kate, in a soft and melancholy tone; “and I obeyed some impulse for which I could not account. I candidly confess that I wondered, as I walked along, whether he would be there again; and when I did not perceive him, I experienced a sentiment of vexation. At length he appeared at the extremity of the field—he drew near—nearer and nearer. I felt ashamed of myself: it suddenly struck me that he must suppose I came thither on purpose to see him again. I never thought so little of myself—no, not even when I was pointed at as the presumed relative of an executioner. I turned abruptly round, and began to retrace my way towards the farm. I reached the low stile on the brow of the hill: at that moment I heard steps behind me. I cannot describe the sensations which I then experienced—a few short seconds of pleasing, painful suspense. Ere a minute had elapsed, the stranger stood by my side; and with a low bow he extended his hand to assist me in crossing the barrier. My head seemed to swim round; and I mechanically gave him my hand. He held it but for an instant as I passed into the next field;—and yet he pressed it gently—very gently;—still he pressed it! I know not whether I bowed or hurried abruptly on—I was so confused!”
“And during the remainder of that day you pondered on the incident,” observed Ellen.
“Oh! how well you seem to divine all my thoughts—all my emotions!” exclaimed Katherine.
“Love has the same emblems—the same symbols, throughout the world,” answered Ellen; “and it also has the same unvarying worship. Of the true nature of the great God there are many conflicting opinions; and different nations offer up their adoration in different manners. But to that blind deity whom we call Love, there is only one incense—and that is common to all humanity!”
“Then it was not wrong on my part to experience those emotions which I have explained to you?” said Katherine, with the most amiable naïveté.
“Wrong, dearest girl! oh, no!” exclaimed Ellen. “That heart must be a cold—a callous—a worldly-minded one, which never feels those most beautiful and holy of all sympathies! But go on with your narrative, Kate; for I feel convinced that you have seen your handsome lover since the day mentioned.”
“I will tell you how we met again,” said Katherine. “On the following day I did not stir abroad: I wished to take my usual ramble—but I feared that I should be doing wrong to incur the chance of meeting him again. As I was sitting at the parlour window, he passed. I was so taken by surprise—he appeared so unexpectedly,—ah! no—I am deceiving myself—I am deceiving you;—he came not altogether unexpectedly—for I had found myself wondering more than once whether he would again revisit this neighbourhood. He passed the window, th
en—as I have said; and I did not turn away until it was too late, he saw me—he seemed pleased: he bowed—and I slightly responded to his salutation. Then I retreated from the window, and did not approach it again during the rest of that day. The next day was wet and gloomy; and I felt persuaded that I should not see him. Will you blame me if I say that I was vexed at this circumstance? would you believe me if I declared that I treated it with indifference? But, ah! my annoyance was soon dissipated:—he passed the house at the same hour as on the preceding day! He was wrapped in a long military cloak; and when he saw me, he bowed with the same courtesy as heretofore;—but methought he smiled, as if with satisfaction at seeing me. And now you will say that I am a vain and foolish girl;—but, dearest Ellen, I am faithfully detailing to you all that occurred, and all the emotions I have experienced.”
“Proceed, Katherine,” said Ellen. “I become deeply interested in your narrative.”
“The next day was fine once more; and I felt indisposed for want of exercise,” continued the maiden. “I accordingly walked out—but in another direction. How I trembled at the slightest sound which resembled a footstep! How my heart beat when a bird flew past me! But my alarms—if I can honestly so call them—were without foundation: I beheld not the stranger that day. On the ensuing one I walked out again in the same direction; and, lost in thought, I rambled to a considerable distance. But at length I turned homewards once more; and when in sight of the farm, I suddenly beheld the stranger advancing towards me across a field. He was pursuing no direct path—my heart beat violently—for something told me that he was coming that way only on my account! In a few moments we met: he bowed—I returned his salutation;—he suddenly took my hand, and pressed it—I hastily withdrew it—and passed rapidly on.”
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 70
