Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 2 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (motivational books for men txt) 📗

faith, it's a miserable pity the masther let it go so asy; sure the wind iv a word to my sisther's husband's son, Denny Doolan 'ud have riz the boys on Knockdrum; an' I'd like to see the process sarver that 'ud get the tip of his toe on the lands."

"You know, nurse, that is a sort of thing happily gone by."

"More's the pity if it is; how are yez to deal with thaves an' ruffins, if it is'nt with the sthrong hand?"

There was a pause, during which, nurse, her hands clasped and embracing her knees, rocked herself to and fro, and Kate, leaning against an old thorn, (now bursting into pri[88]meval youth and beauty,) gazed sadly down upon her.

"Six an' four is ten, an' four is fourteen," now burst out Mrs. O'Toole, abruptly. "Ye see, Miss Kate, me daughther is doin' well in Ameriky, wid her husband; an' Denis in the hoigth iv grandure wid the Captin in Ingee, an' I, aitin' an' dhrinkin' iv the best iv vittles, an' doin' just what I like in the Curnel's house, wid shawls, an' gowns, an' lace caps, guve me by the thrunkful; faith, me wages is just so much dhross; I'd as lieve light the candles with the notes; so, Miss Kate, avick! if the Masther ud keep the money for me till betther times, I'd be greatly behoulden to him, he'd save me from bein' chated; any ways it's a murtherin' shame to have it lyin' there useless."

"Nurse, my own, dear nurse," said Kate, clasping her arms round her, "where is there so true a heart as yours? No, no, this will not[89] do." Then, (as nurse reddened a little,) "should we want it you shall be the first I apply to; but we shall have a hundred pounds to go on with; and Lady Desmond has offered us all we want; and besides, (approaching the last dreaded communication, with a desperate attempt at gaiety) besides, I am going to earn quite a fortune."

"Airn a fortune, Miss Kate! ah, how, jewel?"

"I am, you know, a good musician, and in London there is money to be got for teaching music, and—"

"Miss Vernon, is it a tacher ye'd be afther makin' iv yerself? You that was born iv as ould a stock as any in all Ireland, ay oulder. Och! what's come to ye at all, at all, you that used to be like a princess wid yer aiquals, an' a angel wid yer infariors? I niver thought I'd live to see the day I could say, I'm ashamed iv ye! ochone! ochone!"

"Nor will you, if you will think for a[90] moment," said Kate, affectionately taking Mrs. O'Toole's hand between both her own. "Listen to me: suppose I had been born your own daughter, instead of your having adopted me, would you think me mean if I worked for the support of my grandfather, or, would you approve of my leaving him and myself to live on what we could get from the charity of others? No, I thought not. Will the good and gracious God regard me with less favour, for endeavouring to submit and bow before the sentence He has, in His wisdom, pronounced on our first parents? 'In the sweat of thy brow shall thou eat thy bread.'"

"No, ochone no, alanah!" sobbed nurse, "sure I'm the unfortunate ould woman to live to this day—to see mee beautiful child, that shu'd have married to a prence, tachin' thim thaves iv English the piania—an the masther! what 'ill become iv him? The Lord look down on him! Sweet Jesus pity us!"

"Now, nurse," resumed Kate, tremulously,[91] "I know how you could do me a service—I will tell you, how you may be my support; I shall have enough to do with grandpapa—help me to cheer him—make light of our troubles to him; and—" clasping her hand, "Oh, dear! old friend, do not scare away the courage so necessary to me—by these sad lamentations. There is one thing more I must say to you; we have no right to induce you to come along with us in ignorance, and, God knows, if we shall be able to pay you, even the small wages you so generously insisted on, when we left Dungar. Mr. Winter offers you higher terms, and a comfortable home, and—"

"Och! what have I done, that ye should think I'm not desarvin' iv being wid yez, in throuble? Is id at this time of day ye want to be tould that I'd lave thousands to beg through the world wid yez—lave ye! och, where would I go? Sure yez the whole world to ould nurse! Lave ye, an ye in throuble. Oh! what have I done that ye[92] would spake that way to me?" And covering her face in the folds of her cloak—poor nurse sobbed aloud!

"Hear me, my own dear, earliest friend," cried Kate, kneeling beside her, and endeavouring to take her hand, "I have said this, simply, because I was told to do so—I never dreamt—I never could dream of parting from you, and that subject is at rest between us for ever—come what may, we will be together. Do you hear me? Put your arms round me, and say you forgive your own Kate."

And nurse folded her to her heart fervently, exclaiming—

"The blessin' iv Christ on ye, avourneen!"

There was a pause for some moments—broken at length by the sound of footsteps, seldom heard in that unfrequented spot.

"We must go home now," said Kate, wiping away her tears. Nurse, still silent, rose, and lifted her can.

"An where is it yer going to tache? that[93] iver I should say the word!" she asked with a fresh burst of grief. "In London—in London, musha, but it's a big place, and sure the house o' Lords is there, an I'll go bail the masther—'ill meet many a one that heard tell iv D'Arcy Vernon in Dungar—who knows Miss Kate; but some iv thim 'ill spake to the Queen, to make him a jidge or a gineral, or the like, any ways; it's sich a tunderin' big place, that ye might be tachin' in one corner, and livin' like a prencess in another, an no one a bit the wiser; sure, yer right hand wouldn't know what the lift was doin', in a big place like that."

"Very true, nurse, I dare say no one will know what I am about."

"The Lord send!" said Mrs. O'Toole, heartily, as the fact of Kate's teaching for money began to lose half its horrors in the fancied possibility of concealing the inglorious occupation.

"Now, nurse," said Kate, pausing at the[94] gate of their little domain, "remember our agreement, you must not make bad worse to grandpapa."

"Niver you fear, darlint, I'd bite the tongue out iv me head, afore I'd spake the word, that id vex yer; only dont send me from ye, mavourneen."

True to her word, when the Colonel, after dinner—in consequence of Kate's having intimated that nurse knew how affairs stood—said—

"Bad times, Nelly—bad times—worse than I ever thought I should live to see."

She replied cheerfully, and steadily—

"Thrue, for ye, sir; but there's good luck afore yez, for all that—an' Miss Kate an meself's goin' to be as bould as lions, so we are faith, I'll see yez give the go-bye to thim thavin' attornies, yet."

Swiftly sped the interval that remained before they left their peaceful dwelling; numerous were the arrangements to be made before[95] the final move, and the selections of those peculiarly sacred treasures, that could not be left behind, the number of which was daily swelled. Winter took charge of the Colonel's picture, but, "John Anderson," was packed for removal—music and drawings—a pet vase or two—her books, and some cushions for the Colonel, was all that Kate could take with her of her pleasant, pretty home; but the sofa and prie dieu, at which she had so diligently worked, to give an air of greater elegance to their little drawing-room—the arm chair, so associated in her mind's eye with the noble, venerable form of her grandfather—the flower garden, now bursting into radiant beauty, and which Fred Egerton used so much to admire, even in its autumn garb—all these must pass away into strange hands; she must not only leave her ark, but ever think of it as desecrated! And, Elijah Bush, too, he must be left; and the navigator's little orphan; and the keeper's sickly boy—all her poor people—the[96] various objects to which her full, rich sympathies so freely flowed.

Yes; many a link that bound her, closely and pleasantly, to her calm and quiet life, in their ecclesiastical retreat, she was compelled to break; and still through all the saddening occupations which preceded their dreaded journey, Kate endeavoured to keep her mind fixed upon the future she had laid down for herself, with a steadiness which, exhibited in some more high sounding and attractive cause than the mere common-place duty of earning bread for her parent, would have drawn forth odes and laudations from many a potent pen.

Nurse's conduct was beyond all praise; not even when alone with Kate, did she indulge in anything beyond a passing condemnation of attorneys, generally; and good little Mrs. Winter, only half enlightened as to the real motives of her friends' departure, was invulnerable to the prying of Miss Araminta Cox.

[97]

Matters stood thus and time had run by, to within a week of the removal to London, when Gilpin, now very weak, interrupted Kate's practice one morning.

"My dear Mr. Gilpin," said she, rising to receive him, with some surprise, "this is most imprudent!"

"I could not let you go without paying one more visit to the Priory." His cough interrupted him.

"But we should have called on you, I intended doing so with grandpapa; indeed you were wrong to venture out, but, as you are here, how glad I am to see you, and the day is so fine."

"When do you start?" he asked, feebly; sinking back exhausted into an arm chair Kate had drawn forward.

"Ah, do not talk of that; Tuesday or Wednesday. Now the time draws near I feel my heart sink at the idea of leaving all we are accustomed to, to cast ourselves like ship-[98]wrecked mariners on the great troubled ocean of London."

"And I have almost prayed that you might remain a little longer; but it is not to be so. I have crawled out to-day, my dear Miss Vernon, for I knew I should find you alone, and I wanted to speak a few quiet words with you. I almost feared to meet you after this sad change in all our hopes for you; I have so deplored it, that, judging by myself, I dreaded its effects on you, but your face re-assures me, there is no grief, scarce a grave look there. I have so much wished to speak with you."

"And I with you, dear Mr. Gilpin, I feel it is so long since I saw you."

"But let us speak at once of all that has occurred, I shall soon be so weary. How is it that there is none of the languor of sorrow, the fever of anxiety in your face?"

"Because I feel neither—do you know, I am half surprised to find how the first feeling of dread at the idea of earning money, has[99] worn away by steadfastly looking at it. It reminds me of those double pictures which appear wintry when you first look at them, but, hold them to the light, and the deeper, richer colors of summer, painted beneath, shine forth! Then, dear grandpapa has borne up so wonderfully, and poor nurse has been so manageable, and you and Mr. Winter so—so kind, that I should be an ungrateful coward to let myself feel sad, except," she added, as the tears sprang to her eyes, "at the thought of parting from you all."

Gilpin was silent, for a few moments, and then said,

"My dear young lady, forgive me, for not knowing your noble nature better! I ought to have been certain you would be above the common grief that mourns the possibility of losing caste, as the worst of earthly woes; my chief anxiety to see you, and to see you alone, was to hear fully, from your own lips, all the plans of which I do not like to question the[100] Colonel too closely, and to offer you a few hints, which, (excuse me if I presume too far) may be useful to you."

"Our plans are simple enough. To remove to London, where, through the interest of my old music master and one or two friends, to whom Mr. Winter offers me introductions, I hope to obtain pupils in music, who will pay me for instruction, that is all."

"If you will allow me I will add one, to an old master of mine. And these are all the introductions you will take with you?"

"Yes, all. Mr. Winter mentioned the bishop's wife as likely to be of use; but, to say the truth, I shrunk from the idea of asking her; I do not like to have the matter talked over at the little clerical tea-parties of A——. So much for my high-mindedness."

"Very natural, and a few good professional introductions are worth scores of mere recommendations to fashionable ladies, who consider they fulfil