Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 1 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (trending books to read .TXT) 📗

I cannot get that air out of my head."

The sun, which had all the morning been obscured by heavy clouds, shone out with the[Pg 114] brilliancy and warmth of June rather than September. As I entered the little garden before Colonel Vernon's cottage I paused a moment in the vain endeavour to decipher the inscription over the gateway; a B, a C, and a very faint D were all I could make out.

"The masther's out, but Miss Kate's within, Sir," was Nurse's reply to my queries.

"And I hope you are quite well yourself, Mrs. O'Toole," said I, in a state of beatitude.

"Indeed, an' I am, sir, glory be to God," and she opened the door, saying familiarly, "here's the Captin, Miss Kate."

Miss Vernon was seated at a writing table in the window, copying out of the large dusky book the organist had given her. The window was open, and the light breeze gently stirred the white muslin curtains, and brought a thousand delicious odours from the garden and fields; while beyond it river and rocks, and swelling upland and woods, and the distant spire of a village church, lay bathed in a flood of glowing golden[Pg 115] light, which seemed to endue every object with beauty by the sole agency of colour.

Kate rose to receive me with her sparkling smile, dispelling the gentle gravity which always characterised her countenance when in repose, and made it so strangely different according as her mood changed.

"Then you have missed grandpapa," said she, giving me her hand, "I told him I thought you would be out from what I heard you say to Mr. Winter last night."

A quick impulse of vanity suggested—"could she have remained at home in expectation of my advent?" but a glance at her bonnet and shawl, as if just thrown off, and the slight disorder in the rich masses of her hair, completed my conviction that she had but just come in.

"How sorry I am to have missed Colonel Vernon," said I, hypocritically; "I have been all the morning rambling about with your friend Mr. Winter, and have to thank you for introducing me to so admirable a guide."

[Pg 116]

"I knew you would like him; but sit down, I am sure grandpapa will return soon. I see he did not intend to go farther than your Hotel, or he would have taken Cormac."

And she pointed to the grave old hound, who lay stretched in the sunshine before the window and had partly risen on my appearance.

I drew a chair opposite Miss Vernon, who resumed her occupation.

"I am writing out the parts of some chants separately," said she, "not a very absorbing employment; Mr. Gilpin wishes his choir to get them up, and I volunteered my services."

"Rather troublesome," said I, absently.

"Oh no," said she, "I have nothing particular to do just now, and it is so dull to be idle."

"I fancy A——, delightful as it is in our antiquarian or picturesque point of view, must be rather too tranquil a sojourn for so accomplished a valseuse as yourself."

"I should have quite as little society anywhere[Pg 117] else, and not half so many real agr�mens; I never find it dull."

"How does the Colonel amuse himself?"

"Ah!" cried Miss Vernon with great earnestness, "I often think of that; it is such a change for him; such a total break-up of all his accustomed ways. I am often at my wits end to amuse him, yet he bears it wonderfully; how do you think him looking?"

"Wonderfully well! never better, but in this sweet place with you he cannot be unhappy."

"God forbid he should—a little sad sometimes."

She was silent for a few moments, and then resumed her pen. I cannot describe how charming this visit was to me. Miss Vernon's little white hand wrote on busily all the time, while sometimes glancing up at me, but generally looking at her work. I felt none of the g�ne of a formal t�te � t�te, where the visitor and visited sit both upright, compelled to stare at each other; but leaning back in my chair, I talked and gazed at my ease.

[Pg 118]

"I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses that I am in calm conversation with the incognita who so puzzled me," I resumed after a pause.

"Yes, it is very curious, but still more so that the discovery of our mutual acquaintance with Lady Desmond led to no d�nouement," said my companion.

"I knew her no further than meeting her frequently in society in Dublin, where I was about four years ago, with a cousin of mine, who was on the staff."

"She is a second cousin of grandpapa's, and I was a good deal with her just before we came here: not long, I fancy, after you had known her; and knowing how general her parties and invitations were, I really at one time imagined I might have met you at some of them: I little thought what a much older acquaintance I was dancing with."

"She is a handsome woman," I observed, "and, I fancy, not unlike Colonel Vernon."

[Pg 119]

"How brilliant and how kind she is," she exclaimed, "I often wonder the hurried life she leads gives her space to breathe! I doubt if she has time to be happy."

"Happy! Miss Vernon: do you think happiness is to be found in the stagnation that some dignify with the name of tranquillity? My least distinct idea of happiness is the hopeful exertion of every faculty—mental and physical—in search of what we never find; but inaction is misery."

"There is some truth in what you say," replied she, "but all my ideas of happiness here and hereafter, are concentrated in the word 'peace!'"—and she paused, and gazed out into the sunshine with such an expression of calm,—of harmony, if I may so term it—that I felt tempted to ask her what spell had stilled her heart into such deep repose.

"Did you make any sketches this morning?" she asked, rousing herself from her thoughts.

[Pg 120]

"One or two rough outlines; but I think I could make a very good picture from this spot," said I, rising to look through the window.

"Then," said Miss Vernon eagerly, "pray, pray do, Captain Egerton, and give it to me; it will be an inexpressible pleasure to me to have some memento of this quiet, happy spot, when I am, perhaps, far away."

"I will set about it to-morrow; but have you any notion of leaving A——?" I asked.

"Oh no,—I only spoke from a presentiment I often feel, that we will not always rest calmly in this quiet nook; the waters of life will rise some day, and sweep us out again into the noise and tumult of the world!"

Here the old dog, disturbed by my movement, slowly raised himself, and entering by the window, laid his large stern head, with a sort of sigh, on his mistress's arm.

"Ah, Cormac, good old friend," said she, putting her arm caressingly round him, "no[Pg 121] tumult, however rough, shall separate us; you and I, and grandpapa, and nurse, a goodly company, n'est ce pas?"—

"Captain Egerton," said she, rallying and laughing, "don't quiz my presentiments, but sketch me this scene."

"With the greatest pleasure; and now I remember, I have some old drawings of Dungar somewhere: I'll look out for them, and bring them over here the next time I come."

"Oh thanks, a thousand hearty thanks: they will be treasures to me, indeed, and to grandpapa! When will you come again?"

"I can hardly hope for a repetition of my delightful visit for ten days or a fortnight: but on the first possibility of leave I will return."

"Do you know I took a long walk with nurse this morning; we had some business in that wood I showed you from the dining room, and I saw so many beautiful pictures en route; I must show you the walk. I do not think Mr. Winter[Pg 122] knows it very well, we cross a delightful ferry to get to it, and—"

The door opened and the