"The letter was not about the concerts, aunty. I promised to patronize them more than a week ago, and before the formal appeal was sent out. My letter was from Captain Torrance. Read it, please, or Geraldine can read it to you, if you like, and then tell me what you think of it."
Kathleen put the letter into Miss Ellicott's hand, and then went to the window, where she stood during its perusal She had resolved not to notice the dismay with which her aunt heard of this further communication from the captain, and trusted to the letter itself to produce a favourable impression. She waited some little time, standing at the window with her back to the room and its occupants, but as neither spoke she walked to the fireside, and asked—"What do you think of the letter, aunty?"
"My dear, I cannot find fault with it."
"I should think not indeed," replied the girl, drawing herself up in the stately way she put on at times.
"And yet, Kitty dear, I cannot help wishing that the writer had been content to leave the matter as it was."
"With his feelings he could hardly do that. You see, he thought he had pained me, and wished me to know that he never meant to do so."
"He might have imagined that the wound, if any, would be healed, so far as he was concerned, before this time, my dear."
"But you see what he says. He simply could not summon courage to write. Only, as he was back at Monk's How, he had a dread of meeting me with his fault unacknowledged—I mean apologized for."
"Happily, Captain Torrance is not often seen in our little circle of friends, Kitty, so there was not much fear of his being quite overwhelmed by your displeasure. As I have said, the letter is not to be found fault with, and as it requires no answer, were I you, I would put it into the fire, and forget both it and the writer as far as possible."
"Thank you, aunty," said Kathleen, taking the letter, but with no intention of following Mrs. Ellicott's advice in the disposal of it; "I have answered it."
"What! you have already written to Captain Torrance? I wish you had not done that without naming the matter to me or Aylmer."
"I have not written; but if I had, surely I do not require the consent of my guardians, before I can reply to a simple note of apology."
The girl's hasty temper was roused in an instant, and she went on defiantly—
"I gave my answer to Captain Torrance himself. I met him at Crosspaths Corner, when I was turning homeward. He was kind enough to walk with me to the gates. Had I felt as if I dared to take such a liberty in my own house, I should have asked him to luncheon."
"My dear child, my dear Kathleen, how you misunderstand me!" said Mrs. Ellicott, in great distress. "Never during my guardianship have I interfered with your correspondence. Never has a guest been invited by you who could afterwards complain of a scanty welcome from me. I have never for an instant forgotten that I am only the temporary head of this household, and that in a little more than a year you will be its absolute mistress. But in the meanwhile I am here by your father's dying wish, and I can only lay down my post and its responsibilities at the time appointed by him."
"You well know, Kathleen, that only Captain Torrance's character has stood in the way of his being welcomed in this house and other homes in the neighbourhood."
"I know that if either man or woman has done anything wrong once, the people who think themselves good never forgive, even though they have not suffered by the wrong-doing. It seems to me there is a horrid lot of hypocrisy in the world—the good people's world, I mean, or else instead of turning their backs on those who had committed a fault, and were sorry for it, they would encourage them to do better for the time to come. As to Captain Torrance, he is very much to be pitied. He may have done wrong, though I cannot tell in what way, for people just shrug their shoulders, and appear to know a great deal about him, which I feel certain they would not tell to his face, the cowards! I believe," continued Kathleen, vehemently, "that he just longs to lead a good life, and to set his boy the best of examples, but he has nobody to help him—nobody. I did think you, who are so kind to most people, aunty, would have felt sorry for him, as I did, when I read that letter. But you are just as cold as all the rest, and as hard when Captain Torrance's name is mentioned. Yet you say nothing. Tell me, if you know, what he has really done to make people scorn him and speak ill of him behind his back."
Mrs. Ellicott was shocked at this manifest reaction in favour of Captain Torrance on Kathleen's part. Never before had she posed as his champion, or shown such temper in his defence. So, in spite of the girl's defiant manner, she strove by her very gentleness to disarm her niece, and quietly answered—
"My dear Kitty, it is not for me to tell the whole story of Captain Torrance's past life, and I could not if I would. Much of it is common property, and what is known is surely enough to prevent a pure-minded, innocent girl from desiring his society, or posing as his defender. I can only repeat that your other guardian and I desire nothing but your happiness, and if out of all our neighbours we say, 'There is one whose companionship can be only hurtful to you,' dear Kitty, can you not trust us to judge and decide for you in a matter where a girl's very kindness of heart warps her own judgment? Ah, my darling! It is one of the trials of age, that experience has taught it so many lessons of which, happily, the young are ignorant. We old folk have perforce to avail ourselves of that experience on behalf of the young whom we love, and whom it is our privilege and duty to guard. They often rebel against our decisions, but later in life they learn the same lessons as time and observation have taught us, and can then thank God that in their young days they were not left to themselves."
Kathleen made no reply to her aunt's kindly words. She stood leaning against the chimney-piece, and tapping the floor with her foot in a restless fashion. There was the old wilful look on her face, and the very pose of her head told that she was resolved not to yield a hair's breadth. Not that she was altogether unmoved by Mrs. Ellicott's words. She could never doubt either her aunt's kindness or the judiciousness of her decisions. But her feelings had been worked upon by Captain Torrance's letter and words, and then the old spirit of rebellion had revived, and she was in a state of towering indignation at being treated like a child.
After a somewhat prolonged pause Kathleen spoke.
"I can see that it is useless for me to venture on thinking for myself on any subject. I must reconcile myself to remain in leading-strings for another year, or rather more. No fear of my forgetting the day that sets me free, and then—"
The girl's eyes fairly flashed with triumph as she spoke, but she did not finish the sentence. She left the rest to the imagination of her listeners.
Geraldine had said nothing hitherto, but she was grieved on her mother's account, on Aylmer's, and on Kathleen's most of all. She was far from well herself, and this miser able scene was not likely to make her feel better. It was in a tremulous voice that she said, when Kathleen paused—
"Spare my dear mother, Kitty."
"Why do you speak in that way, Ger? What have I done to pain my aunt? I came to her as I would have gone to my father, had he been living. I showed her that letter, I looked for her sympathy for the writer. I have been frank and straightforward in everything, and I am disappointed—bitterly disappointed. As usual, I have had a lecture on the wickedness of presuming to think for myself, or even to feel towards any human being otherwise than my lawful guardians do. Their opinions seem to be based on the judgment of the little world of gossips, who are full of malice and all uncharitableness. Happily, thought is free, and for the future, instead of opening my mind, I will think for myself, and bide my time of emancipation as patiently as I can. It goes without saying, that I shall beat against the bars sometimes."
"How you grieve me, Kathleen! You know that I have always been so glad of, and thankful for, the perfect confidence which has subsisted between us. It is not in your nature to be otherwise than frank; Aylmer says the same. Perhaps, if anything, we are over-anxious, but I know he will feel with me about Captain Torrance. If he had seen him walking with you—"
"He did see us. We met him on the road," replied Kathleen, with a triumphant look. "To do Aylmer justice, he showed no inclination to seize and carry me away from such bad companionship by main force. He was grave, as 'tis his nature to be, but he passed us with the usual courtesies, and went on his way. To do Captain Torrance justice, he proposed handing me over then and there to the custody of my lawful guardian, though Aylmer was going in the opposite direction to ourselves. I, however, insisted on his escorting me to the gates of my own domain, and I told him that Mr. Matheson was my good, true friend and guardian, but not my jailer. Now, aunty, I shall go to my own room. I have made a full confession of my doings when I was out of your sight this morning, and I have a clear conscience on the score of any evil intentions when I went for a solitary walk, because I had no one to go with me. That it turned out other than solitary was not my fault, or," she added, "my misfortune. It was very pleasant, and I am not going to say that I am sorry I saw Captain Torrance and had a talk with him, which I am not likely to forget."
"Kitty, do not go away, I beg of you. You cannot have understood me. Aylmer will be here for an hour this evening, and then—"
"I shall have a second lecture, I suppose. Thank you, aunty. I mean to try and have a little peace in my own room. I will leave this with you;" and the girl threw Captain Torrance's letter lightly on to the table. "Let Aylmer see it, please, and tell him all I have told you. I am tired—tired of everything!" she cried; and, quitting the room, she ran to her room, locked herself in, and throwing herself on a couch, burst into a passion of tears.
"I am always wrong," she exclaimed, "no matter how much I try to do right! I thought aunty would be pleased at my showing her the letter, and telling her everything. I might as well be deceitful, for any good my frankness does me. There was not one word said this morning that all the world might not have heard, except that poor Captain Jack would not have opened his heart to every one as he did to me. And I don't care what anybody says. If I can be a friend to him in his loneliness, and help him to be better and happier, I will. It must be right to do that."
Arrived at this conclusion, Kathleen dried her eyes, and began to dream of bright possibilities once more. She could do a great deal of harm, and cause a vast amount of pain to others in a very short time when she gave way to temper; but the fit passed away much sooner than did the effects of it.
Kathleen was tired. The large fire burned brightly, and the couch in her room looked most inviting. A large fur-lined wrap was lying across the end of it. A few minutes later Kathleen was sleeping like a child, snugly ensconced beneath the fur, and with the firelight dancing across her face and making the lingering moisture on her dark eyelashes sparkle like diamonds, which, however, quickly disappeared, together with every trace of the tumult through which she had lately passed.
The fire had burned low, the early wintry twilight had followed daylight, when Kathleen awoke. At first she hardly understood where she was, but soon she roused herself, and called to mind how she had left her aunt and cousin.
Sleep had effected a wondrous change in her feelings, and instead of being angry at Mrs. Ellicott, she began to reproach herself for her hastiness and hard words.
"If I could but learn to be patient; but after a month of delightful peace and comfort, I have made aunty miserable, and Ger, poor Ger, is, I dare say, ever so much worse through my conduct. She was wan and white when she came down; not really fit to be out of bed, but always thinking about other people. I don't think I was a bit wrong in standing up for Captain Torrance, but I get angry so soon, and I ought to think of aunty's goodness and how she must feel. I often forget the things I have said when my temper is over; but she cannot, and it is not likely. I said I would not go down to dinner, but I think I will. It is of no use to put off. I shall have to go. Tea will be over. I wonder Cameron never came to see if I wished for a cup."
At this moment a light tap came at the door, and Kathleen called, "Come in," forgetting that she had locked it, and the one leading to her dressing-room also. She had to unlock it and welcome Cameron and the tea she brought.
"I have been in a sound sleep, Cameron," she said.
"You would be tired with your walk in the frosty air, miss," said the maid. "After the cold, a warm room always makes one sleepy."
Cameron lighted the gas, drew the curtains, replenished the fire, and restored the look of brightness to the room.
"Has any one called this afternoon?" asked Kathleen. "Yes, miss. Mr. Matheson first, then Miss Stapleton. She left a message for you. She was very sorry not to see you, and hoped you would soon go to her brother's, where she is staying for some time. Mr. Matheson went out with Miss Stapleton. I think he was going to walk to Oakwood with her, as it was getting dusk."
"Indeed! I am sorry I missed Miss Stapleton. I shall not dress yet, Cameron. There is plenty of time. I did tell my aunt that I should not go down to dinner, but I am so thoroughly rested I have changed my mind. I will ring when I want you."
Cameron retreated, and, with the inconsistency not quite uncommon amongst girls, her young mistress gave way to just a shade of annoyance, because Aylmer had walked home with her friend Hetty.
"Not that I care a straw about Aylmer in that way," she decided, "but I should not like him to take a special liking to Hetty. She is a good girl—twenty times better than I am, but when I am of age, and have perhaps chosen for myself, I should be glad for Aylmer to marry Ger."
Kathleen felt quite generous in deciding the fates of her cousin and Mr. Matheson; but had any one else read her thoughts, it would have appeared a little selfish on her part to consent to such a match, only when she had made a choice on her own account.
