From many a bush and tree came the rich bold song of the robin, the little musician putting himself well to the front, and looking round, as he sang, with fearless eyes that seemed to defy the possibility of his having an enemy, human or otherwise. Sights and sounds were alike exhilarating. The clear blue overhead, and the freshness which had followed the heavy rain, were all the more delightful, because a couple of hours before the aspect of the sky had been so hopeless.
The horses seemed to have caught the infection from their surroundings, and stepped out bravely, tossing their arched necks, as though despising the muddy roads and extra dose of water in ruts and hollows.
Kathleen's face had been animated enough when she left home, but something she saw soon after reaching the cross-roads already mentioned brought a cloud to her brow. This was a Mrs. Stapleton, a neighbour of hers, and only a few years older, who was evidently on her way, not merely to witness the meet, but to share in the day's sport. She nodded merrily to Kathleen as she passed, then made a little grimace suggestive of pity for her girl neighbour, who was shut up in a carriage, instead of sharing what she regarded as the real pleasure of the day.
Kathleen could not suppress a sigh of mingled anger and disappointment as the little cortège passed. Mrs. Stapleton's beautiful figure showed to perfection on horseback, and her habit might have grown upon it, so exact was the fit. The horse was worthy of its graceful rider. Beside her rode her little daughter Blanche, a child of seven, and a miniature of her mother. The little creature's face was full of glee, and she evidently knew no fear, but sat her spirited pony as easily as any older rider.
It was plain that Mr. Stapleton was at the meet breakfast, for the groom in attendance led a fine powerful animal, ready saddled for his master's use.
"Even little Blanche can ride her pony to Hollingsby," said Kathleen. "It is horrid that I should see a child like that enjoying a pleasure that I am forbidden. It would be something to ride Polly instead of being imprisoned here on such a morning."
"Oh, my dear, you looked so bright when we started, that I really thought you were going to enjoy the drive," said Mrs. Ellicott, in a rueful tone.
"I meant to do so, aunty, and I know I am a horribly unthankful, discontented creature, and I quite hate myself for showing such a dog-in-the-manger spirit. I ought to be thinking of all the good things I have, instead of mentally harping on my one grievance. I ought to put on a cheery look and to talk pleasantly to you, who are always ready to take the good and bad alike, instead of spoiling your drive by my petulance. But when Mrs. Stapleton rode by, looking so perfect that she might have sat for a model of Diana, and that little chit Blanche tossed her head in triumph as she passed, I felt just as spiteful and wicked as possible. I almost wished that mother and child might get a good roll in the mud before the day was over, and—but I will not tell you all the naughty thoughts that flashed through my mind. You know what I am by long experience."
"I know, dear, that you are quick-tempered and impulsive, but I also know that my dear Kitty is not capable of really wishing harm to any human being. You say I take good and bad alike, but I do not. I have many a fight with myself, and when that comes which I do not wish for, and which brings sorrow along with it, I too have to fight hard against a rebellious spirit. I have to seek strength, and ask for patience and submission also, that I may be kept in mind of the fact, that whatever befalls me can be overruled for good by Him who permits it to happen. We might as well ask ourselves, 'What? Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?' Surely, my dear child, your share of good things is large indeed."
CHAPTER II CAPTAIN JACK
KATHLEEN MOUNTFORD was silent for a few moments after listening to what she called "one of aunty's sermons." But in her heart she owned the truth of it, and her generous nature impelled her to speak.
"I think you always come off conqueror in a fight with self," she said. "Every one who knows you would say that you are ever ready to speak of your blessings, and that your trials are kept to yourself. I, on the contrary, have but a single grievance, and I take every opportunity of airing it. Most girls would be so glad and thankful to be placed as I am, that they would forget they had an excuse for grumbling at all."
"I am going to try not to spoil your drive, dear, but, like the parrot we have all read about, I am afraid I shall 'think the more.'"
"However, I will confess beforehand the spirit that is in me. I am seeing Mrs. Stapleton and her surroundings all the time. I am forced to own that her turn-out is perfection, but I am certain my Polly is equal to her Princess any day; that I should look as well as she does, and equal her at managing my horse, if I had the chance; that Polly would fly over the ground, and, as I am a lighter weight, would pass her steed like the wind. And all the while we are lumbering on in a carriage with old Mountain on the box, as if I were a dowager of seventy, instead of a girl not quite twenty. I have everything, but I am debarred from what I most long for, and the 'but' spoils the rest. I have done now, aunty. Said all that was in my mind. Now I shall struggle after a more contented spirit, and, whether I get it or not, I mean to be outwardly amiable for your sake."
Kathleen laid her hand on Mrs. Ellicott's. The latter pressed it lovingly, and no more was said about the girl's grievance.
Old Mountain, on the box, had thoughts very similar to those which exercised the mind of his young mistress, when Mrs. Stapleton cantered past.
"She looks a picture, a real pretty picture," thought he. "But our young miss would beat her on Polly. It does seem a pity she should be inside a carriage instead of outside a horse, though anybody might be proud to drive the like of Miss Kathleen. She's the image of her mother, and has a deal of her spirit too. No doubt the master saw it, and felt it would be best to make her promise as he did. Whether she likes it or not, he meant it for her good, and her poor mother paid dearly for breaking her word, though I don't suppose Miss Kathleen knows about that."
The coachman was right. Kathleen only knew that a few years ago, before the death of her father, he had exacted a promise from her to the effect that, so long as she remained unmarried, she would never join the Hollingsby or any other hunt.
"I say, so long as you are unmarried, Kathleen; for I hold that the wishes of the father, whether living or dead, must yield to those of the husband, when the daughter becomes a wife. But give me this promise, and a pledge that you will never appear on horseback, at meet or in the hunting-field, so long as you are Kathleen Mountford, and never after you change your name, except by the wish of your husband, and under his protection."
Kathleen readily gave the promise, which seemed a light one to the girl of fifteen. Mr. Mountford was ailing at the time, and she would have done anything in the world to give him pleasure. Then, after his death, and the contents of his will became known, the girl was hurt to find that Mr. Mountford had not contented himself with simply exacting a promise from her. He had attached certain penalties to any breach of Kathleen's pledge, and had she disobeyed his command, she would have paid for doing it by the loss of a large portion of her property.
Here was the sting of the whole affair.
"He might have trusted me," sobbed the girl. "I never broke my word to him, and now he is gone, a promise made to him is ever so much more sacred in my eyes. It will always be love for my father, not the thought of what I should lose, which will keep me from breaking my word, though he is no longer here to know that I do it."
A very thin thorn in the flesh will give pain quite out of proportion to its size. So with Kitty Mountford's grievance. Because it was a solitary one, it was perpetually making itself felt.
In a famous hunting county like Woldshire she was constantly reminded of it. All through the two last seasons she had writhed under the condolences of her unwise, but well-meaning friends. To one and all she gave jesting replies, answered with a ringing laugh, and made light of the whole affair.
"I am quite certain I should never care to join in a hunt, were I not prohibited from doing it. I am a daughter of Mother Eve, and my case is like hers. I have all but that one tree in my earthly paradise. I trust, nay, I feel sure, that I shall not follow Eve's example, in putting out my hand for the forbidden fruit."
Or Kathleen would vary her answer—
"The Hunt is my Bluebeard's chamber. But I will not unlock the door and suffer, as Mrs. Bluebeard had nearly done. You may risk your necks and steeds if you choose, and, provided you return unharmed, you shall come and tell me of your hairbreadth 'scapes and gallant doings in pursuit of a miserable fox. I can listen without envy, and Aunt Ellicott shall lift up her hands in horror, and lecture you roundly for joining such a barbarous crew as go to make up the Hollingsby Hunt."
Thus much for the past, as explaining the present mood in which Miss Mountford found herself.
As the carriage rolled on, Kathleen saw many a rider in black or scarlet, with snowy buckskins and shining spurs, on the way to the meet. Humbler riders there were, who made no brave show, either in person or dress, but whose horses, viewed by a judge, would have been deemed likely to hold their own through a long day's sport.
Vehicles of all sorts were carrying spectators, and it was quite impossible not to be pleased at the sight of trim huntsmen and merry faces.
All at once Kathleen's cheeks flushed crimson, as a pair of riders came abreast of the carriage. The elder of the two, Captain Torrance, would have liked Mountain to stop his horses, but the coachman was obstinately blind to his signal, and, if anything, increased the speed, to Kathleen's hardly-veiled annoyance. The girl could not suggest a pause. At the first glimpse of Captain Torrance, Mrs. Ellicott had become absorbed in the prospect at the opposite side of the way.
Kathleen could only return the salute of the rider, who bared and bent his handsome head, until it nearly touched the saddle.
Captain Jack, as he was usually called, was not disconcerted. He was quite contented with the sight of Mrs. Ellicott's bonnet-crown only. By her turning away she had enabled him to look Kathleen full in the face with undisguised admiration. He quickly noted the flush of pleasure which overspread it when he approached.
"Ignore me as you like, old lady," he said to himself, "so long as your fair ward's face lights up when I come near, and its expression is so eloquent, I care not which way your head is turned, or whether you smile or frown at Jack. Torrance. Come on, Ralph, or we shall be late," he said aloud, addressing a handsome, boyish imitation of himself, suitably mounted.
The little fellow looked gleefully at his father, and urged his pony on. It was a spirited little thing, and, like its youthful rider, had chafed at the momentary slackening of speed, when abreast of Miss Mountford's carriage, so away went the pair of riders at a rapid pace.
Captain Torrance was a widower with this one boy of nine years. Parent and child were almost inseparable, the child being taken everywhere that it was possible for him to go with his father.
"More's the pity," said many, who saw Captain Jack and little Ralph so constantly together.
"That young chip is the very model of the old block," thought Mountain, as he glanced at the boy. "Same black eyes, curly hair, and dreadnought look with him. And it stands to reason that the child will be like his father in ways, growing up with such a pattern always beside him. Captain Jack is fond of the lad, according to his lights; pity he doesn't show his love by sending Master Ralph to a good school a long way off, where his father wouldn't find it convenient to call too often. There's the making of a fine man in him; but he'll be marred;¹ he'll be marred past the mending. His mother was a sweet young lady, too, with a fine fortune. But she is gone, and if all tales be true, it is gone, or pretty nearly so, while Monk's How, the captain's property, is mortgaged to the full worth of it."
¹Spoiled.
"They do say the captain is on the look-out for another wife with plenty of money. There are not so many of that sort about, and girls, with fathers and mothers to see that they don't throw themselves away, will be kept out of his reach as far as possible."
Mountain's thoughts became a prayer, and he murmured, "God grant that Captain Torrance may not set his mind on my dear young mistress, or, if he does, that her eyes may be opened to see what he is, and what her life would be as his wife!"
"But then girls can seldom look farther than a man's face, if it is a handsome one, and if it's ugly, they won't look at it at all, however good a heart may be shining through it."
"I saw what the captain was after when he came by just now. He would have liked me to stop, so as he might poke his head in at the window and tell Miss Kathleen what a cruel shame it was that she must not ride Polly to the meet. But I can be a match for the captain when I'm on the box. I was not going to stop for the lifting up of his hand. There's none so blind as them that won't see, and I only pretended I didn't see him, and whatever Miss Kathleen may feel about it, I know the old mistress would be pleased, for anybody can tell that she cannot abear the captain."
Mountain laughed and chuckled to himself at the thought of having out-manoeuvred clever Captain Torrance, but he was not wholly successful in the long run. Later on, when Miss Mountford was looking with mingled envy and admiration at the gay gathering in front of Hollingsby Captain Jack found the opportunity which he had vainly sought on the road.
He brought his boy to the side of the carriage, and managed to say all the sympathetic words to Kathleen which were certain to have an irritating effect upon her.
By way of showing her vexation at not being allowed to display her pretty figure and fine horsemanship, and thus divide the honours with Mrs. Stapleton, she manifested her interest in little Ralph Torrance, and detained him and his father until the last minute before the start for Helmer Wood. She praised the boy's dress, seat, pony, looks, in short, everything about him, and when Ralph asked, "Why do you not ride, Miss Mountford?" she answered, "I am not old enough to be trusted, Ralph," with an upward glance at the captain, half expressive of indignation, half of amusement.
