"As if she would want to be your mother!" persisted Ralph. "Why, you are ever so much older than she is. But I know what you mean. She would be a lot too good to come and live at Monk's How, for it isn't a very nice place now. It's awfully dull."
"Monk's How is very different from what it once was. I am sorry for you, more than for myself."
"Well, in a way, it is better than it was a while ago, for we never have any of those horrid men that used to come, and we needn't have them again, I suppose. People can't come unless you ask them. Jem Capes is gone, and I'm glad of it, for he used to say bad words. I used to think it was fine to talk like him and those gentlemen, too, who used to stay with us. But I know better now."
It caused John Torrance a pang to hear his boy's innocent words. Except faithful Sarah, Ralph had been surrounded by evil influences. For good ones he must thank his friends at the Hall. Ralph watched his father intently, then asked, "Are you sorry that Jem Capes is gone, and those men stay away? We might have nice people now instead."
"You cannot understand everything, Ralph; but I am glad to be rid of those men, and Capes too, though I miss some things."
"The horses. I know. I cried when your hunter went. He was a beauty. Maybe Miss Mountford will buy him. She said she would buy my Kelpie back if—"
"Hush, Ralph!" said his father, in a tone which startled the boy, and warned him off forbidden ground.
Just then Sarah entered with Ralph's tea, and Captain Torrance left him in her charge.
The ladies were out, so there were no adieus, and the man had enough to think of as he strolled homeward.
"Will Ralph repeat his views to Kathleen?" he asked himself. "I wish he would. He might spare me the pain of a refusal, if—but I believe she would not refuse me. I will be honest. She shall know all of my past that one could tell to a girl. If there is a creature noble enough to devote life and fortune for the salvation of the man she loves, Kathleen is that girl, supposing she is not over-influenced. If I win her, I will be a good man for the future, and she shall not regret her choice."
John Torrance resolved, and built castles, and repeated, "I will be good and grateful for Kathleen's sake." But of gratitude to God, or the possibility of failure without His help, he neither thought nor cared.
CHAPTER XVIII WOOING BY PROXY
IN three more days Ralph was dressed and lying on a couch in Kathleen's boudoir. She and Geraldine had adorned it with flowers and autumn foliage, and were sitting by him.
"You will be running about directly," said Geraldine. "Shall you not be glad?"
"Yes, but it will be horrid to go to Monk's How. So lonely!"
Ralph pulled Ger's face down and kissed it, then called Kathleen, that he might kiss her also.
"Let us be happy to-day," said Ger. "We have so much to be glad about." A sound of wheels drew her to the window, and she added, "I must go. Mother is out, and here comes a carriage full of callers."
"You must do duty for me too, Ger," said Kathleen. "Sarah has gone over to Monk's How, nurse is lying down, and I must guard this youngster, lest he should take another climbing fit."
Ralph laughed, and seized Kathleen, exclaiming, "It is lovely to have you to myself. I want to talk to you about something."
Out came the story of his longings to have her for a mother. The boy would not be silenced. He clung to her excitedly as he pleaded.
"I do so love you, Miss Mountford, and I want you to be my mother. You are good to me, and I am so happy, and I want to be really good when I am with you. It's dreadful to think of leaving you. I shall get ill again and die, I know I shall, if you send me away. Say you won't, darling, say you won't!"
Ralph hid his face on Kathleen's arm, and sobbed. She was terrified, and would have summoned help, but his clinging grasp detained her, and she had to try to soothe him as best she might.
"Dear boy, you will injure yourself, and you are grieving me. I will do all I can for you. I will ask your father to let you stay here with me, and be my boy. You must not cry so. What shall I do?"
Her distressed tones had a calming effect on Ralph.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to be quiet. But I don't seem to care whether I am ill again or not. I could not be your boy and leave father by himself, and he said that he is not good enough for you. I think he is good—"
A light rap at the door interrupted the sentence. Kathleen called, "Come in!" thankful for the prospect of relief, and John Torrance entered, having been guided to the room by a servant.
The sight of Ralph dressed and in the sitting-room was to have been a pleasant surprise for the father, but this was marred by the boy's excitement. Kathleen wished to explain, but blushed, hesitated, and remained silent. "I'll tell you, father," said Ralph, in a more subdued tone, but still clinging firmly to Kathleen, who, unable to extricate herself; was compelled to listen whilst the boy repeated all that he had just said.
A more painful position for a girl to be placed in could hardly be imagined, and it was intensified when Ralph added—
"Father is here now. He will tell you how glad he will be if you will be my mother. Say you will, darling."
The thin hands clung more tightly, tears again flowed down the boy's pale cheeks, whilst the upturned face had a pleading look upon it that matched the words Ralph had spoken.
On Kathleen's face an expression of combined indignation and distress appeared. At this moment all the gossip about Captain Torrance rushed to her mind, and she thought, "Ralph is his tool. How horrible, when we have been trying to make the child's life happier and better!"
Kathleen's eyes flashed with anger. She could not think of the boy, but with a sudden jerk released herself, feeling sorry that she had not done this before.
"It is impossible for me to remain here," she said. "I leave Ralph with you. I can never forgive a person who could put such words into a child's mouth."
"Surely, Miss Mountford, you do not believe in the existence of such a person. The scene has distressed me beyond measure. It is, however, the outcome of Ralph's intense love for you which your goodness has inspired," replied Captain Torrance. "Your home has been a haven of peace. Your indulgent love and the kindness of your relatives and guardian have made his lonely home and motherless condition more terrible. Is it wonderful that he loathes the thought of Monk's How? I pray you forgive him for loving you—not too much, but too selfishly. I cannot ask your pardon, for I am innocent, and would, if I could, blot this scene out of your memory and mine."
Never had John Torrance looked so dignified as at that moment. Kathleen felt ashamed of her indirect accusation. The angry look faded from her face, and she simply said—
"I believe you."
"That's right!" cried Ralph. "It wasn't father. Now he's angry with me."
"He will forgive you, and I must also, and try to be stern enough to put you a little out of love with me for the future."
"You will never do that. I must go on loving you if you cannot be—Oh dear! I nearly said something. I must go to sleep and forget."
Ralph looked weary, and closed his eyes, saying, "I will hold your hand; it helps me to sleep."
Soon his quiet breathing told of unconsciousness, and the watchers rejoiced that the excitement was past, though it had left him exhausted.
"Ralph was right," said the captain, in a low tone. "Having given the whole heart, one must go on loving, if return be hopeless."
"That is not Ralph's case. We all love the boy," said Kathleen.
"I know, and am grateful. The case is mine. I have given my whole heart to one who deserves that of the best and noblest of mankind. So I have no hope. I will not be wicked enough to ask for a return;" and he looked eloquently at the girl.
Kathleen understood. This man loved her, but was too honest to ask her to link her fate with his.
"Captain Torrance—" she began.
He interrupted. "I have no right to be called so. I forfeited the honour when, years ago, I was allowed to resign my commission instead of being deprived of it. Old acquaintances use it out of mistaken courtesy. From your lips it comes as a reproach; not that you would deem it such, but conscience reminds me that the time is long past when I could honestly claim the title as a servant of my Queen and country."
"I want you to listen for a few moments," he added; and before Kathleen could assent or otherwise, he was pouring into her ear the story of his past life—"so far as he could tell it to a girl."
Kathleen listened as if fascinated, alas! with more of sympathy than repulsion, and at length the speaker closed with these words—
"I have told you all. I have lost my ample fortune; lost the good name my father left me, deeming it my best heritage. I am a ruined man, and worse, for I have robbed my boy of all that ought to have descended to him. Monk's How is only mine on sufferance, and a very few months hence I must turn my back upon it for ever, and seek a refuge for Ralph and myself in some far-away land, where no one will be able to remind him of his father's follies and sins. Yet once my life and home were blessed by an angel's presence. I had the whole-hearted love of one of the sweetest women that ever lived, and she died believing in me."
"I am so sorry—so very sorry!" said Kathleen, as John Torrance's voice died into silence and he rose to leave her. "Is there nothing that can be done?"
"Ask yourself, Miss Mountford."
Kathleen could not reply, and he continued: "There is only one way of salvation for me. Were my Adela living, and as she was, when, with every advantage of family, fortune, and beauty, she became my wife, I, with my present experience, could look forward with confidence to a new and better life. But how could any other girl risk her future with that of a ruined spendthrift? If there were one so noble, so unselfish, as to stoop in order to raise John Torrance from the mire into which he has fallen, others would step in to save her from her too rash generosity. I would die a beggar by the roadside sooner than I would be guilty of the crime of asking her for such a sacrifice; even though I could say, as indeed I can, that I love her with all the strength of my being. My love for Adela was selfish, though sincere. I will not be selfish a second time."
The man's voice trembled as he ended. He bent over his sleeping boy and touched his forehead with his lips, then rose to leave the room.
Kathleen's beautiful eyes were moist, but her face was lighted by such a look as John Torrance had never before seen there. She placed her hand in his, he thought by way of farewell, but when he held it she made no effort to withdraw it from his clasp. He felt it tremble, and interpreting the expression on her face aright, he exclaimed—
"Miss Mountford—Kathleen, dearest, can it be possible that you care for one so unworthy as I, penniless, homeless, and ruined to boot? I did not think that even you, noble, high-souled, generous as you are, could make so great a sacrifice."
He drew her towards him, and she, hiding her face on his shoulder, whispered, "I am so weak myself in everything that is best; but we will help one another."
"My darling, your goodness is too great. I feel that I ought not to accept such a sacrifice, though it would be heaven on earth for Ralph and me to have you joined to us by the dearest ties."
"I will make Ralph happy soon," said Kathleen, as she again hid her glowing face. "I will tell him that, after all, I have promised to be his mother."
"Such a promise will be enough to restore him to health. Oh, Kathleen, you give me your sweet self, and you will give me back my boy! Was ever so generous a maiden? I trust my life-long devotion will prove alike my love and gratitude."
He held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, feeling for the moment almost overwhelmed by what, mentally, he would have called "his astonishing luck."
"What will your guardians say?" he asked, after a short silence. "I shall be sorry for Matheson. He has done so much for me, unknown to all but ourselves."
"He is my true friend, and as such he will desire nothing so much as my happiness," replied Kathleen.
"I believe it. He is capable of any self-sacrifice. It will be hard for me to tell him, dearest, all the same."
"He will return to-morrow," said Kathleen. "In the meanwhile—"
She looked up as if for guidance.
"In the meanwhile we will keep our happy secret to ourselves. What say you?"
Kathleen assented, and with a lover's farewell John Torrance left her to muse over what had passed, and the change wrought in her life prospects.
She had time, for Ralph slept long. She pictured a life with one saved and elevated to more than his former best estate. She never doubted her power or John Torrance's gratitude. The opportunity would realize dreams, and make noble, unselfish plans into realities also. Two lives, those of Ralph and his father, would be blessed by the dedication of her own. This would be reward enough.
As to John Torrance, he walked homeward feeling little like the man lately so humble, and saying to himself, "Poor Ralph has done a splendid stroke of business for us both. It is really too absurd, but my beautiful Kathleen gave herself to me without being directly asked. I told a story, and she jumped straight to a conclusion."
Kathleen's musings were interrupted by her cousin. The visitors were gone at last, and Ger regretted Kathleen's long, lonely watch beside Ralph.
"Captain Torrance came, and Ralph got excited, and frightened us both before he fell asleep. I will call Sarah now, for I am tired," said Kathleen. "I was glad to escape the Westons, though. They are such arrant gossips."
"I was glad of your absence; too. They have little to do, and their one resource is the discussion of their neighbours."
"What was to-day's subject?"
"Ralph's accident. Regret for his presence here as an excuse for his father's visits, a long tirade against the latter, and a devout wish that no harm may happen to any of us through him. These were the main topics."
