Kate Devereux. A story of modern life

Chapter I

" The bold to break Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush Thro' sacred nature's murder, on their own, Because they never think of death, they die." Young's Night Thoughts. " Is there really nothing to eat in the house ? " said Reginald, a fine boy of eleven years, to his sister Kate, a weU grown girl, two years older. " Is the bread all done 1" " I am afraid it is," she replied ; " and I do not know what we are to do ! Poor mamma is so weak, that she cannot come down VOL. I. B stairs. She has been crying all the morning, and baby is so peevish and fretful that it is sad to listen to ber ! I wish I could get something nice for mamma, she is so much in want of nourishing food." " Oh ! that I were a big and strong man to work for you all ! " exclaimed Reginald ; " I do beUeve that it is want of food that makes mamma so ill !

" " No doubt of it," said Kate. " Now that dear, kind grandpapa is gone, tbere are no more presents to stock our larder ; and I am sure that if mamma had bad meat sufficient, during the last month, she would have been well by this time, for baby is six weeks old to-day." " Papa does not like baby," whispered Reginald, looking inquiringly in his sister's face. " There are so many mouths to feed ! How I wish that I could help to maintain you!" " You can do something now," said Kate ; " take your fishing-rod, and try to catch a few trout for poor mamma, and as you pass near the old farm, ask for a little milk, — you can offer some of your fish in exchange, if they are so hard-hearted as to take them." " But they are our own relations, Kate ! I cau tell who I am, and tbey will be glad to serve us."

" You had better say nothing about it," rejoined Kate ; " Papa does not seem to like them, and I fear I am doing very wrong iu sending you there." "What stuff!" cried Reginald, "Farmer Baron will be glad to do anything for us. Thomas, the old ploughman, told me that when Farmer Baron was young, he worshipped the very ground that mamma trode upon. I had better ask to see him, and tell him the true state of the case at once." " You must do no such thing," said Kate, looking grave ; " now that I think of it, you had better go at once to old Thomas, who I know has a cow of his own, and beg a little milk for mamma, — be sure to tell him that I shall send afterwards to pay him." Kate now busied herself about her house hold duties, every now and then running up stairs to pay her mother a visit. Her father, B Mr. Devereux, had been out since morning ; her sister, next to Reginald, little Marian, was attending the sick woman, and watching the baby ; while the other children, for unfortu nately there were seven in all, were playing in the neighbourhood of the house.

" Kate, come near me, I want to speak to you," murmured the invalid. " We shall all bave to work bard now, Kate, since your poor grandfather is gone." " Yes, mamma, I know we must ; but why is papa so proud 1 Though it is necessary to work, he does not like to see us to do so." " Your father finds it difficult to accommo date his notions to his circumstances," rephed her mother with a sigh, " you know he is of a very good family, and lived in a style of which you can form no idea, before he quarrelled with his relations, and married me !" " If his relations were offended at his marrying you,,' said Kate, " I am quite content to bave nothing to do with them, for they must be very proud and disagreeable people !" " They had quarrelled with your father before he ever saw me, so I am glad to think that I am not the only cause of their estrange ment.

But you know, my dear, that my relations have always been plain, simple people, so it does seem odd that your father happened to choose me." " I know the reason very weU !" exclaimed Kate, throwing her arms round her mother's neck, " because he saw you were good and handsome !" The baby now began to cry, and Kate turned towards the cradle to assist her sister Marian, when the door flew open, and one of the younger chUdren rushed in, crying bitterly ; Kate attempted to pacify him, but in vain, " I am very hungry," he cried, " and I know there is no bread in the house ! Reginald was coming across the field just now with such beautiful fish in his basket, a jug of milk in one hand, and a nice pasty in the other ! When papa heard that he had brought them from Baron's farm, he dashed the jug to pieces, threw the fish and pasty into the river, and knocked poor Reginald down !

His forehead is all cut and we are as hungry as hungry can be, and papa is so angry !" " God pity us !" cried the poor woman, as sobbing violently she buried her head in the bed-clothes ; Kate dragged away the screaming boy, and ran to console poor Reginald. It was too true, all was as described, but her brother was more mortified than hurt. " It is too bad Kate," he exclaimed, " to be knocked down for doing my duty ! I gave tbe message you desired to old Thomas, when just as I was speaking, farmer Brown came up and when Thomas repeated what I said, his face got like scarlet. Then he whispered something to the old man, and walked away, so that I saw no more of him. Thomas went into the house, and came back with the milk, and such a monstrous pasty ! However, it is all gone, thanks to papa !

And I had just been thinking what a hearty meal we should make this evening ! — Kate, I won't stand it, I am going to run away !" And now let us turn to Mr. Devereux who, poor man, was more to be pitied than blamed. He had locked himself into his apartment, and was now pacing up and down in moody dis quietude. Though not naturally an illtempered man, disappointment and neglect had soured his better nature, and he was in consequence more feared than loved by his children. He had been alone about half an hour, when some one timidly knocked at the door of his apartment, and Kate's voice was heard requesting to speak with him. He opened the door, and looked at her in silence. " Mamma is very poorly," she said, " I think we ought to send for the doctor ; and if you could let me have a shilling or two, the person who goes for him might buy bread for the chUdren, as we have none in the house."

Mr. Devereux put his hand in his pocket and drew out his purse ; there was one large coin within it, and only one. It was a five shilling piece. " This is all that stands between us and beggary, Kate," said he, more kindly than usual ; " take it, and make the best of it ! Your poor mother and seven children to feed ! God help me ! It is enough to turn a man's brain ! " Kate looked at him astonished, for it was not often that he spoke so frankly. "Go !" he continued, " why do you stare at me ? Did you never see a penniless man before ? One who has given being to seven helpless creatures and cannot feed them ! A broken down gentleman ! A pauper ! too genteel, forsooth, to receive parish relief ! ha ! ha! ha!" Poor Kate in sad amazement was taken by the shoulders, and thrust out of the room. Now it happened that Mr. Devereux had a few days before applied for a respectable situation with a small salary, which was then vacant in an adjoining country town.

He had little hope of receiving a favourable reply, but it was the only chance he seemed to possess of bettering his circumstances. The postman's knock was heard at this moment, so he opened the window and looked out. "Two letters for Mr. Devereux," said the postman, "come to eighteen-pence." Kate ran forward to pay them. "Stop !" said her father, "I shall only take the one with the Edmonstone postmark ; pay nine pence, Kate." Kate obeyed ; the postman looked surprised, he was an old man; and quite an original, who having traversed the country for the last thirty years in his present occupation, felt himself privileged to take an interest in his " customers," as he called them. " I say, Miss," he whispered to Kate, " my mind misgives me, that there is something good in that 'ere epistle which Mr. Devereux goes for to despise !

It is just as well you should open it, as that it should habituate the dead letter box! I'll stand the extra pence myself, and Master Reginald shall catch me a dish of fish for my Missus, next time I go round this quarter ! " Kate's brow flushed ; " Thank you very much," said she ; " but I fear Papa would not like it ! Indeed, I dare uot take it ! " " Fiddle saddle, and nonsense ! " cried the post-man ; "I am an old man, Miss, and all the world knows me for a concentric character, that does whatever he has a mind to!" And with that the good-hearted old fellow tossed the letter in through the only open window that was within his reach, and scampered off on his old white pony. Kate B trembled, for it was her father's room that the audacious postman had thus profaned. Mr. Devereux opened the Edmonstone let ter alone in his own apartment, and his hand shook as he did so.

It was a civil refusal which he might have anticipated ; but he now became aware, by the oppressive dejection which overpowered him, how in sensibly he had hoped against hope. All now was over, the earth seemed barren, the heavens were as brass ; to whom could he turn for aid ! He had looked his difficulties in the face, he had revolved over and over again some means of escape — he had written to his friends, he had applied for employ ment, but all in vain. One of the younger children at this moment began to cry ; and the sound went to his heart. " The poor little wretch is hungry," he exclaimed. " And am I to hear such sounds day after day, and be unable to alleviate my children's distress ! Am I to see my wife sink slowly and by inches, into the grave? Or shall I apply for parish relief?

I — a Devereux! — How well it will sound when the parish officer mentions to the board of guardians that Reginald Devereux is a claimant for relief. Reginald Devereux a pau per with seven children ! Very pretty, very high sounding ! And that fellow Baron will hear it. He expects as much already, and how he will chuckle to think, that the man who carried off his pretty cousin is humbled. Well, let it be ; I am callous ; I shall never live to see it !" The wretched man took up a pistol which was lying before him, " Marian ! My dear children!" he exclaimed, "I am not a coward, but I cannot bear to see your misery. Oh, merciful God, have compassion on my soul !" He had the pistol to his forehead, and was pulling the trigger, when something thrown in at the window touched him — it made him start and give the pistol a jerk ! — It went off, but he escaped unhurt, for the bullet entered the wall behind him.

The frantic man became sobered ; he re cognized the hand of Providence, and tears of shame and penitence trickled down his cheeks. He heard the infant's cry once more. No longer estranged from it, the wail of the little innocent being struck a chord in the father's heart, and sinking on his knees, he exclaimed : — " God willing, I shall yet be able to feed my children ! The All-seeing One who has so miraculously saved me from deadly sin, has not preserved my life in vain. Father of mercies, I trust in Thee ! Forgive a wretched sinner!" Poor Devereux remained a long time on his knees, and when he rose up, he was a humbler and a better man. His eye was immediately caught by the letter which had been thrown into the room. He took it up and opened it. Judge of his gratitude to Almighty God, when he discovered that it contained a fifty pound note, with the information in a feigned hand, that the donor would continue to send the same half-yearly.

" Almighty God, I thank Thee ! I thank Thee, a thousand and a thousand times," he ejaculated from the bottom of his heart. " Thou art indeed a Father, and a kind Father. God be praised and blessed for ever more I After gazing at his newly-received trea sure for some moments, he hastened to his wife's apartments, to impart his joy to one ever ready to sympathize with him. " Marian !" he exclaimed, " Joy ! joy for us all!" But she did not reply, and he could not make her aware of his presence. She had heard his hurried footsteps, — the murmur of his soliloquy had reached her ears, strained to catch every sound, — and then the pistol shot sounded in her over-excited state like the knell of her doom, — she could not speak, — she could not move, — her senses were para lyzed. It was as if some hideous night-mare were brooding on her chest, oppressing her, — overpow-ering her, — weighing her down.

The walls seemed to go round, blackness came over her eyelids, her infant's wail sounded fainter and fainter, aU her senses closed, and she heard and saw no more. " Marian ! Marian ! For God's sake speak to me," cried Devereux, almost frantic. " It is I ! It is Devereux ! Your husband ! Your own dear husband, who speaks to you. — For my sake — your children's sake — rouse yourself ! There are happier days in store for us !" Kate, who, though she also had heard the pistol shot, had put no sinister construction on the sound, now entered the apartment. Greatly shocked at her mother's appearance, as well as at the incoherent raving of her father, she rushed to the bed-side, and with ready skill, applying the proper remedies, at last succeeded in restoring the sufferer to con sciousness. Slowly opening her eyes, she heaved a deep sigh, and as if responding to the expression, " There are happy days in store for us," she murmured, " No, no ! all is gone ! all is lost!

Youth has fled! Joy is past! The night has begun !" Then looking wildly round, she exclaimed, " Where am I ? What has happened? I dreamt Devereux was dead! Oh ! that fearful dream ! It is real ! it is real ! I know it is real ! Where is he ? Show me him ! Let me go to him !" And sobbing violently, she tossed her arms and strove to rise. It was some time before Devereux could calm her agitation, and convince her of his safety ; at last he succeeded in making her aware that not only was he alive, but that he had met with good fortune ; and there was no longer any fear of starvation for the family. The poor lady, overpowered with the fatigue of her contending emotions, and weak as a child, in a tumult of confusion, joy, and thank fulness, sobbed herself to sleep in his arms. Reginald Devereux was a man of broken fortunes and soured expectations.

Of ancient and wealthy family, he had irretrievably offended his relatives by his extravagance and waywardness, so that even his portion as a younger son was denied him, all but a scanty annuity of fifty pounds a-year. He had filled up the measure of his delinquences by marry ing the late farmer Baron's daughter, in reality a very superior person, although his friends would give her no credit for being so. Her ancestors had farmed the same land for several centuries, and always borne a high character ; she herself was well educated and amiable. Her only brother, a wild young man, had run off to sea several years before, and not been heard of since, so her father had adopted in his place a nephew of his own, the present farmer Baron, to whom his daughter had been supposed to be engaged at the time Mr. Deve reux persuaded her to elope with him.

The slighted lover consoled himself by mar rying also shortly after, and one son was the fruit of the ill-assorted union. The house in which the Devereux family resided, was an ancient manor-house that had known better days. Many of the rooms were so dilapidated as to be uninhabitable ; but the lower part of the house was still sufficiently comfortable. The garden was extensive, but out of order, and land sufficient to keep a cow, comprised the rest of their domain. The children were very happy, whatever their parents might be, for they were constantly in the open air, and had no care. Their chief instructor was their father, who taught the boys Latin and drawing, and made them all good vocal musicians. Indeed, the latter was the only accomplishment in which the girls had time to take part, for after having learned the more plain branches of education, they had to assist their mother in household work.

Kate sometimes got into a scrape from her love of reading ; she would borrow books from most of the respectable inhabitants of the parish, and deprive herself of sleep in order to read them, getting up by the gray dusk in summer mornings, and in winter causing an unwarrantable consumption of candles ; for which she was scolded, if the gentlest of all possible reprimands could be so termed, by her mother. Kate was not pretty, but she was a striking and fine-looking girl, with a countenance such as would often win more admiration than falls to the lot of mere prettiness. She was tall and slight, with dark hair and eyes, and long, very dark eyelashes. Her features were regular, and her expression open, sweet, and very animated. When excited, she had a beautiful colour, but was pale at other times.

The next boy, Reginald, was the counterpart of Kate in everything, though his temper was perhaps less disciplined ; he was her chosen friend and constant companion. Bernard, the third, was full of fun, and as happy as happy could be all the day long. After him came the fair-haired, gentle Marian, very like her mother, in sweetness of disposition, and sensible beyond her years. We must not forget Sidney, a curly-headed, spoiled urchin ; and least of all, dear little Annie, the pet and plaything of the whole house, whom Kate looked upon as her especial property, now that her mother's time was occupied with the baby. Annie was what the French would have termed " un enfant de benediction;" so good and gentle, so sweet tempered and happy ! As an infant, she had scarcely ever cried ; in the cradle she used to wake smiling instead of weeping, and her little, merry laugh resounded so often and so blithely, that attending on her was a pastime instead of a trouble.

Such she continued to be till she was seven years old, and Kate fifteen, exactly two years from the commencement of our story — the joy of the whole house, and the darling of every one's heart. It was the evening before little Annie's seventh birth-day ; she had got upon her father's knee, and he had playfully asked her what he should do for her on the morrow. " I shall be seven years old to-morrow," said she, musing. " I shall soon be a woman now, so I wish to see a big town." This announcement was greeted with a burst of laughter from thc rest of the children. " Would you not rather have a picture book ?" replied her father, " or ask some of the farmers' children to tea, and have a nice game of blind-man's buff?" " I might have all three," said little Annie, looking archly up in her father's face.

" Kate is going to Edmonstone to-morrow to buy such a number of things, and I might go with her, and get my picture-book, and we could be home in time to tea, and the game of blind-man's buff. Do let me go, — I want to see a town before I die ; and to-morrow I shall be seven years old !" " What do you tliink a town is like ? " asked Kate. " Oh, Sidney has told me already that it is a great many houses in one place, like a number of farm-yards without the stacks, with very few cows walking about, and more things to sell in one shop, than old Ralph, the packman, has had in his pack for a year and a day. Oh, I wish I could see a town before I die !" " Why do you say ' before I die ?' " asked Mrs. Devereux. " Because I am getting old now," said little Anne with a very grave face ; " I shall be seven years old to-morrow, almost a woman, and I do not know how long I may live.

Oh, I wish I might go to Edmonstone !" It was accordingly arranged that little Annie should accompany Kate in the morning to the market town, three miles off; they were to get a ride there in farmer Brad ford's spring cart, and as he generally remained tUl late in the day, they were afterwards to set out before him, and walk home by them selves. Mr. Devereux or Reginald would come to meet them, to carry little Annie in case she was thed, and the young Bradfords were to be asked to tea. The birth-day morning dawned bright and beautiful. Annie was awake before daylight begged hard that Kate would dress her. " I want to be very neat to-day," she said to her sister, " and I wish to be dressed all in white." " What ! won't you put on the pretty blue sash that farmer Bradford sent you for your birth-day ?" asked Kate.

" No," replied Annie, " I wish to be all in white, for who knows how soon I may die ! It wiU be time enough to put on the blue sash if we come home to tea." " What stuff is my little girl talking ?" said Kate, " and what makes her speak of how soon she may die ? Little Annie ought not to speak so often and so lightly about dying ! Death is a very awful thing, and she is too young to think or talk about it." The whole family breakfasted earlier than usual, in order that the young people might not keep Farmer Bradford waiting. It was remarked by all, that there was an extraordinary excitement about little Annie, not the mere result of her glee at the prospect of see ing Edmonstone for the first time. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, but instead of running about as usual, scampering like a little mad thing, and making the house resound with her merry peals of laughter, she sat quietly in her little chair, with her hand clasped in her mother's, and spoke so strangely and yet so wisely, that involuntarily the parents looked at each other iu surprise.

" Annie has been changed by the fairies last night," exclaimed Reginald, " we don't know what to make of her ! " " Indeed I am not a fairy at all, Reginald," replied Annie; "I am nothing but myself as yet, though I should not mind at all being changed, if I could become a little angel and live beside God !" The children were hushed, and looked at the little girl in surprise. At eight o'clock Farmer Bradford drove up, and the two sisters jumped into the spring-cart. Kate had on a white gown, and a coarse straw bonnet neatly tied under her chin with a narrow blue ribbon; a plain handkerchief of the same colour covered her neck, and she looked neat and modest ; but the old fashioned style of her dress, and its extreme plainness, showed she was poor. Little Annie had on her white frock and tippet; her sunny curls were covered by a drawn white muslin bonnet, which Kate had made for her birthday.

After nearly an hour's drive, for the spring-cart went but slowly, owing to the unevenness of the roads, they arrived at Edmonstone. Annie was surprised and delighted with everything she saw, and Kate had some difficulty in get ting her along, so eager was the child to stop at every gay shop and examine the contents of the windows. She soon became as happy as a queen, and lost the strange gravity that the family had observed in the morning. About two o'clock they left the town, but they had not gone a quarter of a mile when they saw a herd of bullocks approaching, some of w-hich were very wild, and frightened the child nearly out of her wits, and indeed Kate grew pale also, as she placed her next the w-all. Their alarm was soon dispelled, for a very young man who had left Edmonstone a short time after them, came up just at the moment, and having a stout stick in his hand, protected them till all the unruly beasts had gone by.

He appeared about seventeen or eighteen, but his honest face, with its clear, ruddy com plexion, would have made him out even younger, had not his tall figure and broad shoulders given him the appearance of a man. " That is young John Baron," whispered little Annie to Kate ; " Papa forbade any of us to speak to him ; what shall we do ? " This was certainly true ; for the young man in question had, one day, made acquaintance with Annie and her brothers as they were walking together; the young people were de lighted with each other, but when Bernard and Sidney, on their return home, related their rencounter, Mr. Devereux was very angry, and sternly forbade them to hold communication with any member of that family. All this Kate knew, so she was both surprised and sorry to hear the name of the young stranger who had befriended them, and who now seemed disposed to join their company.

He made some remarks to Kate in such a pleasant, cheerful tone of voice, that she was very sorry to answer him exceedingly shortly and coldly. John Baron had just come home from an ex cellent commercial school, where he had been for several years, so this accounted for Kate not knowing him at first. He seemed to fancy that she was distant in her manner, because she did not recognize him, so presently he told his name, adding that, as they were cousins, he hoped they would henceforth be good friends. Kate's brow flushed scarlet, — she thought of her father and began to tremble; at last she said, — " I am very sorry, sir, to appear rude, after you have been so kind, but, indeed, papa does not like us to talk to strangers, and, — and,"— " That is enough, cousin," interrupted John Baron, his honest face flushing tiU it was as rosy as poor Kate's ; " I shaU not trouble you any longer," and so saying he strode away.

" What a pity ! " said Kate, when he w-as nearly out of sight ; " such a good creature as he seems to be !" " Yes," said little Annie, who was like to cry ; " and to think of it being my birthday too!" VOL. I. C The sky now began to grow overcast, and they had still to walk a mile before coming to the place where their father and Reginald were to meet them. Poor Annie grew very tired, and large drops of rain began to fall. The roads became dirty, and here and there the mud rendered them quite slippery. At last Annie began to cry, and said she could walk no further ; so Kate took her up in her arms, and tried to get on the best way she could with such a burden. She could not help thinking that if she had not offended John Baron he would still have been walking with them, and might have helped her.