St. Bede's

Front matter

VOL. B_ MRS. EILOART AUTHOR OF "THE CURATE'S DISCIPLINE," " MADAME SILVAS SECRET," &c, &c. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : HURST AND BLAOKETT, PUBLISHERS. 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1870. site right of Translation is reserved. LONDON PlilNTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAPTER PAGE I. In Fairyland 1 II. Young Love 18 III. Kitty in her Glory 35 IV. The crowning Joy 49 V. Mrs. Tudor's Reflections . . .60 VI. The morning after the Ball ... 82 VII. At Dr. Fielding's, two days later . 93 VIII. HOW SHALL THE HEART-BREAK COME? . .110 IX. Mr. Jenkins feels himself ill-used . . 13-1 X. " Be pitiful, O God!" . . . .148 XI. "HOW CAN I TELL HER?" . . . .171 XII. A case past Mr. Hartree's skill . 202 XHI. Farewell 217 XIV. Kitty Rebellious 235 XV. Mr. Jenkins turns Radical . . 258 XVI. Mr. Jenkins cheats his Conscience . . 271 XVII. The Minister's Prescription . .

Chapter I. In Fairyland

A ND Kitty knew nothing of Mrs. Tudor's -*-■*- vexation at seeing her with Norman, of the old doctor's misgivings — Avhieh last Avould have been incomprehensible to her — or of all the busy thoughts in her grandmother's active brain. It was the golden day of Norman's life and hers. Fairyland Avas all Avithin and around them ; their steps beat quicker time to the music of the band, for the music of their own hearts gave it so sweet an echo. All the commonplaces around them were irradiated by a light from within ; to them the flowers seemed fairer, VOL. II. B the air SAveeter, the very faces prettier and pleasanter than they did to any tAVO others in all The Wyntons that day. Coideur de rose! — ah ! everything was couleur dor ; the light that never Avas on land or sea beaming round them for those feAv hours, stolen, as it Avere, from the days of Heaven.

And neither of them could have told why it was this day seemed so blessed above all others. Young, and yet younger than their years — boy and girl, just crossing the thresh hold of the fuller, riper life beyond. Well, that one day was at least worth the living for ; something to remember Avhen the years should become a burthen to be en dured, Avhen the weary day should be fol loAved by the Avearier night, and existence drag on the long dull hopeless round, to which no ending ever seemed to come. Mr. Launceston saw the two, and his face IN FAIRYLAND. 3 darkened over. He had been behaving hitherto, as Mrs. Grayle told him the next day, very wTell, comporting himself as cour teously and blandly as if the crowds Avho thronged his gates that day had come there by his own wish. But his placid tone was a little embittered, as he remarked to Mrs. Ridsdale — " Kitty looks pleased with her cavalier, but he's altogether too young and too hand some for her to see very much of.

A good young fellow enough, but with his way to make in the Avorld. Mrs. Grayle Avould scold me for saying so, but I doubt the wisdom of her making him free of St. Cathe rine's House as she has done." Mrs. Ridsdale smiled. "There's no fear for Kitty. Mamma understands her ;" and she looked a little curiously, but with perfect content, at Norb man Launceston. She Avas quite satisfied to let her mother have the control of her daughter's destinies, just as she once had had that of her own. If Mrs. Ridsdale gave her husband half the trust and honour she did her mother, he must have thought him self a fortunate man. Mr. Launceston Avondered within himself how this fair stillness would have suited him all these years. He had so completely outlived his love, that he could now speculate upon its possible dura tion.

" Use at least would have taken its place," he thought, " and she would have made a superb chatelaine. And little Kitty might have been my child ! God be thanked that she is not ! What are these women about, that they are letting her run the risk of even a worse fate than that might be !" Mrs. Holford was there ; almost as richly IN FAIR YL AND. dressed as Mrs. Grayle, and much more re splendent, with a new bonnet for the occasion, " late as it Avas in the season," as more than one lady of her husband's congregation remarked ; and she had evidently made up matters with Mrs. Lister, for they came to gether, Avith three of the children, Mrs. Holford franking the party. The minister was to come afterwards, so was Mr. Lister ; but the ladies and the little ones wanted a good long afternoon, to see and be seen in.

It Avas very clear that Mrs. Holford had forgotten her short-lived anger about the luncheon Avith the bishop, or perhaps Mrs. Lister had -evinced some regret at having too openly exulted in that brief glorifi cation. She Avore the grey silk, and a black lace shawl of her friend's ; and for her bon net, was indebted to that lady's skill and generosity. After all, Mrs. Holford would have been sorry to have quarrelled with her — she Avas so good a sympathiser ; and, when Mrs. Hol ford had suffered any grievances, she was very glad of sympathy, and very urgent in her demands for it. And something had occurred to-day, Avhieh, in Mrs. Holford's opinion, called for a great deal of sympathy. The minister might treat it as a joke — the minister treated everything after that fashion ; but rightly looked at, it was an affront to his cloth, and instead of laucthine; at it as Mr. Holford had done, he should have ex posed the offender, if need be, from the pulpit.

The minister himself was in hish "ood humour with the very thing that had so vexed his wife ; and he told Mr. and Mrs. Grayle of the circumstance, much to their amusement; but how he could laugh, or they be amused, Avas incomprehensible to Mrs. Holford. The minister and his wife were a pattern couple ; but in some matters they differed very much. Not a man living liked a joke better than Mr. Holford ; not a woman that had less perception of one than his Avise. That morning the minister had been called upon to unite a couple. They Avere tolerably regular attendants at the chapel, and Mrs. Holford, Avhen consulted by the bride, as to the expediency of marriage, had begun by advising her against it, and ended by helping her with sundry presents towards her wedding outfit. The two intended were in humble circumstances, the bridegroom following the profession of a ramoneur.

" But still, my dear," as Mrs. Holford said to Mrs. Lister, " I think even if people are not Avell off, they might in common decency have enough to pay the fees. To think of that fellow, when Mr. Holford had married him, as securely as the Archbishop of Canterbury could have done it, telling him he was very sorry he was so short of money, and would be glad if the minister would take it out in letting him sweep our chimneys. I never heard such a thing in my life ! And Mr. Holford comes laughing into the chapel house, and asks me if he hasn't made a good bargain, and settled that we're to have our flues kept clean for a twelve month !" And the old minister, with the memory of his morning's work, and its proffered re muneration, looked smilingly after Kitty as she passed without seeing him. " I'd marry that couple," he thought, "for the mere pleasure of doing it.

God bless the child ! she seems to have found a mate worthy of her. It makes one feel young again to look upon a pair like that ?" Yes, these two in their youth and beauty seemed the very embodiment of the old story that we all read for once in our lives, and are all so ready to sympathise with in others, let the ending to our own have been Avhat it may. The weather had been very bright hither to — a day cut out on purpose, as it were, for the occasion, when, by one of those chances so especially appointed for similar gatherings, a shower of some violence came on. The marquees were crowded instantly. Kitty and Norman took refuge in the house, through the open window of one of the lower rooms; while Mr. Launceston convey ed Mrs. Ridsdale and Mrs. Grayle into an other. So it happened that the young peo ple were alone ; and then a sudden fit of shyness seized Kitty.

" I — I wonder where grandmamma is ?" she said — even when her mother was near, Kitty alAvays thought first of Mrs. Grayle. " Most likely in the house — would you like me to ring and ask, or shall I go and look ?" But Kitty, with all her shyness, could not bear to send him from her ; and then he looked so sorry to go — ready to do her bidding, but grieving sorely if that bidding were to send her from him. From the windoAV she saw Jenkins cowering under a tree, with Wilfred by his side. She opened it, and called them in. Norman looked guilty ; he had forgotten his brother — an other man might ha\Te been angry with Kitty as the cause of such forgetfulness — that was not in Norman, but he was very angry Avith himself. Out he ran, and in another second had almost carried Wilfred into the room, and Avas examining him with nearly as much solicitude, as a mother might a delicate child, to see if he Avere wet.

Jenkins followed, blessing the rain that brought him once more in contact with Kitty, and gave him a glimpse of the interior of The Wyn tons. That would be something to talk of, and Jenkins liked to talk ; and he glanced round the room for the purpose of taking an inventory of its contents, and describing them to his more intimate friends, for the purpose of showing them the terms on which he was with the cousin of Mr. Launceston. But Kitty was restless still. She did not like being shut up thus with three young men, and she could not go and leave Nor man there. It Avould have seemed cruel to him — and herself too. She stood by the window watching the rain, and presently a gleam of sunshine appearing through the clouds, she brightened up like the sky. " If I had only my waterproof, I could go out.

The rain has nearly left off, but the drip from the trees will spoil my dress." " I'll run over to St. Catherine's House and fetch it," cried Norman. " You won't know where to look for it," said Kitty, " and all the servants have a holiday to-day excepting cook, who is deaf and stupid. You haven't half found your Avay about our house yet. Mr. Jenkins knows the lower part, at least, as Avell as I do — and the very place Avhere my water proof is always hanging. He'll fetch it in a minute, and you would be a quarter of an hour at least telling cook what you wanted, and she would be at least another finding it. Jenkins felt that he must go for the cloak. He had ahvays been ready to do Kitty's bidding before, but he chafed a little in his obedience uoav. Still, he went, and Kitty sat doAvn by Wilfred's side.

" You must rest when Ave are gone," she said. " I don't think you're very strong ;" and she passed her hand with a caressing motion over his forehead. In any other, such a movement would have irritated Norman. It would have been a confirmation of the vague, nameless fears, that, after all, there was something more than ill-health wrong with Wilfred — some thing that set him apart from those of his own age, and made women forget his tAventy years, and treat him tenderly and gently as they would a child, only with a pitying ten derness that any mother would grieve to see her child call forth. But he could not be angry with Kitty, let her pity for his brother mean what it might. Jenkins returned with the waterproof, and Kitty, drawing up her pretty white alpaca, ensconced herself within it. She took off her hat, and fastened it by its ribands to her waist ; then drew the hood over her head, and looking out at Norman with a smile, asked if he were ready to follow her.

Follow her ? Yes, that sweet child's face, with the nun-like hood around, might draw him where it pleased ; and he sprang up eagerly — then checking himself, turned to Jenkins. " You'll take care of Will, poor fellow ! I think he ought to stay here till the rain is quite over. You won't mind us leaving you, eh, Will, for a time ?" Will smiled his readiness to be left. " Don't hurry him away," said Kitty with a little motherly air to Jenkins. " He has over-walked himself as it is." Then she went out at the open win doAv, and Norman followed, leaving Jen kins to amuse himself as he might with his charge. The rain had not quite left off, but Kitty braved it. Her grandmother was not near enough to caution her as to the danger of Avalking in her thin shoes upon the damp ground ; so she went from one flower-bed to another, or peered in at the marquees, watching the people Avho were croAvding in to escape the rain, and save their dresses.

" Mine's safe," said Kitty, looking down at her dress to see if it were protected. "Let's go to the rosery — I could go to the world's end in this trim." And Norman thought within himself that ST. BEDE S. he Avould have asked no better fate than to have accompanied her. But, after a time, the sun came out Avarmer than ever, and the Avaterproof was hot, and looked ugly against the bright silks and muslins that now emerged from the marquees. Kitty felt uncomfortable, and Norman saAV it. " Take the thing off, and let me carry it for you," he said. " No — it's so wet," said Kitty doubtfully. "I don't like to trouble you with it — but there's Mr. Jenkins again ! He's alwrays so handy ! I'll give it to him. Don't be afraid — I'll tell him to keep it well away from Wilfred." Then she gave Jenkins her cloak, caution ing him to hold it from him, as it was wet ; but not to take it home, lest another shower might come on, and she require it.

And then she left him, a more miserable man than ever, with Wilfred Launceston clinging to one arm, and the waterproof cloak, with the rain-drops still streaming from it, held as far as possible from himself by the other, lest his patent-leather boots, or those immaculate trousers, should receive hurt or damage. And Kitty turned to Norman, Avholly uncon scious of the misery she had inflicted, saying, " I do like him ! I don't think there's a grain of sense in him, poor creature ! — but there never was any one so good-natured." " He's the best fellow going," said Nor man. " I really don't know how poor Will Avould get on without him !" And, luckily for his peace of mind, Jen kins never heard their praises. VOL. II. c

Chapter II. Young Love

"VTOW there came for these two young -*~ people the very happiest time of all their lives. Mrs. Grayle was beneficent as a fairy godmother, and let Norman come to St. Catherine's House as often as he pleased. Mrs. Ridsdale, seeing that her mother fav oured him, did so too, and welcomed him to Sutherland Lodge, and smiled her still sweet, placid smile, whenever they met. There was scarcely a day but he saw Kitty. They were always encountering each other. It Avas not purposely — they never arranged meetings ; but it seemed as if they must come together, as if a night could not close over their heads without their having met. Sometimes Norman saw Kitty at her side Avindow ; but he got no more roses or bon-bons, only just a smile and a blush, to be treasured up in his memory till he saAV her again.

Sometimes he spent whole evenings at St. Catherine's House, — not often, for he had work to do at home ; and though Jen kins might be the "best fellow in the Avorld," still it was not quite right to leave Wilfred entirely to him. And then, on the Sundays, whenever Kitty was staying at her grandmother's, Norman went to the old meeting-house, and sat and looked at Kitty's face whenever he could do so unseen, and worshipped — Avell, he knew not rightly c Avhat ; was it God, or the creature He had made so fair to look upon ? Norman could not have told ; but those Sundays seemed to make him better and happier, every one; and, if they Avhispered little of the unseen world, to teach him how much there was in this worth a man's living and striving for. The grim old meeting-house was lit up by these two young faces.

The pews were narrow, straight-backed, and wretchedly uncomfortable ; as if the worshippers who had erected it had tried to do their best to turn prayer into penance. But then none of the congregation thought of kneeling, Avith the exception of Mrs. Grayle and Kitty, who, calling themselves church-Avomen, brought their church-going ways with them. Everyone stood up — Mr. Grayle as sternly and stiffly as a soldier at his post, keeping his eye on the Sunday-School children, or glancing round to see if any of the boys and girls of the congregation were in any manner misbehaving. Except in the fine carvings of its old oaken pulpit, the place had little of the beauty of holiness about it. There must have been a Avide line between the men who had erected the stiff, square, straight-lined old meeting-house, bare and formal as a quaker's garb, with its six white glazed Avindows on either side, with no gleam of colour to brighten the cold wintry light, or soften the summer sunshine, and those who had reared St. Catherine's Church, and who had seemed to think that by doing their best in its carved tracery, its stained AvindoAvs, and its painted ceiling, they were only striving to give back to God a little of that which he had given them.

The meeting-house and the church were as different as the forms of worship offered up within them ; as the men who, perhaps even less to sIioav their own ideas how best to do God honour, than to manifest their antagonism to each other, had almost sim ultaneously erected both. But Alice Grayle could sympathise with either. She liked the sturdy, defiant spirit of those old Puri tans, who, in their day, had withstood Priest and King ; she respected the stubbornness, ungracious as were some of its manifesta tions, that, looking upon beauty as a snare, and grace as an evil, had avoided either, as much in its religion as in its daily life, and yet by whose very adherence to what it deemed right and true, had shown that there may be a higher beauty still than that of form or colour, sight or sound.

But she liked, too, the worship of the Church, to which she had been trained as a girl. It was not half a dozen times she had alloAved herself the luxury of attendance on it, but of a Sunday afternoon Alice Grayle was almost always at her chamber window, listening, and sometimes faintly joining in the old chants and hymns that came across the road from St. Catherine's. Her husband kneAV of this habit, and once had said to her — "Alice, Avoman, don't hanker after the church, but go there, and I will take the child with me to the meeting-house." And she had answered him, taking his large, thick-veined hand in her own delicate one — " Nay, Rich ard, we will keep together to the end, as we have done these forty years. It is too late for your old wife to turn from your ways now. But the worship in St. Peter's meeting house had of late years been improved and enriched by the addition of a better organ than any church in the town, not excepting St. Catherine's, could boast.

The congregation was wealthy, and proud of their minister ; they had offered to pull down the old meeting-house, and build a modern chapel on its site, but he had negatived the proposal. He liked the old place the better for its oldness and its quaintness, and he should hardly know how to pray or preach in a smart new building. If they had money to spare, they might erect a larger school house, and give the master a better salary. But the congregation did not care for this ; they sometimes repented, though, of their suggestion as to the chapel. Mr. Holford was never weary afterwards of appealing to them. They had shown what they could do if they pleased, he told them, and it should not be his fault if they did not help the cause in one way if not in another. He became the boldest beggar in the county, and he made the people of St. Peter's give more than any other congregation of their size.

There was not a poor, feeble band of Avorshippers of their own persuasion, weak ly striving to hold together, but he bade them help it ; not a chapel likely to be closed for want of funds, but money from St. Peter's came to keep the doors open yet a little longer ; not a minister could die, and leave wife and children penniless, but Mr. Holford would tell his flock that here Avas a better way of spending their money than on bricks and mortar ; and for everything of importance in the town, from the erection of the new Town-hall to a subscrip tion for the sufferers by a fire, Mr. Holford was always foremost in reminding them of their duties as townsmen of St. Bede's. Richard Grayle and others grumbled sorely. It would have been twice as cheap, they said, to have built a chapel better than any church in all St. Bede's. The minister seemed to think that, now he had taken the measure of their pockets, he had a right to keep his hand always in them.

They grum bled, but they gave — Richard Grayle, who complained the most, being always the most liberal in his benefactions. The old minister from his carved oak pulpit watched the course of true love, as it opened itself beneath his eyes. He never thought of being angry with either of the young creatures, whose hearts he read as a book, for letting the thought of another love than that of God fill them even there. He had such faith in love — true, honest, in nocent love, like this, and such kindly me mories of his OAvn young days, that his heart warmed instinctively to those who brought them back before him. He thought none the worse of Norman Launceston for think ing more of Kitty than even of his most eloquent sermon, or for letting her bright face come even between himself and his prayers.

" God gave the young things their hearts and eyes," the minister said to himself; " and He knows how to judge them kindly." Richard Grayle had, from the first, taken warmly to Norman. He liked his bearing, his frank open face, and told his Avise " there was the making of a man in the lad ;" and he liked, too, his name and race. He had his own pride, and would have been pleased to see Kitty gently mated ; and he thought with a grim satisfaction of those hoards of his, which, living, as his wife and he did, under their income, were yearly accumulat ing ; so that if Kitty fancied a husband poorer than herself, the child, if all other things Avere fitting, might have her way. When he stood up in the meeting-house dur ing the prayers, and saw Norman's eyes rest ing on Kitty's downcast face, the old man felt as if he had been taken into the young one's confidence.

He might have been thought a strange confidant for so tender a secret, but that, like the minister, he remembered his own early days, and, like the minister, could have said that that love was no light thing which could stand life's wear and tear from youth to age, and shew as greenly in the last days as the first. And so, if Norman had known all the wishes in his favour, and read the flutterings of Kitty's heart aright, he might have thought that for him at least there YOCNG LOVE. could be no fear, but that the "course of true love" must for once "run smooth." Only from one quarter did Norman meet with anything like a check. Mr. Launces ton had taken some pains to inform himself how matters were progressing. He learnt enough to satisfy him that Norman was on very intimate terms at St. Catherine's House ; and then, for some reasons of his own, Mr. Launceston thought it time for him to speak.

He had shoAvn very little atten tion to his young cousins since they had left his roof, but he now sent them an invitation to dinner, and took an opportunity of speak ing to Norman upon his visits to his oppo site neighbours. " You have not much time to waste there — or in any house where a girl so pretty as Kitty Ridsdale is to be met with. You can't marry for the next ten years, if ever ; and if you could, I expect Mr. Ridsdale has very different views for his daughter to any that Avould be realised by Avhatever you could offer." " I was not aAvare — I had not spoken — " stammered Norman. His secret till uoav had been one almost to himself. That charming cousinship had deceived him as much as it had Kitty. He might still have fancied that it Avas only their relationship that gave their intercourse its charm, had it not been for Mr. Launceston.

" Of course you haven't spoken," replied the other, a little testily. " I didn't suppose that because Mrs. Grayle — the best-natured woman alive, and who is always taking up some young man or another, for fear they should get into mischief for want of a little maternal looking after — gave you the entree of her house, you would therefore think it incumbent on you to propose for her grand daughter at once. But such follies come on uuaAvares, and I don't want — to be plain with you — I don't want my kinsman to be reject ed by Mr. Ridsdale, or suffered to wear his heart away in waiting for the chances of my doing something for him. And you know what I have to do for the Launcestons abroad — besides, the mere keeping up this place costs a fortune. My hands are tied. I could have got you an appointment in India — I could get you one still, but there ends all " " I never asked you even for that !" cried Norman.

" You have been very kind, sir — much too kind for me to seek to trespass further on your goodness. I looked for nothing but such counsel and countenance as an elder kinsman might fairly give an other. I never even asked myself Avhat claims others had upon you — I was so satisfied that I had none ; and as to what you say, it is presumption in me even to deny it ; but if ever I dared hope that Miss Ridsdale might be mine for the wooing, do you think that any fear of being rebuffed by her father, or looked coldly on by her family, would deter me?" Norman's face flushed as he spoke, and he looked glorious in his young confidence and beauty, as he added — " I think she would be Avorth braving a few difficulties for, if I dared dream that none rested with herself." And then Mr. Launceston felt that he had acted like a foolish man instead of a wise one, and given the thoughts and dreams that might possibly be flitting through a boy's brain the shape and form that Avould make them the purpose of a man.

He resolved to say no more, feeling that he had said too much already ; but that night he sat late and long at his chamber Avindow, taking counsel with himself as to the course it behoved him to follow — more serious and painful counsel than the good folks of St. Bede's, Avho set him down as a mere self-seeking egotist, would have thought him capable of holding. He might be a cold man — he was not a cruel one ; and it seemed to him that either of the tAvo courses that lay before him involved much apparent cruelty, and the certainty, if Nor man Launceston Avent the way to which he appeared tending, of great suffering to others, and possibly to himself. He had had a hard task laid on him many years ago, but he had fulfilled that task, though the doing so, with all his apparent stoicism, had seemed at the time like the cutting off of his right hand.