next morning mr. peyton was up betimes in his character of host, and ordered the servants about, and was in high spirits; only they gave place to amazement when griffith gaunt came down, and played the host; and was in high spirits.
neville too watched his rival, and was puzzled at his radiancy.
so breakfast passed in general mystification. kate, who could have thrown a light, did not come down to breakfast. she was on her defense.
she made her first appearance out of doors.
very early in the morning, mr. peyton, in his quality of master, had ordered the gardener to cut and sweep the snow off the gravel walk that went round the lawn. and on this path miss peyton was seen walking briskly to and fro in the frosty, but sunny air.
griffith saw her first, and ran out to bid her good-morning.
her reception of him was a farce: she made him a stately curtsy for the benefit of the three faces glued against the panes; but her words were incongruous. "you wretch," said she, "don't come here: hide about, dearest, till you see me with father francis. i'll raise my hand so, when you are to cuddle him; and fib. there, make me a low bow, and retire."
he obeyed, and the whole thing looked mighty formal and ceremonious from the breakfast-room.
"with your good leave, gentlemen," said father francis, drily, "i will be the next to pay my respects to her." with this he opened the window and stepped out.
kate saw him, and felt very nervous: she met him with apparent delight.
he bestowed his morning benediction on her and then they walked silently side by side on the gravel; and from the dining-room window it looked like anything but what it was—a fencing match.
father francis was the first to break silence. he congratulated her on her good fortune, and on the advantage it might prove to the true church.
kate waited quietly till he had quite done, and then said, "what, i may go into a convent now that i can bribe the door open?"
the scratch was feline, feminine, sudden, and sharp. but alas, father francis only smiled at it: though not what we call spiritually-minded, he was a man of a christian temper. "not with my good will, my daughter," said he; "i am of the same mind still, and more than ever. you must marry forthwith, and rear children in the true faith."
"what a hurry you are in."
"your own conduct has made it necessary."
"why, what have i done now?"
"no harm; it was a good and humane action, to prevent bloodshed; but the world is not always worthy of good actions. people are beginning to make free with your name, for your interfering in the duel."
kate fired up. "why can't people mind their own business?"
"i do not exactly know," said the priest, coolly; "nor is it worth inquiring: we must take human nature as it is, and do for the best. you must marry him, and stop their tongues."
kate pretended to reflect. "i believe you are right," said she, at last; "and indeed i must do as you would have me; for, to tell the truth—in an unguarded moment—i pitied him so—that i half promised i would."
"indeed!" said father francis. "this is the first i have heard of it."
kate replied that was no wonder; for it was only last night she had so committed herself.
"last night!" said father francis; "how can that he? he was never out of my sight till we went to bed."
"oh, there i beg to differ," said the lady. "while you were all tippling in the dining-room, he was better employed; making love by moonlight. and, oh what a terrible thing opportunity is; and the moon another. there! what with the moonlight—and my pitying him so—and all he has suffered for me—and my being rich now, and having something to give him—we two are engaged. see, else: this was his mother's ring; and he has mine."
"mr. neville?"
"mr. neville? no. my old servant, to be sure. what, do you think i would go and marry for wealth, when i have enough and to spare of my own? oh! what an opinion you must have of me."
father francis was staggered by this adroit thrust. however, after a considerable silence, he recovered himself, and inquired, gravely, why she had given him no hint of all this the other night, when he had diverted her from a convent and advised her to marry neville.
"that you never did, i'll be sworn," said kate.
father francis reflected. "not in so many words, perhaps; but i said enough to show you."
"oh!" said kate, "such a matter was too serious for hints and innuendoes: if you wanted me to jilt my old servant and wed an acquaintance of yesterday, why not say so plainly? i dare say i should have obeyed you, and been unhappy for life; but now my honor is solemnly engaged; my faith is plighted; and were even you to urge me to break faith, and behave dishonorably, i should resist. i would never take poison, and die."
father francis looked at her steadily, and she colored to the brow.
"you are a very apt young lady," said he; "you have outwitted your director. that may be my fault as much as yours; so i advise you to provide yourself with another director, whom you will be unable, or unwilling, to outwit."
kate's high spirit fell before this: she turned her eyes, full of tears, on him.
"oh, do not desert me, now that i shall need you more than ever to guide me in my new duties. forgive me; i did not know my own heart—quite. i'll go into a convent now, if i must; but i can't marry any man but poor griffith. ah, father, he is more generous than any of us. would you believe it? when he thought bolton and hernshaw were coming to him, he said if i married him i should have the money to build a convent with. he knows how fond i am of a convent."
"he was jesting: his religion would not allow it."
"his religion!" cried kate. then, lifting her eyes to heaven, and looking just like an angel, "love is his religion!" said she, warmly.
"then his religion is heathenism," said the priest, grimly.
"nay, there is too much charity in it for that," retorted kate, keenly.
then she looked down like a cunning, guilty thing, and murmured, "one of the things i esteem him for is he always speaks well of you. to be sure just now the poor soul thinks you are his best friend with me. but that is my fault: i as good as told him so: and it is true, after a fashion; for you kept me out of the convent that was his only real rival. why, here he comes. oh, father, now don't you go and tell him you side with mr. neville."
at this crisis griffith, who, to tell the truth, had received a signal from kate, rushed at father francis, and fell upon his neck, and said with great rapidity, "oh, father francis, 'tis to you i owe her—you and i are friends for life. so long as we have a house there is a bed in it for you, and whilst we have a table to sit down to, there's a plate at it for you, and a welcome come when you will."
having gabbled these words he winked at kate, and fled swiftly.
father francis was taken aback a little by this sudden burst of affection.
first he stared—then he knitted his brows—then he pondered.
kate stole a look at him, and her eyes sought the ground.
"that is the gentleman you arranged matters with last night?" said he, drily.
"yes," replied kate, faintly.
"was this scene part of the business?"
"oh father!"
"why i ask, he did it so unnatural. mr. gaunt is a worthy, hospitable gentleman; he and i are very good friends; and really i never doubted that i should be welcome in his house—until this moment."
"and can you doubt it now?"
"almost: his manner just now was so hollow, so forced: not a word of all that came from his heart, you know."
"then his heart is changed very lately."
the priest shook his head. "anything more like a puppet, and a parrot to boot, i never saw. 'twas done so timely too; he ran in upon our discourse. let me see your hand, mistress. why, where is the string with which you pulled yonder machine in so pat upon the word?"
"spare me!" muttered kate, faintly.
"then do you drop deceit and the silly cunning of your sex, and speak to me from your heart, or not at all." (diapason.)
at this kate began to whimper. "father," she said, "show me some mercy." then, suddenly clasping her hands: "have pity on him, and on me."
this time nature herself seemed to speak, and the eloquent cry went clean through the priest's heart. "ah!" said he; and his own voice trembled a little: "now you are as strong as your cunning was weak. come; i see how it is with you; and i am human, and have been young, and a lover into the bargain, before i was a priest. there, dry thy eyes, child, and go to thy room: he thou couldst not trust shall bear the brunt for thee; this once."
then kate bowed her fair head and kissed the horrid paw of him that had administered so severe but salutary a pat. she hurried away upstairs, right joyful at the unexpected turn things had taken.
father francis, thus converted to her side, lost no time: he walked into the dining-room and told neville he had bad news for him. "summon all your courage, my young friend," he said, with feeling; "and remember that this world is full of disappointments."
neville said nothing; but rose and stood rather pale, waiting like a man for the blow. its nature he more than half guessed: he had been at the window.
it fell.
"she is engaged to gaunt, since last night: and she loves him."
"the double-faced jade!" cried peyton, with an oath. "the heartless coquette!" groaned neville.
father francis made excuses for her:—"nay, nay, she is not the first of her sex that did not know her own mind all at once. besides, we men are blind in matters of love: perhaps a woman would have read her from the first. after all she was not bound to give us the eyes to read a female heart."
he next reminded neville that gaunt had been her servant for years. "you knew that," said he, "yet you came between them—at your peril. put yourself in his place: say you had succeeded would not his wrong be greater than yours is now? come, be brave; be generous; he is wounded, he is disinherited; only his love is left him: 'tis the poor man's lamb; and would you take it?"
"oh, i have not a word to say against the man," said george, with a mighty effort.
"and what use quarreling with a woman?" suggested the practical priest.
"none whatever," said george, sullenly. after a moment's silence he rang the bell feverishly. "order my horse round directly," said he: then he sat down, and buried his face in his hands, and did not, and could not, listen to the voice of consolation.
now the house was full of spies in petticoats, amateur spies, that ran and told the mistress everything of their own accord, to curry favor.
and this no doubt was the cause that, just as the groom walked the piebald out of the stable towards the hall door, a maid came to father francis with a little note: he opened it, and found these words written faintly, in a fine italian hand:—
"i scarce knew my own heart till i saw him wounded and poor, and myself rich at his expense. entreat mr. neville to forgive me."
he handed the note to neville without a word.
neville read it, and his lip trembled; but he said nothing, and presently went out into the hall, and put on his hat, for he saw his nag at the door.
father francis followed him, and said, sorrowfully, "what, not one word in reply to so humble a request?"
"well, here's my reply," said george, grinding his teeth. "she knows french, though she pretends not.
"'le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot,
l'honnête homme trompé s'éloigne et ne dit mot.'"
and with this he galloped furiously away.
he buried himself at neville's cross for several days, and would neither see nor speak to a soul. his heart was sick, his pride lacerated. he even shed some scalding tears in secret; though to look at him that seemed impossible.
so passed a bitter week: and in the course of it he bethought him of the tears he had made a true italian lady shed; and never pitied her a grain till now.
he was going abroad: on his desk lay a little crumpled paper. it was kate's entreaty for forgiveness. he had ground it in his hand, and ridden away with it.
now he was going away, he resolved to answer her.
he wrote a letter full of bitter reproaches; read it over; and tore it up.
he wrote a satirical and cutting letter: read it; and tore it up.
he wrote her a mawkish letter; read it; and tore it up.
the priest's words, scorned at first, had sunk into him a little.
he walked about the room, and tried to see it all like a bystander.
he examined her writing closely: the pen had scarcely marked the paper. they were the timidest strokes. the writer seemed to kneel to him. he summoned all his manhood, his fortitude, his generosity, and, above all, his high-breeding; and produced the following letter; and this one he sent:
"mistress kate,—i leave england to-day for your sake; and shall never return unless the day shall come when i can look on you but as a friend. the love that ends in hate, that is too sorry a thing to come betwixt you and me.
"if you have used me ill, your punishment is this; you have given me the right to say to you—i forgive you.
"george neville."
and he went straight to italy.
kate laid his note upon her knee, and sighed deeply; and said, "poor fellow! how noble of him! what can such men as this see in any woman to go and fall in love with her?"
griffith found her with a tear in her eye. he took her out walking, and laid all his radiant plans of wedded life before her. she came back flushed, and beaming with complacency and beauty.
old peyton was brought to consent to the marriage. only he attached one condition, that bolton and hernshaw should be settled on kate for her separate use.
to this griffith assented readily; but kate refused plump. "what, give him myself, and then grudge him my estates!" said she, with a look of lofty and beautiful scorn at her male advisers.
but father francis, having regard to the temporal interests of his church, exerted his strength and pertinacity, and tired her out; so those estates were put into trustees' hands, and tied up as tight as wax.
this done, griffith gaunt and kate peyton were married, and made the finest pair that wedded in the county that year.
as the bells burst into a merry peal, and they walked out of church man and wife, their path across the churchyard was strewed thick with flowers, emblematic no doubt of the path of life, that lay before so handsome a couple.
they spent the honeymoon in london, and tasted earthly felicity.
yet did not quarrel after it; but subsided into the quiet complacency of wedded life.
该作者其它作品
《the cloister and the hearth回廊与壁炉》
