the hansom cab conveying mr. prescott went at a rapid pace along the strand, through the pall-mall district, and by divers short cuts into piccadilly. there was nothing to stop it; there were no blocks or stoppages; and as it was the dead season of the year, and every one was out of town, the commissioners of sewers were good enough to leave the roads alone; reserving until the traffic was in full play their right to erect gigantic, hideous hoardings in the most crowded thoroughfares. the streets were deserted, the public buildings shut up, dust and straw and dirty paper whirled about in the eddying gusts of the autumnal wind, and the entire appearance of london was dull and wretched. people had evidently been in doubt what to do about dress; and while some were in the faded gaiety of the just-departed summer, others were putting on an even shadier appearance in the creased and awkward garments of the previous winter. the doctors' carriages and the hack-cabs had the thoroughfares to themselves; the occupants of the former, always on the watch for the recognition of some favoured patient, sat back in their vehicles, engaged either in the perusal of some medical work, or in happy day-dreams of increased practice, studs of wearied horses, noble introductions, enormous fees,--all culminating, perhaps, in baronetcies and appointments at court.
of the hack-cabs seen about, but few were hansoms; for at that season men who want to go quickly, and don't mind paying a shilling a mile, are at a discount. now and then a sun-tanned swell, whose portmanteau atop nearly obstructed the driver's sight, and who himself was but dimly visible among gun-cases, hat-boxes, and railway-rugs, might have been encountered, passing from one terminus to another; but the "reg'lar riders,"--the lawyer's clerk, with the tape-tied bundle of papers, who charges his cab to "the office;" the lounging swell; the m.p. dashing down to the house; the smug-faced capitalist, whose brain is full of calculation, and who sits the whole way to the city smiling at all and seeing none; the impecunious speculator, who rides in a cab because he cannot afford to be seen in an omnibus,--all these were away from london. and the four-wheelers, though laden, had but dreary burdens: the fortnight at margate is over; no more morning dips, no more afternoon rambles on the sands, no donkey-backs, no pleasure-boats, no pegwell bay now! paterfamilias is once more hobbs and motchkin's out-door at thirty shillings a week; the eight-roomed house in navarino terrace, camden town, resumes its wonted appearance; the children return to the "curriculum" of education at miss gimp's in the crescent; and save the sand-covered little wooden spades which hang from the hat-pegs in the passage, naught remains of their maritime excursion.
dreary, dreary, every where! dreary down in old country mansions, where, while the men are pheasant-shooting in the woods, the ladies look dismally on what was lately the croquet-ground, where the gardeners are now busy sweeping up the leaves, and pressing them into huge barrows, and wheeling them away; where the trees stand out gaunt and brown, and where the evergreens bordering the pleasant walks rustle with the autumnal winds; where the cracks, and flaws, and dampnesses of old country mansions begin to make themselves unpleasantly conspicuous; and where the servants, town-bred, commence to be colded, sniffy, to have shivers and "creeps." dreary at the seaside, where the storm-soaked, worm-eaten jetty, lately echoing to the pattering feet of children, or the sturdy tread of the visitor taking his constitutional, is now given over to its normal frequenters--tarry-trousered men in blue jerseys and oilskin sou'-wester hats, who are always looking out for some boat that never arrives, or some storm which always comes when they do not expect it; bills are stuck on the pleasant plate-glass bow windows so lately filled with pretty girls, rosy children, and parents who dined at two o'clock, and enjoyed their nuts and port-wine "looking over the sea;" and the proprietors of the lodging-houses, who have lived in damp back-kitchens since june, are once more seen above-ground. dreary in continental towns, where home-returning english are finding out that they have spent too much money on their trip, and bewailing the napoleons left as a tribute to the managers of the homburgh bank; where the discomforts of the return sea-passage first assert themselves, and where couriers and innkeepers are going in for their last grand turn of robbery and swindle. dreary, dreary, every where! but specially dreary in hyde park, at the piccadilly gates, at which mr. prescott leaves his hansom, and strolls into rotten row.
a blank desert of posts and rails and dry dusty gravel; a long strip of iron-enclosed sand and grit, with half a dozen figures in the three-quarter mile range to break the dull monotony. as prescott mooned drearily along, at five-minute intervals he would hear the sound of a horse's hoofs, and turning rapidly, would find some easy-going steed doing its quiet sanitary business for its owner, a man who, either from circumstances or disposition, never quitted london, but was to be seen at some time or other of the day in the row, no matter what might be the time of year. interspersed with these were grooms, riding in that groomy undress of wide-awake hat, short, stiff shirt-collar, and tight-fitting, yellow-clay-coloured trousers, trying the wind and bottom of some that were meant to be flyers in the approaching hunting-season; beasts with heavy, strong quarters, long backs, short, sharp heads, and rolling eyes, with a preponderance of white always showing. country-bred mr. prescott, and cannot therefore divest himself of a certain canniness in the matter of horseflesh: now and then he leans over the rail to follow the progress of a horseman flying past, with his hands well down, and every muscle of his steed brought into splendid play; or the healthy gymnastics of a valetudinarian, who had learned exactly the utmost amount of exercise to be derived from his horse as compared with the least amount of discomfort to be endured by himself. but these do not rivet his attention; and he passes on until he is nearly abreast of the serpentine, when, looking back, he sees a blue skirt fluttering in the wind, and in an instant recognising its wearer, pulls up by the rails and waits her advent.
it does not take long for that chestnut mare to cover the distance, albeit she is being ridden from side to side, and is evidently receiving her "finishing" in the elegancies of the manège in less than two minutes she is pulled up short by the rails where prescott is standing, and her rider, kate mellon, with the colour flushing in her cheeks, with her eyes aglow, with her hair a trifle dishevelled from the exercise, is sitting bolt upright, and with the handle of her riding-whip giving the young gentleman a mock salute.
"servant, colonel!" says she.
"how do you do, kate?" says prescott, leaning forward and touching the neat little white cuff on her wrist; "i thought i should find you here."
"more than i thought of you!" says the lady. "why ain't you counting up those figures, and adding and subtracting, and all the rest of it you do in your office, eh?"
"to-day's a half-holiday, kitty--saturday, you know," says prescott, with rather a grim smile; for he does not like that rough description of his official duties.
"oh, ah!" says the lady, with great simplicity; "saturday, ah! confounded nuisance sometimes! lost my net veil one saturday afternoon here in the row; went to marshall and snelgrove's on my way home; all shut up tight as wax!"
"you're better than you were yesterday, at the station?"
"oh, yes; i'm all right; i shall do well enough! wo-ho! steady, old lady!" (this to the mare). "i'm always better in town. don't let's stand here; i can't hold this mare quiet, and that's the truth; she frets on the curb most awful."
"most awfully, kitty, not most awful. i've told you of that a hundred times."
"well, most awfully, if you like it better. steady, poll! walk along by my side. who are you, i should like to know, to pull me up about my talking? what right have you to lecture me about my grammar and that?"
"what right?" asks prescott, suddenly turning white; "none, save the fact of my loving you, kitty. you know it well enough, though i've never told you in so many words. you know that i do love you! you can't have seen me hanging about you during the last season, making excuses to come to your place, first there and last to go, hating every man who had more chances of talking to you than i had,--you can't have seen all this without knowing that i loved you, kitty!"
the mare is pulled suddenly up; there is no one near them in the blank desert of the row; and her rider says, "and suppose i did know it,--what then?"
prescott shrugs his shoulders and looks upon the ground, but does not reply.
"have you ever had one word of encouragement from me? have you ever seen a look of mine which has led you on? can you say that, suppose i tell you to let me hear no more of this,--as i do tell you at once and for ever,--i have deceived or thrown you over in any one way?"
"never!"
"thank god for that!" says the girl, with some bitterness; "for that's a chalk in my favour, at least. now look here! i know you, james prescott; and i know that you're too good a man--too well brought up and fond of home and that sort of thing--to hint any thing but what's right towards me."
"kitty!"
"there--i know it. don't break a blood-vessel with your emotion," she added, gently tapping him on the shoulder with her riding-whip. "all right. well, suppose we were married, you'd feel very jolly, wouldn't you, while you were down at your office doing your sums and things, which you got so riled when i spoke of just now, to think that tom orme, and claverhouse, and de bonnet, and a whole lot of fellows, were mooning about this place with me?"
"i'd wring all their necks!" says honest jim prescott, looking excessively wobegone.
"exactly. but you see, if you wrung their necks, they would not send their wives and sisters and daughters to be taught riding at the den; they would not commission me to look out for ladies' hacks, to break them, and bring them into order; and my trade would be gone. and we couldn't live on the twopence-halfpenny a-year you get from your office, jim, old fellow."
"i know that, kitty," said poor prescott; "i know all that; but--"
"hold on half a second!" interrupted kate; "let us look the thing straight in the face, and have it out, jim, now and for ever. i know you--know you're a thoroughgoing good fellow, straight as an arrow, and know that if you married me, you'd stick to me till you dropped. but you'd have a hard time, jim--an awful hard time!"
"i should not mind that, kitty. i'd work for you--"
"oh, it isn't in that way i mean. but how would you stand having to break off with your own people for your wife's sake? how could you take me down to your governor's parsonage, and introduce me there? how would my manners and my talk please your mother and sisters? it's madness, jim,--it's worse than madness,--to talk of such a scheme. shake hands, and let's be always good friends--the best of friends. if you ever want a good turn that i can do, you know where i'm to be found. god bless you, old boy; but never mention this subject again!"
james prescott gave a great gulp at a lump which was rising in his throat, and warmly grasped kate mellon's proffered hand. as she raised her eyes he noticed her colour fade, and saw a troubled expression in her face.
"good by, jim," the said hurriedly. "just strike down that path, will you? get away quickly; here's some one coming; and--and i don't want to be seen talking to you. quick! there's a good fellow. good by."
she touched her horse with her slight whip, and cantered off at once. prescott looked in the direction she had indicated, and saw mr. simnel, mounted on a handsome thoroughbred, calmly curveting up the row.
what could there be between kate mellon and robert simnel?
