The Bow of Orange Ribbon Part 16

Her reports had been ingenious and diversified. "She had seen Katherine at one of the windows,--the very picture of distraction." "She had been told that Katherine was breaking her heart about him;" also, "that Elder Semple and Councillor Van Heemskirk had quarrelled because Katharine had refused to see Neil, and the elder blamed Van Heemskirk for not compelling her obedience." Whenever Hyde had been unusually depressed or unusually nervous, Mrs. Gordon had always had some such comforting fiction ready. Now, here was the real Katherine. Her very presence, her smiles, her tears, her words, would be a consolation so far beyond all hope, that the girl by her side seemed a kind of miracle to her.

She was far more than a miracle to Hyde. As the door opened, he slowly turned his head. When he saw _who_ was really there, he uttered a low cry of joy,--a cry pitiful in its shrill weakness. In a moment Katherine was close to his side. This was no time for coyness, and she was too tender and true a woman to feel or to affect it. She kissed his hands and face, and whispered on his lips the sweetest words of love and fidelity. Hyde was in a rapture. His joyful soul made his pale face luminous. He lay still, speechless, motionless, watching and listening to her.

Mrs. Gordon had removed Katherine's veil and cloak, and considerately withdrawn to a mirror at the extremity of the room, where she appeared to be altogether occupied with her own ringlets. But, indeed, it was with Katherine and Hyde one of those supreme hours when love conquers every other feeling. Before the whole world they would have avowed their affection, their pity, and their truth.

Hyde could speak little, but there was no need of speech. Had he not nearly died for her? Was not his very helplessness a plea beyond the power of words? She had only to look at the white shadow of humanity holding her hand, and remember the gay, gallant, handsome soldier who had wooed her under the water-beeches, to feel that all the love of her life was too little to repay his devotion. And so quickly, so quickly, went the happy moments! Ere Katherine had half said, "I love thee," Mrs.

Gordon reminded her that it was near the noon; "and I have an excellent plan," she continued; "you can leave my veil and cloak in the coach, and I will leave you at the first convenient place near your home. At the turn of the road, one sees n.o.body but your excellent father or brother, or perhaps Justice Van Gaasbeek, all of whom we may avoid, if you will but consider the time."

"Then we must part, _my Katherine_, for a little. When will you come again?"

This was a painful question, because Katherine felt, that, however she might excuse herself for the unforeseen stress of pity that all unaware had hurried her into this interview, she knew she could not find the same apology for one deliberate and prearranged.

"Only once more," Hyde pleaded. "I had, my Katherine, so many things to say to you. In my joy, I forgot all. Come but once more. Upon my honour, I promise to ask Katherine Van Heemskirk only this once. To-morrow?

'No.' Two days hence, then?"

"Two days hence I will come again. Then no more."

He smiled at her, and put out his hands; and she knelt again by his side, and kissed her "farewell" on his lips. And, as she put on again her cloak and veil, he drew a small volume towards him, and with trembling hands tore out of it a sc.r.a.p of paper, and gave it to her.

Under the lilac hedge that night she read it, read it over and over,--the bit of paper made almost warm and sentient by Phoedria's tender pet.i.tion to his beloved,--

"When you are in company with that other man, behave as if you were absent; but continue to love me by day and by night; want me, dream of me, expect me, think of me, wish for me, delight in me, be wholly with me; in short, be my very soul, as I am yours."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tail-piece]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Chapter heading]

VIII.

"_Let determined things to destiny Hold unbewailed their way._"

If Katherine had lived at this day, she would probably have spent her time between her promise and its fulfilment in self-a.n.a.lysis and introspective reasoning with her own conscience. But the women of a century ago were not tossed about with winds of various opinions, or made foolishly subtile by arguments about principles which ought never to be a.s.sociated with dissent. A few strong, plain dictates had been set before Katherine as the law of her daily life; and she knew, beyond all controversy, when she disobeyed them.

In her own heart, she called the sin she had determined to commit by its most unequivocal name. "I shall make happy Richard; but my father I shall deceive and disobey, and against my own soul there will be the lie." This was the position she admitted, but every woman is Eve in some hours of her life. The law of truth and wisdom may be in her ears, but the apple of delight hangs within her reach, and, with a full understanding of the consequences of disobedience, she takes the forbidden pleasure. And if the vocal, positive command of Divinity was unheeded by the first woman, mere mortal parents surely ought not to wonder that their commands, though dictated by truest love and clearest wisdom, are often lightly held, or even impotent against the voice of some charmer, pleading personal pleasure against duty, and self-will against the law infinitely higher and purer.

In truth, Katherine had grown very weary of the perpetual eulogies which Batavius delivered of everything respectable and conservative. A kind of stubbornness in evil followed her acceptance of evil. This time, at least, she was determined to do wrong, whatever the consequences might be. Batavius and his inflexible propriety irritated her: she had a rebellious desire to give him little moral shocks; and she deeply resented his constant injunctions to "remember that Joanna's and his own good name were, in a manner, in her keeping."

Very disagreeable she thought Batavius had grown, and she also jealously noted the influence he was exercising over Joanna. There are women who prefer secrecy to honesty, and sin to truthfulness; but Katherine was not one of them. If it had been possible to see her lover honourably, she would have much preferred it. She was totally dest.i.tute of that contemptible sentimentality which would rather invent difficulties in a love-affair than not have them, but she knew well the storm of reproach and disapproval which would answer any such request; and her thoughts were all bent toward devising some plan which would enable her to leave home early on that morning which she had promised her lover.

But all her little arrangements failed; and it was almost at the last hour of the evening previous, that circ.u.mstances offered her a reasonable excuse. It came through Batavius, who returned home later than usual, bringing with him a great many patterns of damask and figured cloth and stamped leather. At once he announced his intention of staying at home the next morning in order to have Joanna's aid in selecting the coverings for their new chairs, and counting up their cost. He had taken the strips out of his pocket with an air of importance and complaisance; and Katherine, glancing from them to her mother, thought she perceived a fleeting shadow of a feeling very much akin to her own contempt of the man's p.r.o.nounced self-satisfaction. So when supper was over, and the house duties done, she determined to speak to her. Joris was at a town meeting, and Lysbet did not interfere with the lovers. Katherine found her standing at an open window, looking thoughtfully into the autumn garden.

"_Mijn moeder_."

"_Mijn kind_."

"Let me go away with Bram in the morning. Batavius I cannot bear. About every chair-cover he will call in the whole house. The only chair-covers in the world they will be. Listen, how he will talk: 'See here, Joanna. A fine piece is this; ten s.h.i.+llings and sixpence the yard, and good enough for the governor's house. But I am a man of some substance,--_G.o.de zij dank!_--and people will expect that I, who give every Sunday twice to the kirk, should have chairs in accordance.'

_Moeder_, you know how it will be. To-morrow I cannot bear him. Very near quarrelling have we been for a week."

"I know, Katharine, I know. Leave, then, with Bram, and go first to Margaret Pitt's, and ask her if the new winter fas.h.i.+ons will arrive from London this month. I heard also that Mary Blankaart has lost a silk purse, and in it five gold jacobus, and some half and quarter johannes.

Ask kindly for her, and about the money; and so the morning could be pa.s.sed. And look now, Katherine, peace is the best thing; and to his own house Batavius will go in a few weeks."

"That will make me glad."

"Whish, _mijn kind!_ Thy bad thoughts should be dumb thoughts."

"_Mijn moeder_, sad and troubled are thy looks. What is thy sorrow?"

"For thee my heart aches often,--mine and thy good father's, too. Dost thou not suffer? Can thy mother be blind? Nothing hast thou eaten lately. Joanna says thou art restless all the night long. Thou art so changed then, that wert ever such a happy little one. Once thou did love me, Katrijntje."

"_Ach, mijn moeder_, still I love thee!"

"But that English soldier?"

"Never can I cease to love him. See, now, the love I give him is his love. It never was thine. For him I brought it into the world. None of thy love have I given to him. _Mijn moeder_, thee I would not rob for the whole world; not I!"

"For all that, _kleintje_, hard is the mother's lot. The dear children I nursed on my breast, they go here and they go there, with this strange one and that strange one. Last night, ere to our sleep we went, thy father read to me some words of the loving, motherlike Jacob. They are true words. Every good mother has said them, at the grave or at the bridal, 'En mij aangaande, als ik van kinderen beroofd ben, zoo ben ik beroofd!'"

There was a sad pathos in the homely old words as they dropped slowly from Lysbet's lips,--a pathos that fitted perfectly the melancholy air of the fading garden, the melancholy light of the fading day, and the melancholy regret for a happy home gradually scattering far and wide.

Many a year afterward Katharine remembered the hour and the words, especially in the gray glooms of late October evenings.

The next morning was one of perfect beauty, and Katharine awoke with a feeling of joyful expectation. She dressed beautifully her pale brown hair; and her intended visit to Mary Blankaart gave her an excuse for wearing her India silk,--the pretty dress Richard had seen her first in, the dress he had so often admired. Her appearance caused some remarks, which Madam Van Heemskirk replied to; and with much of her old gayety Katherine walked between her father and brother away from home.

She paid a very short visit to the mantua-maker, and then went to Mrs.

Gordon's. There was less effusion in that lady's manner than at her last interview with Katherine. She had a little spasm of jealousy; she had some doubts about Katherine's deserts; she wondered whether her nephew really adored the girl with the fervour he affected, or whether he had determined, at all sacrifices, to prevent her marriage with Neil Semple.

Katherine had never before seen her so quiet and so cool; and a feeling of shame sprang up in the girl's heart. "Perhaps she was going to do something not exactly proper in Mrs. Gordon's eyes, and in advance that lady was making her sensible of her contempt."

With this thought, she rose, and with burning cheeks said, "I will go home, madam. Now I feel that I am doing wrong. To write to Captain Hyde will be the best way."

"Pray don't be foolish, Katherine. I am of a serious turn this morning, that is all. How pretty you are! and how vastly becoming your gown! But, indeed, I am going to ask you to change it. Yesterday, at the 'King's Arms,' I said my sister would arrive this morning with me; and I bespoke a little cotillon in d.i.c.k's rooms. In that dress you will be too familiar, my dear. See here, is not this the prettiest fas.h.i.+on? It is lately come over. So airy! so French! so all that!"

It was a light-blue gown and petticoat of rich satin, sprigged with silver, and a manteau of dark-blue velvet trimmed with bands of delicate fur. The bonnet was not one which the present generation would call "lovely;" but, in its satin depths, Katharine's fresh, sweet face looked like a rose. She hardly knew herself when the toilet was completed; and, during its progress, Mrs. Gordon recovered all her animation and interest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: In its satin depths]

Before they were ready, a coach was in waiting; and in a few minutes they stood together at Hyde's door. There was a sound of voices within; and, when they entered, Katherine saw, with a pang of disappointment, a fine, soldierly looking man in full uniform sitting by Richard's side.

But Richard appeared to be in no way annoyed by his company. He was looking much better, and wore a chamber gown of maroon satin, with deep laces showing at the wrists and bosom. When Katherine entered, he was amazed and charmed with her appearance. "Come near to me, my Katherine,"

he said; and as Mrs. Gordon drew from her shoulders the mantle, and from her head the bonnet, and revealed more perfectly her beautiful person and dress, his love and admiration were beyond words.

With an air that plainly said, "This is the maiden for whom I fought and have suffered: is she not worthy of my devotion?" he introduced her to his friend, Captain Earle. But, even as they spoke, Earle joined Mrs.

Gordon, at a call from her; and Katherine noticed that a door near which they stood was open, and that they went into the room to which it led, and that other voices then blended with theirs. But these things were as nothing. She was with her lover, alone for a moment with him; and Richard had never before seemed to her half so dear or half so fascinating.

"My Katharine," he said, "I have one tormenting thought. Night and day it consumes me like a fever. I hear that Neil Semple is well. Yesterday Captain Earle met him; he was walking with your father. He will be visiting at your house very soon. He will see you; he will speak to you.

You have such obliging manners, he may even clasp this hand, _my hand_.

Heavens! I am but a man, and I find myself unable to endure the thought."