Kate Vernon, Vol. 1 (of 3)

"My good star was in the ascendant; but for your admirable treatment of my audacity I should have been still ignorant that I had old friends within reach."

"You would have stumbled on me in some of your sketching expeditions," observed the Colonel.

I exclaimed hastily "Yes, but – " and stopping my imprudent revelations, rose to open the door for Miss Vernon, who left us, saying she had outstaid the proper interval for ladies. We soon followed her, and stood gazing at a fine harvest moon, which was gradually silvering the rocks and the river, as daylight disappeared, until the arrival of Miss Vernon's guests speedily broke in upon our pleasant reminiscent chat, and I was formally introduced.

Mrs. Winter looked rather puzzled. "I thought, my dear, it was all a mistake, your dancing with this gentleman?"

"Well, Mrs. Winter, the whole affair is now in such an entanglement of mistakes that I advise you not to attempt unravelling it; rest content with the assurance that Captain Egerton is a bonâ fide old acquaintance, fully recognised by grandpapa and myself."

"I am sure I never meant I doubted it," said Kate's ex-chaperon, with a little twittering embarrassed laugh, "but" —

"I am going to make tea, and you had better make your peace with Captain Egerton, whom you evidently doubt," returned Miss Vernon.

I seated myself beside Mrs. Winter and drew her into conversation, by praising the old town and its locale, with very genuine warmth; it was her native place, and my appreciation of it seemed to open her heart. We then in some imperceptible manner glided into natural history, and I was listening with every appearance of thrilling interest, to a circumstantial account of the habits and customs of a pug dog, called Fan, when Miss Vernon approached with a cup of tea, whereupon my informant rose, saying she would go to the tea table, around which we all now assembled.

"Captain Egerton is a brother of the brush, Mr. Winter," said Miss Vernon.

"Indeed!" he replied, with a sharp keen glance, "what's your style, sir?"

"Oh, I merely sketch; sometimes in water colours, but generally in chalks. Very rude attempts, I assure you."

"It's a glorious gift, any portion of power to transfer living nature to dead canvass or paper. Miss Vernon tells me that she would give worlds to be a painter, and yet she will not even try to draw."

"I do try," she exclaimed, "I feel my eyesight failing fast in the effort; but you cannot force nature, and she did not intend me for a proficient in your noble art."

"Pooh, pooh," cried Winter, "don't tell me that with your eye for the beautiful, for colors, for grace (look at the arrangement of those flowers, Captain Egerton), that you have no genius for painting; you have been shamefully neglected, and all your talents forced into another species of harmony, more fashionable but infinitely inferior."

And he puffed, wiped his forehead, and swallowed his cup of tea at a gulp.

"Mr. Winter, I will not allow you to misrepresent yourself," said Miss Vernon, "you love music in your very soul; do not pretend to think it inferior for the sake of argument!"

"It is inferior; painting appertains more to the intellect than music," rejoined Winter stoutly.

"We know that angels sing in Heaven, but we never heard of their sketching," replied Miss Vernon.

Mr. Winter, the Colonel, and I, laughed heartily at Miss Vernon's novel argument, and Winter, recovered from the momentary shock with a hasty "Pooh, pooh, Heaven indeed! Look at the lives of eminent painters, and then look at the lives of musicians."

"I would rather not," said his antagonist.

"Yes, it is strange," I observed, "but painters seem to be a less dissipated set of fellows than musicians; yet surely there is something of Heaven in music, and" —

"Captain Egerton," cried Miss Vernon, holding up a menacing finger, "are you taking that renegade's part?"

"Far from it, Miss Vernon; no art can surpass music in my estimation; but as to the lives of its professors, there is, alas! no mistake."

"I was a member of the Beefsteak Club in Dublin," said the Colonel; "we used to begin our evenings with the most divine duets and trios, glees and choruses, &c.; but towards the end, earth assumed the ascendant, and so great was its attraction, that by far the greater number of us were generally floored before the finale."

"But," said Winter, with a slightly contemptuous look, "I do not speak of mere performers, I mean composers, creators, men of genius!"

"They surely were men of good report, at least," began Miss Vernon.

"Miss Kate, if you please," said Nurse, looking in, "little Mr. Gilpin wants to spake to you."

"Oh, show him in, Nurse; say Grandpapa particularly wishes to speak to him."

The Colonel rose, and advanced a step or two towards the door, through which entered a little man, deformed and slightly lame, with the pale angular face usual in deformed persons, a pair of deep set vivid dark eyes, and a certain mild sad expression, which conveyed itself to you at once – though it could not be said to strike you – and saved him from the appearance of utter ugliness. He came forward with an uncertain timid manner, holding a broad dusky-looking book. The Colonel shook his hand with an air of extreme cordiality and high-bred respect, exclaiming, "We had almost given you up." Miss Vernon, who had also risen, now greeted him. "Did you not get my message, Mr. Gilpin? I called at your house to-day to beg you would join us this evening."

"No," said a remarkably rich soft voice, "none was given to me. I came here to show you a treasure I lately discovered in an old chest in the Chapter house," and he handed her the book.

Miss Vernon opened it with looks and exclamations of delight, and Winter joined the group.

I was left seated with his wife, the only member of the party who had not risen to greet the new comer. I turned an enquiring glance towards her, to which she answered, in a low tone, "Mr. Gilpin, the Organist of the Priory Church; he is an excellent musician, and a great favorite with the Colonel and Miss Vernon."

Here Miss Vernon interrupting her examination of the book and laying it on the piano, said, "But I am forgetting to offer you any tea, Mr. Gilpin," – and placing a chair beside her own, returned to the tea table; while Colonel Vernon, with a wave of the hand towards me, exclaimed, "There is the reason we particularly wished you to join us this evening, my dear sir; in order to make our old and new friends acquainted. Let me introduce Captain Egerton to you, Mr. Gilpin; Captain Egerton, an old Dungar friend of ours, whom I picked up very curiously this morning."

Mr. Gilpin returned my salute, and looking at me somewhat keenly, drank his tea; continuing to converse in a low tone with Miss Vernon, who turned on him, from time to time, such beaming looks of kindliness, that it required all my consciousness of his great personal disadvantages, and grey hair to boot, to prevent the "green-eyed monster" from taking possession of me.

The Colonel devoted himself to Mrs. Winter; sometimes joining in Miss Vernon's conversation, while Mr. Winter, turning to me with much civility, placed himself at my service, so far as directing me to the antiquities and scenery, best worth viewing went; "further would be useless, for every eye sees its own beauty and its own sketch!"

Fully assenting to this, we glided into pleasant conversation on the respective merits of ancient and modern painters, till, at last, Miss Vernon rang the bell, to dismiss the tea apparatus, and order lights; "although it is almost sacrilege to shut out that lovely moon," she added, smiling.

"No," said Winter, "a soliloquy or a tête à tête is best by moon-light; but for a social party, large or small, it is too bold and pure a light; we'd find our spirits flag under its influence."

"Then let us shut it out speedily," said the Colonel, drawing the curtains and opening the piano; "I suppose, Egerton, we may include you among the lovers of music?"

Assenting to this readily, I moved to where Miss Vernon was again inspecting the dusky book. "May I see the treasure you have found?"

"Oh yes, you see it is an old book of chants, how curious the square-headed notes are! I suppose they are genuine Gregorian; have you tried any of them yet, Mr. Gilpin?"

"Almost all; some are very rude, but many of them are beautiful; I long to try their effect with several voices; and with your assistance, as you say you will be so good, I hope soon to have the children in training."

"If you think I am capable."

"Kate," said her grandfather, "Winter has brought his violin; give us that German duet I like so much."

After a little tuning, they began, and kept most perfectly together; I have seldom heard a more charming performance. Both evidently understood, not only the music, but each other's feeling of it, while Miss Vernon's round white fingers seemed to make a living, feeling creature of the inanimate instrument.

"Well, that is well done; you improve," I heard the Organist say, in tones of great satisfaction, while we were more noisily applauding; and Kate looked up in his face with such complete reliance on his judgment, and delight in his approbation, that I felt a strange thrill of vexation to think how dubious it was that such would ever be called forth by me.

Mr. Gilpin, now taking Miss Vernon's place at the piano, poured forth a beautiful "sinfonia," I think they call it; and Miss Vernon accepting the seat I vacated for her, sat listening and abstracted, her full eyes gazing on some imaginary object, unconscious of all around her; a slight tremor sometimes passing over her curved upper lip.

Rousing herself with an almost imperceptible sigh, she turned her eyes full on me, interrupting abruptly the long gaze in which I had indulged, "How beautiful! what a story that music seems to tell." At this moment the music, slow and of touching sadness, had glided by a succession of sweeping chords into a bolder and more martial strain.

"You have a great deal of imagination, Miss Vernon."

"That is a polite way of saying you are a visionary."

"No, no, there is nothing visionary about you, but I respect imagination."

"Then you are a rare specimen of your sex, Captain Egerton."

"Yes, we have less imagination, but then our life is much more practical."

"Has yours been a very practical life?"

"Mine! do not ask me to look at it."

She laughed low but merrily.

"This has been a delightful evening to me; I have to thank you for a peep into a new world, Miss Vernon."

"Oh, you like it because it is new; you would soon tire of our quiet world, and I do not see why I am to be thanked for it, grandpapa" —

"What was it brought me to A – ? solely my wish to see and apologise to you."

"Captain Egerton, you cannot suppose I will credit such a conte; besides, it is not necessary; you see how welcome an old Dungar friend is; why seek to render assurance doubly sure, by trying to persuade me you came here in search of a person to whose address neither you nor any one had the slightest clue?"

"Doubt my word if you will, Miss Vernon, I can only say that not many hours after you left the Angel Hotel, I there discovered traces, certainly faint enough, which were the cause of my visit here."

At the name of "The Angel," Miss Vernon started, colored slightly, and then with a smile said,

"Well, I can say nothing more. What a pity such energies as yours should be lost in H.M. Light Dragoons."

"Then you have no very high opinion of my profession?"

"Far otherwise, it is necessary, and what is necessary – "

"Kate, my dear, give us that serenade I like so much," said her grandfather.

Many a year is past since first those rich soft tones swelled on my ear, as Miss Vernon sang the following words, but they come back as vividly to my memory as if they had been heard but an hour ago!

"Sleep, Oh, beloved! while with Angel guardI watch o'er thy soft repose;May the silent sense of my sleepless loveTinge thy dreams as thine eye lids close!Sleep, Oh, beloved one! sleep."Breathe o'er her hushed and slumbering soul,Spirit of truth and peace!Whisper of Heaven, and love, and faith,Bid doubt and dread to cease.Sleep, Oh, sleep!"Then wake with dewy rosy lips,And eyes of deep calm bliss,To greet the heart that yearns for thee,With morning's loving kiss!Sleep, oh, beloved! sleep."

The music was peculiar, and the last note of each verse sustained, and dying away with an expression of unutterable tenderness, made an indelible impression on me. "What a heart that girl must have," was my only clear idea, as I stood silent with folded arms, utterly unable to say a word of the exquisite pleasure she had afforded me.

"After that," said Winter, at the end of a chorus of applause, "not another word or note. Good night, Colonel; you Nightingale, la vostra bocca sana qual che tocca!"

I joined the others in making my adieus; heard something about Mr. Winter calling on me the next day, and walked to my hotel, through the moonlit streets in a state of trance, lulled by the music and indescribable effect of the whole evening, into a delicious calm, which raised me pro tem. far above all sublunary interests.

CHAPTER V.

SKETCHERS AND SKETCHES

How well I remember the philosophic contempt for wealth with which I awoke the following morning! Here, I thought, is grace, refinement, and good breeding, in unpretending guise, the very simplicity that surrounds them seems to give additional force to their effect – nothing appears out of place, no London bred cook or butler ever turned out a more delicious or better served repast, than Vernon's dinner yesterday. What is the magic of all this? Winter is a curious specimen of humanity, yet he filled up his niche in the little party as no one else could; nor can I fancy him out of his element in any society. What an extraordinary contrast between Kate and that little deformed organist! Unfortunate creature, and yet he appears perfectly happy! With what empressement the old Colonel and his sweet granddaughter welcome him. And Kate herself, there is so much happiness in the calm repose of her countenance, and her brilliant smile; one would imagine her to be of fortune's favourites, the most favoured, yet what a life of complete retirement she must lead. She said she had not worn an evening dress for two years, till at that lucky ball. Is her society made up of a brace and a half of oddities and a big dog? I wonder how my sister Mary or Lady Georgina Lorton, or fifty others of my acquaintance, would stand such a life. They talk of a couple of months at the family seat, as if it was a life-long banishment on some desolate island. Yes, it must be a terrible life for her, cut off from all the bienséances of society – but where could I have spent so pleasant an evening? Where else have been so little bored by hacknied conversation? Thus I wandered through the vast field of speculation, opened up to my imagination by my yesterday's adventure. I could not bring myself to compassionate Vernon for his evident change of fortune, such a companionship and such a cottage must be well worth Dungar with all its beauties. Though, to be sure, he would have had Kate there; her manner, too, so unlike that of most women I had met. It never appeared to challenge admiration or to expect les petits soins; all was frank, cordial, kindly, real, yet monstrously unflattering to one's amour propre; though at times there was a tinge of coquetry in her way of evading, or turning into ridicule any attempt at a compliment. She certainly is charming, and I must make the best of my time while I am here; I suppose I must return to-morrow, so —

"Mr. Winter" – said the waiter.

"Good morning, Captain Egerton," said that worthy personage, apparently through a thicker stratum of mashed potatoes than ever, "I thought I'd catch you before you started on any explorations."

"You are very good; I am particularly fortunate in securing such a cicerone."

"I am very happy to be of any use to you; sketching, I fancy, is not a common taste among men of your profession?"

"I have encountered a good many draughtsmen among my brothers in arms, and it is always a useful accomplishment for military men, but I do not think it is a common taste in my profession."

"No, the learned professions have no room for beauty in their crowded life, and the idleness of yours is generally too strenuous for – but I am blunt."

"You say but the truth, Mr. Winter; yet we are not on the whole as black as we are painted. Who is? This old town seems rich in antiquities."

"Yes, there is nothing in England like it, and, as Miss Vernon says, its solemn rugged towers and churches give the idea of a calm but stern old age after a stormy impetuous youth."

"How agreeable Colonel Vernon is; I was very glad to meet him again."

"Yes, he is a perfect specimen of a style fast disappearing. I always wish to see him at the head of some noble establishment, because I am a fool – much better for him as it is."

This was uttered with great impatience of manner, and I listened to it with no small amazement.

"Better?" I echoed.

"Yes, sir," reiterated Winter sharply, "it takes a severer bit to break a high mettled steed into useful paces than your half breeds require! But do you feel inclined for a stroll this morning?"

I replied in the affirmative, and we sallied forth together.

I walked on silently, revolving my companion's last sentence, and voting it terribly harsh, yet not liking to draw him into any discussion of it, as I felt instinctively that we viewed life through different media.

He led the way through a narrow gloomy street, overhung by the upper stories of the houses, and garnished with a species of gallery, to which these projections served as a roof.

"There," said he, pausing, "is the old residence of the Bishops of – , and a very curious building it is."

I looked with great interest at the heavy carved gables, adorned with royal and episcopal arms, and divided into compartments containing carved representations of Adam and Eve, a tree and a serpent, all of equal dimensions, Cain and Abel, Balaam and his Ass, Abraham, in trunk hose, about to sacrifice Isaac on a small reading desk, with various other specimens of carving. The wooden pillars supporting the fabric over the gallery I have mentioned were carved and twisted into the most grotesque and awsome shapes, which only some tortured spirit could have imagined!

"This alone is worth a visit," said I, after a long and curious gaze. "What may be the age of this building?"

"That is not easy to say. The initials on that centre scutcheon, 'J. R.,' you see, would lead us to suppose it was not older than the beginning of the seventeenth century, but it has always appeared to me that these letters and the coat of arms they surmount are of a more modern date than the other ornaments on the building or the building itself; but though I have searched some old chronicles I cannot satisfy myself on the subject."

"At all events it shall be No. 1 of my sketches. Have you no favourite theory as to its date?" I asked.

"No, I always endeavour to curb imagination."

"And you an artist!" said I.

"Yes," he replied, "in my studio imagination is a welcome guest, but even there she must submit to the bridle. She may create materials for a subject, but should never be allowed to tamper with those already in existence?"

"I do not like your view on this point; surely imagination is the source of much exquisite and innocent pleasure?"

"I see," said Winter, "you will side with my fair antagonist, Miss Vernon; she talks whole volumes of the prettiest fantasies on this subject, and never has patience to hear my solemn assurance that imagination, though a grand and glorious gift, requires strong coercion. But then we never agree, although we are fast friends."

"My dear Sir," I exclaimed, with some warmth, "you and I may require to rein up ours occasionally, but I do not suppose Miss Vernon's imagination ever presents any but the holiest images."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Winter, "ha! ha! Kate is a more than commonly good girl, but she's not an angel; – I would not love her half so well if she was! And, take my advice, do not tell her your opinion of her, or in spite of her having nearly as brilliant a fancy as your own, she'll make you laugh at yourself!" I had too much savoir faire not to receive this sally with a smiling acknowledgment of its wisdom, although it grated on my feelings; and in my heart I experienced a sensation approximating to a lively hatred to my intelligent cicerone, who continued – "I have made several sketches of this old house, but I find that carved front does not tell well in a picture; large proportions, plenty of light and shade, are what we want for effect."

From this point a neighbouring flight of steps conducted us to the walls, from which we gazed on many a lovely picture; Winter expatiating on their peculiar beauties as a connoisseur dwells on the excellences of some oft-studied chef d'œuvre of art.

"As for the legends," said he, "in which every inch of this ground is rich, you must get Miss Vernon to tell them to you; I would make a sad olla podrida of them were I to try; but she is perfect in it, and, with Gilpin's assistance, has acquired some large additions lately."

"That Mr. Gilpin seems an oddity," I observed.

"Yes, poor fellow! and yet if his form was as straight as his heart, you would find few as beautiful. It would be impossible to tell all the good he does, and that with the miserable stipend of an Organist. Carambo! he might put our pampered priests to the blush, if such a thing were possible."

"He seems to be a great favourite with the Colonel and Miss Vernon," said I.

"Yes," returned Winter, "there is no one ranks so high in Miss Vernon's estimation. What between his music and misfortunes, he has got the entrée of her heart completely. His father was a clergyman of a respectable north country race, blessed, of course, with small means and a large family. I fancy poor Gilpin's must have been a sorry lot among a number of rough Northumberland lads; his deformity shut him out from arms, church, bar, and every profession; so he draws an indifferent existence from the art he so much loves. An invalid sister lived here with him. It seems their better-to-do brothers remembered to forget their unaspiring relatives, and the quiet neglected organist and his sister were all in all to each other, until about a year after the Vernons settled here, when, after a long and steady decline, she died in the same gentle unobtrusive manner she had lived, and poor Gilpin has been a lonely man since."

"It is impossible," continued Winter, striking his stick against the ground and speaking more thickly, which I began to perceive he usually did when excited, "it is impossible to describe Kate Vernon's thoughtful delicate kindness to the poor forlorn creature; faith, sir, it makes me ready to admit she is an angel when I think of it."

I mentally retracted my previous conclusions touching the speaker.

"Humph, ha!" said Mr. Winter, wiping his forehead, "I wonder what induced me to prose away about an unfortunate hump-backed organist to a moustached man of fashion; I am a great fool!"

"Mr. Winter," said I, gravely, "you must think moustaches and fashion terrible petrifiers of the heart, if you imagine such a tale as you have just sketched could excite no interest or sympathy in mine; believe me, there are few so thoroughly good for nothing, and I trust I am not in the minority."

"Cospetto" exclaimed the impetuous little man, "I don't think you are; and, Captain Egerton, do not set me down as a gruff uncourteous dog. You see what I am when I let out; am I not right to keep both bit and bridle on my imagination? Now I must leave you, as I have some business to attend – rather an unusual thing for me. I'll trot you out to-morrow, or any time you like, but I think I have put you on the best track for the present."

"Thanks to your judicious guidance; yes, I have enjoyed the ramble I assure you."

"Well," resumed he, "in disavowal of fashion and petrifaction, will you drink tea with Mrs. Winter and myself at half-past six this evening. I'll make the Vernons come. I have lived so much on the Continent that I cannot get into the absurdity of fashionable English dinner hours, but take mine when my stomach cries cupboard, which is generally at two o'clock."